The Royalty Review

Spare room specialty

2012-01-21T15:01:00.000-05:00

It all started with the cleaning out of the spare room.

Try to sell that line to some publisher for a real cliff hanger beginning…….. (snicker, snicker…)

But it’s true, that is where it all started.

And pile after pile of loose papers and cards and letters that had fallen out of a plastic storage tub, compliments of one of the Royalty littles.

I almost halted our “Operation gut the spare room” when I saw handwriting I hadn’t seen for a long time.

That of friends, family, even notes from a special friend of mine who used to call me “Deen” when we first were getting to know one another.

BUT, because my sweetheart ‘s love language is “Acts of Service,” we pressed through the mess. Even as I type I chuckle at God’s goodness to me. After all, how can we go through one day and not clean and teach and make dinner and such. So without even thinking about it somedays I am filling a tank of love.

And when the last crumb was swept I indulged in my shoebox of memories.

I went through each piece of paper and some I kept, some I did not, and the ones I kept went into something my Father-in-law taught me about.

He calls it his “Encouragement File.” Well my file is a shoebox, but its purpose is the same: To lift you soul and spirit when you are low.

With some letters I laughed.

With some I cried.

With some I literally held them as if they were the deed to a million dollars.

And to me, they are.

One in particular was from a friend. An old friend who I haven’t spoken to in over 12 years. Probably since my wedding she was a part of.

She and I traveled in a singing Ensemble together and knew each other’s foibles and shortcomings like the back of our hands.

I loved being with her because she was so easy, so free and you could be yourself. I don’t have too many friends like that today and had even less of them then.

For my 30^th birthday almost five years ago now, Joel did something for me that still reaches my heart.

He wrote to more than thirty people that my life had crossed paths with, sent them a family picture and asked them to send me a card or note telling me a memory that we shared.

I wept at the surprise birthday party held for me that year, my first one ever, on my Golden Birthday, when he handed me the basket of these memories.

And again I held one of them in my hand reading and re-reading it just because it is so precious to me.

My long-ago-friend mentioned things we did and things she remembers most about me, saying that she loved to hear me talk about something I felt passionate about because of how I would use such expression to talk about it, and some other things that probably would mean nothing to anyone but us.

Then there was a paragraph that today came back to me.

She said that in all of our traversing state after state, in all of our imagining what our lives would be like, she said that she so remembers how I told her that more than anything I will want my children to know that I love them, and I will tell them often.

And I sit in bed typing this and smiling at the beautiful morning sun lighting up my bed. Yes I am in bed, with my nightgown still on, surrounded by my Bible, notebook and Bible study book.

When the day began I felt little arms and legs crawl into my bed on Joel’s side and attempt to cover themselves up. She drifted off the sleep with me and we enjoyed just being together.

The older kids laughed outside the bedroom door playing and chatting way past time for breakfast.

But we here on Humphrey don’t mind.

Some mornings are for lying in bed, or laughing with your brothers and sisters.

I glance at the clock and my little bundle half covered and think to myself how very much I love this sweet little girl, my last little to cuddle in the morning like this…..and I forget the clock and bagels are easy to fix, and decide to wrap her up and hug her while she sleeps.

And I slip down for a bagel and tea and big brother says he would like to take over so I can go have my devotions, and he has already had his and showered and I smile.

And I creep into bed and life could not be sweeter with tea and my Bible and my little babe of two.

And as I stroke her hair and she smiles with eyes closed I remember the words from a letter from an old friend who I could be myself with.

“I wuv you Mama.” She says.

I feel her cheek and feel the love of an amazing God and whisper back, “I love you too, so much, and you are safe and I will take care of you.”

She nods as if she understands and I thank God for a perfectly wonderful very very late morning.

More like the Master.....

2012-01-17T14:31:00.000-05:00

Life is just so…..daily.

It begins.

A fight with the old.

Nothing new here.

And the older kids get their school work done and I try to distinguish between a “P” sound and “B” sound to third son and tutor second daughter while she attempts another letter “M.”

And I sigh.

And kids come to play from down the street and I lose my temper while snowballs fly and catch myself telling them that for goodness sake if they cannot find something productive to do the neighbors are going to have to go home. And with a turn of the heel I am inside stoking the fire and feeling bad that I will be the bad Mom on the block from now until eternity.

And we run out of diapers and she should be beginning potty training but diapers are easier.

Sorta.

And I feel it coming on.

Again?

Again.

And I am nervous and anxious and beyond tired today.

And one cries because the “M” is not happening and I am ready for the rapture to start happening and I see one of the kids devotional books and read the word “Maranatha.”

“Christ is coming.”

And for a minute I breathe and feel solid and overjoyed at the thought.

My life is all about His work. His coming.

And I fold laundry.

Joel knows me.

He sends me upstairs to rest until we leave to take the kids to AWANA and grab a short coffee date.

We head to AWANA and I am short in the van and feel too sick and anxious for coffee and can I just go home because I am a mess and leaving mess every where I go.

The kids are in bed and I am on the couch and Joel brings me my contact case and offers to make me tea for the sore throat that makes me scrunch up my nose while scanning my email.

I mumble something about any kind that doesn’t have caffeine and he brings me a cup of steaming peppermint with a broken candy cane sticking out of it.

And I melt along with the candy.

And I crouch by the fire in the otherwise dark kitchen.

Everything still including me.

Finally.

And I remember.

I remember something I read this morning about Amy Carmichael from the book, “The Promise” by Robert J. Morgan.

Amy took some children to see a goldsmith refine gold.

“He was sitting by a charcoal fire and had made a small crucible from two roofing tiles. Into the crucible he placed a gold nugget surrounded by salt, tamarind fruit, and burned brick dust. Every now and then he would take it out, let the gold cool a little, rub it between his fingers, then place it back in the flame and blow the fire hotter than before.

It could not bear it so hot at first, but it can bear it now,” he explained to her children.

Finally Amy asked, “How will you know when the gold is purified?”

The refiner answered, “When I can see my face in it, it is pure.”

And I watch the logs burn and the words burn in my heart.

The aches, the discomforts of life are purifying me.

And it will come and I will be in the fire and He will take me out and let me rest for a while.

Before heating me again.

And again.

Each time knowing what I can and cannot handle.

And he will do this until He sees His face.

Until He sees His image reflected in me.

To the neighbors.

To my homeschoolers.

To my Husband.

Tonight I love Mono.

I love it because it is making me into the image of Christ.

The inevitable Un-date

2012-01-09T19:38:00.001-05:00

You know how you see those silly infomercials and think to yourself, “Now why didn’t I think of that and market it and make millions?”

I have.

But then again, who wants to have their face attached to “The Perfect Omelet” maker for decades?

C’mon, think with me..

Thigh master.

It inevitably evokes an overly friendly blonde, Susan Sommers to be precise and possibly even one or two flashbacks from a really bad “Three’s Company” episode.

Then again, were there any good ones?

I digress.

Anywho I have something that I think I came up with.

I haven’t a good way to market it so here on the ole blog is about as close to fame as I will get.

It’s the undate.

No that’s no typo. It’s called the “Un-date.”

And if you have been married for more than a year than you have most likely had one.

And tonight as I type I am headed out to one myself.

The smell of aftershave mingled with perfume he picked out just for you fills the car, and visions of Mexican dance in your head but alas! You know what is coming.

Now on average I am a pretty happy go lucky person.

After noonish.

But about sixish I become a realist.

And it is the realist in me that reminds me that it has been tooo long since our last time out, for even five minutes alone.

This added too many diaper changes and hamburger helpers to count spells out u-n-d-a-t-e.

It looks like a date. It smells like a date.

But it’s not.

It is a fancy family debriefing.

Usually with a lot of sighs and small cafuffles.

It is the result of human pressure and love tanks running on empty.

Now, before you boo hoo me, I love being out with my husband anytime anywhere.

I love talking with him, laughing with him, and most of all praying with him.

I just do not cherish the long talks over bills and home school dilemmas, which undoubtedly have to be talked about, figured out, and the all around home plan brushed up.

So tonight as we undate we know that we will leave happier and lighter…..

And ready for a real deal “date” in another week or so.

But we must unload, d-stress, and mottle thru tonight.

Over delish Mexican.

Adios friends.

A wonderful Morning Mix

2012-01-03T14:15:00.006-05:00

An old friend came to see me a while back. And I mean old not in the sense of years old, but years weathered with me. She left her navy zip up hooded sweater and I um, have been borrowing it ever since.

I know I know, I should give it back.

But I tell myself that when she returns my copy of “Fireproof” I will.

Not really.

I secretly want to keep it until it is threadbare because each time I put it on, usually during long and difficult mornings, I see it as a wonderful hug from her.

Am I the only person who would refuse to send a sweater back because it acted as a hug?

Surely not………. Right?

Anyway, I am up at six with the latest of the stomach flu recipients.

Who just happens to be my husband, poor thing. Who is supposed to be heading out the door to work.

He has called in sick and I am making him as comfortable as I can and I unplug the Christmas tree who’s lights were twinkling in his scrunched up face.

And I leave to the kitchen and decide that I am amazingly awake and might as well make the kids some baked oatmeal because my Inner Martha Stewart does appear sometimes.

VERY RARELY.

I mix and catch amazing glimpses of snow flakes and cars roll past and I decide this would be a good morning for some time with the Lord.

I head upstairs to grab my blue zip up…. Well, almost mine… and wanting to keep everything dark for my husband, I grab a small little taper candle and holder that I was using as decoration.

This will be fun! Devos by candlelight? Perfect.

I love how God works.

When I ran upstairs to grab the sweater and Bible, the Lord reminded me of the Bible study two friends and I purchased a few weeks back.

So I grabbed it too and thought, yes, this would be a great time to start this!

And as only the Lord could orchestrate it, the first part of the book is regarding the authors account of the Lord meeting with her one bright morning. I read and take breaks to smooth the hair of my husband when he tosses and turns with my cold hand on a very warm forehead.

The little candle next to my book and Bible is such a cheery little thing and I wonder why I haven’t done this sooner. I will have to remind Joel to be sure to catch another stomach virus again soon.

I jest.

And I read and sigh and steal sips of hot tea and wonder that God would wake me to spend time with Him.

Really?

Me?

And he knows that the kids nustled in their beds warm and snuggly and hot tea and the sun barely rising mixes up to make a time with Him more wonderful than Christmas morning to a two year old.

And He is so right.

He knows I would have just retrieved the beloved blue sweater from cleaning the girls room the day before after it being awol for weeks on my wall in my bedroom.

He knows I have a thing about seeing the sunrise, though not sleeping well does not afford me the luxury of enjoying them often.

He knows that I have almost a cup exactly of applesauce and that I learned somewhere that you can substitute it for oil in a recipe and brings all of this back to mind as I mix and stir and try to make baked oatmeal for six hungry bellies. He also reminds me of that forgotten bag of mixed berries in the pantry to add just because He is all about the details.

How do I not fall in love with Him over and over and over again.

And I read some more and cool a forehead some more and stop and see that the sun has just come up.

And I do mean just.

I slip into the livingroom and sit on the window seat indian style and enjoy it.

And I do enjoy it and the Lord reveals some things to me from what I have just read and He even shows me that the Christmas tree by the window was so bright, that if I had left it plugged in, I would have missed the beauty of the sunrise with Him.

Hmmmm

So today I will enjoy.

I will leave the tree unplugged perhaps.

I will see God’s goodness in baked oatmeal with pure maple syrup running over it and over chins and over tables and chairs perhaps.

