Midsummer Meanderings

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

2012-02-03T06:16:00.013-05:00

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

2012-02-02T06:36:00.012-05:00

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

2012-01-31T06:10:00.000-05:00

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?

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

2012-01-30T05:17:00.006-05:00

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

2012-01-28T21:54:00.007-05:00

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

2012-01-26T05:48:00.010-05:00

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

2012-01-24T05:00:00.001-05:00

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

2012-01-22T06:03:00.004-05:00

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...

goodbye Peter Pan

2012-01-21T07:03:00.006-05:00

I am losing a boy. No, he's not moving out, getting married, or dying of some tropical disease. This boy is growing up. He's been tottering on the edge of man-ness for some time, but he also enjoys spending time with Peter Pan. Do you know what I mean? He never reads my blog, so I think I can safely say, (without rocking his boat) that he has fought growing up tooth and nail but now I see what my son probably doesn't. He is becoming a man. Whether he likes it or not.

(Do you remember being 19? I think 19 is the hardest age to parent. My husband said he was a toad at 19, and I know I was. 19 should be erased and kids should just bound from being 18 to 20. (Several of those teen numbers are a pain, but 19? Yuck.))

Yesterday was....bittersweet. Not only did I see my boy growing up, I saw, in my heart, a young man leaving. I've been through this twice before so I know the signs. They start showing signs of man-ness, then suddenly they are too big to fit in your house. They grow restless and their eye is focused out "there". The whole wide world begins to whisper, come. spread your wings. fly....and then before you know it, empty boxes start appearing and treasured possessions start disappearing...I am so excited to see the man my boy is becoming. So deeply thankful. But it hurts. I didn't expect that. I thought by round 3 this leaving thing would be a piece of cake. I guess you never get used to having major surgery and having parts removed, do you?

Goodness, did I just get side-tracked. I started out wanting to tell you what my son did yesterday to show me he's growing up. Maybe I want to avoid that bit because it showed me something about myself too. I am not the independent, I-don't-need-nobody-no-how person I want to be.

Anyway... you may or may not know I am recovering from back surgery. This recovery was supposed to take 6 weeks and we are now well into 17 months. This recovery has affected our family, our marriage, and the cleanness of our house. My 10 year old told me he can't remember me before I didn't hurt. Needless to say, we all want mommy to avoid another little slip and fall.

And here's another "anyway". I don't get out much in the winter. My life slows down and I'm often, often home, with only one sweet little face to keep me company. This year is even worse because my van is not happy. I'm under house arrest and my man/boy knows it. He knows I need to get out of here once in awhile. He knows I need to see something other than the 4 walls of our home in order to maintain my sanity. He knows I need to see trees and birds and breath crisp, fresh air. Daily if I can. So, yesterday, even though it was only in the 20's, and the roads were snowy and covered with black ice, and the wind was blowing, he only slightly sighed when I asked him to walk with me. Out there.

The sweet part was the way we walked. He stood right next to me the entire time, letting me hold his bicep in a death grip so I couldn't slip. At one point I asked him, "Lovey, are you embarrassed by this? Having your old mother cling to your arm while you walk down the road?"

"No. Why would you think that?" He sounded surprised. This coming from a person who is sometimes consumed with being "cool". Personally, I don't think it's cool for a boy to be seen walking down the road with a middle-aged woman clinging to his arm. But, it never even entered his head to be embarrassed.

Then, after another mile or so, I asked, "Lovey, do you feel like a nurse's aid? Taking the grandma out for a stroll?"

"No, mom. Let's just call me a friendly helper." And he grinned at me.

I grinned back, but I had to swallow two lumps while I did it. One lump of thanksgivng and one lump of sorrow. Am I normal?

goodbye little bits

2012-01-18T05:00:00.001-05:00

One of the things that has distracted me from meeting my winter goals has been decluttering, sorting, and pitching. Did I tell you last Saturday I went through the house room by room collecting things? Some of those things went into the garbage, some went to friends and family, and the rest went to Goodwill. Oh! I forgot to tell you how many things: one hundred. It was so much fun and it felt so good, I'm thinking about trying it again this weekend. My husband has already chained down the fridge....

Anyway, back in September I wrote about my clutter. I didn't think I had a lot of it so I was kind-of surprised at how easy it was to gather 100 things to get rid of last weekend. What I thought I had was paper clutter. I won't go into all that again. You can click on the highlighted words if you're interested in reading about my pondering-on-paper propensity.

Anyway again, this week I went through my drawers, notebooks, bible, jewelry box and my purse and gathered all those little bits of paper. I stacked them together on my desk and looked at the pile. No joke-it was almost 1 1/2 inches high. That's a lot of pondering. I've been working my way through that pile, sorting, saving, and pitching. (Nothing there is going to Goodwill.)

I also found something I want to share with you. I wanted to share it and then pitch it, but I don't think that's possible. It's attached to a lump in my throat by an invisible thread.

To My Grown-Up Son

My hands were busy through the day,

I didn't have much time to play

The little games you asked me to,

I didn't have much time for you.

I'd wash your clothes; I'd sew and cook,

But when you'd bring your picture book

And ask me, please, to share your fun,

I'd say, "A little later, son."

I'd tuck you in all safe at night,

and hear your prayers, turn out the light,

then tiptoe softly to the door,

I wish I'd stayed a minute more.

For life is short, and years rush past,

a little boy grows up so fast,

no longer is he at your side,

his precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,

there are no children's games to play,

no goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear,

that all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands once busy, now lie still,

the days are long and hard to fill,

I wish I might go back and do,

the little things you asked me to.

Alice E. Chase

goodbye little bits.....

hmmmm....

2012-01-17T16:01:00.003-05:00

If you set goals for yourself to distract you from the grey, lonely winter and then you ignore those goals because you found other distractions, are you a failure? Or, are you actually a huge success because you not only found out you didn't need the goals you had, but you discovered you were even more creative than you thought you could be and rose above your own expectations?

just pondering.....

3 little things

2012-01-16T21:13:00.007-05:00

Do you like yourself? Could you sit down right now and make a list of things you like about you? Things you feel God put into you when He made you? Do you even believe God did the making? The bible says He did. Right there in Psalm 139:

verses 13-16

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;

you formed me in my mother's womb.

I thank you, High God-you're breathtaking!

body and soul, I am marvelously made!

I worship in adoration-what a creation!

You know me inside and out,

you know every bone in my body;

You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,

how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

Like a open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;

all the stages of my life were spread out before you,

The days of my life all prepared

before I'd even lived one day.

I joined a group on facebook this week-it's a group designed to help people focus on thanksgiving. No, not the holiday; this group focuses on giving thanks to God each and every day for the grace and gifts we see in our lives. (The idea stems from a book by Ann Voskamp called 1000 Gifts.)

If you click on her name and head over to her blog you'll find out more about Ann, her book, and the power of having a thankful heart. If you scroll down a bit you'll find a daily writing prompt for the month of January-things to look for each day, things that will cause you to think, wow, God is good and gracious....look at what He's doing in my life....

Having said all that, I wanted to tell you about our first assignment-we were to list 3 things about ourselves we are grateful for.

