Just hanging out.

When I was young, I loved climbing trees.

We had several in our backyard, and the one in the back right corner of our property became my favorite.

It was a bit challenging to get that first branch, scratching your way up the trunk that split a good way up the tree into two parts, but once you got there it was smooth sailing.

I had climbed so often and so many times that I knew almost with eyes closed, which branch was for which foot until I got to my special spot in the tree.

It was a very odd branch now that I think on it, because it came out from the trunk and then split into two separate branches and then almost crossed again just before the leaves, leaving a sort of "basket" for my little body to lay in.

Head on the thickest part, bottom hanging out the widest part (no comments please!) and legs that at that time in my life seemed to me a mile long, hung off either side of the boughs.

It was just high enough in the tree to go unnoticed from the ground and just high enough to see into the woods that ran alongside our property.

My house used to be the last on Memory Lane, with woods as far as I could see that were the source of many excursions for my brother and I.

We had made caves our home, caught butterflies, watched almost a hundred grasshoppers cover a sandy opening, and had a well-worn footpath through all of our favorite places to roam.

And every year there was that blackberry patch where we felt like we could be Pioneers and live off the land, gathering more berries than we could ever need.

And every year we begged and pleaded for our Mom to make us a blackberry pie. And then she did, and she TOLD us it would never be sweet enough for us.

And she was right.

So we just picked them and loaded them into containers to just eat in our favorite spot.

Like my tree.

I call it "mine" because I was the one after all, who fell and broke her arm so badly that the bones were showing themselves. And I laid on the ground and didn't want to get into trouble and didn't want to be banned from the tree, so I hid until the pain was too much to take.

And the Dr. said that it was so bad that it really should not be ever broken again in that spot.

That weak spot on my arm.

My writing arm that left me a "leftie" for a good part of school. I was determined to learn to write left-handed like my oldest sister could, even though back then, they wanted all to be "righties" so she had to change. I succeeded in printing my name spot on, and they laughed at how many pencils came tumbling out in pieces from my cast when they cut it off. After all, they were the perfect scratchers.

And away in the tree I climbed that next Summer.

Perhaps it was the fall, perhaps it was just a moment for the Lord to get my attention. Whatever it was, in my bow in the bough this year I finally let a word sink into my mind and heart.

Precious.

To me, all of eight years old it was butterflies skipping from flower to flower in the meadow filled to the brim with yellows and pinks and orange and reds, sparkling in the sun. It was the locusts getting louder and louder and then quieting again all in unison. It was the breeze that was just enough to blow the hair off my face, but not rock my tree. It was the same pair of brown shorts I wore everyday and how I loved to lay back with my arms crossed behind my head.

It was here that I fell in love with wild flowers. It was here that I fell in love with butterflies. It was here that I relaxed and enjoyed being myself and it was precious.

I do not fully understand how and why the Lord shielded me from so many things that could have happened to me. I do not know why I roamed the woods without a care while others have secrets from those young years that sting to this day.

I am just grateful that in His plan for me,

there was a tree.

Where I could swing my legs and listen to the birds chime in and let anger melt away into the awe of the woods and everything that was lovely and beautiful.

It has been many many MANY years since my last climb. Funny thing is, that you don't even remember the last one, or think it is going to be the last one.

You just get caught up in life and forget how the view looked from there.

Way up above all that made you worried or scared or angry.

And today in my "Hurry" something happened that made me remember what that word really felt like again.

That word.

Precious.

And a tear or two trickled down and I remembered the tree.

The smells, the sounds, the colors.

And this something that brought my mind back to the tree top, reminded me that I have gone a great while without looking up.

Not in sadness or discouragement, but in business.

And when I felt that sweetness and my mind searched for a word to even describe it, the word my mind chose took me back.

To a childhood memory where all was quiet in my heart and mind and there was nothing on the schedule for me to do but simply hang and sigh as the Lord unwrapped a beautiful scene before my eyes. As if I was the only one to see His goodness to me and He loved that I was enjoying Him.

Today, friend, find something precious.

A word, a moment, a smile, a deed done in all sincerity.

Find something that is precious to YOU.

And let it take you back to your first recognition of that word.

Precious.

And let it make you smile and wonder and sigh, and relish all that God has made for you to be witness of.

I am busy today.

But not too busy to spend some time remembering what it is like to have a front row view God's goodness to me.



(P.S. I have had a terrible time posting pictures on this site. :( You'll just have to use your mind's eye for a while friends!)

A Little Taste

I am getting my favorite meal in the oven to make ahead for my Mother in law who will have the Littles for a week.

I remember almost by heart the seasonings and measure them out in a bowl. I have run out of pepper and need to fill the shaker again. The words "POUR" stand out to me and I fill my teaspoon to running over because I am thinking.

And I remember, as I have always remembered since making the recipe for the very first time, not to add the full amount of Thyme that it calls for. I smile thinking that I have never had to write it down on the recipe, it has just been permanently written on my brain.

Half the Thyme.

I pop it in the oven and sit and think a bit more.

This afternoon I was just back from visitation and my eye caught sight of what seemed to me as a sea of daisies just waving in the sun.

I did what any normal sleep-deprived Momma would do. I walked through the prickers and thistles and bugs and began to pick them.

As I bent to snag the first beautiful bloom, the Lord brought this verse to mind:

 O taste and see that the Lord is good: 
    Psalm 34:8

And as I picked it just ran over and over and over in my head.

There are days when it is easier to praise the Lord than others.

Easier to notice His goodness.

Trace His smile on your life.

I was drawn to these daisies because I so longed to see some goodness. They are cheery and lovely and I had them right outside my doorstep when life was good, the kids were happy and the floors were dirty.

Is the devil so deceitful that he would bring these to my notice to spark some feeling of discontentment in me???

Youbetyourbottomdollar he is.

But God did not leave me comfortless.

"O taste and see" He would remind.

And I realized I was picking daisies left and right.

I was picking more than I had even meant to.

I was picking and picking and picking so many that one hand could hardly hold them all.

And I lifted my eyes to see yet so many more around me.

Waving at me their cheery blooms and God softly saying, "O taste and see.."

See that there are so many blessings to be had.

More than you can hold in your hand. In your heart.

I am good.

I am God.

I am your Provider, Father, Maker, Healer, Comforter.

Look around you.

This is just a taste.

Enough to wet your appetite for me.

My eldest girl sees me picking like there is no tomorrow and it makes my heart happy that she knows me and is not surprised that I am knee-deep in prickers and comes to see me.

She warns me that there is poison ivy where I am.

I shrug.

I've never been allergic to it, and she knows this.

She also knows  that she IS very allergic to it.

She comes in to be with me and we smile and my heart is overflowing that she knows the risk, yet she comes to pick with me anyway.

She comes for a taste. O that I may always be seeking the right things to show her where the blessings are.

Life is not easy. Thorns and prickers hit us all.

You may even know that you are stepping into something that will make your life miserable for a while.

But it is worth it for a taste.

On the way back to the van, the Lord brings in the rest of the verse that I had not yet thought upon.

  blessed is the man that trusteth in him.

Isn't that just like the Lord? To give you what you can handle, to bring your heart to the truth you are struggling with?

And my hand is overflowing with flowers and he tells me He can be trusted.

He can be trusted in the prickers and poison ivy.

It's a risk, but the taste reminds me that it is only the beginning of the Lord's goodness.

The daisies are still waving, reminding me that there are so many more yet to be picked.

After all, it's His church, His house, His possessions, His money, His children, His man.

If everything comes from Him, can He not  be trusted with them all??

I run to turn the oven on low. This dish is best when it simmers low all afternoon.

And I am seeing how funny it is that I am so concerned with too much Thyme, and in reality time is fleeting.

My youngest learned to ride a bike yesterday.

She didn't even ask us if she could.

If we were ready for some childhood time to be taken away.

Are we ever ready?