I will pray over a husband sick and use this time to see how many ways we can bless his socks off today. Not literally of course because his feet are freezing if I do say so….

I will fold laundry in my blue sweater, which you all will pinky swear that you will not tell my friend I still have, and will feel hugged all day.

I will enjoy being snowed in and will ask God to show me something else miraculous from the pantry to fill 6 bellies for lunch and dinner…. He seems to be handy in that department.

I will read some more and pray over dishes and cool a forehead and in everything I will give thanks to Him who loved me enough to wake me to see the sunrise with Him.

And fall in love with Him all over again.

What are you doing today, friend?

Midnight Middle Mamas

2011-12-22T14:58:00.001-05:00

It’s late and you turn in to a cold bed and fresh magazines.

You wonder why on earth you read more ways to burn fat when the fat you have has gone into hibernation for the long Winter.

And just when you had everything chronicled in your veggie tray in your fridge to plan to shed more pounds by adapting the new improved meals in the magazine you hear it.

“Mom? You come lay with me and talk wiff me?”

And you wonder how on earth a two year old can understand the verse in Judges 8:4 that reads, “FAINT YET PURSUING.”

And you are tired and angry that you snuck a bite or two or three hundred of chocolate cake and something about their sweet asking makes you want to give THEM all the cake their little belly can hold.

So before you can clip another recipe there they are, between you and Dad and try as you might, they want YOU in the middle and not them.

You ask them to shut the door so the light doesn’t shine on your face. They do and then two beady eyes are searching and asking please for the door so they can “see you.”

And on cue the wind catches the door and cracks it and two eyes smile like you had something to do with it opening and lie there satisfied.

For the time being.

One hand under your vanishing pillow is now asleep and so is Daddy and you get excited that you found a good place for your feet that are at this present time touching nobody. One small perk of this squishy situation.

And one snores softly and one whispers to themselves and you smile as you find that you are once again in the middle.

Men’s cologne greets you on the left and Johnsons and Johnsons on the right.

Life is so much about the middle.

You live day in and day out eating middles of sandwiches abandoned, you are in the middle of arguments, settling, praying. You even have the middle of the couch during devotions so the other kids can dangle some part of them off the arms while listening to Dad read.

There are middles of messes to clean when the culprit is hiding somewhere, middles of checkbooks when some has come and some has gone and middles of menus when you thought you had two more cans of tomato soup in the pantry for Wednesday night’s dinner.

And though we fight for the ends, somehow we always gravitate back to the middle.

And as I lie there listening to one steady heartbeat and one fast I think that the middle is not such a bad place to be.

Sure your nightgown will always be twisted and you’ll know to be on guard for feet sliding up, up and up to your face, and you’ll master the art of brushing baby hair off of your cheek with one finger,

But the middle is a good place.

It’s a good place to think and recharge and be thankful for being smothered by ones who love and need you to be, well , in the middle.

And the wind howls and Daddy coughs and the little asks what that was and you tell them it was Daddy and they proceed to touch your neck just to make sure you haven’t moved too far away.

You smile.

As if there was somewhere to move to.

And the chubby fingers move to your cheek for a squeeze and a pat and then to your closed eyelid for a poke or two, or three or four,

And then you move their hand off of your face to their side and shush them again.

And it’s the middle of the night and you slip out of two sleeping beauties to sneak downstairs with a pillow in hand.

It is cold and yours and that makes you happy.

You put another log on the fire and make a cocoon on the couch to blog for a few

About being in the middle.

And as the keys start to fly you hear it

The patter of feet down the stairs

And you walk upstairs to be the middle Mama again.

Which isn’t such a bad place to be

After all.

7 adorable reasons to be jolly this year.....

2011-12-21T15:01:00.009-05:00

Isaac

Abigail

Our little one spending this Christmas in Heaven...

Caleb

Nathan

Anna Lee

And Alayna

The show must go on........

2011-12-17T13:13:00.006-05:00

At a craft show..

My ONLY craft show of the year.

Displaying Chai Tea and Pumpkin Butter and enjoying my sweet husband as he tells passerbys that it is "Deee-licious" and that we eat a gallon of it at home.

Love that man.

And I sit and knit scrubbies and he leaves and I begin to unwrap the life of the woman next to me. She knits a rug while I knit green toole and try not to eat all the key lime hard tack that Joel bought me with his own 5o cents.

Love that man.

And she is sweet and her curls brush her face with a comfortable style. Not too prim, not too lax, just right for conversation that flows and we giggle over needles and things we love to do and how crafting has kept us from snacking at night.

I don't stay surface long.

I always go deep, fast.

Sometimes too fast. :-)

And before I know it I am telling her how much I love prunes and "The Nativity Story" movie.

See what I mean? :-)

And vendors are making hats while I make a scrubbie, yet they think my mound of toile is more impressive and I laugh inside that they are amazing and I am just single crocheting but do you think I will let them know that???? They are making hats for Pete's sake........ I nod to them as they look on in wonder and half yawn out of pretend exhaustion.......

And I watch people come by and worry that I will NOT be able to give them correct change, and why on earth did Joel leave and why didn't I think to bring the calculator instead of the heap of prunes, and I await the kids and darling husband to rush in and make me look like Mother of the year to these folks.

And they DO rush in, all smiles, coats flying every which way and squeals of delight emminate as each child in order of age figures out that the gracious Lord has positioned Mom's table RIGHT NEXT to the two sweet ladies who make the chocolate treats.

That are not only close but in easily accessible bins and apparently screaming to the kids, only it's like the dog whistle kinda thing and only they can hear it and it will not stop.

Isaac slips behind the table and morphs into the slickest salesman you have ever seen. He must have inherited that from his Father.

He grabs a neck wrap and while he is OOOing and Ahhhing to the lady walking past, he motions to me to go and enjoy looking around. "I got this." he boasts with a wide cheshire grin.

And "got it" he did. He is changing money before I can even figure out how many chocolate pops Alayna has run off with.

The kids scatter like gumballs on a hard floor, mingling, munging (a Grandpa Poor word for touching without permission.....) and manhandling snowmen and wooden toys.

I begin the round-up and before I do I hang up my newly aquired "Mom of the Year" sash on an elementary folding chair.

One of the vendors, a sweet Christian lady makes me an offer while Anna is munging in her direction.... "If you want I will exchange you snowmen for Pumpkin Butter." Hmmmmmm a match made in heaven! So I came home with three adorable large bulky cheery snowman, plus three minis for the girls and one lady will be eating a lot of butter this Winter.

Probably won't get that offer again. Or at least until she finishes eating it all.....

And I am glad she is a Christian because it takes some serious fruit of the Spirit to have patience with Alayna who EXCHANGES her snowman for a NEW SNOWMAN every few minutes from the lady's pile.

After she has slobbered on them kissing them to death.

And the day goes on, and I meet people who tell me their stories, and a local couple we have met come to our table and one of them in talking to me laughs a " showing her teeth smile" and I haven't gotten her to budge in over a year, and I am feeling kinda pert about that and amazed how many people love Pumpkin Butter.

And it is all in a days work.

And I pack my things with a lot less butter in boxes.

And a lot more chocolate in bellies, and hard tack, and no prunes.

And we file out in a clump loud and strong, and laugh our way to the van,

And await next year.

And I am not sure if a craft show is supposed to be such an experience because this is all I know.

All I know is my loud, mischevious family full of chocolate grins, slobbery snowmen and best selling boys.

And I am tired and happy and Hubby offers to take me out to dinner and goes to hug me and I stop him with a grimace and a "I am sweaty from trying to figure out change!" and he laughs, and laughs, and laughs and just keeps on laughing........

And I laugh too.

Missing It.....

2011-11-28T19:47:00.002-05:00

Come spend time with me, a little voice said to me.

And I WANTED to.

It had been a while since we spent time just us, together.

But the day was just beginning and I was busy.

Yet I thought and thought and thought about that voice.

I said to myself, “Well he knows my heart.”

And yet I still thought and thought and felt just awful.

How could I just turn away from him?

The sun was bright on my face and it would have been the perfect time,

If it were not for ME complaining that it was not the right time for ME.

And then I thought, what if he stops asking?

What if he grows tired of me putting him off with a thousand “laters?”

Or “tomorrow, I promise,” or “how about we talk while I do the dishes or fold laundry?”

After all something is better than nothing, I reasoned, though I would never accept that kind of “quality time” from Joel in place of us being alone and spending time together.

But I would accept that with him.

Should I have told him I loved him when he asked me to spend time with him?

Would he have believed me by my actions and not just my words?

Hmmmmm….

And I knew I had blown it, like eating brownies after the kids have gone to bed, blown it.

Why?

Because my flesh is weak. It has been allowed to feast without restraint. It is lazy and hence I am lazy.

And another little voice, this one different comes now and sweetly asks me if she can have breakfast.

Now, instead of getting out of bed when I was sweetly asked by my Lord, who wanted to spend the quiet of the day with just me alone, I roll out to feed my littles.

And I will feed them, but how much more could I feed them of that food that will last after yet another bowl of oatmeal has gone.

Sigh.

And I pour oatmeal and sigh, and begin another day, knowing I had missed out on something sweet.

Because I was lazy.

And I am not saying that if you miss your appointment with the Lord in the wee hours of the morning you are sinning.

I AM saying that when He calls and you put him off, you are missing it.

Missing what is really important.

More important than your sewing project, your one hour of good morning sleep, your book, or and early dinner.

I know that the Lord is grieved when we do not spend time with him, just you and him.

He IS jealous over us with a godly jealousy.

And I think of Joel eating out with his friends and how long it has been since we have gone anywhere alone.

Just us enjoying being together.

I miss him.

Do I miss the Lord?

Do I treat him like a friend who left us a message wanting to “catch up” and we put off that phone call, not because we do not like the friend, but there is JUST SO MUCH to do and SO MUCH catching up to do.

It is easier to just try to see if it will magically go away?

Hmmmm…

And I wash oatmeal bowls, and I make shopping lists,

And I am sorry.

And I say, “Lord, I am yours. I am your servant. You bought me. YOU lifted my feet out of the miry clay. YOU know my dowsitting my uprising, and you alone understand my thought afar off. Meet again with me today. I love you. I love you more than anything and more than anyone.”

And the sun hits my Bible just so on the chair in the living room and I know I need to get some of that “living water” and pile some littles on my lap….

Do you have a date with God friends?

Grape jam hilariousness....

2011-11-14T19:46:00.000-05:00

I am a fan of jam.

Always have been, always have been.

Jam and bread of some kind or fashion deserve each other.

Like Barak and Michele……only in a good way.

Nothing says, “Hello Day,” like toast with jam and tea.

I know, I’m not even English.

And I like jam so much that I have come to cringe and such expressions as, “Boy I am really in a jam,” and it is “Jam packed.”

However being in jam does sound lovely and sometimes you would think that my two year old swam in it after our ritual lunch of pbj.

And my jam jars are pretty packed so as to not waste jam or space for that matter.

I have not been offended by the phrase, “You got yourself in a real pickle,” YET, though the more I enjoy the bread and butter ones we canned a few months ago, I am getting a little unfond of it.

And red squiggle I personally think that “unfond” should be a word.

Yeah, it’s been a while since I have gotten out of the house, but stick with me and you’ll get a good laugh somewhere in here I promise!

So with all these things in mind, we fast forward to family devotions.

Good times.

The kids gathered round Joel and I, Joel going through the Old Testament, reading names like, “Dodo” and “Puah . “

Uh, yeah that’s in there….. go see for yourself.