The results of that question, for those of us in the facebook group, were quite interesting. Nearly every single one of us said something like, "Wow. This is a hard one." or, "This isn't easy..." or, "This is a lot harder than I thought..."

Most of us couldn't easily write down 3 things about ourselves we are thankful for. And yet, if you look at what the bible says, we are not only made by Him, He gave each one of us gifts and strengths that are uniquely our own.

If you could've been here, in this room with me, when I wrote my answer, you would've seen me sigh, type, backspace, sigh, shut my eyes tight, type and bolt. I couldn't sit here with myself after having written 3 little things I'm thankful for about me. It was a most uncomfortable few minutes and it was obvious I wasn't the only one feeling that way.

So now I'm wondering about you. Would you be comfortable making a list of things you thank God for about you? Would it be easy for you? Why do we feel like we're being prideful or bragging if we are giving God the credit for those things? Or, maybe we don't like the way we are or believe we have any gifts?

Psalm 139 in another version of the bible reads, "I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made..."

Do you believe that? Do you believe you are fearfully and wonderfully made? Would it be hard for you to tell me 3 things you're thankful for about you? It wouldn't even have to be things that you think were there from the beginning. What about lately? What about 3 things you've seen God do in you in the last few years to make you more like Him?

It's hard, isn't it? It's a place I certainly don't like to go. Do you?

please bear with me

2012-01-16T06:04:00.009-05:00

Have I ever told you I've had a long, practically bloody battle with insomnia over the last 20 years?

If there was only one thing keeping me awake I would've addressed the problem and sleep wouldn't be something I just dream about. However, it's something different nearly every single night.

Sometimes it's something as crazy as a hot foot. Yes, I said that. Sometimes my left foot gets so hot I can't sleep. Shoving it out from under the covers doesn't help. Sticking my foot in front of a blowing fan doesn't help. I've finally resorted to sleeping with an ice pack at the end of the bed on the nights that foot won't cooperate.

Sometimes it's my brain thinking, 'Well, you've had 4 hours of sleep. Let's get up! I'm raring to go!'

Occasionally it's depression, worry, or stress that keeps me awake or even a certain someone I know who can't stop coughing. (he's finally going to see a dr. today, btw.)

For many years I trotted along, somehow teaching and mommying on 2-4 hours of sleep a night. Looking back, I have no idea how we made it through that. It's not as bad as it used to be, but even now, after I've had a particularly bad night and we need to go somewhere, I'll pull the van out of the driveway and sit there, unmoving, until finally I ask my 10 yr. old, "Sweetie, which side of the road do I drive on? I can't remember." (It's a good thing we live out in the boonies, eh?)

I was planning on challenging myself to write here every single day for the month of January, but as you can see, I'm failing miserably. And the reason? You guessed it. It's been a really rough month sleep-wise.

The other day I found an old book I bought a few years ago called The Shape of a Year by Jean Hersey. It's a sweet, peaceful book about her daily life and thoughts, the things she saw each day and the seasonal routines she and her husband had.

I read the introduction and found something I wanted to share with you. (Partially because I can't seem to think of anything creative enough on my own right now, but also just because I enjoyed the passage. Maybe you will too?)

A new year is a gift, a small piece of infinity, to do with as we will. Things happen. We grow (we hope), and we learn willy nilly. Life moves around us, life moves through us to others, and the year gradually accepts its pattern. We give, we take, we resist, we flow. Our reachings, acceptances, rejections, our hesitancies, courage, fears, and our loves, all these form the shape of the year for each of us, as individuals, as part of a family, as a member of a community.

No two years are ever alike, no two Januarys. Every snowflake differs from the next one, no daffodil in the meadow is absolutely identical with its neighboring daffodil, and no two birds sing the same song.

Each year we think about different things, have different projects, goals and challenges...

Have you thought about this year? Have you wondered what it will bring? Do you have new goals or projects planned? Some people are saying this is THE year-the end. The last year. Some people think Jesus is coming this year. Are you thinking about that? Ready for it? Do you look at a new year as a gift? Do you wonder whose lives you'll touch this year? Have you thought about what you'll bring to the people in your world? How you'll give to them?

That's all I have today. Ramblings. Please bear with me-I'm hoping to get some sleep soon and find my brain, wherever it landed.

not just any point of view

2012-01-13T05:31:00.006-05:00

My husband and I have only had a few real fights over the years. Don't get me wrong. I know I annoy the daylights out of him at times and vice-versa, and we banter back and forth over things, but as for real fights? Where I get angry enough to throw a pen at his head and we yell at each other? Not very often. We usually get along pretty peaceably.

This is something my niece noticed and one day she even asked us about it.

"So, what is your secret? How come you guys get along so well? Why don't you fight?"

I can't remember which one of us answered the question, but we both thought it. We both thought the same thing at the same time and then one of us replied,

"I think we try and look at life from the other person's perspective. We step out of our shoes and look at things as if we were the other person and try and understand things from his/her point of view."

(I must admit that this has become harder to do during the last few years than it ever was before. For the longest time it was something we did naturally. It wasn't a part of our wedding vows or a pact we made in a meadow under a full moon on a hot summer night. We just did it. )

Well, a few months ago our pastor gave us a challenge. He told us to pray and ask God to help us view life from God's perspective. Whew. That is a challenge. It's difficult enough for me to step out of my shoes and into my husband's and think like a man. And not just any old man. In order for me to look at life from my husband's point of view, I have to study him. What does he like? What are his hurts? His baggage? What are his quirks? His preferences? What makes him comfortable and what are his pet-peeves? Why on earth does he think like that and do things that way?

In order for me to do that I have to take me, my desires, my hurts, my preferences, and most of who I am and put it all aside. I have to learn to think like my husband thinks which, I need to tell you, is not easy. Sometimes that man just doesn't make sense.

Anyway, by now I think you get my point. (or should I say my pastor's point?) In order for me to look at life from God's perspective, I need to know God. Who is He? What does He want? How does He think? Why does He do what He does? I need to study Him and who He is, put me aside, and try to think like He thinks. (and yes, there are times where God doesn't make sense either)

God does have an unfair advantage over my husband in all of this. God comes with a book. The bible. Through that I can know Him and who He is and why He does what He does. By studying the bible I'm studying God-I can see what His perspective is.

My husband didn't come with a book.

Standing and Spitting

2012-01-11T05:32:00.007-05:00

I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately. He was such a practical man. He could separate his emotions from a circumstance and look at it logically. He could take something apart bit by bit, compare it to scripture, and come out with answers based on biblical truth rather than responding with his feelings. That is one of the things I really respected about him and one of the ways I wish I were like him....

Anyway, did I ever tell you I lived in a cult? Of course, I didn't know it at first, and even toward the end it was doubtful, but that's what some people called it.

The "cult" was that school in Wisconsin where my husband and I met. I won't go into too many details about the whole thing; in the first place you have better things to do than read about a crazy experience I had 30 years ago and in the second place, (which maybe should be first, now that I think about it) I can't remember all the details. Suffice it to say, there were a lot of rules, a lot of inconsistency, and there was a lot of control.

The school was set up as a one year work/study program designed to deepen and strengthen our faith, build good work habits, and....and....teach us how to recognize a cult? Sorry, just kidding.