And I want half the Thyme, but all the time I can get to learn, to lean on Him and to trust Him for what is His already.

Vases come out and the youngest gets pollen on her lips and nose from too much smelling of this goodness.

She hands them to me and I cut them to size and we distribute them in vases of various colors and sizes.

Blessings come to us in so many colors and sizes, don't they?

And she holds a bundle and tells me that they are a family.

I could have squeezed the stuffing out of her right then.

We ARE a family.

My family needs to know that God can be trusted.

They need a taste of His goodness.

We scatter vases and the oven fills the house with a delish aroma.

Just another day of learning, of leaning hard into Him.

Because He can be trusted.

*Pictures forth coming. They are too sweet not to share.

Footprints on my heart

I'm sucked into the vortex named Pinterest and see a cute Father's Day idea.

Socks with paint footprints on them filled with lovely things to deodorize Dad's shoes.

I smile.

I smile first, because my dear husband's feet do not stink. No kidding. They are boats with toes on the tops and they for real don't stink.

I think it's a cute and well thought idea anyway.

Who wouldn't love to see the teeny footprints of their littles on some stuffed socks falling out of their shoes in the morning?

My Pinterest staycation is ended with dishes that someone forgot to gather in the rush to complete their chore for the night.

Sigh.

I gather cups and forks and grumble.

It's amazing how I can gather Father's Day ideas one minute and want to put someone to bed three hours early the next.

Motherhood is surprising like that.

You can smile and accept yet another wildflower offering in the mid-morning and grumble that there are no clean glasses left at the end of the day.

Almost like you need a deodorizer for your spirit.

Walking though life with littles is wonderful.

It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to show a glimpse of God's character in these little years when kind words heal and soft hugs turn little girls into spaghetti in your arms.

It is a cotton candy, rainbow, marshmallow fluff kind of feeling at times.

These times are usually before you remember how much laundry has rolled-over from yesterday.

And while showing someone who the Creator of the universe is to them is amazing, we too are just flesh and bone created by the very same one we are pointing little eyes to.

We fail, we disappoint, we hurry and speak harshly and forget and remember wrongs.

We are not God.

We are his creation.

We are learning right along with the little ones in the little years.

And just as they are learning to jump into our arms and lay their head down and rest, so are we learning to jump and rest.

Last night I walked home from church through a sureal pasture of dandelions going to seed. The sun was almost set and white seeds were launching out with each step towards home.

I put one foot in front of the other and thanked God for the ability to do so. Little did I know that once home, I would be summoned to view a gash in a little's head and comfort him after a staple kept it closed. I looked at his little hospital band and thought that this is what memories are made of.

Jumping, resting, remembering that God is holding it altogether without my help.

Then one bites through her tongue on both sides. I should have spent more time wondering how to stop bleeding than trying to figure out how you do such a thing to YOURSELF while singing.

And back I go to the dishes. Joel and I sigh at eachother.

I am too tired to give everyone a bath again tonight so we wash only what dirt is viewable.

Hands, face, arms, and then it dawns on me that I am forgetting black little feet.

After setting a dish to soak I set a little on the counter to wash their feet, yes, in the kitchen sink.

Before I could warn they set their arm up to their elbow into the greasy dish.

This is too much.

I scold. I set them down to run to get changed, and I have changed.

Surely somewhere in the Cosmos it is justifiable to scold for sticking your arm in greasy water, but I know that I have hurt those I am supposed to be showing how to rest.

They come back, I lean down and catch tears on my arm. I swoop them up and kiss tears away.

I was wrong.

I ask for forgiveness and begin again.

I run the water just warm enough for little black stinky feet and lather up the soap.

"Look Mama! The soap is shaped like a heart!!"

Bright dark eyes still wet look at me as if we have unearthed a treasure that has been waiting on us for hundreds of years.

I roll the soap in my hand, around and around, and around while they just giggle at the thought.

A heart.

That's what we Mama's do. We show the heart of God by using our own.

Sometimes it's dirty and smelly and sticky and rough, but we do it because it's our job. And when the coffee is poured and the last light turned out, we remember that we love it, this job of ours.

And each toe is clean and they lean into me and tell me that they "Love when you wash my feet."

And you think of the disciples who wanted nothing to do with the Lord touching their toes.

All dirty and smelly,

And yet they could have no part of Him if they did not understand what it meant to be a servant.

I dry feet carefully and wonder how the Holy Spirit can teach me so much in a moment's time. As if everything stood still and nothing was more important than dirt between toes.

That's just how He is.

Knowing where to meet us, knowing when we would jump and when we would lean hard into Him.

The days of Motherhood are long.

Though the years are short.

May I learn more of Him to teach Him to them.

The love of God and white shoes

I am spending today typing out a bit of my story and studying about the Love of God.

It's so vast it's hard to know where to begin.

So, I just unravel my own story and look for His hand in my own life and relearn some lessons about who He really is.

I didn't come from a "Lovey" "Touchy" "Feely" type of home. I remember vividly wanting to "Feel loved," and did things to try to get that feeling. The only way I can describe my home was that we all just did our own thing.

I wanted to make my parents proud and to me in that measuring up I would feel loved and complete and life would be grand.

But that's not how things worked out for me. That's just not my story.

My parents were busy trying to provide for us, and trying to be the best parents they knew how to be. They both grew up with a parent who was distant or whom didn't actively "Show" them love and so they learned that you just "know" your loved and that's good enough. We didn't even tell each other that we loved each other.

It's not bad, it's just doing what we know, and living-out how you are raised. It really hasn't been until this year watching my oldest girl slowly becoming a teen that I have realized how hard it must have been for my Mom to not have a doting Mother herself.

I really felt that if I was  good enough that I would feel loved, wanted, adored, needed and everything else a kid wants to feel.

And so, I looked at God this way.

I work, and it is understood that He just loves.

I remember going off to college and feeling so alone. I don't think I have ever felt so alone as I did that first year away from all I knew.

My room mates were dear gals and I think I was hugged more by my room mates in that first year than all of my years growing up.

One of my room mates had parents that loved to visit and bring treats. They lived a good distance away, but it seemed like nothing to them to stop in to see her. They would come and take her out and spoil her a bit and it was fun to watch.  One particular visit it was close to Easter and they were taking her out to get her an Easter outfit.

We didn't say much, as I had much to do that day, but I do remember feeling lonely and ready for my first hard freshman year to be over.  I was feeling so unloved.

You can imagine my surprise when I came back to my room after they had left to find a box for me. I was wide-eyed and remember thinking what I could have done for this family for them to want to gift me with anything. It was a shoe box with bright white pumps in it. I couldn't remember the last time I had had new shoes for  Easter. Just remembering how I felt then brings tears to my eyes now, some many years later.

I remember feeling so loved. And embarrassed that I had not done anything to earn that love. I had hardly said two words to them on their visit. It was such a reminder of who God was to me. I was beginning to understand that God did not love me because of what I did for him or didn't do. He loved me simply because He created me and delights in me.

Standing in my room with my shoes in my hands I felt like the earth was tiny and that God did indeed see me and knew how lonely I truly was. I felt in awe that God would prompt someone who barely knew me to meet a need for me and to even find out my shoe size. They didn't just love on me. They loved on me in a very specific way, individual to only me. And that is how God loves us.

This was just the beginning of understanding God's vast love for me.

I wore those shoes until they fell apart.


These shoes started me off on a journey of realizing that I will never need to be "good enough" to warrant God's love. It is freely given.

A hair-splitting discovery.

Has it REEEELLLY almost been two whole months since I've posted, friends??

tsk tsk (slapping wrist)


So much to tell.  Let's just sum up that time by saying that the Holidays, really trying to enjoy the mystery of Christ coming for even me, Celebrating with family, Sending family far far away to the Mission field and four solid weeks of chicken pox has kept me busy.

Now if that doesn't beg for a pardon on my behalf, I am sunk.