And I am supposed to listen with the clan and NOT laugh.

Seriously?

So….. on we go through Judges and we land on Sampson tonight.

And just as my tired mind was beginning to wander off to my shopping list…… hey at least I am truthful!

My ear caught something about the regulations put before Sampson’s Mom and Dad.

Apparently at our house Sampson was not to eat any fruit of the vine.

And that might possibly be the way the story goes at YOUR house with YOUR kids, but wait! There’s more….

Dear husband who worked an 11 hour shift is getting weary and as he describes to the wee ones what the “fruit of the vine” entails he slips something in there that erupted spontaneous internal laughs from someone who will remain anonymous who just may be typing this….

He said, “The fruit of the vine was grape juice, wine and…… grape jelly.”

Ok even now I just die laughing………..

My eyebrows raised, my dimples shone and the giggles were as stifled as they can possibly be.

GRAPE JELLY??

Poor Sampson.

Whatever did his Mom pack in his school lunches anyhow???

No wonder he rebelled and gave away his secrets…… I mean a man can only go so long with out a crustless pbj with crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly.

And the even funnier thing is that the kids actually looked like they felt sorry for him, as if he had to abide by rules that they themselves could never follow…. LOL

And I will say that the grape jelly touch added such twenty first century-ness to the Old Testament.

And we prayed and brushed teeth and sent the troops to bed and I turned to sweet exhausted hubby and smiled,

“Grape jelly, huh?”

And he gave me the, don’t even go there smile and we all turned in for the night.

But you can be sure that Hubby’s lunch will NOT contain something tomorrow.

Yep. Grape jelly.

Instead there will be a note telling him that today we will abide by Sampson’s nazarite vow.

Today there will be no grape jelly, no grape juice and certainly no grape wine.

Today there will be strawberry jam.

Buttered Noodles and Barely Friends

2011-11-10T11:46:00.000-05:00

Buttered noodles late into the night here in Humphrey.

And there is just something about butter.

And noodles.

Butter loosens everything up and makes it so much more appetizing.

I am sure you have heard the analogy about a woman’s brain being like a plate of noodles?

Or one looooong noodle actually.

One long noodle beginning at birth and carrying all the happiness and worries and blessings and scars from life as we have lived it, weaving everything into present day so you can be making buttered noodles at 10 on a Monday night and be able to still recall moments from your childhood before the butter melts.

Amazing really.

Though we try, we do not categorize things. We just meld everything together into our noodle of living.

Good and bad sit together on our plate of heaping pasta called our memory.

Recently I read someone’s blog who quite poetically spoke about not closing the door to friendship.

We have all been there.

Time and distance or past hurt have separated you for some reason or another and you are a hair’s breadth away from not only closing the door, but duck tapping and pad locking it shut.

For keeps.

Some friendships surprise you.

The door grows cobwebs, the hinges are just about rusted through and you have given up hope. You don’t say much about it or do much about it, you kindov ease away from it and prepare to forget it.

And then it happens. Just a note in passing, just four words, just a lifetime of memories and good times that come flooding back in moments buttering everything and loosening up what was tight and awkward.

“Just thinkin’ about you.”

And a sweet breeze catches the cobwebs and wide the door to your friendship swings and your heart soars with new hope.

I have been the one to send the note, and I have been the one to receive it.

I have been blessed to push the door open and blessed when it swings of its own accord.

Where are you with a friend?

Tonight I was a recipient of one of those notes. Unexpected.

From my sister.

I am the third in a string of girls. One smart, one distant and one loud.

I will leave you to choose which one I was and still am.

And it seemed like we were always our own forces, my sister and I.

Never headed in the same direction, never meeting in the middle, never understanding the other or what was happening in their life.

So we ran silent.

My heart begged for her acceptance. Years passed and many tears and pleas and “why don’t you like me’s” finally turned into, “have it your way.”

And I could have cared less about the door to our friendship.

It was in the cellar of an old house and an old life.

I was grown up now and needed to find my own way without her.

And more years would go by and I would find myself remembering her birthday and her favorite candy and wanted to reach out but almost forgot how.

Perhaps the past just bled too far into the future to try to remedy things. Let the sleeping dog lie.

Yet I always still wanted her to love me.

I wanted her to like who I had become.

Still more years would pass before I would even try to find the doorknob.

And then I became so brokenhearted. I remembered that our years are so fleeting, so brief, soon gone. I didn’t want something to happen to her or I and she not know that deep down, though hidden, I loved her.

I liked her.

So I would tell her here and there.

Family gatherings and such.

I stared sitting closer, listening more and talking less, until one day before she was to go in for surgery, I went to see her just to pray over her. Pray with her, face to face.

And I left her and wept on the long drive home.

Because I love her.

Because I missed her.

Because she is my sister, my own flesh and blood friend and no matter where a door is hidden it can never be removed. Though closed there will always be a crack of light reminding me that it is still there if I would take the time to open it.

And then tonight, unexpected, swinging the door open for me to see was a note.

She loves me.

And it fell on me like water to a thirsty soul.

And it filled cracks that I forgot that I had.

And I wrote her back…..

Telling her that I love her too.

There is little as sweet as renewing an old friendship.

Find a door.

Send a note.

Today.

Christmas in October?

2011-10-22T12:52:00.001-04:00

It is late. Very late here in Humphrey.

And sweet husband and littles are sleeping unaware of the many thoughts keeping me up at such and hour of the night….. er morning.

Tonight I decided to wind down by watching a movie. I am not even sure how we acquired it to tell you the truth, but it was brought in from the garage and I thought I’d dust the jacket off and give it a whirl while I wound down tonight.

It was “The Nativity Story”

I flipped through the opening credits with my usual, “trying to recreate Bible stories” cynicism and thought I would stick in out a half hour and then turn it off.

It seems lately I am pleasantly surprised.

Now if you know me I love history and especially delight in getting a peek into life, home life of any era far removed from my own and if you REALLY know me, than you know that I would scrap my Kitchen Aid and front loader for a mortar and pestle and threshing my own wheat.

I know, but that is me.

I guess I am a purest???

I digress….

When not caught up in the goat’s milk cheese making and olive harvesting, I began to await the moment when the angel appeared to Mary.

I figured that it would go right along with the cheese making….

Cheesy….

And to my amazement the angel had short hair and wasn’t strung up by tight rope wire.

And from that moment on I was hooked into the story.

And silly as it was, I secretly wanted Mary to stay with her Cousin Elizabeth.

I knew that it would be hard for Mary, no one would understand and Joseph…. Whew what would he say and worse yet, what kind of a look would her parents give her?????

And crazy as it is, and knowing the end of the story as I do, I still felt this way and squirmed in my bed watching it unfold.

And then it hits me.

Mary.

MARY. A woman chosen by God and practically forgotten by us.

And by “us” I mean, “anyone not professing themselves to be Catholic.”

And in leaning so far away from worshiping her, we have plum forgotten her and all that she endured to bring to pass God’s greatest gift to man.

And I felt sorry for her.

I felt sorry that I had forgotten.

And then the tears began to fall with each taunting look or mention of the law and what it required for such a woman in such a position.

And in my forgetfulness of the story I watch and in my mind beg God to somehow spare her.

And Joseph receives confirmation and my heart can begin beating again.

I roll over forgetting the late hour and losing myself in this incredible journey.

The look in his eyes for a woman not even touched by him just melts me.

And they journey over 100 miles in her last stages of expectancy.

And I am on the edge of my bed and my one arm keeps falling asleep and I keep getting closer and closer to the computer screen half afraid I will miss something and half not wanting to wake my sweet husband oblivious to my late hour supposed “winding down.”

I see the Magi meet with Harrod…… my stomach knots. HE WILL GET HIM. He will get Jesus, I just know it. Why on earth did they give him such information, I fume!

And Jesus is born and shepherds hear a message and come and see him and I just want them all to leave her alone so I can just stare at this scene for a while.

And there it is. The Christmas card scene in full splendor.

Wasn’t it just today (now YESTERDAY) that I was looking at prospective Christmas card ideas? Liking some and wanting to get a move on so as to send them out EARLY this year and shock everyone? Wasn’t I just bemoaning the fact that the really nice ones just cost so much and we have too many friends and not enough stamps and I will just have to save for better ones at a later time?

And there it was right in front of me, and I felt shameful that I tried to put a price tag on God becoming flesh for all mankind.

(and yes I wrote that fast but then stopped and read it again still unable to wrap my little brain around that…)

And there are no crazy renditions of “Mary did you know?” thankfully.

There are just shepherds and magi and all of them looking at this baby like I am and the lot of us are all tearing up.

And my heart is caught in my throat and I knew I should have left the box of Kleenex upstairs and I wipe my nose on my sleeve like I do when something really moves me and I loose all sense of lady-like-ness.

And almost to my shock, the Magi decided not to tell Harrod, and the angel moves Joseph to move his family away and all is well.

And it ends and I am half relieved and half wanting a movie for everyday of Christ’s life to just watch and glean from .

And it hits me that I have 6 sleeping littles that need to hear this story.

Not the Christmas story book, not a cute poem from their English books, and not from someone else’s Christmas card who was too cheap to buy the good ones and send them to us.

They need to hear it, in their hearts, feel it, grab onto it and never let it go.

That God left heaven for them and became flesh for them and died for them and ever lives to intercede for them.

They need to weep and see how hard it was for Mary and how Joseph trusted and how God protected and how wise men believed and were moved and how shepherds rejoiced….

Because someone had come to save them.

Because someone has come to save my littles.

And I cannot hardly wait on the sunrise to meet them and tell them, and cry and hug them and give them the same, “it is almost like He JUST came” feeling that I have right now at two in the morning, under the stars on the couch.

It is more than a story.

It is our story.

It’s personal.

And it breathes hope into my weary soul on a Saturday morning in October.

Good morning friends.

Sweetness!

2011-10-19T12:05:00.001-04:00

Tonight we had a date.

Joel and I.

A sweet lady in our church, our neighbor, offered to take the kids for the day.

THE DAY.

And we decided to send them to her after lunch.

Joel was away since breakfast getting trained for a part time job and he called to ask me to meet him in town for and early dinner date.

I thought about it all day.

Meeting him.

And when I sent the kids to our neighbors and prepared to go to town early to do all my weekly grocery shopping before meeting Joel, something happened.

A something I was not expecting.

A something I was pleasantly surprised to find.

It was butterflies.

Yep. Butterflies.

In my stomach that is.

And instead of leaving the minute the last cute little toddler shoe crossed the threshold, I stayed and spent way too much time on my hair and makeup.

I sewed the tear in my favorite shirt and scrapped the tennis shoes for my favorite brown Clarks.

I.was.nervous.

Like, first date wonderfully excitedly nervous.

To meet my husband…….of 12 years.

TWELVE YEARS.

I laughed at myself trying to pick out the cutest dangly earrings I had.

Four fifteen.

He was to be done with training and meet me at Walmart at four fifteen.

Yes, Walmart

I mean does it get any more romantic than that?

Well it WAS a SUPER Walmart.

But the wonderful thing is that it COULD have been the front of Maggiannos in Chicago for the anticipation I had.

I sat in my jumbo van and stole looks for him out my dented car door window.

I played with my keys, searched for something on the radio, turned the van on and off checking the time in two minute increments all the while half laughing at the knot in my stomach.

And then he drove in.

Big smile.

He didn’t see me. He drove a bit and would you believe I was half too nervous to even get out of the van?

