Psalm 139-a repost of an old post :-)

I originally posted this in 2009, but wanted to share it again:

Lately, more than ever, I've begun to see the importance of memorizing God's word--it is life to my soul!
Shortly after we began school this year we started working on memorizing Psalm 139. It only took my 2 younger sons 30 days to memorize the whole Psalm, whereas I'm still working on it, 40 days later. I'd like to think that's because my brain is full of years of Bountiful Wisdom...but I think in reality it's just getting rusty.

Anyway-it took 2 Dove chocolates and some extra computer time to bribe #4 into letting me share this video with you. I hope you enjoy it.
(BTW-he is disgusted with how young he sounds on the video and wanted to make sure you know he's not 3.He's 8!)

Basically, all we did was read the psalm once a day until he got it.

4 boys &....?

Well, my heart is back in my chest and the lump in my throat is gone. I'm still wondering about the phrase buck up though. Where on earth did that come from? Yes, I know. I could always google it, but sometimes it's more fun to just wonder about something, isn't it?

Anyway, I wanted to show you a picture of my sons.

I love this picture. It cracks me up every time I look at it. All you have to do is look at their faces and you'll understand each boy.

Take the guy on the left for example. He's the oldest and it shows. No nonsense, confident, goal oriented, thoughtful...aren't those typical first-born traits? He's compassionate, but only to a point. He's a lot like my dad. A practical, git-her-done kind of guy.

Then the boy on the far right. # 2. That look? I've seen it hundreds of times. He's saying, "Yes, I did it, or said it, and even though it may not be something you approve of, I'm glad I did and too bad for you. Just wait. I have something even better up my sleeve!" He's sarcastic, witty, tenderhearted, and unpredictable.

The guy in the white shirt? He's number 3. He's sweet and shy, confident, hilarious, and humble. He hasn't always been that way. God worked what I think is a miracle in that boy's heart. He was our "strong-willed" child and you can read more about parenting one of those in my " raising a strong-willed child" posts. Like his big brother, you never know what he's going to say or do next. Living with those 2 middle sons has been a wild ride, let me tell you!

(I'd like to interrupt myself to say my sons are not perfect. I know that, and you know that, but I felt compelled to say it. In fact, at one point in my mothering them I spent an entire day researching military boarding schools and seriously contemplating a life of freedom....)

OK. Moving on to # 4. Look at his face. Really??... He may be the youngest, but he's onto his big brother. He's looked at each one of his siblings that way-he's tender and very sweet, but he's learned, at an early age, you just can't believe everything you're told.

Did you know we're in the early stages of adopting a little girl from China? I know some of you know that, but thought I'd mention it just in case you didn't. I wonder sometimes, if it will really happen. Right now she just seems like a dream and in no way a reality.

I'm excited to meet her, and momma her, and introduce her to her big brothers and sisters-in-law. I'm excited to see what her personality will be like and what captions I'll be writing under her photos....I'm excited to wake up and have the dream end and real life with her begin...

fish cheeks

Guess what? I remembered what I wanted to say about fish cheeks.

Did you even know fish had cheeks? I'd never even thought about whether fish had cheeks or not (nor did I care) until the spring of 1982. That's when I discovered fish:

had cheeks

those cheeks are cute

and tender

and romantic

and they can talk. Yes, fish cheeks can talk. You didn't know that? They say a whole lot if you'll but look and listen to them.

The guy I married is a quiet guy. His words are few and getting to know him was a challenge. I think that's why he let his fish cheeks do a lot of the talking for him. They told me things about him he would never have told me himself.

The spring of 1982 found us living in the boonies of Wisconsin, at a small private school that sat nestled on a large lake that was, you guessed it, full of fish. And, the guy I married loves fishing. As a matter of fact, if he could make a living at it, and support a family by it, he'd fish day and night to bring home the bacon. (Or cheeks, if you will.)

So anyway. The school was very picky about the meals served and who prepared them, and who was allowed in the kitchen and when. The only time they relaxed about all that was on Saturday mornings. We were allowed to prepare our own breakfasts then.

Every Saturday morning, while the rest of us were sleeping in, my not-yet husband was out there reeling in...blue gill? I can't remember what kind of fish they were....

Anyhoo, every Saturday morning he'd catch a fish, fry it with an egg, and toast a piece of toast. He wouldn't eat that breakfast though. He'd watch for me and when I walked into the dining room he'd be standing there, smiling, that plate of food warm and ready, waiting for me. He'd motion me to a table, put the plate in front of me, and we'd sit together while I ate.

The first time Mike made breakfast for me I discovered fish had cheeks. I sat down, starving, and looked at my plate. There was the egg, the toast, and the fish. But there also, off by themselves, in a little spot all their own on the plate, sat two tiny, round pieces of fish.

"Um Mike? What are those?" I pointed.

"Those are the fish's cheeks. They are the tastiest part of the fish!" he grinned.

I picked up my fork and stabbed a little cheek with one prong. I put it in my mouth and smiled.

"Oh, you're right. That is amazing!" I couldn't taste the difference between the cheek or any other part of the fish but there was something different about that small piece of meat. It talked to me.

It told me: here is a guy who wants to serve. He is thoughtful, caring, and patient. (You have to be patient to cut around a tiny fish cheek and lift it from the fish's face. You have to be gentle with it so you don't demolish it while you're cutting and lifting and frying it.) It told me this guy thinks about others, not just himself. It told me he had a sense of humor but he knew where to draw the line. (He never once served a fish with the head still attached to its body. He knew I couldn't eat anything that sat there watching me while I ingested it.)

Those two little cheeks were the best part of the fish-they said so much even though they (in all honesty) never said a word.

a letter from my son

I started a pen pal journal with my youngest son a few days ago. The idea is to write little letters back and forth to each other, but you have to be sneaky about it. We're not supposed to let the other person see us writing in the journal, nor putting it in the other person's room. You just write a letter, then hide the notebook somewhere where you know that person will find it.

I didn't come up with the idea, but I love it. It's fun and precious and eventually I'll have a notebook, (in his little boy handwriting) full of his thoughts and feelings and bits of him. I must admit, the teacher in me thinks this is a great way to get him to practice writing. (something he hates doing at the moment)

(This would be also be fun to do with a nephew or niece or a grandchild. Especially if they lived far enough away that you'd have to mail the notebook back and forth to each other. Everyone loves getting little packages in the mail, don't they?)

Anyway, that's all for today. I just wanted to pass the idea along and show you my first letter.

Dear mommy,

I love you too! I love

you more than Lydia! (Lydia is his new niece)

You are funny, sweet, lovable,

and most of all your mine.

if i could...

If I could, I would put you into a deep, sweet, lovely sleep. In the back of your mind you would hear whatever it is you love to hear:

seagulls flying over the shore of a warm, sandy beach, or the waves of the ocean themselves as they come in...go out...come in...go out...

maybe you'd rather hear the paddle of a canoe and water splashing off it as it slices through a deep blue lake

or perhaps you'd prefer a playground where children are laughing and teasing each other as they run through the grass?

You might long for the sound of the wind caressing pine branches while they wait patiently for the moon to rise behind them

or the sounds of your mother quietly loading the dishwasher while dinner simmers on the stove.

Whatever sound it is that brings a feeling of peace and safety to your soul, that's the sound you'd hear.

I'd do the same thing for your sense of smell. Whatever it is that comforts and gives you joy-those are the smells you'd smell.

Maybe you love the smell of grass right after it's been cut or the smell of a fat little baby fresh out of a bath? Perhaps you love the smell of fish and worms and wet roads after a summer storm or the way a cornfield smells at harvest time?

You might find comfort in the smell of a good cigar or brownies right out of the oven. Whatever smell it is that gives you a feeling of contentment and calm, that's the smell you'd smell.

If I could put you into a deep, sweet, lovely sleep, (don't panic-I'd make sure you were on some sort-of life support) I'd gently lift your tired, aching heart out of your chest. I'd carry it to God and say, "Please? Would you please, please heal the deep hurts hidden here? Would you reassure this heart that You are always near? Lord, would you please give this weary heart what it needs today? Trust that You are capable or hope that You are faithful or peace that You have forgiven? Would you put your large, warm comforting hands around this heart and love it like it's never been loved before? Would you please be the tender Father this heart needs and let it know all is well because You are all it needs?"