We had classes every morning; things like church history, the history of Israel, what the bible teaches about repentance and forgiveness, and other classes along those lines. Our afternoons were spent working; cooking, cleaning, gardening....come to think of it, other than chopping wood I'm not sure what the guys did. Hmmmm...I'm going to have to ask my husband about that.

Moving along. The year started out like most school years do. We went to class, did our homework, worked, made friends, and had a lot of fun. We must have been having too much fun because as the year progressed I think the leaders felt like they were losing control. They kept adding rules to everything; then we started noticing there were so many rules some of them actually contradicted each other.

I should probably say here and now that when all was said and done, our class was labeled as The Most Rebellious. But, who can blame us? We were confused by all the inconsistency we saw, so at times we simply ignored the rules and did whatever we wanted to do.

Things were really strange by the end of the year. The school was divided-it narrowed down to staff verses students. Them verses Us. The rules and the control continued to increase and things grew out of hand. Some of the students got fed up with the whole thing and left and the surrounding community started calling the school a cult. That's when I panicked and called my dad. I didn't want to leave, but I sure didn't want to stay either.

"Dad! They're calling this place a cult! I don't want to leave, but I can't live in a cult. What should I do??"

"Jude, calm down. Are they hurting you physically?"

"Well, no..."

"Are they hurting you emotionally?"

"No...."

"What about your faith? Are they tearing that down? Injuring it?"

"No, but dad, it's a cult! I don't want to live in a cult!"

"How much longer does the program last? When are you scheduled to leave?"

"In three months."

"Good grief. That's all? Just stick it out. You committed yourself to staying for a year. If they're not hurting you in any way, and you only have 3 more months, just hang in there. You could stand on your head and spit nickles for that long."

So, I listened to my dad. I stuck it out. I stood there and I practiced using my head rather than my emotions. I separated the biblical truth being taught from the lies and confusion and spit out the garbage. I'd like to say that was a lesson learned, but to be honest, I'm not there yet. I still tend to respond to things emotionally and let logic come along when it will. But, when I'm going through something difficult, I often, often refer to that phone call and tell myself, "Judy, this won't last forever. What does the bible say about God and His faithfulness? Hang in there. Eternity is coming. You can stand on your head and spit nickles...."

killing me softly with his cough....

2012-01-10T07:19:00.003-05:00

My husband has had a cough for the last 3 weeks. For some reason the cough decides to pick up force and volume every night when we go to bed. Do you know what that means? We live in a 1200 square ft. house. There is no where he can go to cough where someone in the house can't hear him, and he's hearable all night. Every night.

At first I thought, poor man. I hope he feels better soon.

Then, after a week or so I thought, poor man. If this isn't over soon we're going to have to build a spare bedroom just for him-in the backyard.

Now, after 3 weeks of this, I'm thinking, poor man. Someone really needs to put him out of his misery.

Florence Nightingale I'm not. Nor am I feeling very creative at the moment. Unless you count the ways I've imagined putting him out of his misery; those have been creative....

I wonder, do they allow laptops in prison?

tiny fingers

2012-01-08T05:00:00.001-05:00

That's my baby's thumb being held by his baby's hand.

My son now knows what I've known for 25 years:

Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

Elizabeth Stone

unnecessary gifts

2012-01-06T04:34:00.008-05:00

Way, way back in time, when the world was young, when computers were the size of a small football field, and gas was 1$ a gallon, I took a class in psychology in high school.

I loved that class. I didn't believe everything our teacher told us, but I still found his lectures fascinating.

One morning as I was sitting at my desk, our teacher said something that filled my young heart with hope, despair, and challenge. He said, "Most of you will have acquaintances you call friends, but in reality, you will be lucky to have one real friend over the course of your entire life."

I sat there stunned, and yes, fascinated in a morose sort-of way, wondering if he was right and wanting to prove him wrong.

Well, here it is 34 years later, and I do have more than one real friend. That teacher was wrong. I've been thinking about my friends a lot lately, and what they mean to me, and how much I care for them.

I love this quote by C. S. Lewis:

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art..it has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.

About a month ago I made a list of things I love about my friends-the things that mean the most to me. If I were to write a letter to each one, this is what I'd say:

Thank you for being my friend. I need you and appreciate you more than words can say. I love that we can:

-share our struggles with each other

-and our weaknesses

-laugh together over unimportant things and even laugh at each other without feeling threatened

-I've put my heart in your hands and I trust you

-thank you for pointing my nose in the right direction when it starts to wander

-thank you for accepting me where I am and thank you for not locking me in that place

-thank you for cheering me on

-thank you for letting me lean on you once in awhile

-and thank you for leaning on me every now and then

-thank you for thinking I'm worth your time

-thank you for sharing your plans and dreams with me

-thank you for being patient with my weaknesses

-thank you for letting me vent and listening to me chatter

-thank you for coming along side and relating rather than preaching.

-thank you for trusting me with your heartaches and bruises

-I love the fact that even though we don't always see eye to eye, we do see

heart to heart.

-thank you for opening my eyes to Truth when I need it

-thank you for looking at my heart and seeing that I care, even though I

sometimes bumble along, not quite knowing how to do this thing called friendship

you may be an unnecessary gift, but what on earth would I do without you?

playing with words

2012-01-04T05:43:00.004-05:00

I'm not sure what my sons remember about their school days; I don't know if they remember the failed science experiments, the messy, painty, gluey projects that took more time to clean up than they did to create, or the field trips that took us all over the state. Oh wait. We've talked about those. The only field trips they seem to remember are the ones that involved food-especially if free samples were involved. They do remember those.

Our third son has always loved words. He wrote his first novel when he was 6. Actually, he dictated it to me and I wrote it, but the story is all his. He remembers that school year-at least the book-writing part. Every morning I would get his big brothers started on their school work while Alec stood around waiting, thoughtful, impatient to begin playing with words. We'd grab a pencil and his notebook, cuddle up together on the couch and he'd take off like a rocket. I couldn't write fast enough to keep up with his imagination. I think I looked forward to those moments together as much as he did. I loved watching him think and talk, pause, grin to himself....I'd sit there wondering what on earth he was going to come up with next.

Sometimes he'd get a word wrong. He loved learning new words and experimenting with them; he enjoyed the challenge of using "new words" in a sentence.

The other day I ran across a book I started writing when our sons were young. It's a book full of stories about them-things they did and said that I never want to forget. I was skimming through it and came across 2 Alec bloopers I thought you might enjoy.

One night when he was about 11, I went into his room to kiss him goodnight and we started talking about his day. It was a Sunday, so I asked him about his Sunday school lesson.

"What was your lesson about today?"

"Oh, we talked about the bible and if it's true or not. Our teacher told us there are several ways to determine if the bible is true."

"Really? Can you tell me one of the ways? What did your teacher say?"

"Prostitutes Mom. We can prove scripture is valid by looking at the prostitutes."

"Lovey, do you mean prophecies?"

"Ohhhh yeah...that's the word the teacher used!"