In other news, I have had two very influential things happen to me this week and that brings me back to you all for a catch-up and a heart sketching.

One was the phone call that will not soon be forgotten, in which, a certain gal that will remain nameless, spoke life into these dry bones. Dry writing fingers to be exact.

She just spoke truth and love into me and just got me out of that spot that we all get into from time to time. Not going forward, not retreating, just.plain.stuck.

I think we each have a hand full of people who's words are worth their weight in gold to us. Everyone has an opinion, but this hand full, they mean something to us. If they are cross, we feel it deeply, if they are sure of something, we are sure of it, just from their enthusiasm.

This someone whom I adore, had no idea that their call would reach through the phone and give me that push that I needed for some time, followed by truth in who God has made me to be that enveloped me as a great, enormous hug does when you are down in the dumps. Sometimes you really can feel the blue leaving your body when someone dear to you loves on you in that way.

The way they did for me.

And sometimes it is easier to allow something to really stick and sink down into you when you aren't face to face, reading every eye movement, every glance, every smile. You can just stare out the window and let it take root in your heart, and not be embarrassed when they see it move you.

Have you been there, friend??

And so here I am, back anew to share that God is amazing and each of us are uniquely qualified to bring Him an amazing source of joy. I cannot bring Him glory just like you can. You are unique to Him. And this uniqueness was never more understood to me than today.

You see, I got a hair cut.

I had that "I HAVE to do something with this" feeling about my hair that can come upon us females as a craving for an expectant mother. One that will stop you dead in your tracks and make you head over to the computer to indeed see if your checking account can aid you in your mission.

One that will prompt you to ask a friend to drive you over a coupon saving you yet a few dollars more, totally sealing the deal for you. You know what you need to do. Lunch can wait, dishes can wait, make-up can NOT wait and at last you are bounded for that corner place and in your head you are just praying that your Stylist has most of her teeth and only one tattoo.

I was in luck.  A full set, and not-a-one.

I gave her the, "I think it would look nice a certain way, but have no idea how to explain that in stylish terms" smile.

She seemed to understand.

A year or so ago when I was in the same predicament, I asked the same question that our husband's love, "How do you want me to do my hair." And this particular day the response was precise and freeing.

He liked it short.

Well Hallelujah for that.                                                    

Thus began my search for something that was "me." This led to one evening of me on the phone with a friend who was helping me get ready for a huge event that would have me and the family reuniting with college friends after 14 years. No pressure. Not an ounce. Ok a LOT of pressure. Ok, lots of phone counseling.

This friend finally basically dared me to wear my hair with my bangs pinned to the side. Yeah, full-forehead.

I know, I was shocked too. I called it "Shock and Awe." As in, "I know your are shocked, and Awe, why did you have to dare me to do this! "And something amazing happened, It was freeing. It was me. It was what my husband liked and I finally was free of them. The... bangs I mean.

Now back to the salon...

This sweet gal has never worked faster or harder for twelve fifty. Hey, I had a coupon! I won't even mention that she didn't even wash my hair. This was diff-er-ent. She listened to me him and haw about what I thought would look nice and got that look in her eye that made me think she knew what I was rambling about. Either that or she was regretting the fact that I had used the coupon after all. THIS is why you WAIT to say you are using a coupon. When will a tightwad like me ever learn?????

She trimmed, and I would stop here and there to locate my glasses and check things out. Yes, I felt like an old lady. But without them I just saw what seemed to me like the outline of a chia pet. So, old lady or not, I hunted for them.

 In no time flat I was headed out the door. And it was there that the feeling grabbed a hold of me. You know the one where everything is in slow motion and you feel like Esau did when he gave away his birthright? The one where each passerby seems to KNOW that you decided on not paying the extra three dollars for a blow-dry and style???!

I had some errands to run before heading home for dinner and while out, my hair began to sporadically dry in different sections. Maybe I should say, "fluff" in different sections....

I caught a glimpse of it in the frozen food isle glass and wondered where on earth I was going to have to hide for two or three months!

Ok, ok, it wasn't THAT bad, but you know that feeling, right???

At dinner my husband didn't even notice! This is good or bad. Good that it doesn't look as crazy  different as you had previously felt, or bad because he has lost almost all of his peripheral vision.

I chose the former.

Once he does see it, he likes it. Scratch that, he loves it. Yes, he really said that. Those words just leaped out of his mouth.

It is at this very moment that you begin to take a tally on one hand of those tried and true friends who will stick with you. The rest you feel you can avoid to some extent... and you surely can avoid a facebook picture for a month or....seven...?


Then, while I was doing absolutely nothing today,  the thought occurred to me that I had never even decided if I liked my hair! I was too busy worrying about what everyone else would think that I had thrown my own thoughts about it out the window! And you know what??

I like it! Scratch that, I love it. I LOVE MY HAIR! I may even get myself a bumper sticker and spread the message that self-loathing is for the birds. Something, we women, made in GOD'S image should throw to the curb. Enough with that! Be uniquely YOU!

I love my hair because it is fun.

I love my hair because it is something I would probably never do unless I was on a deserted island and was able to change my appearance without anyone around. You know, like finally grow your eyebrows out.... you've never thought of that???? Ok, just forget you ever read that, will you?

I love my hair because it's me. It's unique and that's just dandy.

I love my hair because my husband fancies it.

I just love.my.hair.

And I am determined to keep on loving it, any way I grow it, cut it, or style it. A bad hair day has been replaced with a "uniquely created" day!

A few days pass and I was listening to someone online speak truth again to this heart of mine. She was reminding me how God loves us because we are his. He doesn't love us because of what we have to offer him, or what we will become. He loves us because we are HIS.  Two truths sent right from God to this heart of mine in one week. I am grateful and blessed! I soak it all in. Friend, you are uniquely created in God's image. I am created in God's image and can bring him glory and joy. And I tend to think that He loves my forehead.

You are loved, and you are so so lovely, friend.

Do you know that?

I mean REALLY know that?

It might just be time for a trim......

A little "humbug" for Mom's

Here's a list of things I have done and left undone to get you to that stack of papers that need desperately to be graded, that sink full of dishes, or that laundry pile.....

With a crazy smile on your face.

1. I have worn my husband's pajama bottoms under my clothes for too many days to count. And I have worn them so long that I am actually believing that black plaid goes with everything.

2. I have eaten a whole container of cookies that were designated for some Little's stocking. Here's the long and short of it: I thought they were in the bag in the closet. They fell out. Technically they were unclaimed by a child until taken out of said stocking. I ate them. They were delicious. I will find a replacement.

3. I have picked presents out for myself this year. And even thanked the customer service folk a mite too much for shipping me my gift asap.

4. I have wrapped an item from Goodwill for someone I love. It's in great condition and it was less than a dollar.

5. I forgot I had a gift for one of the crew under my bed. It may have been there since we moved. A lovely surprise.

6. I've thrown a snowball out the window at my husband after coaxing him to look closer at the chimney for a supposed crack.

7. We were out of whites for two days. It wasn't pretty.

8. I have taught school so many days without doing my hair that when I did do my hair once in a week's time, the kids gathered around the bathroom door to find out what was up.

9. We have eaten celery as a snack like we are vegetarians lately. It was time to go shopping many moons ago.

10. Until the holiday rush is over, Cheez-its WILL stay on the nightstand. They are my new BFF.

Go friends, be free. Black plaid is the new "black."

Filled to the brim.......with HIM???

Hello all.

Hang on to your hats, this is gonna sound like a rant.

And I believe it is. It is time for it. It is for me, and perhaps you as well.


It all began a few years ago now. When I found a cool book club for ladies and followed each weekly reading and video. It was an amazing book. AMAZING. God used that book to really change my view of Christianity as a whole.

It was great, there was this emotional connection to these gals and I as we read it together. EVEN though they had read the book like, six months prior......ANNNND  prerecorded the videos, ANNNND never met me. Yeah. Like that.