That is my prayer for you today. Refreshment, strength to take the next step, knowing you are loved...peace....joy in the circumstance you find yourself in...I can't take your heart out of your chest literally, but I can in prayer.

My heart just lifted yours to His...

oh so thankful for:

-my tire falling off my van yesterday while I was driving slowly. It could've come off the day before when I was going 60.

-my leg has had what I would call a miraculous healing over the last 10 days or so. It's not completely normal, but the change has been dramatic.

-friends-they listen, put up with all my quirks, encourage me, make me laugh...

-4 sons who laugh at and with me.

-my husband...

-curly hair. I can hack at it every month and the curls hide most of my mistakes!

-being able to write. That is how I express my heart and let things go. I think I'd have ulcers if I were Elizabeth Bennett.

-2 daughters-in-law that have become daughters and friends

-books, the empty ones as well as the ones with ink typed across every page

-living in a place that has 4 seasons. I need variety in my life.

-a perfect little granddaughter

-a safe place to walk each day

-boys again. I'm thinking in particular about their curiosity. I see a toaster and think, "Cool! this thing crunches up my bread." My sons see a toaster and they think, "Cool! What are those coils for? How do they get hot? How does it know the exact length of time to stay hot enough to brown my bread but not turn it into charcoal?" etc. etc. etc.

-the crows that circle over our house and gather on the trees each evening

-music-there is so much power and beauty and depth and life and...and...

-thrift stores and hand-me-downs

-the gift of memories (at least some of them)

-a mother who tried

-creative outlets

-houseplants. I need green therapy

-a tiny house-it gives me more time to play

-photos

-binoculars and our microscope. I can spy on our neighbors-the big and the small

-21 years of home schooling

-being able to email instead of having to make some uncomfortable phone calls

-my back and leg stuff required standing all this time instead of sitting. I would've gone stir crazy being stuck in a wheelchair for 20 months

-extended family

-God doesn't always talk in a still small voice, sometimes He shouts at me. (I can be pretty hard of hearing at times)

-a mother in law who taught me how to play and love and have fun with our sons

-my daddy

and so it goes.

Last night as I was tucking my last little guy into bed (and kissing his warm, soft cheek, smelling his recently shampooed head, soaking up the feeling of his sturdy arms around my neck and listening to him say, "I love you so much mommy!") I had to ask his forgiveness.

"Lovey, I'm sorry I've been sooo grouchy and emotional lately. My homeopathy guy is working on me, but he hasn't figured everything out yet. I think he's fixed a few things, but now we need to work on my emotions."

We talked for a bit about all that and decided it would be fun to go throw colorful blobs of jello at the homeopathy guy's window. Can't you hurry up and fix this woman?? That's what each blob of jello would represent-frustration at how long it takes to naturally balance an imbalanced woman. I can't talk to the employees at Joann Fabrics about yarn without tearing up.

Lately, for some strange reason, my thoughts keep going back and back and back to this picture.

It was taken on my second son's wedding day. (he's the one on the right)

Do you have pictures that have melted into you and become a part of you? Pictures you adore and you'll never, ever forget even if you forget your own name? That is how I feel about this picture.

Those two boys of mine have so much history. They fought so much while they were growing up-they drove each other crazy and drove me crazy in the process. I worried and prayed about their relationship for years and wondered if they would ever be friends. Will they ever like each other??

This photo paints a thousands words. Maybe more...It is one brother trying to annoy his little brother one last time before he steps into the role of being an old married man. It's one brother

saying to his little brother, I love you you little turd, but I can't say the words because I'm a guy and guys don't say things like that to each other. It is one brother saying to his brother, You have annoyed me to death little brother, and I hope, by golly, this kiss annoys you back and embarrasses you and you take it to heart; I hope it lets you know I love you even though, and you'll always be important to me.

It may even be one brother saying to his little brother, let's be kids again, for just one second, before I grow up forever...

It is a little brother saying to his big brother, I love you too. I'm going to strangle you for this, but you just made my day.

It is a momma, looking at her sons and remembering...remembering all the noise, dirt, fighting and pretending. It is a momma missing tired, sweaty goodnight kisses from two little boys now grown into men...it is thankfulness in who they've become and amazement at the way God answers prayer...it is a woman looking at two of her boys and shaking her head, loving them, needing them, letting go.

Unlike the fact that Joann doesn't carry the yarn I need anymore, this is a valid reason to sit here and cry.

a walk under the clouds

I'm not sure which part of my walk yesterday was my favorite part. It could've been laughing with my son as we pushed (hard) against the wind to get down the road. At times it felt like we were walking on a treadmill and we were stuck, not getting anywhere.

Or, it could've been the warm but nippy wind itself; it was so refreshing after being in the house all day.

I also enjoyed the fact that not one dog came out to challenge us or make our hearts race. It was a peaceful walk despite the noisy air that kept trying to blow us over.

We stopped at a little inlet of the lake to play and relax. I sat in the grass and watched my son. He jumped and tumbled, laughed and rolled around like a wild thing that has finally been released from a cage. Seeing the twinkle in his eyes and hearing him laugh at his new found freedom was maybe, maybe the best part.....

However, now that I think about it, I loved watching all the birds flying over the inlet. 11 grey and white seagulls flew almost directly over my head, and despite all the warnings, I did look straight up at them. (They were kind and left no calling cards in my hair) For the first time in my life I noticed the graceful but sharply curved lines of their outstretched wings-so distinctive from any other bird I've seen.

After the seagulls left, 9 vultures came along and circled over the houses and the lake. They flew like huge, black kites swirling under the grey and white clouds. I was envious of them-they looked completely free of all life's worries. I knew without a doubt they were enjoying the challenge of the wind. At times they fought against it, daring it to try and stop them; at other times they let the wind blow them where it wanted, and they flew in free fall, dipping and swirling through the air. I wasn't sure, but I thought I could hear them laughing in joy, thankful for the spring winds.

I loved watching my son explore the little holes in the ground. We still don't know if they're crawdad holes and we wonder if they're not, who made them? Two days ago my son stuffed some cotton from a cattail down one of the holes and yesterday it was gone. Whoever lives there either pulled the cotton further in to make a downy bed, or shoved the cotton out and it blew away in the wind. He took sticks and poked them down each hole, trying to measure their depth and compare them to the other holes. We noticed some of the holes have deep green moss growing down around their edges while others just have dirt sides. Why the difference?

We found a manhole along the way and laughed at the words inscribed on the lid. Sanitary Sewer. Hmmmm...I wonder what optimist thought that would be a good idea?

On the other hand, it couldn't of been too bad in there; moss and tiny white flowers were growing around the circumference of the hole, reminding me of a grave and tombstone....

We took our time yesterday. We stopped and explored whatever my son wanted to explore. It wasn't my usual forced march and maybe that was the best part? Slowing down? Letting my son take the lead? Knowing dinner was in the oven and there was no need to rush. I know that was the best part for him...

an interesting day

Yesterday I learned:

-when Italian girls get married they keep their maiden name but when the newlyweds have children their children take on their daddy's last name. ( wish I would've known that 27 years ago. ) (just kidding honey. :-) )

-my son and daughter-in-law are willing to go to great lengths and make many sacrifices for our family and keeping the "ties that bind us" strong.

-The boy I was in this picture with died of cancer about a month ago. (A very sad, sobering thought.)

-I can now sit for about 4 hours without my body protesting. ( a year ago I could only sit for about 19 minutes a day.)

And late last night we were blessed to have a really good, heart-to-heart conversation with our 3rd son. We talked about some of the struggles and misunderstandings we had while we were raising him and what the Lord has been doing in his life and teaching him...the cherry on top was when he told us how much he'd enjoyed talking with us! (for those of you who don't know us, he is "the strong-willed child" in my Living With A Strong Willed Child posts)

stuck between a rock and a sickle

Do you remember the chicken I'm stuck with til death do us part? Well, I'm also stuck with a rock and a sickle. (They may not live with us that long, but for now? For now I'll keep them. They make me smile and shake my head nearly every time I see them.)