I gave him five minutes and then decided to go and see where he went to look for me.

I was parked on the side and as I came around the front there he was.

Big smile from me,

Big smile from him.

And then I saw it.

In his face.

He felt the same way I did!

He pulled me close and we walked hip to hip back to the van because walking side by side isn’t close enough, mumbling something about which vehicle had the most gas in it to take and where do you want to eat, half laughing at ourselves and you look lovely and nervous grins.

We got in the van still smiling like we were running off on our honeymoon and decided on a restaurant.

He ran to open my door and my mind kept telling me, “twelve years???? Already?”

We asked for a booth with a view.

Our waitress commented that we snuck out without the kids. We were amazed that she remembered us from a store we frequent. She was a cashier there.

She left to bring get us our water and we sighed.

Even she was tickled that we were out together.

And she smiled when she came to take our order and noticed that we had decided to sit together in the booth instead of across from one another.

I leaned into him, and just as I was enjoying my wonderful twelve years of living, he said it.

“I’m glad I married you.”

I smiled.

He had been thinking the same thing I had all afternoon.

How we had been married twelve years.

Twelve years of fights, misunderstandings, of knowing the other better each year, of first borns, tight spaces, hope deferred, and financial mishaps.

Twelve years of bad haircuts, car accidents, feast and famine, dinner flops and discipline dilemmas.

Twelve years of “I’m sorry’s, you shouldn’t have, I thought you knew that, why didn’t you , you’d better! And too many sighs to count.

Twelve years of pursed lips in rebellion, exploding diapers, no clean whites, forgetting special days, yelling at each other for being sick too long or cutting themselves, or burning themselves or forgetting a coat, a hat, proper shoes or gloves.

Twelve years.

And an unexpected date……

And butterflies.

Still.

We share dessert and fight over trying to give the last bite to the other for them to savor.

“I’m glad you married me too.”

And I persuade him to enjoy the last bite,

And I savor this moment.

The last twelve years of last bites of dessert that are my life.

O taste and see that the Lord IS GOOD.

And we head to the van, hip to hip to go home and gather our little band of blessings.

Picture Post

2011-10-12T15:19:00.010-04:00

Things I love:

Laughing....... A LOT!

Being able to capture sweetness for years to come.....

Spending time apart to remember all the reasons we still say, "I do."

Coming together as a family.

Missing It......

2011-10-12T15:01:00.000-04:00

Come spend time with me, a little voice said to me.

And I WANTED to.

It had been a while since we spent time just us, together.

But the day was just beginning and I was busy.

Yet I thought and thought and thought about that voice.

I said to myself, “Well he knows my heart.”

And yet I still thought and thought and felt just awful.

How could I just turn away from him?

The sun was bright on my face and it would have been the perfect time,

If it were not for ME complaining that it was not the right time for ME.

And then I thought, what if he stops asking?

What if he grows tired of me putting him off with a thousand “laters?”

Or “tomorrow, I promise,” or “how about we talk while I do the dishes or fold laundry?”

After all something is better than nothing, I reasoned, though I would never accept that kind of “quality time” from Joel in place of us being alone and spending time together.

But I would accept that with him.

Should I have told him I loved him when he asked me to spend time with him?

Would he have believed me by my actions and not just my words?

Hmmmmm….

And I knew I had blown it, like eating brownies after the kids have gone to bed, blown it.

Why?

Because my flesh is weak. It has been allowed to feast without restraint. It is lazy and hence I am lazy.

And another little voice, this one different comes now and sweetly asks me if she can have breakfast.

Now, instead of getting out of bed when I was sweetly asked by my Lord, who wanted to spend the quiet of the day with just me alone, I roll out to feed my littles.

And I will feed them, but how much more could I feed them of that food that will last after yet another bowl of oatmeal has gone.

Sigh.

And I pour oatmeal and sigh, and begin another day, knowing I had missed out on something sweet.

Because I was lazy.

And I am not saying that if you miss your appointment with the Lord in the wee hours of the morning you are sinning.

I AM saying that when He calls and you put him off, you are missing it.

Missing what is really important.

More important than your sewing project, your one hour of good morning sleep, your book, or and early dinner.

I know that the Lord is grieved when we do not spend time with him, just you and him.

He IS jealous over us with a godly jealousy.

And I think of Joel eating out with his friends and how long it has been since we have gone anywhere alone.

Just us enjoying being together.

I miss him.

Do I miss the Lord?

It is easier to just try to see if it will magically go away?

Hmmmm…

And I wash oatmeal bowls, and I make shopping lists,

And I am sorry.

And the sun hits my Bible just so on the chair in the living room and I know I need to get some of that “living water” and pile some littles on my lap….

Do you have a date with God friends?

Hello Blog Friends.....

2011-09-23T15:30:00.002-04:00

Hello Blog Friends,
In the big blog world.

Please be advised that the human grossness factor is high in this post.
Just warnin’.

For those with stomachs of iron……… by all means proceed.

Today was an ordinary day, and I was getting my ordinary shower at the ordinary time of 10:30.

No hatin’.

This is because I spend a lot of ordinary time cleaning in my frumpy night gown and Medussa hair.

I do this because I somehow believe deep down that a clean house means well behaved children.
This has never happened.

But I still believe that someday it magically WILL happen and so I continue.

And this cleaning becomes a woman whom you would believe was in the nesting phase of pregnancy, mopping and scrubbing like there is no tomorrow.

And I wonder if I did not get enough of that out during my pregnancies…….or just because of the sheer number of children it never leaves entirely?

These are questions I will never answer.

And so I just keep cleaning.

Until my shower at previous stated time. I say this because even I am too ashamed to acknowledge it again in print!

Ahem.

So, the shower is my think tank.

I can feel world peace in there I tell ya.

I can feed my family on 50 dollars a week if I had to, find way too many ways to hide one chicken breast in casseroles, make my own laundry soap and fuse the previous sliver of soap in the shower to the new sparkling bar, somehow believing that this makes me a good saving person.

BUT,

BUT, I do NOT save money when it comes to the econo shower.

Nope. And I have never tried.

I figure if I took military showers I could save the difference and actually go to a real spa, but for now home sweet home has become my spa sweet spa.

I think in there. I think in there until I am a prune.

And be sure that two things will snap your inheritance, slim as it may be, clean away:

1.Talking while Mom is trying to roll out a pie crust and get it in the pan…in one piece.

And

2. Interrupting Mom’s shower unless you are becoming disemboweled.

That’s it. Otherwise I am Mother of the Year.

Well ok now I just lied so that totally takes me out of the running….. I digress.

So, ordinary day, ordinary cleaning spree, ordinary shower.

Then I go to brush my teeth.

And I grab the wrong toothbrush.

I grab someone’s who will remain anonymous, but will tell you that they are of the little sort barely in school.

And apparently they do not have strong feelings regarding rinsing………..anything.

Yeah. No hoorays for me who thought it swell to buy toothbrushes in bulk packs thinking how clever I was to have them match.

Bad idea.

Next to YooHoo drink, possibly the worst decision ever made.

And I literally wondered as I quickly brought the brushing disaster to an end if this was indeed what “Shock and Awe” feels like.

I then realized that I had most likely eaten all of the food that pervious stated child had consumed and had hanging in their teeth from the last week…..

Or several.

And in the midst of my body shuddering the Lord showed me just how foolish I am to take anything of anyone else’s and try to use it for my own.

Hmmmmmmm

You KNOW I HAD to check out friend’s homeschooling tips and ideas, and read about what this family does and that one.

ALWAYS to my detriment.

Several months ago I may or may not have mentioned this story so indulge me because I am too lazy to scroll back months to reread my banter. (And I am still queezy enough….. )

I was on facebook. I know, I groan too these days.

SO, I was on and posted about how I had made a couple of loaves of bread.

Now did I write that to seem “All that” and show a glimmer of “Martha Stewartishness”

Well to those questions I plead the Fifth, or the Eighth? Anyhow I plead the First through the Fifth. That should cover me.

And a happy go lucky friend commented.

SHE makes bread too. SHE makes whole grain breads. By hand.
I used the bread machine.

(enter Whistling music from an Old Western gun shoot out scene)

I wrote back.

I grind my own wheat…..

(eyebrows saying, “So there!”)

And I ALMOST hit ENTER.

But the Holy Spirit hit DELETE.

Who cares?

WHO CARES?

Really? Again I compare myself with someone else?

Why must I be the biggest and brightest star out there?

Now this was a while ago and yet recently I have fallen into the pit of comparison again.

I really should just make a Vacation cottage there I visit so often…..

So and So is using DVD’s to school their children.

So and So is using “Myster y of the Next best thing out there” History curriculum.

So and So had to grab take out because they were too busy finding fossils in the backyard while they were geo cashing and leaf rubbing.

And on it goes.

Me?

I am home waiting on visuals to come in that I forgot to order, while my kids do workbook pages and while I try to hide the fact that every time The Sweet Man (Joel) goes over the teaching part with me I have to excuse myself to the restroom because I am so dog gone nervous.

There ya have it.

I DO realize that letting you know what we do may have caused some deep jealousy wanting what we have and for that I am sorry.

(snicker, snicker…)

Trying to be someone else, use someone else’s schedule, fit into their mold for their family is as sickening as using someone else’s cruddy toothbrush.

Use what you have. Go to the bathroom several times while preparing if you must. (that was for me) But know that teaching your children to love the Lord, having a loving atmosphere for your family to live in, your husband to come home to, for visitors to be welcomed, is more important than keeping up with the facebook Jones’.

My kids will not remember their curriculum.

They will remember me.

And several bathroom breaks.

We are not cookie cutter families.

We are individual families, placed with the children God wanted us to disciple, in the place where we can shine the brightest in the world for Him.

Embrace that.

Embrace honey sandwiches because It is close to payday.

Embrace visuals coming late and workbooks and art projects consisting of yarn and glue because you cannot find the crayons.

Embrace dinners of chicken casserole because chicken is all you have left in the freezer.

Just. Live.

If you need me to write you a permission slip just send me a note. I will gladly excuse you from the latest and greatest.

And while we are at it,

Write one for me will ya?

Do you know today how very much God loves you?

2011-09-15T15:58:00.002-04:00

New library today. One with windows.

And no curtains.

Seems like a small funny thing but it makes me look out the window more. The trees in Western New York are just beginning to turn color and light up the mountains surrounding our Great Valley.

It is a sweet, cool, lovely, lazy day at the Royalty house.

Yesterday we got Farmer Boy from the library and I cannot wait to pile the kids in a heap and sit and watch my husband read to them.

When he reads to the kids it settles the world and gives you that wonderful, "dinner is in the crockpot and the porch is swept clean," feeling. It is one that I could bottle and sell to the many frazzled Moms I pass almost daily, wishing I could bring them home with me.

Is our home a place of refuge? Absolutely. Is it free from chaos? Never. Organized that is.
And isn't a little chaos good? I read somewhere in my self-help frenzie that if we did not have any stress we would just die.

Some days I would like to test that hypothesis.

And some days I am enjoying the clutter and dirt and clatter and barefeetness.

The country has been good for me.

For all of us.

Today I am thinking of all of those I love who are in the midst of a battle.

Then again aren't we all? A battle of seeing the glass as God has intended it. Not just half full, but full to overflowing whatever our lot.

God is good.

At a conference lately I made a point to reach a speaker just as he stepped off the platform. I just had to speak with him. I know God prompted me to do it.