I found blogs. I followed. I cried. I laughed.

And a year went on and I am at this place now where I have grown weary of following,

THEM.

Women love to be a part of something. Something big. They love big ladies meetings, BIG door prizes, Big lunches and even Big shopping sprees.

I get it. I am one.

There finally reaches a point where Bigger isn't better. Ok, unless you are talking about Mallow Cups. Just.cannot.get.enough.of.them

But besides them, bigger is not better. Sometimes, many times, smaller, quieter, unnoticed is better.

I found that this fantastic woman who writes, takes pictures with really expensive equipment, has narry a bad hair day, yeah, she loves God. That's great.

But she's also meeting her besties several weekends out of the year to just enjoy each other. Flying down south for private teas in gardens, just to know God. Travelling without Littles hither thither and yon eating delish food and hanging out with a whole bunch of other ladies for a week who pay to hear them just "share."

If I could gather twenty of my besties for a weekend every few months, I'd be writing the next bestseller too.

Catch my drift???

When I pop on twitter or instagram and see that no one is caring about the pic itself, but where they can find those boots, those skinny jeans and for Pete's sake that hair color, it just turns my lip up and reminds me that people are people.

Even people who love the Lord. Like, a LOT.

Women helping other women is important. Older women teaching, guiding, loving on the younger women is part of God's design.

But all to quickly, we can look to other women as some kind of Hollywood stars, place them on a pedestal that they themselves might not even want. They comment on OUR comment and we swoon.

Look, I've been there.

Approval from someone we admire is great.

But it's not necessary.

We've swapped it all for the Martha Stewart Christianity thing again.

Sigh.

Because of the spotlight and book promotions we have been drawn to that perfect woman and away from the lady down the street who is so unbelievably wise.

We have forgotten our Pastor's wife who loved us through our ugly cry over not being able to handle one more discipline problem.

We somehow think that the glam makes someone more wise, more adoring, more spiritual than that Mom of four behind us in church who will never see worldly promotion.

Her boots will never be coveted, Her hair color never matched with fervor, Her written words never poured over.

And that is a terrible shame.

Though I never make the NY Times list, my writing is still valuable, and so is yours. If God enables you to do something, do it with your might, though no one may ever know.

Buzz around people takes our eyes off of Him who has always been sufficient for our every need.

He knows our hearts better than a best selling writer.

He wants to meet with us more than hundreds of ladies at a conference.

He IS our BIG NAME speaker.

And you don't need tickets to see Him. You don't have to wait for a sale to nab his latest masterpiece of a book.

You can conform to Him all you desire and find real peace from Him who changes not.

So.

Click out of Twitter. Get your face out of facebook. Forget that book that will be sure to make you the best Christian wife, mother, friend, sister, neighbor, car pooler that you could ever be in the whole entire existence of mankind.

Remember that it's not "them." They don't even know your name.

But He does.

His bestseller will change you and I more than any book known to man.

Sure, they are great in their own way. God used them, terrific. No hate to them.

But good people can be bad people if they keep you from the best PERSON.

My thoughts today.

Self-reliance gets a thumb's down

This week I had a Doctor's appointment. After a ruptured appendix in college and six littles surgically removed from this body in the span of nine years..... I am plum tired of them. Doctor's that is. :)

And though I love what they do, I hate seeing them.

You anticipate the visit, you get all sweaty waiting in the waiting room with day time soaps blaring and people trying not to stare at one another all equally disliking the fact that they are there as well.

Blah.

So, not my favorite thing to do.

I was wayyyyyyy overdue for a checkup so it was scheduled and on the calendar and I feared it like the plague.

On the way to the office I began to ponder all the things that my mind just hadn't had quiet enough to let settle. You Mom's know what I am talking about. This is why, on any given night, when you and your husband have just polished off the last of the brownies he catches you with a furrowed brow and a tear beginning to emerge. He asks you what on earth could possibly be wrong when you just ate half your body weight in chocolate. Any woman's dream.

You choke out that you were "just thinking" about whether or not your second grader will ever learn to tie his shoes and avoid public humiliation, combined with the fact that the washing machine part you need to stop it leaking costs more than you have in the budget.

He may think you half crazy, but it's in the quiet that those brain nags come and take.over.

So it was these nags that haunted me on the way to the Doctors. Financial hiccups, scary news, discipline problems, attitudes creeping up, losing hearts slowly..... they just hovered over like a black cloud.

And then, it was an October miracle. The clouds parted and grace covered everything like the heat that had finally kicked-on in the van and began to cover me head to toe. It was divine. No, it really was. God said, "I am bigger." I am in charge. And He reminded me of the devotion I had read that morning about refining.

When I saw the title after finding my glasses and still waking up, I cringed. "Lord. Fire? Refining? TO-DAY of all days???? I just cannot deal with it!" I read on anyway. The way that the author described the refiner and their delicate care moved me. The way the refiner sat and watched carefully, lest the metal would be lost or taxed beyond what it needed was speaking peace to my weariness.

I thought of God, loving me enough to put me through a fire, only to sit and lovingly watch lest I suffered too greatly. Only heated enough to mold.

Only heated enough to mold.

To MOLD.

I haven't been the most pliable human being, wife, mother, friend as of late.

I thought of all of this while I drove and while the heat warmed me from the outside in. I walked into the office with a calm and peace of knowing that God loves me enough not to leave me in the fire, but sit beside me with a watchful eye on the fires around me.

Only heating me enough to mold once again.

The visit was fine and I was off to have blood drawn. I could, by personal experience probably draw my own blood, but I sat and offered my left arm and without a wince, watched.

The tingle down my arm and pain shooting back up again brought instant tears. This was not normal for me. I found out quickly that it wasn't normal for a lot of people.

The needle hit a nerve.

In all my years of blood drawn I have never had someone hit a nerve. I never even knew to fear it. I just lived sticking my arm out and letting someone stick something in it. The nurse was obviously horrified and I did my best to comfort her and assure her that it could have happened to anyone.

As a side note, I have this weird way of comforting people who feel badly about a service they have rendered me. I once gave a gift to a hairdresser who chopped all my hair off with all smiles and hugs, only to head home and cry for two days..... Well there could be weirder things I guess....

No instructions were given about what to watch for, how to take care of the nerve... I think that nurse just wanted to go and cry herself and get me outta there like last week's recycling.

I headed home and was just thankful the whole thing was over. That is until the next night after knitting. I could hardly stretch my arm out. I was fearful to move my fingers, especially my thumb, and the pain was back. It was enough of a bother to make you a bit cranky from the pain. I sighed. Then I got a little hypochondriac-ish.

I googled and for fear's sake just read the first post regarding blood draws and nerves. The rest of my nerves were on edge and I went to bed spent with worry.

The next day it still bothered me but not to the same extent. Then the following day I began to wonder if this was going to be a looong road.

I have things to knit! A Christmas craft show to prepare for!

Finally, I ran to the Lord. Joel had the kids on an errand and I had time. Time to finally read deep. The Lord took me to 2 Chronicles 6 and 7. I marveled at Solomon's loong speech regarding the building of the temple after such a long wait. FIVE times in chapter six Solomon asks the Lord to forgive the people when they come to Him with a transgression. That really spoke volumes to me. He didn't just ask the Lord to forgive all their sins. He chose five separate instances where the people might fall and asked Him that when he heard their cry, to forgive them.

Solomon also asks if it is even possible for the God of heaven and heavens of heavens to dwell in that temple; if the temple could even contain a piece of his glory. Wow. That took God out of the neat box I always seem to put him in and reminded me of His infinite power and might. Then in verse 30 Solomon says:
     "Then hear thou from heaven thy dwelling place, and forgive, and render unto every man according unto all his ways, whose heart thou knowest; (for thou only knowest the hearts of the children of men:)"

He is all powerful. And only He knows my heart.

