The M&M Story

Oh, what a week we've had. Today, after six days of no power on Crockett Drive, we finally moved back into our house. It seems as though we have the distinct privilege of trials in this life. I have directed countless shows in my lifetime, but never have I not been able to pull off a final performance. Until now. The Lord had other plans, and the big storm that knocked out over 125,000 last Friday included Westminster Christian Academy. And with that went the final performance scheduled for that night. We were scheduled to leave the next morning for Wheaton, and that we did. What a great blessing it was to see old friends and to see such great improvements to a fine institution. I walked through the new Beamer Center, admired the new Stupe, the stunning CPO and the snazzy Student Activities office. I also had a moment of grief, realizing the old MSC would never hear the voices of young adults discovering themselves. Well, maybe it was more like I wouldn't get to revis

Yesterday afternoon, we had the grand task of cleaning the house. Well, it was more like move-all-the-stuff-into-one-room-so-it-looks-neat cleaning. I asked Max and Briggs to go downstairs and pick up their toys because we had friends coming over later, and the basement was littered with train tracks, costumes, and blocks. I got them started and then headed upstairs to move all the laundry baskets into one room. A few minutes later, Briggs came upstairs, starving. When Briggs is hungry, it is best to feed him. I assumed the basement was still in need of cleaning, but I thought a quick snack would give him energy and then I would head down and help them. It really was quite messy. So I got Briggs situated with a snack, but as I stood in the kitchen, I heard interesting noises coming from the basement. It was either more toys being thrown about, or Max was really, truly picking up all the toys. I waited. The sound continued. A couple minutes later, Max came upstairs holding two objects.

Brian was asked to speak at Westminster's graduation. Here's the hard copy: I’d like to thank you, graduates, Mr. Marsh, for the honor of standing here this evening. It means a lot to me to be able to stand here, and as I reflect back on my six years here at Westminster—the same number of years as most of you—I see a history of love and respect and joy and graciousness that only comes from God. And I thank you for being his liaisons to me and to Susan…and to baby Max. I played junior high basketball in a very small school in a very small town in Alabama—We were the Warrior Academy Braves, and we ….stunk.---now this was a team where our best defensive move was making armpit noises during fast breaks to try to distract the opposing team…We wore the jerseys left over from the Varsity –they were so baggy on us that when you subbed in you and to pull your shirt up out of your shorts so that the officials could read the number. And yet we had this kid Pete, who was just astounding

Recently, M. and I were at Westminster picking up some things. We parked in back, and as we walked by a handicap parking sign, he said, "Mommy, remember when Daddy had one of those?" It took me a second, but realized he was talking about the wheelchair in the handicap symbol. I responded, "Yes, baby, I remember. Do you remember when Uncle Andy pushed Daddy in the wheelchair when we went on that long prayer walk with all our friends?" He nodded as though he remembered but quickly got distracted by a worm. I thought that was it, but a minute later as we climbed the back steps of WCA, he asked, "Mommy, did Daddy die in a hospital?" I choked back the lump in my throat and said, "Yes, actually in an emergency room," which he's been in before for stitches and nursemaid's elbow. "So, he died in an 'mergency room?" I could hear the wheels spinning like mad. "Yes, M, and then he went to heaven to be with Jesus."

Below is a column that Brian wrote several years ago. He submitted it to the Post after his success with the marriage article, but it was not published. I found it the other day and thought you loyal readers would enjoy it. Tree Hunting Column By Brian Maynor Last modified, December 10, 2000 Last week, my family went Christmas tree hunting. My family that day included my wife Susan, my youngest brother (sporting a winter goatee he’s been working on for a couple weeks), my sister-in-law and me. We all piled into a Ford Explorer and headed out to the Missouri countryside. A variety of traditions were represented in the SUV that morning. My brother and I grew up with fake trees—our first Christmas tree our parents bought at Sears and Roebuck. It was the kind with plastic sheaths that slipped down over a metal pole and hard plastic branches that plugged into the sheaths. Three hours, seven cups of coffee and two domestic dispute calls later, it was assembled. One New Year’s Day, in the int

Today I bought a minivan. The Jetta was becoming more and more unreliable, even a little scary to drive, and it didn't fit more than two kids comfortably. As schooling approaches like a tidal wave (they grow SO fast), it was time to upgrade to something larger as I begin the routine of carpooling and soccer games. Brian and I had planned to get something bigger this spring/summer, so it seemed somewhat normal to do this, but not really. It felt HUGE to not have him by my side, for us to do our normal deliberation for hours over the right color, the right style, the right whatever. (We creative types have a tendency to be seriously high maintenance.) But in all honesty, it doesn't feel right to go back to who I was before Brian went home. I found myself feeling safe in God's arms as I prayed for the right vehicle to become available. Peter and Melanie joined me in the search and proved to be my dear sister and brother. Yes, we all teared up thinking of Brian drivin

I asked M today what he wanted to be when he grew up. Expecting "fireman" or "policeman" or "soccer player," he replied, "We'll see whatever God makes me." Later in the day, he decided that being a fireman was what God wanted to make him.