And so I did. And he began to ask me some questions and the answers began spilling out and at in the middle of it all he looked me dead in the eye and told me that God loved me. He told me that I needed to know just how much God loves me. He questioned me again,

"Do you know how much God loves you?"

And I did the unthinkable. My pen stopped the furious writing of all that he was telling me, enlightening me, and I wept.

With people standing by to ask him questions, with my little still in the nursery, with my husband gathering all the other kids.

I couldn't help it.

I think I just saw a glimpse of how much God really cares for me.

Me.

ME.

He DID die for me. For even me. He DOES live to make intercession for me and my needs.

MY NEEDS.

And today as I look through a glass darkly at fading beautiful trees, a beautiful creation, I am reminded that this is all for me.

For He and I to walk together and commune, and for me to worship Him with the sacrifice of praise.

When life is going smoothly or not.

I love these windows and this crisp day, and my family and friends who pray for me.

We were home a week ago and My FIL is just the best of men. He and I talked about life, about my kids and I told him that one is so so close to understanding what God truly has done for him and I asked him to pray for him and he looked me dead in the eye and told me that he does...

every day.

He prays for us every day.

For me stubborn in my kitchen,

For Joel leading wounded people,

For children so close to the heart of God.

And I even now just cry, in the library, with people seeing me look a mess.

God is good.

I have all that I need.

I have his love.

God LOVES you friend.

The seemingly insignificant value of quality time

2011-09-09T18:30:00.000-04:00

There are apples.

Everywhere.

And there is no one in sight to help me crank.

By that I mean turn the crank to the strainer we use that conveniently chews the apples, skin and all, and spits out the skin and spits the sauce into my pie plate.

Which just happens to be the only plate low enough to catch the good stuff . Not my favorite set up mind you, but it works.

If you have someone to crank.

Because while they crank I am:

Keeping the apples from boiling over

Feeding the hopper to the strainer

Scraping the applesauce into the pie plate because the cranker is faster than what the strainer can hold

Dumping the sauce into the large stock pot as the pie plate overflows

And most importantly I am listening.

To the cranker.

Not normally on my list of jobs when making applesauce.

Not until today.

You see, I called out to Dad for a cranker. See we use this language with each other and some how understand what we mean. And he sent me someone.

I sighed. Really? I thought. I wanted to fly through the apples not hear about every inch of my son’s day and all the neighbor’s days also.

Don’t look at me like that, you have a child like this too.

One whom you adore, whose jokes have an hour long punch line, who’s favorite book of the Bible is Revelation….. you know the type.

So off we go, him cranking away, talking as fast as he can crank.

Talking so much that the strainer begins to separate from the table and spill sauce and peels on the floor.

Several times.

We talk about apples, space exploration, husbands, his favorite shirt he is wearing, and too many things for me to remember.

We spill, we fill, we transfer

Together.

I am constantly thinking about my new glasses which are small, and thick and make me look funny and make me think I see more apples than what I really see.

He is thinking about life, what he will be, where he will go, and what it would be like to travel half way around the world in a sailboat as a family. (yes he really said that)

I smile. He is trying my patience and I am trying to get through the apples and we are making a horrible mess and the madder I get the more fun he seems to be having.

At my expense.

We fill a pot and then some. We have never made so much sauce before. We get out a new pot and the Lord speaks,

Out of the overflow of your life, you give to your son. You give to everyone.

What is overflowing from my life?

We sweeten the sauce.

It IS good.

He smiles and feels such accomplishment. I feel exhausted and so thankful that he has not noticed that I want to squelch his ever dripping enthusiasm.

We press on and finish up. He is dreaming of selling applesauce and I am dreaming of a green comfy lawn chair and some ice water where I can watch my husband work on the shed.

He is wishing he was a few years older.

I am realizing I have just a few years left.

To crank and talk and think with him.

He offers to get my chair and knitting bag for me. I give him a squeeze and head outside. As I head out the door he sees his sister and tells her, “You missed it. Mom and I have been having fun in here!”

He follows me out and gets me all set up to relax and then asks, “Hey, can I help you with dinner?”

I smile.

Butter Beans, Ball Blue Books and Blessings....

2011-09-09T18:28:00.000-04:00

Today I am tired.

And thankful.

I am thankful for hands that can work, thumbs that heal from being burnt, a mind that can think and the stamina to face mounds of fruit that needs canning.

I am thankful for the apples, tomatoes, green beans and peaches that God has allowed us and the zillions of jars church folk have found in their basements and garages and graciously given to us.

I am a little put out that they did not offer to wash them.

All 100 plus jars.

I jest.

And while I wash jars and make simple syrup and sautee onions and search for more rings, I think of all that God has given to us through others.

It was the peaches from the worker who showed us hoards of boxes her employer was giving away for free. Good peaches, just small.

Too small to sell, but just right for canning.

Thank you Lord, you encourage me. YOU had us at the right place at the right time, with the right worker.

It was the chief from the fire station down the road who had a fireman drop off apples.

Beautiful apples and I mean bee-you-tee-full.

Just because he thought of us and our six kids.

Thank you Lord. YOU were thinking of us. Thank you for remembering me and my six kids and thank you for letting him stop by when my hair was half decent.

It was the neighbor who watched some hoodlums so I could run hoodlum number five to the ER for chin stitches and greeted me with dinner and delicious butter beans for a meal and then some. She also gave me swiss chard and lettuce enough for the feeding of the five thousand. We will use it for the feeding of the eight…..of us.

Thank you Lord! You gave me those. YOU knew that sweet husband forgot to grab veggies ( off of his list) when we split, each taking kids, to conquer the grocery store.

So tonight, my hands are sore. I find a new sticky spot on counters, elbows and floors each turn of the head. I dream of a tree that produces regular sized jar seals. I fear an earthquake breaking my 70 plus jars of saved produce, and the story of the man in the Bible who had to build bigger barns. I wonder if his wife canned…….

I laugh at things that are not funny and can be caught pretending to stir and staring out the kitchen window…..

BUT

I am thankful.

I am being fed by the mighty hand of the Creator of Earth.

Who loves me…..

Through others.

Who wants me to love others

Through Him.

Apparently with canned goods .

(smile)

I Timothy 6:6 in action

2011-09-01T21:04:00.001-04:00

Today I am studying.

I have a speaking engagement in less than a month.

I HAVE been studying for weeks, months now, listening to what God is saying, when He lights a scripture passage to my eye and when my littles teach me an invaluable lesson.

Now I am attempting to grab all of these scattergrammed thoughts and compress them for a group of ladies who have quite possibly (gulp) paid to attend and hear…..me.

And I want them to hear Him.

And today I am studying.

I am observing why He loves, how He loves, how it changes us, how the world is made just for us to have communion with Him.

And my observations lead me to Mrs. F.

She is a farmers wife. She tells me she has never been one for fancies and fruveloughs. She always covers her mouth when she laughs, which is too cute for words. She always wears boots and bright socks with her culottes, and donnes a smock all day as she works among the flower beds and such outside.

The farm equipment is rusting. The front door is held open with a tack and an old piece of clothing elastic. The flowers in a huge bush cluster almost cover her front door and she is always cutting and offering them to whomever wants them. They are precious like her and it is amazing to her that many folks take clippings and can never get the flowers to grow like she can, and smiles at me telling me it must be the soil.

I smile back, knowing it is indeed the soil. The rich soil of a heart overflowing with gratitude.

I thankful, refuse a clipping, telling her that I will take some sometime.

When the soil is ready for planting.

We drink from mismatched cups, and she talks about nothing in particular, and I tell her I aim for her calmness.

She covers her mouth and giggles.

It is so contagious that I giggle too.

And the sun warms on us and the flowers smell deliciously lovely and I am thankful for this moment.

Her daughter is recently married, and I look at Mrs. F’s wedding set on her left hand and cannot even see a stone among a square setting.

My own set seems too big all of a sudden.

As she motions with her hand the engagement ring slides slowly around her finger and I wonder if she has ever wanted more.

Has she ever wanted a bigger stone?

A bigger house?

Matching cups and plates?

And when I tease that now that their only child is married they should take a grand vacation, to Hawaii perhaps, she giggles, hand over mouth.

“No.” she tells me in more of a sigh than a sentence.

And then without warning she continues,

“I would never want to be anywhere but here.”

Here, I think?

Here. I understand.

“I’m content here.”

And with that I am overcome. She IS content. Content to reuse paper, stickers, string and elastic.

Content to walk slowly, giggle often, be still, do what is needful, and relish the moment of a fine afternoon.

Content to let the world go by, the roof get old and squeaky, and see God in finding a new place to store the hay wagon.

And I smile and go on my way to my busy busy life and without warning it sneaks up on me…..

Envy.

And she turns to tend the flowers.

But godliness with contentment is great gain. I Timothy 6:6

A sign of the Times

2011-08-30T12:25:00.001-04:00

Today I am hanging a sign over the kitchen sink.

A sign I have seen in Amish country.

A thousand times.

And today I think on it.

Steal it's thought,

Learn from Simple sweet folk

and remember to stop and enjoy.

"Slow. Children at Play."

The best laid plans of mice and men often go array....

2011-08-23T13:13:00.001-04:00

Just checking in with you all to remind you that we are all still works in progress friends.

Today we had plans.

And usually when we have plans that means a quick toast breakfast leaving jam smudges on seats, hands and usually garments and cheeks. It means rushing to the car, frequent runs back into the house to retrieve blankets, glasses of water, left footed shoes and diapers.

You pack sandwiches because you do want to be frugal and hey, who couldn’t do with more jam smudges? You tell yourself that it is ok because by- standers will see the smudges and you will have the opportunity to tell them that those smudges did not come from STORE BOUGHT jam. No Sir. You wait. You bask in this moment. You inhale. You exhale and with a wisp of Motherly confidence you tell the not so lucky by- stander with an annoying sing-songy voice that you made that jam. You climbed half a mountain to get those precious dew covered blackberries. You tickled them with sugar. You boiled them into deliciousness. You still scratch at the scabs on your arms from being dumb enough to go berry picking with short sleeves.

You conveniently leave that part out.

And if you do not have occasion to find that lucky by- stander, you can always blog about what you would say given the opportunity. (big smile)

Ahem. Back to the van…

You tell yourself you will knit and sing Spiritual Songs with your brood while you travel to your destination.

You lie.

You end up yelling at third son for licking Fritos and promise to have Dad pull the car over if child number six unbuckles her seatbelt ONE.MORE.TIME.

Almost like knitting……

Your dear husband ends up pulling through a fast food drive through and humoring Mom who would rather drown in chicken nuggets than eat her own jam. In a moment of complete abandonment you hear Hubby order five hot fudge sundaes and you instantly feel the blood drain out your toes. I cannot comment further on this part of the day….. I think I chose to block this part of my day out.

Wisely.

We reach destination and begin to hope that as the mass exodus from the van begins, more children then take out trash falls out of mentioned van.

A small success.

You don lip gloss and head into the ABEKA homeschool display area of the swanky hotel. You smile the “I so have it all together-----ok really I am so frayed at the edges that I am barely hanging on, but I sure hope you don’t catch on,” smile.

You sit in the corner where the nice Representative has his company’s video curriculum showing.

“This will be fun.” I think.

I thought wrong.

We are watching the classic ABEKA Kindergarten classroom.

The chalkboard is FULL of colored pictures, charts, numbers, and a HUGE heart, meticulously drawn in chalk, with great attention to detail. The upstairs/downstairs/basement house is in the heart and she is teaching the letter “V.” Hence the “Valentine,” which she so sweetly says in her Southern accent a dozen or so times and points to her chalkboard heart.