Chapter seven carries that all familiar verse 14 we hear quoted so often for our nation:

"If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land."

Many of us fail to remember that this word from the Lord came at night after Solomon had offered the temple to the Lord. The Lord had already accepted the sacrifice of the people. Had already shown them His glory. This word in the night, was more of a reminder to Solomon. And that is sweet to me.

God didn't withhold his glory and blessing from the people until they had met Him and settled some things. He knew their hearts as only He can, and then after blessing came to Solomon and reminded him of what that relationship with Him meant.

We are His temple. I am His temple. And the Lord, in that quiet time, reminded me that it is He that gives my arms strength. It is He who loves me enough to keep me moldable for His purposes. I turned to Him, repented of my idolatry ( making myself a God before Him) , and even making a good pastime the most important thing. He met with me just as He had Solomon, and forgave. In that stillness of spirit, I was reminded of the vastness of God.

He loves us enough to allow the fire to bring us back to a moldable state.

For HIS glory.

I am thankful for a little bit of a bum arm. Will it last? God knows. But I know I am a child of his this day. I am a child that He loves very much. So much that He will allow trial small or great, to remind me of Him and His ultimate plan for my life.

He loves you too. Look for Him in your fire. He is sitting there beside.

Lessons from the Road Trip

It was Wednesday evening and we were leaving in the morning, early. If I had one outfit I had a dozen on the bed or draped over the footboard because I was beyond stressed about what I should wear when I see people, some of them I haven’t seen in too many years to remember.

I decided on a skirt that I knew no one else had a copy of, because that, for some odd reason made me feel lovely. What wasn’t so lovely was the fact that the two pounds I had gained stress eating for this trip really made this skirt tight at the waist. I was uncomfortable, but who needs comfort when you have college friends to impress??? I was bringing support hose....bam. It was in the bag. I messaged a friend that next morning and literally sent her four or five outfit options JUST for the traveling. :) She saw past the sweaters and spoke such truth into me. “Just love on the person in front of you. Forget the crowd.”  Got it. Wow. Ok. I can do this.

A little less than a quarter of the way down the road we blew a tire. Poor Joel had to hoof it to a service station on the freeway while we watched some Duggar goodness on the ipad. A few minutes turned into an hour and some and I could imagine that even my cool as a cucumber husband was even to begin to unravel a teensy bit. He came to rescue us with a tow truck, but we had no place to seat all the rest of the family. A friend came to our aid and met Joel with the kids on the side of the road, while Isaac and I loaded into the tow truck for parts unknown. Joel and I were not only totaling up the time   we have left to make it to our destination, but also the hefty price tag that would surely be attached....

A sweet Italian mechanic allowed me to park the van at his lot until we came back on Saturday evening and the church allowed us to graciously take their van to complete the trip. A few cheeseburgers later we were on our way again and I wasted no time plucking my eyebrows in anticipation of the evening ahead.

We arrived, changed clothes and I was taming my hair for the last time when Joel called me over. “Stop curling your hair and come here and sit with me.”  He was wrapping up his study time and we just looked at each other.  He calmed my spirit in the same way my friend had and just told me that we were going to be “us.” It didn’t matter what we wore, what we said, it was all about Christ. It was none of us. It was so sweet and lovely to come together as a family and pray for God to use us in some small way if it be His will. That He would have preeminence and we would just be instruments of His grace that evening. We were a family and we loved the Lord and that was the bottom line.

Out we went to face everyone. I kept repeating to myself, “Love on the person in front of you. Forget the crowd” I looked into the eyes of each person in front of me and tried to love them as God would if He was speaking to them.  Joel opened God’s word and I felt the arm of my oldest son creep around my neck. It.was.perfect. We were together, and we were just instruments to use. People who had invested in our lives in college filed past and we thanked every one of them. We brought small tokens of our appreciation for them and the littles had fun delivering them. 

With the tow bill hanging over us, we went to bed that night and wondered if our plans for a big Chicago day with the Littles was stalled. Allll night our youngest wailed that her ears hurt her. Now this may come as a shock. Prepare yourself. We have never had a Little with an ear infection. Nope. Never, ever. So this was  a predicament of vast proportions in my eyes. We had just had a looong good day, and were utterly and completely exhausted. I rocked, I used a hot compress, I took her earrings out, I massaged her ears and throat, I prayed over her and asked the Lord to bind Satan’s attempts to hinder us and discourage us. The Lord reminded me that I had brought some oils with me that might help. I put a drop of theives oil in each ear and prayed some more. I’m not quite sure what time she finally settled down, but it was well after three.

I had made previous plans with some old friends for coffee that next morning at ten. I fell asleep on the floor, because she was asleep on the bed by Joel and I was not about to wake her, and wondered if every plan we made had just gone up in smoke.

Two VERY zealous Littles who are way too big for their britches wanted the college breakfast and devos experience so they woke us at seven. Flashbacks of roomies who were too happy in the morning for their own safety came flooding back to my mind.... It was a wonderful blessing that I was too tired to even blink.

They went merrily on their way and to our amazement our youngest woke like she had never seen a better morn in her 4 years on earth. With one eye opened I began to wonder if this day.just.might.work. after all.

Coffee was just blessed. It just was. It was a bunch of thirty-somethings bearing each other’s burdens and laughing over life we shared 30 pounds ago. It was good to reconnect, encourage one another and realize we are all just trying to stay one load of laundry ahead of the mess. We love our husbands, our children, and our Lord.

I met Joel and the kids and he showed me an envelope he had been given that morning. It was just a white envelope and the words on the front read something like, “Joel, you did work for me years ago and were a blessing. I want to be a blessing to you and your family as you enjoy a day in Chicago.” Joel opened the envelope and I opened my mouth in disbelief. 

Only God. 

Only He can touch a man’s heart to give from a gracious heart, for a job completed 15 years ago.

Only He can take a weary mess and bless two little ears and our hearts and make eyes with bags under them wet with tears of gratitude.

The kids have just had the weekend of a lifetime. The train ride into the city, the sites, the foods, the stores.....They giggled when we pointed out, at their pleading, where we met for the first time, where we ate, where we walked, where we each lived, and where God began to mould us into what we are today. It was fun introducing those we owe so much gratitude to, to our Littles. It was more fun remembering that we are a family. We are perfect because we are who God made us to be and support hose  cannot even contain all the blessings that God has for those who give themselves back to Him to be used in whatever way He deems good.

We are on our way home.

The whole family

A Wrinkle Caught in Time

She had called and asked to speak to us.


She is always gracious, but this sounded serious. We  had to all be together she said, Joel and I and her. A few church services came and went and we never met up.

Until tonight.

A day or so ago I worried that something was really wrong, that she needed us to help her with something and wondered if we shouldn't just go to her home and meet.

Once she even attempted to WALK to our house from the bus stop, but the bus had been in an accident and so she waited at her stop in vain.

Something was not right.

I chatted with this one and that one and practiced a song and gathered the littles like a hen gathers chicks and almost forgot about our "meeting."

And then there she was. Sitting sweetly, Bible and purse on her lap and Joel was ushering us all into his office.

I always feel awkward at this moment. I offer her a seat and then just get comfortable and wait. You don't know the reason for the meeting so you don't know how to prepare. 

You just wait.

And the story began to unfold as she spoke more with her hands than anything and I listened.

She smiled at me and opened her Bible. She said that she meant to go home last week and read the passage that Joel preached out of to review it in her mind, and by mistake landed in another chapter. While she was there a verse she highlighted years ago struck her and gripped her heart.


"For behold this selfsame thing, that ye sorrowed after a godly sort, what carefulness it wrought in you, yea, what clearing of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea, what fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, what zeal, yea, what revenge! In all things ye have approved yourselves to be clear in this matter." II Corinthians 7:11

She said she kept asking the Lord if she needed to be "Clear" in some matter, and if so, which one, with whom??