I'm not sure if dad was trying to say he loved us and didn't know how, or if he just wanted to de-clutter his yard a bit, but like the chicken, the sickle and the rock were "gifts" he gave us a long time ago.

The rock isn't a rock, now that I think about it. It's actually a large, lumpy ball of cement with smaller blobs of colorful who-knows-what mixed in. It's bigger than a bowling ball and weighs more than a Volkswagen and, just so you can get a very clear picture of what it looks like, we call it The Barf Rock. It lives in the flower bed in front of our house.

The sickle is just an ordinary, antique sickle; wood, metal, dull blade. (is that what you call the part of a sickle that cuts the weeds or harvests the crop? A blade?) Whatever. You get the idea and you now know I have one. Unlike the rock, we've never named the sickle. It has given us permission to hang a wreath on it during the Holidays, but otherwise the sickle just sits there, next to the front door, unadorned and un-named, quietly minding its own business.

I truly don't understand why my dad gave them to us. Even the way he gave them to us puzzles me.

He lived about 6 hours away so we didn't see him very often. One weekend we drove up to his house, spent a couple days visiting and then got ready to head home. My dad waited until we were almost pulling out of the driveway to give us each of those strange gifts.

We had 2 little boys, one still in diapers, when he gave us the rock. The boys were in their car seats, squirming, giggling, yelling, fighting, crying and already asking for drinks of water; the diaper bag was stuffed in the back seat between our sons, along with toys, snacks, and our suitcases. We stood in the driveway hugging dad and discussing when we'd see each other again when suddenly he looked away. Dad pointed down at the rock and said, "There. Take that home with you."

Oooookay. One small hernia later, it too was loaded into the car.

He did the same thing when he gave us the sickle after another weekend visit. He waited til the boys and all our junk were stuffed into the backseat, pointed at it, and said, "There. Take that home with you." My dad wasn't the type of man you could argue with, (especially if you wanted to win) so we didn't try. We shoved the sickle in the trunk and brought it home.

I'm not sure what other dads give their daughters when they want to say, "I love you." And maybe dad wasn't trying to say that at all? Maybe he waited til we were gone, went into his house, poured a glass of lemonade, sat down, put his feet up and said to my step-mother, (with a huge grin) "Well... I just got rid of the rock and the sickle! Feels good, doesn't it?"

The sickle is something I enjoy. I love antiques and that certainly is one. I'm not at all embarrassed by its presence on our front porch. But that rock? The Barf Rock? It's ugly. And it looks like barf. Sometimes I want to hide it, because it does embarrass me, but I just can't. I don't want to forget about it. It was a gift from my dad, no matter how strange.

Maybe, like the chicken, I should make a little sign and put it near the rock:

I am a cement rock that looks like barf. I know that and you know that. Judy wants you to know that while hideous blobs of cement are not her thing, I am. Her dad, for some unknown reason, wanted us to be together. He knew Judy would take good care of me and never let me go. Her dad is gone; he is safely Home, waiting for her to join him someday. In the meantime, she has me to enjoy: a large, ugly ball of cement. I make her smile and shake her head in amused confusion every time she sees me and, I remind her of her dad. I am both a mystery and a hug. She is happy to be stuck with me.

my son and i almost moved but....

My son found a hole he wanted to explore the other day. After I saw it, we thought it might be fun to go live in the hole, but there were a few minor things to deal with before we could do that.

The hole sits on a small hill overlooking the inlet of a nearby lake. There are dilapidated cattails along the lake shore, waiting for spring to breath fresh life into their weary veins. A small clump of trees house a gazillion noisy, happy little birds who chirp continually, regardless of the weather. The inlet itself is like the bottom of a bowl; 16 houses sit up around the edge of the "bowl", looking down at the water and across at each other.

There is one side of the bowl that sits empty and alone; grass grows on that side of the hill, but there are no houses or trees to interrupt the landscape. That is where our hole lives.

I have no idea how my son found the hole. It's about as big around as a 50 cent piece. But, that is one of the miracles of being a child; they are never anxious to move on, keep walking, get home...children take time to notice tiny things and in this instance, I'm so glad I didn't hurry him along. I've never seen a more inviting hole.

At first I thought it was a crawdad hole, but then I realized it couldn't be. Crawdads hibernate and in the spring their holes are surrounded by a mound of fresh mud that has to be pushed out of the way so they can get out. There was no mud near this hole. Then I thought, a snake hole? Ewww. It's too pretty for that.

So, we have no idea who lives there, but no matter who it is, we wanted to ask them to vacate the property so we could move in. Why? What's so appealing about this hole? Well, for one thing, the location. It sits on a hill, overlooking the inlet of a lake. The birds add to the charm, and the hole faces west. Every evening we'd be able to sit in our minuscule little lawn chairs and watch the sunset. The most appealing part of the whole thing is the carpet. The edges of the hole are covered in a thick, soft, luscious green moss that grows down, down, down, deep into the ground. We knew if we could only be small enough to crawl deep into the moss, it would be better than snuggling on a water bed or having a massage; it would surround our cold bodies and comfort and warm us like nothing else could.

There was just one other thing to take care of before we could move in. (Size being the first issue)

When we stooped down and looked deep into the hole, we noticed a spider web. It was about 2" down the entrance and even though a spider wove it, it was lovely. The web was covered in tiny dew drops-it looked like a chain of diamonds tangled across the entrance of a cave. We imagined we were little explorers armed with ropes and picks and...and....wait. If we're small enough to fit into that hole, and a spider built a web completely across it, that means he's bigger than we are. What does one do with a spider that big? After a bit of pondering, we decided it was maybe best to leave well enough alone and move along. Spider slaying was not on our to-do list that day and maybe, someday, we'll find a bigger hole, maybe a hobbit hole, we can move into.

goodbye and hello

I went to a wedding in Oregon many years ago. Have you ever been there? It is a beautiful state, and I wouldn't raise a stink if I had to go live there. Mountains, long, rolling valleys, colorful orchards and farms, the wonderful Hood River... (which will take you to the ocean if you care to follow it that far.) In my opinion, Oregon has it all.

That trip was almost indescribable. I came home perfectly refreshed and stayed that way for 2 years. I'm not kidding. I laughed for 10 days straight; I have never had that much fun that constantly at any other time in my life.

There was, however, 1 sad moment during the trip. We were driving through the mountains, laughing and enjoying the scenery, when suddenly a squirrel, (who was probably enjoying the scenery as well) didn't see us and leaped in front of the car. As we sped along we all looked back and there, sure enough, the poor squirrel lay in the middle of the road, flopping and thrashing. It took a lot of begging (on the part of the females in the car) to get the driver to turn around, but eventually we did it. We didn't want to rescue the squirrel, we just wanted to run over him a second time and put him out of his misery. I'm sorry to say once that was accomplished we even found a reason to laugh over that. I'm telling you, there's just something about that Oregon air...

Anyway, that's how the month of February felt to me. It was a lovely month; relaxing, quiet, in some ways deeply refreshing. But to be honest, I feel like the squirrel after it had been hit the first time. It was a beautiful lousy month and I'll be glad to see the back of it.

I have no idea why I just told you all that. Maybe to explain the post I wrote a couple days ago? Maybe just to let you know I'm annoyed that this year is leap year and February will be even longer than usual? I don't remember.

What I wanted to write about was super powers. Have you ever wished you had one?

A few years ago, when we had 3 teenagers in the house, there were several discussions about super powers and what my sons wished they could do or who had the best one. I think one of my sons wanted the ability to control atmospheric pressure for some reason, and another one wanted the ability to shrink and grow things, like a submarine. He wanted to be able to shrink one down, stuff it in his pocket, carry it to who-knows-where, enlarge it, and then launch it on "the enemy".