By “Her” I mean Mrs. Bear.

She is divine.

I watch her and secretly wish I could steal her and take her home with me.

Well I not so secretly say that out loud.

And the kids look at me. One even hugs me and says, “Mom, you can be like that.”

Thanks Mrs. Bear.

So we watch and more parents gather and I am feeling like a big zero with the ring rubbed out, and Mrs. Bear gets nicer and I get more agitated that I do not have the gift of teaching and in this mess third son comes to me and says,

“Mom. I think I’ve seen Christopher Columbus.”

Second son comes and notes, pointing at the screen, “ Mom. They’re doing cursive. I didn’t learn cursive in Kindergarten…”

I look at third son and in my best Mrs. Bear voice I reply, “ You probably saw a picture of Christopher Columbus before..”

“No Mom. I SAW him.”

First daughter chimes in, “He’s dead.”

Third son proceeds to persuade his sister that he did indeed see Christopher Columbus and I amazingly find a way to excuse myself giving that afore mentioned smile to each mother I pass as I head to the other corner of the room…….

We order, we leave, we head to bookstore across the street that is going out of business.

And 20 minutes later Hubby finds me loaded with books like Pilgrim and his burden, ranging from, “Cooking on a Budget” to “Managing your own Homestead.” And it is at this moment that I wonder how I got here.

How did I get into this schlump (ok not recognized as a word by this computer, but recognized by every homeschooling Mom of littles… I digress…) where a Kindergarten teacher with 80’s hair is competing with me? Where my kids knowing cursive would make me a better Mother?

Seriously.

Sometimes saying things out loud shows you just how silly you have become.

Why does the world have to know how far I walked to pick blackberries for jam, or how many articles of clothing I have stored under my bed for the sole purpose of cutting into quilt squares?

I don’t know why.

I just know it happens.

And in the middle of the “self help” section of the 60 percent off books it hits me.

Not a book, a thought….. just in case you were wondering…..

“God knows.”

He knows I don’t feel good enough, sweet enough, lovely enough to teach.

He knows I try to do so much in my own strength to my own detriment several times a day.

He knows I forget that all the power and strength and help I could ever need is already at my disposal through Christ.

Who lives in me.

Who goes with me to the self help section.

Who hears me stack the cards between me and Mrs. Bear.

And knows that I need just claim HIS help, strength, peace, wisdom, strength and joy.

I walk to the front of the store to join my family who have suffered long waiting for me.

They have waited for me to set down self help books and pick up a book and read to them on long Summer afternoons.

They have waited for me to seep God’s love out of my life, my tongue and give them a little of that Mrs. Bear graciousness that I do have while walking in the Spirit.

They have waited for me to stop caring who sees, who knows and what someone thinks of me and make jam just for the sheer joy of making it.

I set book after book down on the shelves as I pass them, eyes on my family waiting at the front of the store.

I choose a crockpot recipe book.

I smile at them.

We head home.

And on the way home dear Dad sees two black bears on the side of the road and pulls over.

On my side.

To see them better.

And I hit the power lock.

And I tell myself that I have picked enough blackberries for the year.

Or two.

(smile)

Mid-Summer Memories

2011-08-05T23:17:00.000-04:00

Hello you lovely folks, you.

It is August already and I am enjoying some much needed quietness at the local library which has almost turned back the hands of the clock and stopped in years past, when men ran libraries with full suits on, card catalogs still gathered dust, and air conditioning rattled false ceiling.

And I am thinking about this wonderful life that has ebbed and flowed for us this Summer.

Abby got new glasses. Seeing her fiddle with them reminds me of 4th grade, and wishing for glasses and braces so I could fit in. I wish and pray for her to love however God alters her eyes, teeth, hair and height. Just love her and her scars from stitches from falling out of trees.

Just like I did when I was her age.

Lately the Lord has seen fit to bring me through a period of rest. I am back to testing for various and sundry things that make my heart skip, my energy just out of grasp, and my mind fuzzy.

I have been through this a few times and each time I am an emotional wreck.

Except for this time.

This time I am resting in Him who knows the end from the beginning. I am praying over appointments, over stressful situations, over dishes for strength and at bedtime for sleep.

God is more than enough for me.

For you too.

I am sitting next to the magazine section where various titles jump out at me regarding what was innocent turned cancer. I used to shy from even seeing the word. Who wouldn't?

But I am realizing that God is here with me.

In me.

He alone gives us the strength we need for each day. I am letting Him guide me with His eye.

Yesterday I was feeling particularly miserable in body and spirit and I decided to enjoy the kids.

Yes, I decided.

I picked beans with them, and as one son commented on how he needed to grab this weed he found from the root or it would only grow back, I had the great privilege to also remind him that the soil of our hearts can become filled with weeds that needed a good pulling.

From the root.

We sweat, pick and I take them to the porch where I sit and snap beans and watch them put on a play for me in the front yard. The cars look on as they pass by, some older folks, some young.

And for a second it hits me that they might see me snapping beans and the kids frolicking and want to stop a while and enjoy this wonderful life with me.

It has been a while since I have enjoyed children……… my children.

The workers at the bank, the store, the library, tell them how lovely they are.

Do I tell them too?

I laugh at the myriad of funny faces they are giving me. They interview each other with a paintbrush, asking one another what makes a good family.

I smile.

Have I shown them?

Am I showing them?

Joel told me the other day that corn is one of the only plants that he knows of that doesn't droop when it needs water.

I look at him puzzled.

"It points up when it needs rain."

It felt like he, not even meaning to, saw into my heart in the midst of drought.

I turned so he wouldn't see the tear falling and whispered into the car window,

"It knows where it's help comes from."

The Lord Himself answered,

"YES."

My mind just swirled.

The sparrow, the lily of the field,

the.... corn?

All of them fret not, nor toil, nor spin.

Their heavenly father knows what they need.

He knows we need a good soft rain.

He knows I need a good soft rain.

And He reminds me to look up.

Look up.

And so I begin to take my eyes off of the unknown and worrisome now, and look up.

We put the kids in a tent in the yard and roast marshmallows.

De-lish.

I shouldn't.

But I do.

And I eat and let the marshmallow kids kiss my cheek and we laugh as our daughter keeps losing hers to the fire and we just keep laughing until it is time to go to sleep.

We sit out by the fire and comfort son who keeps poking his nose out because of fear.

So much like me.

We answer the "What if's."

I think of God.

And how much more patient He is with me, than I am with my son, who is so like me.

We sit and decide to watch for falling stars.

Joel has seen so many in his life already.

He is accustomed to looking up.

I am not.

I have never seen one.

And then almost taking my breath away it happens.

It jets across the sky!

I am in awe.

This is commonplace to Joel.

This is life altering to me.

I thank God and clap my hands together. I think of Job, who in great affliction and trial hears God tell him of his greatness and all that He created, reminding him that He can be trusted again and again.

We map out the constellations and enjoy life. Together.

I look at my sweet husband, all loving and patient, look at my tent of kids and at a star filled night and my heart is full.

I will decide to stop looking for answers.

I will keep looking up.

Sweet Mid Summer's to you all!

Grace is flowing.......

2011-06-25T22:05:00.004-04:00

I heard a story recently from a sweet Pastor's Wife's own lips that frankly, still has me grinning from ear to ear.

She told me that she was in the car with her husband reading him a book regarding health. His health. He had been having a time physically and she, doing what all of us good wives would do, found some sort of information on how to help. AND SHARED. Well, apparently he was none the excited about what she was sharing, and when sweet she noticed that he was NOT noticing turned and asked him, "Are you even gonna DO any of these things I am telling you about??" And a turn of the head was the reply.

A horizontal turn of the head in case you were wondering.

And with that she rolled down her window and threw out the book.

(pause to grasp this friends)

SHE THREW THE BOOK OUT THE WINDOW.

Like, on the road.

And THAT. THAT makes me happy.

Giddy actually.

They were a happily married couple, faithfully serving the Lord, raising a Godly brood, and her, now in her I believe 60's, smiled as she relayed the circumstances to me that beautiful Spring afternoon. She even chuckled telling me that she had to go back to the woman who gave her the book and tell her what happened and asked her if she could have another one.

That would never come close to a window again unless she was putting it on the shelf.

Everyone has "life days."

I had one today.

And I am sitting on the bed, coffee nearby, wrapped in my fav blanket that was a gift from my sis in law her first Christmas with the fam. I am surrounded by happy.

And in my happy spot, I unfold the napkin of days events to relay them to you.

But the beginning begins with the end of my day funny enough.

Just a few minutes ago, while finishing up my time in my "think tank" otherwise known as the show-er, I realized the kids had taken all of the towels to various and sundry parts of the house.

Hmmph.

So as I was preparing to wash my face, I got a good look at me, with my electric blue shirt wrapped around my head, with one earring showing and smiled thinking how closely I resembled an African woman.

These are "life day" moments.

They catch you off guard and smile and say, "Hello. This is your life. Dealwithit."

And sometimes you smile.

And sometimes you throw the book out the window.

On to today.....

Today we had a LOT on our plate.

And most of it was Brussel sprouts honestly.

But we were off and running and we whizzed to the first thing.

This put us in a situation where God led us to a man who so ministered to my husband. I sat and watched and smiled. I looked at the man, and then I looked at my husband. I looked back and the man and then again at my husband. I watched a sweet volley of conversation that was God ordained. Water to dry ground.

It was as if God said, "You need some grace poured into some cracks you have? Here ya go."

And conversation flowed.

And grace flowed.

Then in a flash we were gone and to our next event. It was a Graduation party. Just a party.

I should have known that a few life lessons were gonna show up and God would be working. He does love to work in base things, does He not?

We arrived and began the ascent to the house, barely standing. People drinking, laughing, hushing when we drew near to them.

I smiled, handed the graduate her card and sat next to one of our members. She looked uneasy, and I wanted to tell her, "Girl, the 'uneasy' is where I come alive!" We talked and laughed, were fed and the graduate and her fiance came to talk.

We have tried our dead level best to encourage them. Counsel them. But they would not.

Now, a week away from marrying, they both have STD's and our graduate is expecting.

I winced as each new "fact" was presented to us. I just died inside for them. No wisdom. Hard choices. No foundation for marriage. New baby.

Now I am not a "hide it on the outside" person. If I am sad, I show it. If I am happy, I show it.

Maybe good, maybe bad. But nevertheless it's me.

And out of the corner of my eye I see him.

An old him.

Old, tanned, wrinkled and every ounce persnickety.

He smokes and looks on.

He cannot hear our conversation, but he can see my face.

I swallow hard.

I listen on. Joel is all of grace. I am burying my head in pasta salad.

I literally want to run and hide, scream and come back to resume my Pastor's Wifely duties.

I cannot.

I look at their hands, showing rings already worn before any ceremony, clutching pop, nervous.

I look at their eyes, flinching, sad, scared.

They need grace.

They "want to make the best" of the situation. They want "to beat the odds."

CAN God take this.

Can he use us to pour grace into hard deep cracks? Broken spots, decay that shows?

I listen as Joel pours grace running off from his cracks to theirs.

I smile a "Whatever I can do. I WILL do" smile.

They need grace to show them help.

And it flows and brings smiles of hope.

We have to go. We thank everyone. People groping for themselves for want of wisdom. Sceptical of us. The NEW Pastor and his family. I decide to approach the wrinkled old man.

I stretch out my hand. He takes it, but his whole body leans away from it, as a sign that he is shaking my hand but wants no part of me. I get it. I press on.