About a month later we asked Alec to pray at dinner time:

"Lord Jesus, thank you for this food and thank you for keeping us safe. Please bless Benjamin (that's his big brother who was 17 at the time) as he gets ready to go to Summit. And please help him as he thinks about college, driving, getting a job, and all that stuff that has to do with

adultryhood. Amen."

Alec still writes and is working on his second novel. However, it's probably needless to say, but he is now the proud owner of a dictionary.

A Sentimental Fool...Or not

2012-01-03T05:31:00.007-05:00

Do you think I'm too sentimental? Do I look back too much? Remember too much? Is it foolish to spend so much time looking back? I mean, really...if you look at the things I write about, most of it is memories.

My house is decorated with memories and sentimental things that have been given to us or made by our sons. (Of course, money, or a lack of it, may have something to do with the way I decorate, but I'm not sure.)

Even the jewelry I wear I wear for sentimental reasons. Other than my wedding ring, I have 3 pieces of jewelry that go with me pretty much every time I step out the door. One of those is a spoon ring. My brother had it made for me from one of my mom's spoons. I wrote about that before so I won't go into it now, but I'd be so disappointed if I lost it. Not only is it beautiful, the ring attaches me to my family, and cheerios and laughing with my brothers over a huge bowl of pasta...it's a rope from here to who I was and where I began.

I also wear a most hideous watch when I leave the house. It's really not that bad, but it is most definitely a man's watch. I put a dainty little black band on it to try and make it a tish more feminine, but I'm afraid that really didn't help. What? Oh. You want to know where it came from? It was my husband's watch in high school. And, it was the watch he wore the year we met. We met at a small private school in the very middle of Nowhere, Wisconsin. My husband didn't have a car, a job, or any money, (and we weren't allowed to date at the school anyway) so we walked; every single evening we walked. That watch went with us and reminded us of our curfew. We joked about smashing the thing, or letting a car run over it so we could conveniently forget the curfew and just keep walking, but we never actually did that. (obviously)

And then you have my necklace.... I'm almost afraid to tell you about that.... I have a love/hate relationship with it, but love has won the battle and I wear it.

The necklace is a piece of jewelry my other brother gave me. Like the spoon, it belonged to my mom, but it too has been altered from it's original state. (For which I'm truly thankful. I wouldn't wear it otherwise and you'll see why in a moment.)

I don't know how to soften this, or make it less morbid, if that's the correct word... I guess I'll just come out with it and see what you think. The necklace is a little circle of gold with Long's Peak engraved in the center. The gold the necklace is made from came from the dentures my mom wore. It weighed them down and kept them centered in her mouth.

Whew. Feels good to have that out in the open. Are you thoroughly disgusted? And now you want to know why I wear it? Three reasons:

1. Long's Peak. I love that mountain and the little Colorado town it stands guard over. We got married with that mountain peeping in the church window. Our first son was born at that mountain's feet and, I learned a lot about life and living alone and how wicked and lazy I can be while that mountain silently looked on.

2. My big brother gave it to me and I love and respect him so much. We have the same warped sense of humor and laugh at things like wearing necklaces made from someones dentures.

3. It reminds me of my mom and her mouth and the hurts she inflicted with it and the healing the Lord has done and is doing...so, so much of who I am comes from her words which came out of her mouth from between the teeth that were weighed down by the gold that I wear around my neck. Sadness and joy and hope and healing are in that gold....

I wish mom could have known the healing Jesus brings. She was a hurting little girl and needed Him so badly. And I'm so thankful to Him for bringing that healing to me...

It's a very heavy, very light necklace. A very important necklace.

I guess, when all's said and done, I don't mind being sentimental and looking back. The bible is full of God telling people to look back. He wanted them to remember what He'd done for them. He wanted them to remember His faithfulness and learn from their mistakes. I guess looking back isn't foolishness at all. Living there would be, but just peaking now and then? I don't mind that at all.

Significantly Interesting or Interestingly Significant

2012-01-01T06:10:00.005-05:00

You know how some people choose a word to be their word at the start of a new year? Words like hope, or love or whatever? Have you ever done that? Picked a word to focus on for an entire year?

Personally, I never have. As the mother of 4 boys I felt I had enough words floating around the house without having to focus on one of them. Except maybe silence....now that would've been a nice word to have when our sons were young.

Well, now that I only have one semi-young son whose words float around, I have time to think and focus on other things and I think I may pick out a word for this year, just for fun. I may forget about it in a week or two, or it may stick around the entire year. I'm not going to hold myself to it, but like I said, I think I'll try it.

The other day I was looking through a notebook I lug around in my purse. Anytime I have an idea I don't want to forget, or hear something significant on the radio as I'm driving, or I see something interesting, I open that notebook to a random spot and jot it down. I can never remember what I wrote or where I wrote it but it always feels good to get those things down on paper, you know, for future reference.

So, as I was saying, the other day I was looking through my notebook and came across this:

Start a journal. Don't let a day pass without recording it whether something interesting happens or not. Something interesting happens every day.

I've been thinking about that ever since. The only thing is, in my mind I'd seen the word "significant" where the word "interesting" is and I've been thinking, "Hmmm...does something significant happen every single day?"

I even looked up "significant" in the dictionary this morning so I could begin my new focus:

Expressive of something beyond the external mark. Important; momentous.

Well, I think I've already been doing that. I've been looking for God's fingerprints in my life and spotting them everywhere. If that's not significant, I don't know what is.

Then this morning I dug that little notebook out of my purse and read the quote again. I realized the word it uses is interesting so I looked that up in the dictionary:

Engaging the affections; as by interesting a person in one's favor.

Engaging the attention or curiosity; exciting emotions or passions; as an interesting story

I like that idea-looking for something interesting each day. I think though, just to stir things up a bit, I may combine the two words; I think I'm going to look for things that are either significantly interesting or interestingly significant. Just for fun, I may even jot them down in my notebook, you know, for future reference.

I've been:

2011-12-28T17:28:00.004-05:00

eating

baby snuggling

diaper changing

game playing

laughing

sleeping

worrying

cooking

cleaning

surrendering

listening

watching

thinking

fat little cheek kissing

giving & receiving

watching my baby take care of his baby

learning

remembering

relaxing

wondering

planning

praying

missing

thanking

rejoicing

How about you? What have you been up to?

Merry, Merry Chirstmas!

2011-12-23T05:37:00.003-05:00

I went out for coffee with a friend yesterday. When we were finished laughing and crying, trusting and talking, listening and dreaming, I ran an errand. I can't recall seeing one smile while I was out there. Every person I saw looked angry, sad or weary. I wanted to take them all home-really, I did. I wanted to give each one of them a cup of coffee and a Christmas cookie, a hug and hope.

This is not all there is I wanted to tell them. This is just a passing through place; this is hard and wearisome and it's a scary place, but it is not the place.

I wanted to tell them God loves them. If we could see beyond the seeable we would know that and it could be possible to laugh at this. Maybe? If we could see eternity and heaven

now, while we're going through whatever it is we're going through, life would take on a different hue, wouldn't it?

The best part of everything is that it's possible to have hope even while we're here, just passing through. Jesus made the way for us. And yes, I am going to say it: "that's what Christmas is all about." His birth which lead to His death which leads to our hope-

I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love. Neither death, nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow-not even the powers of hell can separate us from God's love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below-indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39)

That's all I have for you today. A prayer that you will see the unseeable and find that hope.