Of course, we can't forget the Hollywood superheroes: Spiderman, the Wolverine, Ironman...they all have wonderful superpowers and can do things most boys only dream about. However, I don't think they can hold a candle to the super power I'm going to invent. I'm going to come up with a way for my brain to communicate with my computer no matter where I am or how far away from the keyboard I get. I have the best ideas about things when I'm not near my computer-blog posts I want to write, emails I need to send, things I need from the store, miscellaneous problems solved...all these thoughts and more come to me when I'm either in the shower, laying in bed in the middle of the night, driving the car, or out walking. Wouldn't it be amazing if you could just think a thought, think it to your computer, have it "hear you", type it up for you, and save it in Microsoft word? No more brilliance lost.

So, as I sit here poised between two months, on a day that didn't exist last year, and won't exist next year, those are my thoughts-saying goodbye to a lousy 28 days and hello to spring and a brand new super power. What's on your mind?

now that i'm gone i'm no longer here

If you're reading this it's because I'm gone. I told Blogger to post it 20 minutes after I croak. Modern technology is amazing, isn't it?

You know what else is amazing? Being free. Now that I'm not chained to my body anymore I don't care who wins this year's election nor do I worry about our stumbling economy.

I don't wish I were prettier, or less random, or could grasp details anymore and

I'm not worried about my family or friends finding the secret blog I have where I vent about them.

I no longer wonder about my short curly hair and what to do with it, nor am I wishing I had better muscle tone.

I'm not embarrassed by what I did in a grocery store bathroom one day or if anyone ever finds out how old I was when I quit sucking my thumb.

Now that I'm gone, I don't wonder who I'd be if we'd had daughters or why we didn't or what my life would've been like if I would've stayed single instead of marrying and raising 4 boys in Indiana.

I no longer worry about how I'll die, or if my husband will be OK without me and I don't wish I'd been a better wife, mother, grandma, sister, or friend. It's too late for that and it's too late to be a better listener.

I don't have to miss my dad anymore or yell at the deer for eating the seed out of the bird feeders.

I no longer lay awake at night wishing I knew how to encourage the people in my life when they're going through hard things, or what to make for dinner because I forgot to soak the beans for the chili.

It's too late to write letters to my big brothers telling them how much they mean to me and I don't even have to worry about the blob of carpet I melted with a heat lamp a couple months ago.

I no longer wrestle with sin, or restless leg syndrome, or being horribly narcissistic.

I am free. There are no longer any tears, or regrets, or longings for things that don't matter. I am home and safe and realizing what a short wild ride being on earth was and how misplaced my focus often was. I see how much time I wasted and how much energy I used on things that

were petty. I am not in pain anymore and I'll never feel weary again. I don't have to wonder what God's first words to me will be when we see each other face to face... I just found out.

(PS. I have no idea what the day will bring, but as of this posting, I am still very much alive and well. This was written not as a joke or to worry my friends. I intended it to be thought provoking. What are we doing with our time and our lives? What are we worrying about that does not matter?...you get the idea. Life is short and our time here will soon be done and a much better eternity waits. That's all I was trying to say. )

reading and stirring

If I weren't a wife and mother, I think I'd be florist and own a huge greenhouse. If I weren't a florist, I'd go climb Mt. Everest and if I survived that, (which is highly unlikely) I'd just wander the planet seeing what's out there to be seen. If I didn't do that, I'd buy a library and a soft, cozy sleeping bag and a large pillow. I'd find a lovely little corner in my library, curl up in my bag and read my days away. (Of course, that would get boring after a few days, but it's something fun to think about doing on a cold, wet rainy day like today.)

I think I'd have to say there are two novels that I've gone back to again and again and again, and I would put up a fight to surrender them even now, after reading them more times than I can remember.

Have you ever read Sea to Sea by James Alexander Thom? It is a powerful book-breathtaking, soul stirring...I fell in love with history when I read that book and gained a whole new appreciation for people who sacrificed almost everything for our country.

The other book that moves my soul, and my spirit, is actually 4 books. Yes, you guessed it. The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I'm mind boggled when I ask people if they've read those books and they shrug. "Yeah. I've read them. Have you ever read....?" and they move on, as if Tolkien had written a comic strip. Did you know those books have strings attached to them? And those strings have found a way to wrap themselves in and under, over and around and through my heart....they speak to me in ways no other book but the bible has. I wish I could put into words what Lord of the Rings is....there is wisdom about living, sacrifice, dying to self, trusting the Lord through everything, keeping on keeping on when you're weary, the beauty of deep and true friendship....

Nope. I just can't explain it any better than that.

Do you remember my post from a few days ago about walking and books? What are your favorite books? Do you have any that stir your soul? Any you'd put up a fight to keep?

while we wait

I've been thinking about my mom lately.

She died nearly 15 years ago.

I still don't miss her. I miss the idea of a mom, but not my mom. I know I've told you that before, but I wanted to say it again; I think I feel guilty about feeling that way... she was a wonderful, amazing, strong, creative person and the strange this is, my brothers really miss her. They had a bond and a connection with her that I don't think I ever had.

Can I just interrupt myself and say that lately I've been feeling weary? I've been so weepy and washed out...lately I wish I had a mom....

(OK-Judy clears her throat and moves on)

We still don't know if we will ever adopt a little person. We sent our application in and are now waiting to see if we are good enough, rich enough, young enough, enough enough of who-knows-what in the eyes of those who determine these things, to raise another child.

In the meantime, while we wait, God has been talking to me.

The other day I started thinking about a new little person entering our family. A little girl. I thought about her life as an orphan; the abandonment she must feel, the rejection, the loneliness. I was thrilled to think that I could be a momma to someone who so desperately needs one. I could actually picture a little face and chubby little arms around my neck; I could hear a soft voice calling out for momma in the middle of the night, needing comfort or a drink of water. I imagined soft pink pajamas and sweet little kisses on my cheek...

Then I started thinking about those hurts she's living with, even now, this very moment. While I'm here, in the middle of America, cozy, warm, loved, and safe, she is not. What if her heart is so deeply wounded that she shuts it down? What if she closes the door, locks it tight and throws away the key? What if she never, ever allows me to mother her? What if, like me and my mom, there never is a bond or a deep connection?

I never thought about those things when I was pregnant. When I had a baby growing deep in my belly I didn't wonder if he'd love me. It was a given that he would. But the other day I thought about my mom and the little girl we hope to adopt, and her wounds and fears and my heart, and how I closed it off from my mom and the lack of bonding and, and, and, and...all those questions and all those fears and then God said STOP.

Why are you doing this? Why do you want to adopt? Whose needs are you trying to meet? What if she never opens up and trusts you? What if she doesn't even like you? What if you just don't connect? Judy, are you willing to do this for Me? Are you willing to love a little girl, take her in, feed her, teach her, protect her, play with her, be her momma, even if she never ever becomes your daughter? Are you willing to take care of her and love her unconditionally until death do you part just because she's MY daughter and I'm asking you to do this? Regardless of if she ever meets your need to momma? Are you willing to lay down your life and serve her without getting a thing back?

I don't know if we will adopt a little person or if this will come to nothing. I do know God has been busy in my heart, using the idea of adoption to do some disecting and show me some of the uglies I don't like to see and the selfish motives I have for some of the things I do...those were very hard questions to hear, and even harder questions to answer truthfully. It took me awhile and it took a lot of tears but I'm at a place where I'm willing to be willing. I think I'm willing to be used and give because He's asking me to and for no other reason?...

(I do wish He'd use anesthesia when He does this sort-of thing, ya know?)

let's go walking, ok?

Sometimes I wish we could go for a walk around the world. There are just too, too many things I want to ask you and show you and tell you and explore with you; so many things I'd love to discuss. Life is too short, isn't it?

If we went walking I don't thing we would ever run out of things to talk about. I am me and you are you and between the two of us we've lived a lot of years and have had a lot of things happen to us. We've hurt people, and learned things; we have memories and broken dreams, favorite desserts, people we've loved and things we're afraid of. If we went walking around the world, we'd be stuck with each other for a very long time. We would have to talk; we might even learn to listen to the heart that's behind the words we speak.