I hear someone behind me, our church member tell me that she should introduce me to her Father.

Noooooo... not your Father. The one who you have told me about, everyone has told me about. The town knows about.

Who's daughter lost her arm in a meat grinder, who beat his son until he passed out. THIS man. Father?

They are grown, and he is an old man, but is still feared by everyone. And now me standing in front of him.

He looks at his cigarette as if I had a magnifying glass to it.

"I have been smoking since I was young ******** and I DON'T have lung cancer!!!******" he tells me sternly.

My stubbornness rises to the challenge.

"Well that's a good thing you don't."

He is taken back.

I am not running.

I smile.

He begins to tell me all of his injustices.

I am a great fan of people watching and as he speaks, I listen

and watch.

I cover every wrinkle, every scar, his completely toothless mouth, and see what the end of life without God will bring you to.

He tells me something.

I nod.

He swears.

again

and again.

I have heard it all before.

Joel comes to meet him.

He motions that we need to get to our next stop.

I thank the man for his time.

He is genuinely surprised.

I offer him my hand again.

He takes it.

I pat him on the arm as I walk by.

He is baffled.

I hug his daughter, still hurting, in her 40's. I hold on after she has let go.

Grace.

Grace from God through me, covering the rough spots.

I smile.

It will be alright. God has grace for everyone.

Even me.

I cannot fix. I cannot heal. I CAN show grace. Grace that is given to me, flowing over from my cracks to yours.

"Life days" happen.

Hurt. Frustration.

Hurriedness. Hope deffered.

But......

Grace is flowing like a river
From the mount of Calvary.
Look to Jesus Christ the Giver;
He from sin can set you free.

Grace is flowing like a river;
Millions there have been supplied.
Still it flows as fresh as ever
From the Savior's wounded side.

Heaven's fountain ever floweth;
All our need has been supplied.
Taste His love receive His mercy;
No one yet has been denied.

Grace is flowing like a river;
Millions there have been supplied.
Still it flows as fresh as ever
From the Savior's wounded side.

Through the blood of Christ forgiven,
Dry the tears from ev'ry face.
Through His cross an heir of Heaven,
Evermore a child of grace.

Grace is flowing like a river;
Millions there have been supplied.
Still it flows as fresh as ever
From the Savior's wounded side.

Come to Jesus, weary sinner;
Calv'ry's river flows today.
All who plunge beneath that fountain
Wash their guilty stains away.

Grace is flowing like a river;
Millions there have been supplied.
Still it flows as fresh as ever
From the Savior's wounded side.

He leadeth me. A blessed thought!

2011-06-21T21:49:00.006-04:00

Ever had a boss you just could not please?

No matter what?

I have. I have been a waitress, a cashier, a house cleaner, a secretary, a business cleaner, a librarian, and even had a stint as a sandwich with meat and cheese hanging all whichway.

Yes friends, when you are paying your way through high school you are stupid enough to take a job dressed as a sub sandwich, and you will subject yourself to waving to passerby's hoping they will visit your franchise.

I digress.

I have had great employers........and not so great.

There are few things more frustrating than trying to please someone whom you cannot understand. I remember working as a business cleaner with some friends and never really feeling like I could do a good job. Oh I cleaned my heart out, but the boss just never seemed happy, like he intentionally had a corner somewhere that unbeknownced to me SHOULD have been cleaned though I never knew it's whereabouts.

Or there was that boss that changed my responsibilities so fast that I was left doing half a job for each task just to make it through the day with every task getting SOME time spent on it.

you get me?

And on the flip side, how much security there is in knowing just what you are supposed to do, how you are supposed to do it, or maybe even a liberty to do the job required how you deem best. Get in, get going, give it your all, close up, go home, feel good. Loved those jobs.

Lately I have been feeling like I have too many plates spinning. I know some are gonna crash. I know it's gonna be messy, but for the life of me I just keep running and spinning them from day to day never feeling like I have gotten enough done when I lay my head on my pillow.

And I am not just talkin' laundry here.

I'm talkin' every room in my house and heart.

This desire to check in with the one who gives me my marching orders began a month or so ago. And I wanted to simplify life again, some soul spring cleaning. I was on a Ladies weekend with two of the bestest sweetest godliest ladies you could ever set your heart on. They were talking, sharing their hearts and I was......... um, doing what I do best.

Crying. And I listened to them and yearned to know what God wanted ME to do. They knew what to do and were doing it, seeing God bless, coming through trials wonderfully. I wept to hear the Lord answer, give, bless, and just plain love them through one mess after another.

When my sobs could not be contained I quietly excused myself to the bathroom of the hotel we were staying at and cried out to my Lord and Master. In my heart the only thing I could ask Him was:

"Lord, what do you want me to do?"

And I was at His disposal. No agenda, no ready made plans on my part. Just one blank page with pen ready to fill up with His "To Do" list for my life.

And He answered.

Like He does.

When we seek Him with our whole heart.

And just like Him.

He is soft and kind.

He told me two words followed by a verse.

He said:

"Forgive yourself."

I know. I was shocked too. Forgive me? Not "Forgive so and so." "Forgive yourself." Friend the "goodness of God" does lead us to repentance. It leads us to the room with the cobwebs on it that hides our inner most secrets known only to us... and God. And in that one glorious moment there was nothing in that room that needed dusting or the garbage pile. God wanted me to forgive myself and lay down that burden of guilt that I carried all day every day everywhere I went. I brought it to birthday parties, family gatherings, shopping, everywhere. It.was.there. It humbled me, angered me, frustrated the day lights out of me, depressed me, and even made me anxious.

Guilt over silly things, bad things, horrible things, things that haven't even happened but I know they will things. The past was always present with me. And in that moment my mind flooded. I knew what He meant. I knew he had reached into my back pocket and exposed what I had hiding. And I was embarrassed. I said in my heart, "But I deserve to have to carry these. I should be required to bear this." He said:

"He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?" Micah 6:8.

I was silenced.

Do justly.

Love mercy.

Walk humbly with thy God.

It was as if you had Cinderella's cleaning list in your hand and he wiped every job off but three.

Do justly.

Love mercy.

Walk humbly with thy God.

Pilgrim from Pilgrim's Progress had to have felt like I did dropping all that baggage off in the hotel restroom.

My spirit soared. The God of the Universe met with me amidst dirty towels and running make up in a hotel restroom. He came to cross things off my "To Do" list. Better yet, He gave me a new one. And it's "Post It" sized.

Life simplified just for me.

Fast forward a month or two.

See me huffing up yet another hill on a five mile bike trail. And yes I am in first gear and way out of shape.

Ok picture me briefly and far off. FAR OFF.

Good.

I am sweaty, frustrated at the gnats that swarm me because I am so slow, the kids who keep getting too close to my bike making me yell at them in the perfect "Old Lady stay off my grass" voice, and even at my dear sweet husband who is soo drippingly sweet he would even make Cub Scout Leaders look like criminals. Sheesh doesn't this man ever have a bad day??

I digress.

I finally got off and walked. Yes I did. I walked up the dumb hill. I waved my hand to half swat the gnats and half tell the crew a mile or so ahead (ok slight exaggeration) that I was NOT in cardiac arrest and that they could go along their merry way without me for a while. (A loooong while) They refused.

I INSISTED.

They biked ahead. (GRIN)

So it was me and a beautiful woody opening with trees as high as I could see. It was just gorgeous and it was all mine for the taking in this moment of relief from frustration. Frustration with life. Life is hard folks. Add marriage and kids and more kids and more kids and..... well you get the idea. Add low income, high stress and get a sour spirit. Beautiful bike hike? Blah. Kids all smiles in shiny helmets and sweet spirits. Bleck.

So with up-turned nose I stood and He was there.

THE He.

And he grabbed my list of complaints out of my back pocket. He grabbed my list of things that MUST be accomplished that day, you know while we were wasting time on this bike hike.....

I raised my arms to the sky, forgot about the gnats and said out loud, "Lord, I am trying. Please help me. Just help me."

And he crossed my list out and wrote three things. Three things that are more important than any others. The only things that must be accomplished that day:

Do justly.

Love mercy.

Walk humbly with thy God.

I grinned a grin that showed I had been reproved. Again with Micah Lord? Ok.

OK.

And I shed some more tears alone in the woods. He bottled them up and gave me strength, renewed strength because I had waited upon Him. (Isaiah 40:31) And with that new strength I got on and biked ahead.

And when I wanted to pick a whole bundle of wildflowers from the Park.....the Lord said:

Do justly.

And I did what was right and snagged a small token to smell as I biked.

When one child could not find their shoes for the tenth time and waded in way past what they should have and came to me in a wet, muddy mess, God said:

Love mercy.

So I found their shoes and sat them on my lap.

And when Joel was obviously building a fire the WRONG way, the Lord of mercy reminded me to:

Walk humbly with thy God.

So I helped with a smile and without putting my two cents in.

Tomorrow is a new day. I am reminded that Proverbs 16:9 says, "A man's heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps." I see where I need to be, but God knows where He needs me to go and patiently gets me there.

Goodnight friends!

In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul. Psalm 94:19

2011-05-10T01:03:00.005-04:00

Hello all.

Yes, you four are worth me staying up wee hours of the morning to catch you up to speed with the Royalty clan.

A lot of soul searching goin' on lately. I think we ladies have times that are like that. It is almost like we are stuck in this cloud of thoughts that we must work through to proceed with the daily grind as we know it.

This is not a bad thing.

This is just a long thing.

I heard someone say once that all of your life's experiences change you as the years roll along.

I scrunched up my face, tilted my head to the side and wondered if I really had changed so much.

I didn't think I had.

Not with the birth of my children,

Not with the financial set backs,

Not with the hospital stays with my children,

Not with the third world country excursion,

Not with anything.

I could still laugh about the same old things,

Still liked the same favorite colors,

Still wanted to be the person I grew up loving and imitating their handwriting,

Still secretly loved poetry much more than I would ever confess,

Still loved making things with my hands,

Still wondered if I could ever measure up in just about every area you can imagine.

And lately the Lord has been prodding, pushing me to get out of where I have been, and made me look at where I have come from, and where He alone is taking me on this wonderfully sweet journey of life.

Months ago now in a phone conversation someone I love said something that sent me a crushing blow.

To understand the weight of this you must know that growing up I took a particular interest, love to be more direct, in the arts.

I was a Freshman in Senior plays, interviewed for the newspaper, on traveling drama teams, had the red carpet rolled out for me. I had dreams of acting in college until I realized it would go no further only to then transfer my energies to writing. Of course I knew I would have to take some low paying journalism job until my big break, but I was sure someone would find my banter fresh and new and use me for something great, somewhere.

In eighth grade someone else was waiting for me, with even greater dreams for me. He rescued me from a party that would have robbed me of my testimony and scared me for the rest of my life. He then prompted me to chose the road less traveled and gave me a new set of clothes for the journey.

I changed.

Teachers pleaded, scholarships looked promising, parents questioned, friends forsook me.

But I had changed.

I folded up my jeans, closed my yearbook and stepped out in faith with my new partner.

So much has happened since then.

This call, the words......... "could have done so much." Stung.

To be honest, the tears still come just typing it. I was mad, I was hurt, I questioned myself, my life, my decisions.

It has taken me months to heal from that wound that smarted. Oh how it smarted.

A horrid feeling of waste just swept over me for days. For months.

In a few weeks time I had been able to witness two souls heading to their true home. A course had been charted for them and they were nearing the finish line.