She said that this was why she wanted ME to be in this meeting so badly.

I swallowed hard. Eyes wide, heart racing.

She kept unfolding a story and I tried to keep my eyes directly on her so as not to miss any inkling of what I had done to offend this sweet lady.

It was about a dress. Months ago, actually a year ago she had wanted to bless our family in some way. I told her that she was sweet and lovely and that was blessing enough, though she insisted still. She mentioned that she used to do some ironing for a family in the church to be a help to a mother of many littles and wondered if that was something I would need?

I remember thinking that was too generous too kind and she was just too old to be tackling my ironing pile!

She insisted week after week so I finally relented. 

And for a month or so she blessed us so with her sweet prayer filled ironing.

One day she arrived at our door! Walking all the way from the bus stop, after catching a bus at her house with a garment in her hands. She was beside herself with worry and I can still see the look in her eyes of just shame.

She had noticed a spot on one of the girl's dresses and tried her best to remove it with every concoction she could remember. It bleached the dress and rendered it unusable and she was so distraught that she walked to us to tell us so!

I had never seen such a thing in my life. I was sorry to lose the dress, but even more sorry to see her walk and feel so guilt ridden. 

She spoke to Joel about it and life went on and she was unable to help us due to her health and I was just happy to have her smiling at us each service.

The "matter" that she said the Holy Spirit was convicting her of was surrounding the dress. I looked stunned and shocked. 

Mostly because I thought to myself, "Wasn't that cleared up a loooong time ago?" And then my heart reminded me of two messages I had sent this very day concerning the Holy Spirit and His leading me to just contact two friends. Two old "matters" that He wanted me to make sure were "clear." How interesting that the Lord would have ME send those messages and then here this message from this dear old saint. 

My mind then flashed to another matter. One that I needed to clear up. One that I needed to humble myself in.

She proceeded to look as though she knew what I had done and what I needed to do. I listened intently as she placed her hand on my shoulder and told me that all those months ago, she had spoken to my husband, and she should have spoken to ME. I hugged her and laughed and she told me that it wasn't a huge weight between us, but just something that just like the scripture had attested, needed "cleared."

And though I am sure she had no idea what she was about to tell me next would make such a profound impact and tie the whole situation in that room and in my heart into a perfect bow, she began another story.

It was of her Father, a blind minister who told her once that Jesus wants us to be his Bride, spotless and without wrinkle. 

Without Wrinkle.

She said that a wrinkle doesn't have to be dirty. And I said the next phrase in perfect sync with her, "It's just creased."

It's just something that takes away from the Bride's appearance. It is one flaw that needs corrected.  Little did I know how this soiled dress would speak volumes to me over a year latter through a woman who is a beautiful Bride of Christ's.

I asked her if she would excuse me. I had a phone call to make.....

"Marriage" has a nice ring to it. Wouldn't you agree?

               My lack of blogging is by no means a lack of living. In truth, the amount of living has led to the lack of writing. I know you all understand. Would you believe that a running documentary has been going on mentally and yet it wasn't until a friend mentioned that he reads a "certain" blog, but a certain "someone" hasn't posted in way too long, that I finally hit the keys again? Well this is the result of that prompting.

If he wasn't talking about me, well it's time to jump in with both feet again anyhow.

Summer has been warm and lovely and the tan lines from arms and legs are beginning to fade. Before vacation began I had the divine idea of buying my husband food from a local posh restaurant and transforming his office into all things romantical.

I headed to the restaurant and a very nice greeter met me. I had dressed for a fancy date and his niceness took me back. Sure people are nice, but it had been a while since a real date and I sat at a table to look over the menu with a sort of redness in my cheeks. And while looking over the menu, even though I KNEW what I wanted to order when I left the house, I did a strange thing.

I turned my ring around. It was weird and quick and thoughtless and so many other words that escape me at this moment. A little attention turned my head....and tugged at my heart. In the restaurant I could cross my ankles and smell lovely and sport a new shade of lipstick and almost escape from laundry and nagging and crumbs. And I sat in this wonderland for a good few moments, really thinking about what the turning of a ring can mean.

Unknown to me a business meeting was taking place a few tables over. Each man ordered a drink and slapped each other on the back. They were as sincerely glad to see each other as I am to see spiders. I was intrigued and began to watch them intently while my tomato basil soup was prepared. Besides this gave me ample time to forget about my quandary and focus on something else. The slim waitress came and greeted the men who were only too happy to greet her in return. They flirted with her for a good five minutes when the Spirit finally got ahold of me.

I fingered my ring, and remembered.

The busboy came again to tell me that my order would be right up, and with the strangest face I am sure a customer has ever given him, I nodded.

This young kid has not stood by me for almost 15 years. He hasn't seen me good and bad, teary and joy filled. He has not gone to the store just because something sounded good, heard my heart on a matter, prayed over me when words of my own couldn't reach the surface. He would never patiently allow the Lord to chip my rough edges off or walk barefoot in the grass with me. He wouldn't tell me I was a good teacher even though we all know that's probably the only lie he's ever told.

My eyes glanced at the men having the meeting. They were really disgusting to me. And the Spirit told me I was in the same boat with them. They were all married men as displayed by their rings......

Rings.

Again, I fingered my own set.

Promises meant to be kept. If I was anything, I was loyal. Or so I said to everyone. Loyal. Loyal until some waiter smiles and makes me feel like a million dollars.

I grabbed the food and was almost running out the door. I must get to him. MY him.

And that I did. He was overjoyed to see me and that made me want to just be sick right then and there.

I spread all the food before him,  and before he could rub my arm again or cheerily tell me how much this made his day I sat him down. I told him what had happened. How it felt good to be noticed, smiled at.

Through tears I told him that for a moment my heart had skipped and my ring had turned.

I told him how the Lord smote me and flooded my memory of all that we had weathered.

And I made the decision to choose him again. And again and again and again.

I told him how those men disgusted me and how I disgusted myself.

We hugged and he wiped tears and we sipped soup and he told me to share this with all of you. He thought it was  a wonderful reminder of the choice we make everyday.

Because children pull at you and work never ends and you will always find something that will make you angry at one another if you peer hard enough through a lens labled "discontent." And the stats will tell you that if you make it years into marriage and don't jump ship, that the memories that you share together make the last of the voyage even sweeter than the first kiss.

Even sweeter??? Yes. Even sweeter.

My husband proposed to me again at our ten year mark and got down on one knee. I was expecting Alayna and on bed rest, but we escaped to the park where our wedding pictures were taken anyway. We were more nervous that day and more aware of what a lifetime really meant then we were ten years previous. And he put another beautiful ring on my finger.

I hadn't wore it much because I never really got it the right size. I decided to bite the bullet and get it sized to enjoy, now heading into our 15th year. I wanted the beginning on one hand, and the building of history on the other.

It really has taken some getting used to, this other ring. It feels funny and even bothers me a bit. This not having a ring on for years can do that to you. My wedding set just feels like part of my hand now. Sometimes it's like old hat to me. Shame on me, but it is. This new ring, or old ring, or whatever you want to call it, is good for me to see. 6 diamonds for 6 littles, 3 girls on one side and 3 boys on the other. One large stone hugged by two middle sized ones symbolizing Joel and I and our only refuge.

The Lord Jesus Christ.

This was not easy to type, or admit. But it is real and heartfelt and honest. Marriage takes work and grace and loyalty to one another. It takes forgiving and looking at your sin as distasteful as the other's. It takes falling on your face and quiet strength.

It is all together lovely. And I am better for it, blessed by it everyday, and humbled that it was God's idea for me.

A little syrup goes a long way

I keep a small bottle of maple syrup in my purse.

well confession IS good for the soul.

It came from probably the BEST date known to man at a Cracker Barrel a few days ago.

We talked, shared ham and pancakes and one bottle of warm maple syrup.

I was content until I saw the man across the way. He had a lot more than one lone bottle.