I'd love to hear your story-the whole thing from the very first memory you have to the day you tie your sneakers on and we begin our trek. Everyone has a story. Have you ever put your life on paper? Have you ever stopped the noise and running and doing and looked back? Writing your story can be a painful, exhausting, mind clearing experience-it might show you any number of things good and bad that you've missed in all the busyness of life; things you never ever want to forget and things you need to kill and bury. Who knows? You might see God's fingerprints all over the place, or notice the times you pushed Him away. thanks, but no thanks...

We could discuss black holes and the expanding universe and why I cry every time I have a good long laugh. We could debate secular music vs. Christian, explore the bible verses that make no sense, and you could tell me what comforts you when you're sick.

Oh, and the books we've read! Perhaps we need two walks around the planet. I could talk about Sea to Sea and Tolkien's books all the way from here to Oregon. What are your favorite books, and why? What parts of you did they speak to? Did they stir your soul or bring healing to a hurt? Did they open your eyes to a new way of looking at something? What makes a book a favorite for you?

Speaking of books, have you ever noticed this bible verse? Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written. John 21:25

My youngest son and I read that verse 2 days ago. We had a long discussion about it. Just think about it. Jesus was only physically on the planet for 33 years. That is a lot of giving and serving and loving and praying....a lot of living. My little guy read that verse and stopped. His eyes looked like dinner plates as he stared off into space, imagining that many books, trying to eliminate all the chairs, beds, tables and toys to make room for that many books, and then his smile...it was a sweet, vulnerable, baffled smile; an awestruck smile.

That would be the best part of our walk-discussing books-the Book that was written, the books about Him that weren't, and the book I think you should write. The one about you...how do you think it will end?

love and marriage

My husband is a stinker and I am a conundrum. I think there's a better word out there to describe me but I can't figure out what it is. I even tried googling it. What do you call someone who is not schizophrenic, but close?

I don't think there are two people running around inside this body, but there is certainly more than one.

I am shy and outgoing, quiet and loud. I can be very insecure and confident, compassionate and unfeeling, and I can be blunt and...I was going to say subtle, but I'm sure my husband would say I'm never indirect. Anyway, what do you call someone like that?

So Monday evening I started thinking about Valentine's Day. I thought about all the hype and the crazy amounts of money people spend just to say I love you. Then I thought about love. Do all those Hallmark cards, flowers, chocolates, and stuffed animals say to a woman, "I love you"? Not this woman.

Just as we were falling asleep Monday night I bluntly blurted out, "Lovey, let's just skip Valentine's Day. I don't want flowers or a card. I don't want chocolates and I certainly don't want a stuffed animal. I don't want anything if all it is is you driving home from work and thinking, Whoa! It's Valentine's Day. I better stop at Walmart and grab a card for my wife. That is not romantic to me. I want something that's thought out and shows you really truly love me. I don't want something that's done just because it's "that" day and everyone else is doing it. To me, one of the most romantic things you've ever said was the other night when I was crying. Remember? The boys bolted from the room because they couldn't handle it. I didn't want to chase you off so I stuffed everything down inside. Remember? And then a few minutes later you came in, sat down, looked at me and said, "I'm not afraid of you. It's OK to cry...." That is romantic to me. That said I love you more than any card ever could...I don't need anything else. OK?"

My husband said, "OK" and that was the end of that-until this morning. This morning I was stumbling around, trying to pump some coffee into my sleepy head and wake up. Mike had already showered, shaved, had some coffee and was about to walk out the door. Suddenly he stopped, looked at me and said, "Well, now I can get a card and some chocolates for you!"

"No, you can't. I don't want all that. Remember?"

"Yeah, but today it'll all be on sale!" he grinned. He bolted before I could throw something at him.

pick a part

Something's been gnawing at me for the last several months. It never used to bother me and I never really even noticed it before, but lately? Lately it has become bothersome and even a bit embarrassing.

I don't understand my brain.

Until this weekend I was beginning to think there were parts missing but now I'm noticing my son's brain working in exactly the same way mine does so how can that be? Unless...unless...could missing brain parts be a genetic thing that's handed down from generation to generation? (If so, I'm sorry Alec....)

Let me give you a few examples and you can judge for yourself.

If you took grammar and punctuation in junior high school and didn't get it, well, no biggie. High school will take care of that, right? Wrong. And if you took grammar and punctuation in high school and didn't get it? Hmmm....Then you go to college and you take grammar and punctuation and you still don't get it so they hand you over to a tutor and you still. don't. get. it.

What would that tell you about your brain? Yes! See, you agree with me. Parts missing.

Or, take this example. You go to a movie and absolutely love it. It stirs your soul and touches your heart deeply-you even cry during the climatic finale. Later, you come home and try to tell your family about the movie. They ask, "Who was in it?"

"Well...I don't know..."

"Where did the movie take place?"

"Hm? What? Some city, you know...it had tall buildings and lots of stop lights and..."

"What was the plot?"

"Ohhh...I can't remember, but it was soooo good! I just loved it. It was the best movie I've seen in years and I'll never forget it! "

The same kind of thing happened yesterday at church. The sermon was perfect and exactly what I needed to hear. It was challenging and very encouraging. It went to a deep place in my heart and hugged me. Later, after church, we went out to lunch with our son and daughter-in-law. They'd been working in the nursery at church and had missed the teaching time.

So, as we're sitting there chatting I started thinking about the things I'd heard and blurted out, "Wow. You guys should've heard the sermon this morning. It was so good! It was just what I needed to hear!"

Naturally my son wanted to know what it was about. I suddenly felt like a deer caught in the headlights. I couldn't remember.

"Well, it was...it was perfect! He talked about...it was somewhere in the book of Mark and it was sooo good." I looked lamely at my husband for help and thankfully, he came through. He was able to tell my son what the whole message had been about without missing a beat.

There are certain theological concepts I can't wrap my head around either. I talk about them, I study them, I google them, and they won't. soak. in. I'll start to get it but then suddenly, poof. It's completely gone. I will admit here and now, this one isn't funny. This example brings me to tears of frustration sometimes...

OK-moving right along. Like I said before, I thought I was alone...a random, big picture person

lost in a sea of people who aren't missing brain parts and who, I've noticed, snicker and shake their heads at me when they think I'm not looking.

Then, this weekend, I found a comrade. Someone who understands me and thinks exactly like I do. My third son. What a relief.

A few weeks ago he told me a story about something he'd heard at work. It was hilarious and we laughed so hard we both had tears in our eyes. Then, Saturday evening we wanted to spread the joy so we started telling his big brother the story. The only problem is, neither one of us could remember the details. We sat in the livingroom laughing and spluttering over something we couldn't even remember, but boy was it funny! It was something we will never forget.

You should've seen the look on his big brother's face. That was even more amusing than the story we weren't telling.

Did you know there's a place here in Indiana called Pick A Part? It's a car junk yard. If you happen to be working on your car and find you need a doo-hicky that's too expensive at Auto Zone, you can hop over to Pick A Part and wander through their wasteland of broken and abandoned vehicles until you find one that's similar to yours. You then buy the doo hicky off that car, put it into your car and you're good to go.

That's what Alec and I need! We need to find a place called Brains. Pick A Part. We could hop over there, wander through the wasteland of broken and abandoned.....well, you get the picture...

it takes all kinds

If you were to take my two oldest sons, (there were times by the way, when I wished someone would) and look at their personalities and the paths their lives have taken, you would never think they came from the same family. The strange thing is, they were raised in exactly the same way, used the same school books, went to the same church, listened to the same novels and autobiographies, and taught the same theology. We tried to be consistent with our words, our prayers for each of them, and the way we disciplined them.

However, in many, many ways they are poles apart in the way they think and in how they've approached life.

Our oldest son went to college and likes to have his ducks in a row before he takes the next step. And you know what? He and his ducks are happy living life that way.

#2? He did not go to college, and his ducks sometimes appear to be swimming all over the pond enjoying the water. And again, he and his ducks are happy living life that way.

(Please don't think I'm saying their lives are always hunky dory. They have stresses and challenges and go through hard things just like the rest of us do.)