Merry, Merry Christmas to you!

December 22

2011-12-22T05:37:00.005-05:00

My dad died today. Oh, not literally. It was literally 9 years ago today.

I was thinking about him when I wrote yesterday's post. Do you know I still miss him? There will always be a hole in my heart that longs for his voice and his hugs and his big, warm, rough hand wrapped around mine. I guess there will always be a little girl hiding inside, needing her daddy.

I could focus on all that. I could really get into it and have a whopper of a pity party. Did you ever see the Lord of the Rings trilogy? For three years after dad died I had an Orc screaming in my heart. Not only was the adult me mourning his leaving, the little girl inside suddenly realized there was no hope of ever, ever having a daddy.

Death and grieving are strange things to me. The hurt is still there and I still miss him. The Orc has finally shut up though, which is nice. I don't miss him one bit. What's strange about death and grief is that for me, in this case, I have so much joy inside and so much to be thankful for even though...

I learned so much from my dad. He was practical, he was wise, he knew how to balance his time and used it wisely, and his faith...his faith was true and deep and everything I want mine to be. How did he get there??

When he found out he had lung cancer he calmly told us about it and calmly asked for prayer. He said, "If the Lord wants to heal me, that'd be great. If not, that's ok. It's up to Him and I'm ready to go home if that's what He wants."

I watched dad as he lived out the next two years. He never seemed to focus on the cancer or the fact that he was probably going to die. He still served, he still encouraged, he still laughed and carved and prayed for people and played games. He found joy in his days and would not allow fear or sorrow to overshadow here and now.

The timing of his death could be called untimely by some. Three days before Christmas; really? I could focus on that and have another wonderful little pity party every. single. year.

I don't though. The timing was sweet to me. His visitation and memorial were surrounded by Christ and Christmas, evergreen wreaths and bright, happy Christmas trees. It's a time of rejoicing and that's what I do when December 22 pops up each year. It is a sad sort-of rejoicing, but it is rejoicing. My dad is safely Home. He spends his days with Jesus now where there is no sorrow, no more tears, no more sin. He finished his race well.

I hope I do.

the perfect slap

2011-12-21T05:00:00.002-05:00

They say confession is good for the soul so I'm going to fess up here and now:

For the last few years just the thought of Christmas has thrown me into a deep depression. I dreaded the day I had to flip the calendar from November to December and tried to ignore the fact that the 25th was there, right down toward the bottom of the page. My heart was heavy and tears would frequently find their way down my cheeks as the days passed.

A few weeks ago it was really bad. I was miserable and spent my free-thinking time freely thinking miserable thoughts.

I told a few people how I felt and I got a few sympathetic hugs or words of encouragement from them. Did that help? Nope. Not a bit.

Finally, one day I woke up with tears in my eyes. The only other time I woke up weeping was the morning after my my mom had died.

I spent some time that day chatting with a friend and in the course of our chat I mentioned my depression.

"So, why are you so depressed?" my friend asked.

Ha! Now was my chance!

"Well," I replied, "Christmas carols make me feel lonely, my parents are dead, my sons have grown up, money is tight, our whole extended family lives west of the Mississippi...." on and on I babbled.

Finally I stopped and my friend said,

"Judy, are you taking drugs for your depression?"

Drugs?? For my depression??

I sat here and froze inside. I stared at the computer, startled. Have you ever seen an old movie where a hysterical female gets slapped across the face by her friend in order to stop her screaming? That is how I felt. It was the perfect slap, delivered casually, almost in passing, but boy howdy, did it stop me in my tracks.

It was one of the most convicting moments I've had in a very long time.

I just thought, Oh Jesus, I am so, so sorry. You have blessed and given and hugged me so deeply and so often- I feel like I've thrown your love and your gifts to me down in the mud and stomped on them. All I've been doing is focusing on me...focusing on the negatives...focusing on what I don't have. Please, please forgive me...."

Way back last summer I started reading a book called 1000 Gifts by Anne Voskamp. Have you read it? I won't go into all of it now, but it's a very good book. Anne challenges her readers to look for God everywhere, all day, in every circumstance and in every moment. Here is a trailer to the book on youtube. (Please, take 4 minutes and 20 seconds out of your day and watch it. It's so worth it....)

Anyway-another thing Anne challenges her readers to do is actually list the gifts you see God giving you each day by writing them down. I started doing that last summer but I quickly discovered something. I couldn't get away from the notebook I was writing in. Every single minute held something to be thankful for. I could see God's hand all over the place. I could see His hugs everywhere. I even saw Him in the hard things and the stressful things. I could not stop writing so I did stop. I had to walk away from the notebook in order to teach, or cook, or throw a load of laundry in the washer...

I spent a lot of time talking to God though; a lot of time thanking Him for the sweet gifts I was seeing in my life.

As autumn progressed I stopped reading the book and then as November turned into December I stopped looking for God as much. I wasn't focused on Him; I started focusing on me and my not-so-happy little thoughts and you saw up there the result of that.

I will confess I still have my December moments, but since that slap that's all they've been-moments. When I focus on the Lord and search for Him, I find Him all over my life. This has been the happiest, most peace-filled December I've had in at least 7 years. I've loved decorating and shopping, cleaning and planning what to bake. I've even loved the gloomy grey Indiana weather.

Let me guess. You are thinking, wow, this woman is bi-polar. I'm not though. The bible promises us that when we are focused on Him rather than self, and we thank Him for His gifts and His love, we will have joy.

A well timed slap doesn't hurt either.

a tumbleweed

2011-12-20T05:50:00.005-05:00

Do you remember the Christmas trees your family had when you were little? Were you allowed to help decorate the tree or was that something that was done after you'd gone to bed?

The Christmas trees we had when I was small were huge, and not just because I wasn't. Our living room was large and mom wanted a tree worthy of the room. She had the most beautiful vintage ornaments to put on the tree, and there were a lot of them. Oh, and bubble lights! Remember those? And tinsel and another string of lights that didn't twinkle-the bulbs were so large they shot bright, happy color out into the room.

I wasn't allowed to touch the ornaments or help put them on the tree. They were too expensive and too delicate for my chubby little fingers to handle. I just remember waking up some December morning, coming down the stairs and there it was: The Tree, sparkling, shiny and smiling; happy to be a part of our family even if only for a few weeks.

The first Christmas mom and I shared after my parents' divorce found us in a completely different circumstance. We were poor, we were living in a tiny "cabin" in the mountains of Colorado, and there was no money or room for a tree of any size at all.

We had found a smallish tumbleweed during one of our drives and had fallen in love with it. Since we were from the Midwest we'd never seen one before, so for us, that tumbleweed was a treasure. We kept it and brought it home as one of our first Colorado souvenirs.

Well, as December rolled around I started thinking about Christmas and presents, all the baking mom used to do and of course, The Tree. We just didn't have room for one. Finally one evening, as mom sat in a chair she spotted our tumbleweed.

"Jude, why don't we use the tumbleweed for a tree?! I'll betcha no one else in the world has ever had a tumbleweed tree!"