So I asked. You have not because you ask not, right?

And I was given another bottle, that I instinctively slipped into the purse.

It makes me happy just by being there.

Makes me feel prepared, like a swiss army knife, for any situation.

Stranded somewhere? Bam! Out comes the syrup to ration until help comes.

Help still not coming? Bam! write a note (On a very very very small piece of paper) and send it down stream.

Ok so its not as practical as a swiss army knife, I will give you that, but it still makes me feel so prepared. So happy.

Maybe it makes me feel so happy because I associate it with hot coffee and melt in your mouth pancakes.

Yeah, that just may be it.

And last night I stayed up waaaaay late to catch up on news.

For you worriers like myself, this is probably not the time to catch up on news.

late at night....when everyone is sleeping. Just throwin a help out there.

And it was bombings and babies being aborted with their tiny feet left in jars, and women mutilated and paying for it, and young girls beautiful, snuffing out their life so soon because of deep pain.

And if I am not careful I can find security and comfort in the fact that I have locked all the doors and tucked all the children in.

That I am far away from Boston, waited for marriage to have children, and walked the straight and narrow in high school. That if the rapture would happen this very moment all of my family would gather to meet Christ and rejoice for all eternity.

If I am not careful I will hide and pad my nest and shut out the world.

I will refuse to care about my neighbor 100 yards away thinking he is safe from all harm as well.

And late at night the faces of the children I will never meet from missionary slides comes to mind. And the lady at the grocery store I have come to seek out each trip. And the family member that hasn't really considered what an eternity without Christ really means for him.

But what if? What if it was my son who died in the explosion in Boston?

Could I have the heart of Christ and forgive these young men? Could I show grace that only comes from God?

Do I read the news and turn up my nose or say, "Forgive them Lord, for they do not know what they are doing."

And the Lord reminds me of my little bottle of syrup.

The one only I know about.

Well, now you do too.

And last night in my warm and comfy bed, while beginning a new knitted sock, the Lord decided to remind me of my syrup.

Will you enjoy your own comfort, family, life, ETERNAL life, and let the world just get their just desserts?

Will you shun, say, "they made their bed, let them lie in it?" and turn off the computer and close your eyes and refuse to care?

Will you let your friend, a stranger, a neighbor, a relative die and miss heaven because you had it and kept it to yourself?

Why?

Because you are blessed you can hoard it and only care about your own and their safety?

What if someone lived next door with the gospel and hid it under a basket and you went to bed another night not knowing, doing the best you could, and the light was only a few yards away?

How smitten my heart was.

It isn't just news.

It isn't just a faraway state.

It isn't just some lady in some clinic who lost the ability to ever have another child again.

It is a lost and helpless world.

And there is syrup for us all.

For.us.all.

I have breath in my lungs today to spread the good news.

It is the reason we are alive.

It is our sole responsibility.

Lord, forgive my apathy.

The Royalty Review: A chance to win some lovely products!

http://www.marilynmoll.com/2013/04/spring-cleaning-and-basic-package-give-away

A Tale of Two Truths (and apparently I have a thing for "T's" lately :)

Truth speaking folks.

Always my favorite to be around for a while at a time.

People different from my own flaws that see things from behind different colored glasses.

Love them.

The people who encourage me the most are those who lean hard over coffee and feel safe enough to ask, to wonder with me and to tell me the truth.

Jesus was a truth speaker.

I happen to believe that when scripture tells us that He went about doing good... well I believe that a lot of that was speaking truth as much as healing infirmities.

Infirmities of the mind can be the worst of all.

Lies that creep in, that deform how we view others, life, God.

A twist on God’s design that satan capitalizes on and feeds like it is his prize begonia in this vast garden of humankind.

And we as women folk run silent while doing the dishes and folding clothes and drilling spelling words, just adding the mind to the list of things to organize for that day and if we don’t get to it that day we just let it spill over into the next and the next.

And we feel such a bother to spill our hurts and thoughts and questions to those around us. 

Do they really care that we lost half a night’s sleep thinking we had cancer somewhere?

Sometimes it is just easier for us to let the cancer of the mind do it’s dirty work and suffer alone with worry, fear or doubt.

Doubt, that cancer of the soul that forgets so easily words that give life again.

And today before the lunch spread of homemade chicken salad and meatloaf sandwiches made their grand appearance it just slipped out, between friends and I half wondered if I should excuse myself or allow myself to bear what I had been keeping for too long.

And as always, ALWAYS with God’s love alive and shining through flesh and blood, it was grace that covered my questions, and each thought was carefully studied and weighed.

Weighed and tried with years of experience that just soothed me like only grace and the merciful can.

And I felt a tear but did my dead level best to shy it away. It was a tear of relief.

Of relief that it was okay to have questions and feel horrible about some things and get them sorted out like you would recyclables.

Keep some, sort some, and throw some in the rubbish.

For good.

Each of us are marked, shaped by those who have poured into us.

Some, have poured truth.

Some, have not.

Some have left grace on the shelf and led you to believe that all roads are rough, and you must press through any obstacle, people included.

And in my 35 almost 36 years young I am constantly weeding my thought life. 

Weeding and enjoying those gracious enough to hear me out, thoughts and feelings and wonderings all alike and help me see things from someone else’s shoes.

It is no fault of someone to have a bent.

Bents are life. They are the result of the pouring of others.

And how are you to know any different until a sweet someone lets you unwind a bit?

No pushing, no arguing.

Just quiet sifting, learning, 

leaning 

a 

different 

direction.

To balance out a bit.

Thank you special someone.

The Taming of the Twelve.

The twelve.

Running up the stairs and down, and playing BOTH pianos.

We sit for tea and a stack of ginger snaps to formulate a plan.

If we are together, we're STRONG... divided..... WEAK.

We are RESOLVED. We are downing ginger snaps like there's no tomorrow.

Alright, sounds good. Come with me to wipe a bottom on the toilet.

Ok, lets start that whole "together" thing AFTER this bathroom break.

I massage my husband's feet for the sole purpose of these visitors seeing and going home to publish my sweetness to their mother.

I am smelling something while Joel enquires about our resources for a snack.

Is it really ONLY 9:30???

The organ was apparently lonely and needs to play along as well. Who knew the first few notes of "Jingle Bells" was so endearing?

I think he's messy?

Again?

No. He just went.

Well you better check anyway.

He checks and gives me the "I told you so," look and I tell him we have celery and peanut butter for snack.

And puzzle pieces are flying and older ones are trying to figure out how to play "Ten Days in Asia."

"Hmmm you can go to Turkey OR Lebanon."

I was just thinking the BACK YARD....

And their chatter is mixed with Joel teaching Anna to draw an "8."

This bubble is bigger than that bubble..

I am bribing a little to watch over another little that is prone to mischief and each time she checks in with me and no one has lost life or limb she gets a hershey kiss.

She checks in a lot. Well it's worth it for some peace of mind.

"MONGOLIA!!"

"5, 6, 7, 8...."

"Machal but ser yam."

A collective, "Huh?"

Tell me again honey? What?

"Machal but ser yam."

Rachel is cutting ham???

Older brother comes to the rescue telling me that his sister is using the restroom.

It's all good.

Two are missing and some shoes are on and we are stealthy parents.

"There sar sants in the bafoom."

Two go exploring and the older girls fear I will make them fold laundry until night fall and so they hide.

Smart girls.

I need a tissue.

Giggling girls run to and from the "sants."

And ONE SQUARE of two-ply comes.

Can I have a little BIGGER piece???

And as they frolic we are reminded again that if they revolt, we are in serious trouble.

The thought also occurs to me that this is what it would have been like if EACH of our littles had a twin.

I mysteriously begin singing praises to God.

I am imagining Michelle Duggar saying in her sing songy voice, "Jim Bob tells me all the time, These are the best days of our lives and we don't even know it."

And some days I want to do physical harm to her for saying so.