OK, so, for a few years I sat here on the dock and watched my sons and their ducks and wondered, which way is God's way? How does He want us to live? Are we supposed to line up each little duck and follow them in a straight neat line? Or, is it better to just jump in the pond and play with the ducks? Let them swim around, and see what God does with them?

Sometimes I'd worry and stress about one son and the way he was treating his ducks, and sometimes I'd fear for the other one. Which boy is right?? I could see pros and cons to both ways of living and I could see the logic behind their choices.

Finally, I went to the bible to see what it had to say about men and living life and ducks. What on earth does God want us to do with them?? Are we supposed to line those duckies up or does God want us to toss them in the water and join them for a swim?

After a bit I began to notice something. It takes all kinds of men and all kinds of lives and all kinds of ducks to be a light and salt and husband and provider.

I looked in the bible and found Joseph. Talk about ducks and lining them up! That man was put in charge of saving and storing enough food to feed an entire nation for 7 years. I bet that man's excel spread sheets flapped in the breeze day and night for years while he worked on that project.

Then I thought about Moses. God told him to take the Israelites, well over 600,000 of them, and go. Just jump in the pond, (or desert in this case) and swim. There was no time to organize, no time to plan ahead, no time to pull the old excel spread sheet out or line up the ducks. Just take the ducks and leap.

I had so much peace after I peeked in the bible and spent time with Joseph and Moses-I could see God's hand in their lives, directing them, caring for them, using them...and I noticed the same thing with my sons. There isn't just one way to live with ducks. God is a God of variety and surprise and it takes all kinds of duck owners to accomplish what God wants accomplished.

weaning me

If you've been here very long, or read even some of my posts from the past, you may have noticed I frequently dwell on my mid-life crisis. I have now determined it's going to last longer than any man's ever has. Come to think of it, I've never heard of a momma having a midlife crisis, have you? Am I the only one??

Anyway, I've written about our sons growing up and 2 of them moving out, and I've written about my future. Do I have one? I've written about our emptying nest, and I've written about the sadness that's brought. However, I don't think I've ever shown you the flip side-the good and sweet things that have surrounded the sadness.

I'd like to tell you first of all that there is a difference between the good and the sweet.

The good has been discovering things like:

-our grocery bill is smaller

-the house stays cleaner

-the nest isn't as crowded as it once was-we have a bit of room to spread out our wings

-um...um....surely there are more good things?....

Well then... what about the sweet things? The sweet things that have come have surrounded and surprised me. They've left me speechless and baffled and blessed me more than words can say.

I loved nursing my babies. I loved snuggling with those boys and filling their tummies, knowing that at the same time I was comforting them and filling their hearts. Nursing reassured and relaxed them and more often than not, they would go to sleep as they nursed, feeling safe, knowing they were loved.

But, like all good things, nursing had to end. Weaning them was hard. Being boys, they loved real food, but after a meal they'd want to nurse again. Are you still there momma? Can you please comfort me? Let me know you love me? Are we still a "we"? Weaning them was a step by step process, done slowly and gently so they wouldn't feel abandoned. Once each baby was weaned there was a change in the relationship. We were still a "we" but we both enjoyed our newfound freedom.

There's been a role reversal of sorts as each son has grown. I was the one who needed the reassurance, especially during the few months before and after they moved out. My heart frequently wondered, Are you still there son? Do you still love me? I know you are a man now, but are we still a "we"?

And that's where the speechless, baffled, blessed part comes in. My sons have risen to the occasion and weaned me. They've instinctively known and understood my sadness and have taken care to let me know I am and always will be loved. They pulled away gently and have done countless things to show me I'm still loved; little presents, frequent, frequent hugs, phone calls and visits when life allows. I have no doubt that we are still a "we". There's been a change in the relationship. We are still a "we" but we both enjoy our newfound freedom.

3 things that may never have been

Do you remember that group I wrote about on January 16th? It's a facebook group of people who want to focus on giving thanks to God daily for His gifts to us, and then sharing those things with each other online.

We've had "thinking" prompts for the first month. Each day we've been given an assignment-looking for 3 specific gifts to be thankful for. Some of those have been a bit baffling, some hard to face. For instance, on January 16th we were supposed to list 3 things about ourselves we were thankful for. That was a tough one.

However, today's assignment is easy peasy. What are 3 things you're thankful for that may never have been? Can I write my whole life? I know that's not not 3 things. It's one great big huge thing but I see God's fingerprints everywhere, all over my history. Even the fact that I'm alive and breathing is a miracle to me. Shortly before I became a Christian, (at the ripe old age of 13) I would lay in bed each night trying to decide which way would be the least painful way to kill myself....

That's a long story and not what I wanted to write about today. When I read today's assignment 3 things immediately popped into my head and those are the things I wanted to write about. Near misses. (Do you believe in those btw? Do you think if God is sovereign over who's president and how many hairs are on your head and that the thoughts He has about you outnumber the grains of sand, that there can be near misses in life??)

So anyway. 3 things that may never have been.

The first thing that sprang to mind when I saw today's assignment was our youngest son. I had him when I was 40. He was not a surprise and not a mistake. We wanted a baby, but fear held me back. I wrote about how he came to be back in July so I won't go into it again, but I will say this. He may never have been. When I think about that my heart falls down on its knees and praises God for the miracle of that boy....

The next thing that popped into my head is my friendship with A. I went through what some people call "a mountaintop" experience spiritually after my mom died and one day I told my pastor about it. He casually mentioned A. and said she was going through a similar situation at the same time. He said, "Why don't you give her a call? I think you two would get along and you could talk about what the Lord is doing in your lives right now..." Well, normally I'm a pretty shy person and would never, ever, not never no-how call a stranger out of the blue and suggest going out for coffee. Right....but I overruled myself, listened to my pastor and called A. That was 15 years ago. We became best friends almost instantly. I've never met anyone else who thinks so much like I do, and feels like I do about things and can tell me what I'm thinking when I can't even figure it out for myself. On the surface we don't have too many things in common and I don't know much about her. I don't know what her favorite color is or what kind of music she likes. I don't know what her favorite junk food is or what kinds of movies she likes or what she does when she's bored and restless. We are what Anne of Green Gables would call bosom friends. Deep friends. And A. may never have been if our pastor hadn't suggested a simple cup of coffee....

And finally, the third thing. Old friends. In the last 6 or 7 months I've reconnected with several old friends and what a huge blessing that has been. They've encouraged me, supported me, challenged me and given to me in so, so many ways. I hate to admit it was good old cyberspace that brought these friends back into my life, but there it is. And, if we didn't have a computer, or if my son hadn't set up a facebook account for me and forced me into it, those friendships may never have been renewed...

Can you think of 3 things to be thankful for that may never have been?

a thought for you to think about

I've often wondered about something. I sure don't feel like a spring chicken anymore physically. Why do I still feel so young and jaunty inside but my body is starting to feel the years?

A few years ago I was listening to two women on the radio; they were discussing the aging process, midlife, grand parenting, etc. etc. when one of them brought up the whole idea of being energetic and vibrant inside while her body was busy doing its own thing and growing old.

The other woman replied, "That is because there is no aging going on inside. We are eternal beings meant to live forever. Our bodies feel the ticking of the clock but our spirits and souls know no time."

No wonder I sometimes feel like I'm at war with myself and frustrated beyond words. My heart wants to go out and conquer the world but my body wants to curl up on the couch and take a nap.

I think this is one of those bittersweet things...encouraging, discouraging, exciting and disappointing. It's like being trapped on a slowly sinking ship in the beautiful Caribbean. The difference is, once the ship sinks there's something even more lovely than the Caribbean waiting for me....

these are a few of my favorite things....

Do you have any hobbies or things that maybe aren't a hobby, but they still refresh you? Something that you do that feeds your soul?

I once met a woman who didn't. She told me she had no hobbies, no crafts, no creative outlet whatsoever; she was perfectly happy with that. That is what fed her soul. Having nothing on her plate and nothing to do. I can certainly understand that. I love doing nothing. Sitting, daydreaming, planning, remembering-those things are soul food to me too.