So, that's what we did. Mom helped me prop the tumbleweed inside a coffee can. We took rocks and piled them up inside the can so the thing wouldn't fall over and then, much to my joy, mom let me decorate our "tree" all by myself. I found some red yarn and braided it together to make a garland; I carefully draped that over the delicate little twigs of the tumbleweed. Then I took toothpicks and made tiny god's eyes with more yarn and hung those from the branches.

Our little tree didn't have vintage ornaments or bubble lights. It didn't have any lights at all. But that tumbleweed is a tree I still remember and that memory is one I still treasure. My Mom could turn the most dreary circumstance into a happy moment with a cheerful word or two and her optimistic attitude and that's what she did that Christmas. She took what could've been a lonely, depressing moment in time and turned into something special. She made me feel like we were the lucky ones and gave me an irreplaceable memory.

one tiny moment

2011-12-19T05:21:00.002-05:00

Have you ever had a moment in your life you wish would've lasted longer? Maybe it was just a tiny, fleeting moment but it was so precious it became a part of your soul and it actually hurt when the moment ended? Or maybe you've done something and while you were doing it you thought, wow, this is what I was made for.

Yesterday morning I sat in a chair and held my baby granddaughter while she slept. Her little bottom was poking out and her warm, soft hand was wrapped around my neck. Her face was turned toward mine and her rosy lips were puckered in the most kissable way; occasionally she would smile at a dream only she was privy to.

I know this will sound awfully sappy, but I cried while I held her...it was just one of those tiny moments...

A Romantic Little Christmas Story

2011-12-13T06:07:00.002-05:00

I hope you don't mind if I hand you something I wrote a couple years ago. It's a true story; it's the story of how my second son proposed. I hope you enjoy it.

#2, although he's only 21, was pretty nearly convinced "she" would never come along. He'd been praying for "her" and wondering about "her" for years. Yes, I said years.
Two weeks into their acquaintance they both knew for certain they were meant for each other. My son drove out to our house one afternoon to tell us the news. Once we stopped laughing we realized he was serious. He'd met "The One."

Anyway-he controlled himself and managed to wait 6 months to propose. He spent the day before he popped the question at home, here, with me. It's a day I will never forget. He'd come home to show me The Ring. I've never seen anyone more excited and nervous about anything.

Actually, he wasn't nervous about asking H. to be his wife. It was The Talk with her father that was giving him the shivers. He tried to put that out of his head while he sat here visiting with me and putting together a little gift for H. that would help his cause.

What he did was this: H.'s favorite color is blue, so, #2 found a box and covered it with blue scrapbook paper. Then he gathered together a huge stack of blue scrapbook papers and cut them into squares that would fit just right into the box. He even clipped one corner of each paper so she could lift them out of the box one by one.
On each square he wrote a different reason why he loves her. As he sat on the couch writing and thinking I watched him. He was so sweet. He put so much thought into each note. This little project took all afternoon-not because he couldn't think of enough reasons to marry this girl, but because of the ring. It sat there, quietly minding its own business, nestled in its little box, waiting for Her. But occasionally that ring would call out my son's name. He'd stop writing, look at the box, pick it up, open it, look at the ring and smile. His heart would stop, he'd take a deep breath, close the box, and continue writing. Even when he didn't pay any attention to the ring's call, he would sometimes stop and just grin at the box. He passed away the afternoon in this manner while I was allowed the sweet privilege of peeking into my grown son's heart.

The next day was a little more nerve wracking for him. It was the day he planned to have "The Talk" with her father. That's enough to make any boy shiver in his boots and I don't think there was too much grinning going on. However he did it.

Then it was on to the next step. Asking H. to be his bride. He had planned on asking her to marry him while they sipped hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire, cuddled up under a Christmas tree. However, he was afraid that, in their excitement, her family wouldn't be able to keep the secret and would tell her about it before he had a chance to ask. So, on to plan B.

That same night, after talking to her father, son #2 found himself sitting in a little coffee shop waiting for H. to get off work. A little Christmas tree twinkled in the corner, and carols were playing over the loudspeaker.

At the same time, my husband, son #3 and I were here, at home, doing our usual who-knows-what. Suddenly the phone rang-it was #2. He wanted to know the names of some of the top romantic songs that had ever been sung. He was sitting in that coffee shop putting together a CD of romantic music to further his cause even more. We googled and reminisced and came up with several titles for the boy, then hung up.

I will tell you here and now I didn't sleep very well that night. I wanted to be a little mouse trailing after my son, watching this biggest moment of his life play out...thankfully he's very open with us and was willing to share The Proposal with us. (After the fact, of course)

So here's what happened: when H. got off work #2 was there to pick her up. She was hungry, tired, and feeling a bit discouraged about life. He was pent up, nervous, and excited-he wanted to pop the question then and there. He wisely decided to control himself and let the poor girl eat and regroup first. When he saw that she was feeling better he popped the CD in, gave her some flowers, the box of little notes, and then started driving around "to look at all the Christmas lights".

As he drove he kept a careful eye on that pile of notes. When she got to the end he planned on that moment to ask her to share his life with him. The Ring was hiding in the pocket of his car door, not only whispering his name, but filling his heart with joy and excitement.

Finally he saw that the stack of notes was getting low-I'm not sure how on earth he planned this part, but #2 found a little pond with Christmas lights glowing all around it. He whipped his car into the parking area near the pond and parked. By this time H. was teary-the box had done its trick and melted her heart. Son leaned over to give her a hug as a tear or two made their way down his cheeks as well.

"H., will you marry me?"
The tears stopped. She sat up. "What did you say? You told me....how did you...."
She was totally surprised. Totally taken off guard...

So, there you have it. (Maybe someday son #1 will let me share his story with you.)

winding down and gearing up

2011-12-12T05:56:00.001-05:00

I've been here, at home, raising and teaching boys for half my life. That's a long (long) time. And now, as my 21st year of home schooling approaches its middle mark, I can clearly see the end of my career out there in the distance. My last little guy is half way through 4th grade and in 8 short years we'll be handing him a diploma...

Already that little person is growing in independence. He's taking the initiative when it comes to starting school in the morning, reading the instructions for his lessons, and even doing extra school work just "because it's fun, Momma!" (no, I do not think this is normal behavior)

I can still remember how it felt to have 3 students in the house and a toddler running around. Every minute was filled with to-do's, and my should-do-but-I-can't-figure-out-when list was a heavy weight on my shoulders.

But now? Things are winding down....ending....coming to a close. As each school book is completed I'm not putting it on a shelf "for next year". I'm either packing it away in case any of our grandchildren are home schooled, or giving books away because...because they will never again be needed in this house.

I'm sorting through 40 years (collectively speaking) of school work and art work and little boy stories, written in little boy scribbles, on scrap paper or school paper; trying to decide which memories are worth hanging onto and which ones to release.

Sometimes I feel like one of those completed school books. I'm still alive, still useful, still worth hanging onto. But I must admit and face the facts-I'm not needed like I once was. In some ways it feels like my purpose is winding down.