But today as I catch Joel's eye and he gives me that, "We will make it though this day and laugh when we go to bed," look,

I know she was spot on today.

....and it's 9:45


Well, I need to use the restroom, I'll be right back.

Let me know if you need some help.

giggle giggle....

Hat's off to you.

Grabbed the girls and went out for a jaunt to do this and that.

I finally bit the bullet and got my engagement ring sized...... up, that is.

Ahhh that just feels so freeing, typing it.

It did make me feel so lovely when the jeweler just happened to mention that the normal ring size for a woman was a seven, and mine, well for almost fourteen years it has been hanging around at a size

5 3/4.

Yeah it's been too long in coming, but it slides and looks lovely.

Yes you should. You are wondering if you should do the same.

Yes.

And while you are at it, give those old skirts, you know, the ones from college...

to the teen girl in your church.

And carry some chocolate in your purse for the first time she walks in with one of them.

Or you could just burn them.

Just an idea or two.

We stopped in at the mall to get my ring and afterwards I went to one store and my hubby and a little went to another.

Something about hats on sale.

I found a sweet white jacket for a steal and met up with Joel to find him sporting a cute new hat. He never buys things for himself so I was tickled that he did so.

The girls felt sucked into Clarie's to look at pretties and Joel excused himself to use the restroom.

Yeah not the best topic for blogs, but hey, it goes with the story.

Once we had our fill of headbands we went out to sit on a few chairs to wait for Joel and then he came and we were off to the next store.

And it occurred to me that he wasn't wearing his hat.

"Oh, yeah, well the man cleaning the restroom said he liked it, so I gave it to him."

I am half startled and half smiling.

"And I gave him a tract and told him that Jesus loves him."

What a wonderful thing.

And he went on to tell me that the money he spent on that hat is well worth the possibility of a soul coming to know the Lord.

I found words to ask him what the man said.

"He didn't really know what to say. He just kept telling me thank you."

"Thank You."

Thank you, nice man, for caring more for me then your new hat.

And I would look at him in the car in the dark with the littles half in dreamland and say thank you too.

"Thank you God."

Thank you for a man who loves people, me included.

Thank you for how his heart drawn close to you draws mine too.

I imagine the story that that worker told to his wife or friend that night,

possibly when they said,

"Hey, nice hat."

:-)

Unworthy

It's the end of February.

The littles are refusing to wear socks and getting the most out of their Saturday.

Older brothers are bargaining that if we do school today we can have off the whole day Monday and go to the zoo.

Family radio is streaming and jammies can be seen on no one but me.

It is a good day.

Not because it is Saturday, not because we have food in our bellies, not because we all slept well.

It is a good day because God made it, made us, and has a plan for our lives this very day.

I am pondering the life of Jacob this fine day.

There is still laundry to do, ironing to do for church tomorrow, reading to do with the kiddos, but I am stopping and thinking on Jacob for a bit.

What a guy.

A deceiver.

A runaway.

A wrestler with God.

The Bible says that he prevailed.

He being, Jacob. Prevailing against God and begging him for a blessing.


Surely I am not the only one who finds this amazing.

And then after he wins, God asks Jacob what his name is.

He knows but he asks him anyway.

He asks him so he can tell him what is name WAS.  It will forever be changed from here on out.

 Jacob will forever be changed.

Then Jacob, in turn, asks God what HIS name is.

And God only asks him why he is asking.

How often we see something that only HE can do and still ask, "Is that YOU, Lord?"

And He blesses him there.

What a sight. Wrestling with God, wrestling really his whole life with situations, tricking and being taken advantage of....

And we would say that he made his own bed and should lie in it, and write him off.

But God blesses him.

God comes from heaven in bodily form and in my mind's eye I can picture him thinking as he looks down on Jacob, "Alright. You want to fight, you got it."

You've been there.

Wrestling with life.

Somehow thinking that if you wrestled your last bit of strength out you would no longer be frustrated, angry, bitter, tired of those around you.

Tired of being taken, getting out of your own messes.

And in the midst of your miserable God blesses you anyway.

And God sees our brokenness and asks us what our name is.

We tell him all of our inadequacies and he says, "That's not your name anymore."

Hmmm.

He's right. Christ's  brokenness for us changed our standing, our worthiness to God.

And we see, and we are humbled that he would even want to bless us, and we walk with a limp in our spirit the rest of the day.

And Jacob prepares for a hard day.

And says this, "I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies, and of all the truth, which thou hast shewed  unto thy servant;" Gen. 32:10a

And my heart echoes Jacob's.

And the littles prepare for a play....

Good Saturday to you friends.

Every pot has it's lid.....

It's February. One of my mostest favoritest times of the year. (and yes I did that just so I could see the red squiggilies tell me that was "wrong.")

I love red and all things love and it just may be because I was allowed to watch more Anne of Green Gables than one should be allowed in three lifetimes. : )

And my hair is no longer even able to be swept up like Anne's and I don't even want to know what size skirts she was fitting in, what size I am not fitting in, and I saw somewhere sometime that Gilbert is balding and has ginormous crow's feet around his eyes.

Just sayin'.

(pardon me as I reach for another brownie...)

And the friends on facebook are running miles and I have miles of laundry that just never ends.

And I somehow lost my spunk for the season.

And it's sad, really.

And talks about school work have replaced gazing into each other's eyes. Well my coke bottle glasses that I have to wear because of my lack of contacts might have hindered that a bit too.

But on the flip-side we can always start a fire with enough direct sunlight.

I digress....

And the cardinals, the males, are feeding the females, and I am wondering how on earth we missed that concept????

The littles are at Chinese class which may really come in handy even if they never make it to the foreign field. Some nights when couples discuss family vacations and bills found under the couch it really is like you are speaking different dialects.

And we are late for the church activity and need to get the roast done like last night, so out comes the pressure cooker.

We throw in this and that, what we think will be good and snap on the lid like pros.

So like marriage, is it not?

We just KNOW it all. We have been around the world after all. Well only as far as Indiana, but that can't be that different from the rest of the world, now can it??

And we give our opinions and rationalize and carry our flowers down the isle of wedded bliss.

More like weeded bliss.

And we realize that toothpaste caps and socks on the floor can turn us into the Incredible Hulk, and little after little after little can make us kiss goodbye to the college wardrobe that we swore WE would stay in til our thirties.

And the thirties come and we are still living and loving and making things stretch and not missing those first years that we now see our friends go through. Who by the way seem to us to be getting married in their teens??? Were we really that silly and missing it??

uh, you-bet-your-bottom-dollar.

And we look at our parents like they are amazing to just have survived potty training, and why haven't we asked them more things and why are they not spending all of their time signing autographs?

We argue over how much steam is supposed to come out of the pressure cooker....

We have so seen our steam in our marriage.

And by steam of course I mean pride.

Something like, Only by pride cometh steam.... or something like that.

And the cooker is steaming and we busy ourselves with things to get ready to take to the activity and sure enough it is time to take the roast out.

We look at each other as if to say, "I thought you were going to tell ME how this all ends."

I mention something about " well it would help to read the manual.."

And that has helped.

Where would we both be, our family be without it?

And there are days when you almost wished Ephesians 5 was still written in Greek.

Life, marriage, is responsibility.

Loving takes work and risk.

He heads towards the sink when I mention something about running cool water on it right off of the stove.

We have the fright of our lives when it squeals and I am half into the other room fearing it blowing it's top.

I scramble through the manual..... whew. I was right.

That washing of water by the Word is the only thing to cool things down....and fast.

We giggle like we did in college over the sink.

Me feeling so justified in my "rightness" and he mentioning that I was "outta there" and didn't even care to rescue him in my hurry.

Bottom line, we need to refresh ourselves with the manual if we are to make some scrumptious meal out of life together.

We pull the roast and add sauce for sandwiches and tell each other we should cook together more often.

Indeed we should.