But, I do have a few other things I love doing. You know I love my green babies. I have 40 houseplants scattered around. (I don't think there's one toxic air molecule within a mile of our house.)

I also love hiking out in the woods. That is deeply refreshing to me.

Car rides and long walks with my husband soothe and comfort me as well.

And being a grandma? Wow. There is nothing like it and no words to describe it. It's....it's....other than my own children, one of the sweetest gifts God's given me.

And then you have these two. They are two of my best friends. Really. They are. We have soooo much fun together. Sometimes they make me laugh so hard I can hardly stay vertical.

One thing that is more than soul food to me is writing. I need it. I crave it. It's often how I pray and often how I surrender things to the Lord. It is also a creative outlet for me.

And scrapbooking? Ack! I have a love/hate relationship with that one. Do you have any hobbies you hate to love? That's how I feel about scrapbooking.

Drawing has become something I enjoy, in small doses. It is a lot of work so it's not as refreshing as a few other things I try.

I started crocheting maybe 2 years ago? I needed someting to do with my hands when my brain was too tired to function but it was too early to go to bed.

There are other things I enjoy doing-little projects I try and crafty things I make. Just recently I've taken up sculpting. What do you think of these? My family thinks they are proof positive that I'm deeply disturbed. (Something they've suspected all along, but couldn't put on a finger on til now.)

So, it's Friday, and the weekend is almost here. What are you going to do to relax? What will refresh you over the next two days? What will soothe your soul? What are some of your hobbies?

looking into the mirror

I was listening to the radio Tuesday evening, on my way to bible study, when the words to a song jumped out at me. I'm not sure, but I think the song is called, Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man? Have you heard it?

It's an OK song, but that one line?....I have a face I cannot show...that line hit me. I thought about my face and wondered if I ever let you see it. Not the one that stares at me from the mirror. I'm thinking about the face that's behind that one. The one that lives in the hidden places of my heart. Do I ever let her out? And then I started wondering about her. What kind of person is the one I cannot show and why can't I show her? And if I can't show her I'm thinking it's because I don't want to, so shouldn't the words in that song actually be, I have a face I will NOT show?

Having said all that, I have a confession. Did you read the post I wrote on Monday? The one about our desire to adopt a little person? Well, all day Monday I thought about that. Adopting. I hadn't expected my husband to say yes, and I'd never really thought through the whole, incredible, challenging, life changing experience it would be. It was always just this vague "thing" that we'd talked about off and on over the years. Monday some of the realities hit me and I panicked inside. This is going to be hard. This is going to stretch us. This is going to pull me so far out of my comfort zone I don't think I want to do it.

By the time Monday evening rolled around I'd decided, nope. It just ain't gonna happen. I can't do this. It is too hard and too scary. I felt like I'd jumped into an icy lake and the cold shock was overwhelming.

I talked to my husband about it later that evening. I thought it would be easy to bail. I thought he'd most certainly agree with me. I thought he'd say, You're right Jude. We're too old, our house is too small, money is always tight, etc. etc. etc. But no. Instead that man picked me up and threw me into an even icier lake.

"Judy, this is something we need to pursue. I want to see if we can make the difference in the life of even one child."

I was stunned into silence. My lovely little face, the one I show you, completely disappeared. I saw the really ugly one. You know. The one I "cannot" show and the one I don't like to look at. Up until that moment, a lot of my motive for adopting had been me. I need. I want. I miss...

My husband's words pulled the reflective coating off my mirror (Should I maybe say the sugar coating? ) and I don't like the selfish person that hides behind it. I'd been looking at adoption and thinking, in some ways, I want to see if adopting can make a difference in the life of me. That's not my entire motive by a long shot, but that ugly little woman was lurking down there and has now been exposed.

There is more to this than even that. I'm seeing ugly faces popping up all over the place in my heart, and I'm trying to deal with them and trying to lay them at God's feet. I'll write about those another time. This is long enough for now and I have a hungry little person waiting for me in the kitchen.

and yet more stuff i'm stewing on

Where do science and the bible meet? (I'm thinking about psychology at the moment)

If dogs are so smart, why do the same dogs snarl and bark at me every. single. day when I walk? Don't they remember me? I was just "here" 24 hours ago.

Should you tell your kids about the family skeletons hiding in the closet?

Where do our choices and God's sovereignty meet?

Why is it taking so long to heal?

How do you know for positive when something mentioned in the bible is addressing a cultural issue from that time or something meant for all peoples for all time?

What does it feel like to die? When your spirit actually leaves your body?

Why do I have the best hair days when I'm not going to see anyone except my 10 yr. old all day?

Do angels still have the freedom to "walk away" from the Lord? Can they sin? From what I've noticed, and that may not be much, they can't and they don't. However, in 1 Corinthians 6:3 we're told we will judge the angels.

I haven't thought this one through, just something that popped into my head. So, if the answer is obvious, don't judge me, ok? It's only 6:30 in the morning and I'm still drinking my first cup of coffee. So, here's the question:

Which statement is true? Everything is wrong to do unless the bible says it's right?

OR

Everything is ok to do unless the bible says it's wrong?

What have been the Golden Moments of your life?

What have been your spiritual peaks?

stepping out of the boat

When I was a very young little girl I wanted to be a wife and a momma. More than anything in the world that's what I wanted. I wanted a husband and babies to love and care for, and I wanted to teach and become friends with those babies as they grew. I wanted diapers and cuddling and being needed and giving. I wanted to show my babies who their Creator was and give them the opportunity to be His friend.

After a time I did grow up. I got married and had those babies. 4 of them. My heart was full, my time well spent, my energy had somewhere to go.

But then, one by one, those babies grew up and my heart started aching. You know that. I've written about it enough times that this blog should've been called A Mom in Mid-Life Crisis.

And lately? Lately that ache has turned into something more. It's so hard to explain. I've felt lost, and pointless. I know I'm not young anymore, but I'm not old yet either. I still have way too much of me to pour out. I'm not ready to slow down and I'm certainly not ready to sit here and crochet for the next 20 or 30 years.

I still want to be a momma. When I tell some people that, they snicker. They don't understand. They look at me like, Woman, you need a reality check. It's time to let go of that part of your life and move on.

I've told myself that too. For the last 7 or 8 years I've been telling myself that. I've looked at my hunger to momma little people and have tried to release it. I've tried to let go. I've tried to kill it but it just. won't. die. I've argued with myself for 8 long years and have told me, You're crazy. I've tried to find a new purpose and something to pour me into, but I somehow just keep coming back to momma. There is nothing on the planet I'd rather do more.

When we got married we talked about one day adopting a baby or a smallish sized person from China, but life got in the way and we never pursued it.

A few years ago I brought the idea to my husband again. He thought about it, but said he felt weary. Tired. Worn out. And the money? Where on earth would we get the money??

So, I went back to trying to kill that part of my heart. It was like stepping on a blob of jello. I couldn't do it. I tried burying it and I tried peeping at other things to do. I even asked myself if this need and desire was an idol in my life.

Then, yesterday at church I started talking with a new friend. She is my twin in this. She knows exactly how I feel. She doesn't think I'm crazy or stuck in the past or practicing idolatry. She doesn't think it's a hormonal blow-out or a mid-life crisis. She knows the craving and the need to pour herself into little people. She's wanted to momma them all her life too. She said if it's something that won't die, or won't go away, maybe it's God. Maybe God is saying don't give up. Don't quit. Don't kill it. I started sobbing as we spoke. It never, ever occurred to me that God was keeping that hunger alive in my heart. It never occurred to me that God could be talking that loudly and persistently. I've been fighting a battle with Him over something maybe He and I both want. Does that make sense? And, get this. My new friend has adopted 3 little girls from? CHINA. Hmm.....

Well, to make a long story short, (quit snorting at me) I sobbed all over the place at church and made a fool of myself. I sobbed all the way home and then I found my husband. He sat on the couch, (still sick btw) and listened to me babble and sob. I told him all of this and I told him what my new friend had said. And then, my husband gave me the shock of my life. He said, "OK. Let's pray about it."