However, lately God has sweetly been encouraging me and showing me something. I've not come to the end. I've come to a yellow light and in a few short years, a red one. But I've noticed something about traffic lights. They're always changing color. Yellow doesn't stay yellow for long, and the red one soon turns to green.

The road I've been traveling at break neck pace may come to an end, but it's not a dead end. God has big sleeves and I know there's something up one of them just for me. I don't know what my new purpose will be, but God has been allowing me to see, in tiny ways, that there is one.

The last 10 years of our lives were really, really hard and raising and teaching 4 boys wasn't always easy. I'm resting now; praying, waiting, doing what I know to do. I'm looking forward and gearing up, waiting for the next thing.

That's all I have for today....just some miscellaneous ramblings....thoughts from my head and thoughts from my heart.

The Day Santa Died

2011-12-10T06:44:00.006-05:00

How old were you when you stopped believing in Santa Claus? 7? 9? I wanted to believe in him. I wanted to believe there was someone out there who could make my little girl dreams come true and give me all that my selfish heart desired.

I had good old Santa up there on a pedestal all right. I knew that I knew that I knew he was sweet and kind and good as gold. He never did anything naughty. How could he expect me to live that way if he didn't? That wouldn't be fair.

Unfortunately, I was only 5 when I sadly learned the truth. Santa wasn't magical and he certainly wasn't good as gold. He was our neighbor.

My parents were really good friends with a couple in our neighborhood and like all good friends, they had fun together and sometimes did crazy things for each other.

One Christmas, (the year I was 5) my dad and our neighbor decided to help each other out and have some fun in the process. They rented a Santa suit and took turns using it. My dad put the suit on, hoisted a bag of presents over his shoulder and went to our neighbor's house. He sat in their livingroom ho ho ho-ing and being jolly as he passed out presents to the kids in the family.

Then my dad and our neighbor made the switch. Our neighbor put on the suit and came to our house with a bag of goodies just for me. I remember the moment our doorbell rang. (it never occurred to me that Santa hadn't used the chimney.) My mom and I opened the door together and surprise! Santa was standing there in all his jolly goodness! I was breathless with excitement.

Mom invited him in and told him to sit in our best chair. He plunked his bag of presents down at his feet and invited me to come sit on his lap. Oh how excited I was! I ran over to him, speechless...I was going to sit in Santa's lap? What a wonderful, wonderful day!

I gingerly climbed up onto the chair and sat down on Santa's knee. "Well Judy," he said. "Have you been a good girl?" and then I knew. This wasn't Santa. I didn't know who he was, but I knew he wasn't Santa. It was his breath that gave him away. Santa's breath would smell like cookies and pine trees, snow and crisp new wrapping paper. This guy smelled like he'd spent the earlier part of the evening in the local tavern.

I turned my face away from his so I wouldn't have to smell his boozy breath one second longer than I had to. In sadness I went through the motions; I accepted the presents he gave me and, at my mother's urging I shyly thanked him for each one.

I was sad to see Santa leave that evening-he took my broken dreams with him. However, the sadness didn't last long. I had a pile of new toys to play with and I knew my nose was safe. I would never again have to sit in Santa's lap inhaling the scent of whisky again.

Christmas in Barcelona

2011-12-08T05:40:00.013-05:00

As you know, my mom and I didn't always see eye to eye. I'm afraid I've maybe mislead you into thinking that the uglies in our relationship were all her fault. (typical child)

This morning I need to admit that maybe, possibly, I was the cause of some of the squabbles we had. I am sometimes very stubborn about things and now, looking back at my younger self, I'm not sure I was always that teachable. I had life figured out and I knew almost everything. Didn't you?

OK, so now I have a question for you. When you were 3 did you know what you wanted to be when you grew up? I did. I wanted to be a wife and mother. I knew that when I was 10 and I knew that when I was 17. My greatest fear at that point in my life was, what if that dream never comes true? What if Prince Charming takes one look at me at thinks, whoa, my horse is better looking than this girl. I think I'll ride around a few more years....and then he rides off into the sunset, leaving me behind....

My mother knew I wanted to be a wife and mother, but she was also practical. She often warned me, "Judy, marriage is for a very long time. It will come, and you'll be tied down to a house, bills, and responsibilities for the rest of your life. Once you take that step your life will never be the same again. Right now you are free. Take advantage of it. Travel, have adventures, see the world, try new things, meet people and make friends with all of them! Have fun! For now, just enjoy being single."

For some strange reason I actually listened to my mother. A year after I graduated from high school I found myself on a mission trip with Youth With A Mission. There I was, 19 years old, traveling, having the adventure of a lifetime, living in a campground on the Mediterranean Sea. We were just outside Barcelona Spain, but, oh, did I mention it was December? And our temporary home was an unheated trailer? And it was cold? I bet when you think of the Mediterranean you think of balmy beaches, hot sand between your toes, and warm spicy winds gently whispering through your hair.

Well, the only wind we had was an icy one; and, if it happened to be a west wind it was also smelly. The Barcelona sewage system sat right outside the campground. Need I say more?

We spent an entire month living in that campground. I have so, so many memories from that trip... I think I'll save those for another day. This was supposed to be a little Christmas story.

The missionary team I was with was from England, but there were missionary teams from all over Europe staying in the campground-Dutch, German, Sweden.... we would smile at each other in passing, and I saw people I instantly liked, but the language barrier prevented our making friends with each other.

The language barrier didn't stop the Swedes from being friendly though. They managed to give everyone in the entire campground a Christmas gift; for me it was one of the sweetest gifts I've ever been given and one I will never forget.

One morning, while it was still too early to even think about getting up, we were all suddenly awakened by the sound of singing; lovely singing...sweet voices singing beautiful Swedish Christmas carols. We stumbled out of our sleeping bags and opened the trailer door. The whole campground was surrounded in darkness but there, winding their way through the campground, were the girls from the Swedish YWAM team. They were dressed for St. Lucia Day. (come to think of it, maybe it was?) Each girl had a long white dress on, and a bright red sash tied around her waist. And, each one of those girls had an evergreen wreath circling her lovely blond hair. The most stunning part of the whole scene were the lit candles in those wreaths. We stood there, in the darkness, watching those beautiful girls wander through the campground, giving us a gift that required no common language.

It was a moment like no other in my life and one I would've missed if I hadn't listened to my mother.

a picture that's worth a thousand words and fills my heart with a thousand things

2011-12-06T05:29:00.012-05:00

I want to show you a picture. It's one of my favorite pictures of our first two sons. (Please, please ignore the outfit #1 is wearing. There is no excuse for it. All I can say is....hm....just ignore it, ok?)

What I want you to notice, and what I want to remember until I'm not around to remember anymore, are their faces. And my oldest son's death grip on his little brother's arm...

Those things are priceless to me. This picture alone, all by itself, fills my heart with so much...never mind. I'm not going to go into all that. I'll be nice and spare you the ponderings of this momma's heart.

What was going on in this picture?

Oh, well, they are just being normal first and second born brothers.

Momma said it's time to come in and eat lunch. Now!! And James, we ARE going to obey her!

(typical first born-wanting to stick to the rules and do what needs doing because it's the right thing to do.)

Listen big brother of mine-YOU can obey momma if that's what you'd like to do. As for me? I'm not budging.