I used this time, watching them, holding their hand, listening to them breathe, to search my own soul. And I found such worth in my life. Not to many, but to the one who matters most.

I cannot tell you what healing this has been for me. I think I am still in the process of fully understanding what it means to be in the will of God.

To have purpose.

I think until I was challenged, I hadn't seen this life with my spiritual eyes for longer than I care to confess to.

I spoke to God, I poured my heart out to Him. I gave Him my plans, my dreams all over again. I wept going through each obstacle that life had thrown at me again in my memory. Each joy, each small victory, each defeat. All of these had drawn me to Him, a splash of color on this beautiful picture that God was creating of my life.

And after a long, long time I finally saw myself as beautiful.

This Mother's Day was the hardest for me I think. Navigating Motherhood is not easy. I have made such mistakes along the way,

but I am trying.

Joel used my life in his sermon Sunday morning. He, not knowing that my heart was searching through the past, brought up the very things I was pondering, and unrolled the canvas of my days, and the way I had chosen to go while even a teen.

My mouth just fell open. Here he was, vindicating me, almost just for my hearing alone.

I chose right.

I chose right.

My life is worthwhile, and friend so is yours.

Friend, rest in the wonderful thought that there is no "could have" with God.

at the end of my days it will not matter what this vapor has shown the world.

I have chosen the better part.

No, scratch that.

He has chosen me.

After all, what greater honor is there than that?

Just a thought.

Same time, Same place, New laughs

2011-03-17T23:05:00.003-04:00

Tonight I did what I tell myself I WILL NOT DO.

I felt like Paul who says in Romans 7:15 "For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I."

I just could not help myself.

Well yes I could I just didn't.

Kindov like ordering two McDoubles for y-o-u-r-s-e-l-f.

Yep. Perfect. Same feeling.

I blog surfed.

(Insert me making a BBBLLLLAAAAHHH face.)

So much out there. Big blogs, small blogs, fancy blogs, "I sell things blogs," 70,000 readers a DAY blogs, I am trying to become a budding author blogs, and my personal favorite, the, I am strange and love that people will come and read my bantor because I AM strange.

Not hatin', just sayin'.

And I read and coveted, and sighed and laughed and looked shocked, and even was moved by some. One 4 post spread about the Magic Kingdom seriously almost make me quit blogging all together. Wow. Yet another reason why we probably will never go there, or desire to. You cannot pray in schools, but you can take out a loan for some "Magical" experience where you spend three days in amusement overload, paying way too much for junk food and making your kids hug every single "Magical" stuffed something or other or smiling lady with huge hair. Still makes me shake my head. The adds tell you, "You will take some of the magic with you when you leave..." Yeah that and some pepto. Better hope that magic makes some payments for you on your credit card.

Ok, sorry.

See where blog surfing gets me? Every time. Every.time.

I do find some humor in all of the various thoughts people share. I think of them and I think of me and get a good chuckle.

I like the fact that dinner time is a potluck of thoughts that are just bubbling out of all of the kids. Joel barely says, "Amen" and here we go off into some explaination about something like whether the blood was cooked out of the meat. It will also be at this time that I can listen to the explaination, scold Anna for singing about blood, ask Nathan to stop picking his nose and remember that cookies are in the oven.

I like that Alayna can cry and Joel and I can volley over who should leave the bed and get up and get her, and we get crazier and crazier reasons each round and by the time we cannot even look at each other for fear of breaking out in laughter she falls back asleep and we just go on reading or doing whatever we were doing in the first place.

I like that I can promise to only read ONE chapter of "The Boxcar Children" and they KNOW that even I want to know what happens.....my curiosity gets the best of me and I read on....every time.

I like that we get spontaneous calls to pray for church members, family, friends and yes even uncles getting their cows taken away, and we pray. Right then.

I like that I always see a lady in a long skirt or dress and long hair pulled-up each time I go to Wal Mart. I like that God sends her to me and me to her to no doubt encourage each other.

I like that I can make Hamburger Helper and call it "Hamburger Help Yourself" and the kids roar with laughter.

I like that I can begin to say something, it get jumbled and one of my kids will pat me on the hand and say, "It's ok Mom, we know."

I like that I can wear the same apron everyday. EVERY DAY and not care.

I like the fact that it has seen many pies and cookies and that my kids see me every day in it. In my place.

I like that I can sneak into town for something and get two McDoubles for myself from the drive thru and eat them before I get home, wiping the katsup off my cheek as I greet the kids.

I like that I can pray any time of the day kneeling at my bedroom window at my little bench and feel like I am in the world's grandest cathedral.

I like that I can then have some liquid spilled on me from some place by someone WHILE I am praying.

I like that I can cry one whole afternoon about the fact that now that we have moved to the great state of NY, I will miss lilac season. Bemoaning to God how I have FOLLOWED HIM, I have come and the least He could do was to allow me my ONE delight in life.

I like how my husband can then tell me that we have our own bush. IN.OUR.YARD. That I had happened to miss in our moving here and the snow covering every inch of NY.

I like looking at my husband as if it was the very first time I had laid eyes on him. And smile a Cheshire grin.

I like finding one last box of pudding in the pantry, feeling like it is plum pudding at Christmas time and then whisking the daylights out of it with the only whisk I have. The 6 inch one that goes to my mixer.......and laughing.

I like asking my husband things while I am writing like, "How big is that whisk that goes to my mixer downstairs?" and he have no clue why I wanted to know.

I like not being able to silence the laughter when one of us accidentally says, "Can you cut the cheese?"

I like that I have a pillow that was sent to me from my dear friend all the way to Mongolia, now adorning my bed. I like that it makes her seem a little closer.

I like that I can serve Pop Tarts for breakfast and not feel guilty.

I like that I can hug a lady at church, hear her say, "Watch out, I'm grumpy" and say, "Oh good, I am too."

I like that I can read through this list and laugh at my own life.

Because it is my good bloggable life.

I like that someone else will laugh at it too.

The Ugly Beautiful

2011-03-14T21:00:00.002-04:00

It is a weary end of the day here in Humphrey.

I am sitting in a comfy chair, thinking of all that has transpired in the last few days.

Just a little while ago we were in a Conference in WI when a call came that one of our church members had been in an accident and went to heaven. He was in his 60's and truthfully, I was not well acquainted with him. He usually came on Sunday mornings, sat in the back and was out before I had finished my nursery responsibilities. I did talk to him a few times only to notice that he was uneasy and uncomfortable doing so. So.... when I did see him, I would smile and thank him for coming, but never pressed him for information even regarding the simplest things, like the weather for instance.

It was Joel's first funeral. I think we all were nervous. It went well, he knew the Lord and surely was too busy enjoying his time with the Lord to even notice we stopped to place his body in the ground.

A few days later we got a call from the Rehab place where he frequented asking if we would hold a "Memorial Service" for him. What an opportunity this would be for us. A government institution and the gospel do not usually mix, and when they give occasion to, it is a matter of prayer.

So we went. We smiled, we met people and then it began to happen.

A man in almost high heel boots and 70's pants made his way to us. He announced to us that he was one of the "Soloists." Oh me. Remember at this juncture will you, that I am a terrible phony. I cannot hide anything, so this was getting hard for me. Deep down I thought, "Ok mister, YOU are the soloist? I am too and we shall see...." and even a little "Lord, help me not to laugh at this moment!"

He told us he was a friend of our deceased church member and how he took the news rather hard.

I am nodding and listening, trying not to look at the boots and pants individually let alone as an ensemble that any person should be legally allowed to wear.

We got to the meeting room where all of the friends of his were gathering that also happened to be their cafeteria that also happened to be dirty.

Very dirty. Again smiling, greeting, nodding, "Oh really?-ing".... doing the Pastor's Wifely duty.

I met another soloist. She was short and sweet and I liked her until she told us she was going to sing the Ave Maria.

Seriously?

I have not previously mentioned that this facility was for the Mentally/Emotionally challenged, and so at this announcement I thought, "Is she really meaning that or a little confused?"

She was a-meanin'-it. Full Italian, no subtitles, no music, you got it.

Now I have some semblance of a sense of humor, but this is beginning to get downright agitating. They should leave the "Memorial" thing to us professionals!

Person after person file in this already crowded room, I feel smothered. Anna puts her mouth on the table, I cringe. One lady in a large stocking cap takes it as her life's mission to make SURE everyone has a little program of the service, I wince. One man mumbles to me the same thing over and over, another lady to my right keeps asking me my name. In the middle of almost a mental breakdown, a lady rather elderly comes and asks me curtly if I want a cup of coffee. I fudge a smile and decline not too graciously. I mean, one only has so much graciousness.

The service begins. I am hot, nervous, trying to keep Nathan and Anna from touching the table too much, shaking hands too much, wanting Joel to hurry.... not wanting to tell the lady next to me my name for the hundredth time, and for goodness sakes, NO ONE needs another program, PLEASE sit down lady in the back!

Then it was as if I began looking through some else's eyes. We sang hymns. The sound of these voices, voices people in "normal" society have been taught to drowned out, began to reach the bottom of my sinful, wicked heart. The first soloist sang," When the Roll is Called up Yonder." We all sang along at the chorus, our voices swelling to fill the room. His voice was shaky, filled with emotion, it burned my heart. The second soloist stood and sang this Italian, difficult song with a soft whisper-like alto voice that made us all strain to hear each word. She had us all captivated by her unassuming way of trying to just be a help to those around her in this, their time of loss. The loss of their friend. Someone who, like them, understood being misunderstood.

Then each person who wanted to, stood and gave a testimony of this man. THIS MAN whom I was beginning to learn a lot more about through his death that I never knew in life.

The service begins, Joel is consoling and I feel my heart burning with shame. Will I never learn? Will I keep up this pride and try to slip out after everything is over?

No. No I won't.

Before I know it, it is MY turn to sing.

I slink out of my chair and feel as if every soul can see the blackness of my heart. Will they cringe at me like I them?

No. No they won't.

I meet eyes. They widen, brighten, and give me a glimpse into hearts yearning for real friendship. I sing and as I do I try to apologise with my eyes. Stanza after Stanza.

Did they see it? Get it?

They did.

I spent the rest of our time there hugging, helping serve coffee to people and look each one in the eye and smile. I touch an arm of a man who is beaten down. I am beaten down too, inside. I am trying to be maybe the only Jesus that this man will ever know. I get him his coffee, help him put the cream back, as he shakes.

Inside I cry, I want to stay and make it up to them.

I want to serve these people,

the Ugly Beautiful.

I hug more, smile more, serve more, and listen. Always there is listening.

And while I listen I am in all wonder at the change of events.

At the switch that has taken place. Those who were the Ugly are now the Beautiful.

Those who were pious and Beautiful are now the Ugly.

I went to the restroom to gather my thoughts and flooding emotions. The Holy Spirit met me and whispered, "the least of these....."

"you have done it unto me."

Look how I have treated you, Lord. He knows. He saw the change in me though. He prays for me, and nothing can ever separate me from His love for me.

Or separate them from His love for them.

We leave and a woman who was shy comes and envelopes me in a hug. She rushes off. She has been pacing, wanting to hug me and finally worked up enough courage. I am glad she did. It is I who should be shying away and not her. A man comes and gives Nathan a wad of money from "The group." He tells him in a whisper to give it to his dad. It is an offering from them all.

to us.

I left feeling so ugly, but so thankful that God got a hold of me before it was too late to shower them with His love.

Them.

The Ugly Beautiful.