"Can we do more than pray?" I asked. "Can we look into it? Can we start taking actual steps and see where this leads?"

"Yes." He said yes. I was so startled I stopped sobbing. He said the main thing that's held him back has always been the money. Where on earth will that come from? My friend at church said they went through the same thoughts, but if this is something God wants, God will do it.

So, that is where we're at and what we're going to do. We are going to step out of the boat and see if we can walk on water. We are going to look into adoption and see where this leads. Maybe nowhere. Maybe somewhere huge.

I'd appreciate your prayers-so very, very much.

nosey, nosey woman

I saw a man today, driving his truck. He had greying hair, and a bushy mustache. His face was kind. He looked solid, safe...trustable; he had a sharp, alert look in his eye.

I wanted to climb into the seat next to him and go for a ride. I wondered about him.

What had he done with his life? What stories could he tell? What memories fill his heart? Where had he lived and whom had he loved?

I wondered, what are the secret yearnings of a man who looks so intense, yet content? Did he have many regrets? What words of wisdom could he pass my way?

I wanted to sit there next to him and give him the gift of my ears and let him satisfy my curious mind.

Of course, it never occurred to me to wonder if he'd be opposed to the idea.

Battle of the Sexes

I've been thinking about men this week. I have, over the years, lived with a lot of masculinity. I know I've told you this before, but I'll say it again. I have (or had) 3 brothers, 3 "half-brothers", a step-brother, 6 nephews, a dad, a husband and 4 sons. (Is it any wonder I am the way I am??)

On the surface, I'd say men are easy to understand. You feed them, give them lots of time and space to be squirrelly, let them think they're calling the shots and they're happy. End of story.

But, in reality, I don't get them at all. You'd think I would after living with so many of them all these years, wouldn't you? But, I still don't understand what makes them tick. They seem selfish and self-sacrificing, laid back and driven, and they won't tell you anything but boy do they love to talk. They say they're truly listening while their eyes wander to the TV or the fridge or the window. Right.

We've had a lot of discussion about the differences between men and women over the years; there has been a lot of bantering, and a lot of debate and I've heard a lot of snickering and snorting each time I've said men are the confusing ones. One afternoon my 19 year old son actually spent 50 minutes talking to me about the differences between the sexes-he spent most of that time expounding on the simplicity of men. He almost had me convinced; almost. But, when all was said and done, I had to ask myself, if men are that simple, why did it take nearly an hour to explain why?

Needless to say, when you are the lone female in the herd, and you receive that kind of treatment, you do start to wonder. Doubt creeps in and you ask yourself, am I the confusing one? Maybe they're right. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe women are more complex....

Well, this morning my doubts were put to rest. I was right all along. I googled men and women and the Internet put my doubts to rest. (And we all know cyberspace is never wrong, right?)

According to wikiHow, there are 14 steps to understanding men. Count them. FOURTEEN.

Want to know how many there are for understanding a woman? 4. Yep. I said four.

I am not crazy. I am not complex. I was not wrong. I was lost and alone in a sea of men that's all. However, I am not alone anymore. I have 2 daughters-in-law now, and I'm beginning to see I'm normal and there's a simple 4 step plan for understanding me. What a relief.

A MeMe

My friend Lawana from Wani's World has tagged me for a meme!

The first thing you're supposed to do is:

post the rules:

1. You must post 11 random things about yourself.

2. Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post.

3. Create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer.

4. Go to their blog and tell them you've tagged them.

*No stuff in the tagging section about "you are tagged if you are reading this."

So, 11 random things about me eh?

1. My favorite job was as a photographer with a rafting company. I sat at the front of the raft, facing backward and rode the rapids, taking pictures of the other rafters. fun, fun, fun!

2. We live in a teeny house and I have 40 houseplants. (maybe I should've been a florist...)

3. Due to circumstances beyond my control, my left pinky toe pokes up in the air. Hey, you! I'm here. Pay attention to me...

4. I can't remember the last time I watched a commercial on TV or a TV show actually. I watch movies on Netflix, but TV? yuck.

5. I habitually put things away for safe keeping and never see them again.

6. I read books backwards. Novels, mysteries, non-fiction...all of them. I read the last few pages first and then sometimes the middle, then, if I think the book's worth reading, I'll go to the beginning and read the whole thing through.

7. No matter where we go I always stick my husband on my right side. (unless he's driving)

8. I got asked out by 3 guys in one day in high school.

9. I'll discuss just about anything or everything. Just about.

10. I really enjoy pygmy goats.

11. I was a thief for a few weeks immediately following a mission's trip.

Number two-answer the questions the tagger set for you:

1. Who do you most admire and why?

My dad. He got it.

2. What did you want to be when you grew up?

a wife and momma-a few others things were thrown in there too, but mostly those 2

3.What is your favorite beverage?

water or green smoothies, if they count?

4. Dogs or cats?

It's a toss up. I've heard they both taste like chicken. :-)

5.What is your least favorite exercise to do?

sit ups, push ups, pull ups, anything that has to do with "up" I guess.:-)

6. What is one thing you have done that you aren't proud of?

see #11 up there

7. If you could do 3 things on your bucket list tomorrow, what would they be?

I don't really have a bucket list, but I really, really want to go to Canada and Alaska.

I want to see Mt. Everest up close and personal and I'd love to...to....that's a secret.

8.If you could go on a trip anywhere, where would you go?

Well, other than the two I just mentioned, I want to go to Maine and back to England. I love road trips where we just meander....

9.What is your favorite book?

Too many to list. Sea to Sea by James Alexander Thom, LOTR, The Hobbit, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.

10. What is your favorite candy bar?

Dove Dark Chocolate

11.If you could tell someone from your past one thing, what would you say?

I'd like to ask my mom to forgive me. It wasn't all you mom.

Number three:

Here's the tough one. I don't know 11 bloggers anymore. I only know three that weren't already tagged. So....

I will tag:

My daughter-in-law :-)

my friend Rachel

and my new friend Ginger

the flip side

I didn't realize (until after I was in bed last night and was too tired to get up and do anything about it) that my last two posts were full of goodbyes and a lumpy throat. I really feel like I need to explain myself.

In the first place, I am not overly depressed by my sons' growing up and leaving. It only takes a moment to read a poem, think back to all the years you've parented, realize how quickly they've flown, have a lump form in your throat, swallow the lump, and there, it's over.

And it only takes a moment to walk down the road with your son, look up at him, notice he now towers over your head, he's maturing, have a lump form in your throat, swallow the lump, and there, that's over. You move on and laugh and plan dinner, and argue about who won the game we all played the night before....I promise, I am not sitting here blubbering all the time.

As a matter of fact, there is a flip side to your sons growing up and moving on. And, just between you and me, I do enjoy that side.

The first thing I noticed when our two oldest moved out was the quiet. No one came home in the middle of the night, flipping lights on, making a late night snack, watching TV....when we fell asleep we actually stayed asleep.

The grocery bill isn't what it used to be and the house stays clean a bit longer than before.

One of the more important things we've noticed is that we've had more time to spend with our other two sons. We're not as "spread out" and tired as we used to be-there's "more" of us to give to fewer of them.

After the initial shock and sadness of having a shrinking family, I also realized that in some ways I have less weight on my shoulders, especially now that our two oldest have married. I still sometimes worry about them, and I'll always pray for them, but now, more than ever, I look at God and say, "Well, those kids are your problem now." I've released them to Him and am learning to trust Him with their lives. They truly are no longer my responsibility and I must admit, there is some relief in that. (Is that weary old age rearing it's ugly head?)

The best part of all of it is that those two oldest sons, and their wives, are becoming our friends. We get together for a meal, or an evening together and we laugh, play games, tease each other...we talk about house projects or trips we'd like to take together...the stress of parenting them is over and new relationships are forming.

Ever since I was a young teenage girl I think my favorite word has been bittersweet; life often is bittersweet, isn't it? I just need to be careful which side of the word I live on, that's all. I could sit here and feed the lump in my throat and let it grow, or I can look at who my sons have become and be thankful.

I just felt like I need to clarify that, especially after my last two posts...