That about sums up their relationship to this day.

I will say this and then I'll let you go: I love where my sons are at and I love who they've become. But there are times where I wish with all, all, all my heart I could go back and kiss those fat little cheeks one more time...

do you ever wish you had a giant pencil?

2011-12-05T06:00:00.001-05:00

You know I'm not perfect, don't you? I haven't arrived...yet. You know if just being alive is what makes a person wonderful I'll be here for a very, very, very long time...

Having said that, I'd like to tell you something.

I don't like everyone.

It's not that I want them dead, or I wish them ill. There are just some people I'd like to see disappear.

Now imagine you're standing outside. The sun is shining, the birds singing. Standing next to you is a 5 foot tall pencil with an 8" eraser. Suddenly, along comes someone who annoys you-someone who grates on your nerves or exasperates you. You look at her, pick up your handy dandy pencil, point the eraser in her direction and rub the air. voila! She's gone. It's like she never existed at all.

The other morning #3 woke up and told me he'd had a rough night. Apparently at 1:30 am he'd received a text message. He couldn't remember the whole thing, but it was long and disturbing and it came to the wrong phone. Here's the gist of what it said:

Where are you dad??

You could at least call me!

It's been a month since I've heard from you! Why

don't you communicate?? This is no way to treat

your daughter! (on and on it went...)

Needless to say, it took my son awhile to go back to sleep after that.

When he told me what the text had said, I didn't want to erase the poor girl's father. I wanted to pick up my handy-dandy 5 foot long pencil and beat him over the head with it. I have been mourning for that girl all week and I've never laid eyes on her.

If I could talk to her father I'd give him a piece of my mind. (Especially since it seems his has gone missing.)

I'd tell him children are a gift, no matter how old they are. God entrusted them to our care and we play a huge role in their lives until their life is no more. I'd tell him he is a selfish brute and then I'd stop him in his tracks. I'd force him to look at his daughter...I'd ask him to look deeply and closely and see the vulnerable little girl hiding behind her desperate heart. I'd say a few more things I probably shouldn't type out here...

Then perhaps I'd stop. After I'd dented my pencil a few times over his head I'd take a deep breath and look at him. I'd look deeply and closely and I'd wonder about the vulnerable little boy hiding inside. What happened to you? I'd wonder. Who hurt you so badly you are unable to love? To care? Are you maybe treating your daughter the way you were treated? Or, are you truly just that selfish and ugly inside?

Then I think I'd grab a bible and show them that although she doesn't have the perfect father, and I doubt he's ever been one, we have One who is. He knows everything about them. (Psalm 139:1)

He is not distant and angry-He is the perfect loving Father. (John 3:16)

He gives and loves more than any earthly Father could. (Matthew 7:11)

He loves with an unending love. (Jeremiah 31:3)

His plan for their future is filled with hope. (Jeremiah 29:11)

Everything good that happens in their lives is actually from Him. (James 1:17)

If they would seek Him with all their hearts they would find Him. Unlike some dads we know... (Deuteronomy 4:29)

He longs to comfort them in all their troubles. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

He is close to those who have desperate, broken hearts. (Psalm 34:18)

If they would allow Him to be their Father, He promises one day to take away all their pain and wipe away every tear. (Revelation 21:3-4)

I'd tell them I'm not perfect, (his lumpy head being living proof) and they are not perfect. We are all sin-filled people and separated from God because of that. (Romans 3:23)

Jesus, His one and only Son, died so that they could one day stand before God, forgiven. (2 Corinthians 5:18-19)

His death was God's end all expression of His love for them. (1 John 4:10 and/or Romans 5:8)

If they would receive the gift God gave them, His Son, they would never be separated from His love again. (Romans 8:38-39)

God wants to know if they would like to be His children. (John 1:12-13)

He is patiently waiting for them....(Luke 15:11-32)

If you'd like to see exactly what those bible verses say but you don't own a bible, click here and you can read them on-line.

What holds true for that girl and her missing dad holds true for you and it holds true for me.

God has become my Father and healed my broken, desperate heart. He wants to do the same thing for you, if that's what you need....if that's what you long for....

all it takes is talking to Him. Telling Him you know you've blown it, maybe big time. Did you there is no sin too big or too ugly? His love is sweet and perfect. (Romans 8: 38-39)

Then you tell Jesus you need Him. Tell Him you can't take one more step without Him and thank Him for dying in your place. Ask Him to forgive you for your sins and ask Him to make you the kind of person He wants you to be. It's that simple.

And then, from that moment on, you have access to the perfect Father. You can talk to Him any time and trust Him to love you and always be available. He will never leave you and He will certainly never, ever beat you over the head with a giant pencil...

Speaking of Chickens

2011-12-04T06:14:00.001-05:00

As long as we're on the subject of chickens, I thought I'd share another chicken story with you. This one involves living poultry, as opposed to the metal version. (it's also a re-post from 2007.)

When I was 3 my brother Jimmy, my parents, and I went on a vacation. At some point we made a stop at a chicken farm. (Don't ask me why.) Anyway, because of my small stature I couldn't see where we were when my dad stopped the van. (Yes, there were vans back in the dark ages.) When my dad opened the van door I froze, petrified.
"Daddy? Are those dangerous chickens?!"
While those chickens proved to be docile and kind, I later in life met some that were not.

From the dictionary: Bantam. Any of numerous small domestic fowl that are often miniatures of members of the standard breeds.

And from a website regarding Bantam Chickens as pets:
Chickens make rewarding pets - I've never felt so much like Snow White as when sitting on a stool with a chicken on each knee, each shoulder and one resting comfortably on top of my head. The chickens on my shoulders rubbed their heads around on my neck, tasted my glasses gently and played with my earlobes. The chickens on my knees wiggled as I petted them and played with my ring. The chicken on top of my head just made me a little nervous. I could sit in the sun and watch those hand raised chickens scratch, bath and eat for hours.

When our 2 oldest sons were quite young they were given a tiny incubator as a gift. We did hatch 2 quail successfully and released them into the wild when they were old enough to fend for themselves.
Years later, when our oldest son was 13 or so, he decided he wanted to hatch another quail egg. After a long search, we found a farmer who had quail eggs for sale. So, we all piled into the van and drove over to this guy's house to see if he would be willing to sell 1 (Please note I said 1. ONE) egg to the kids so they could use their incubator again. The man was incredibly nice, and very persuasive. After a brief tour of his farm he somehow managed to convince us that if watching 1 quail egg hatch was exciting, imagine how breathtaking watching 27 Bantam chicken eggs would be!
"Well, we don't have room for 27 eggs in our little incubator."
"Oh! That don't matter. Look! I have a large, portable incubator you can use! Just take it home and when you're done using it, bring it back. And really, you don't have to worry. I don't think all 27 eggs will hatch. I reckon only about 9 will actually be fertilized."
Deciding it would be futile to argue any further with this kind man, we caved and took the eggs and incubator home.
I imagine by now you can guess what happened, and you're right. All 27 eggs decided to hatch.
It wasn't long before we had 27 tiny chicks peeping at all hours of the day and night, begging for food. And the box they resided in was in our son's bedroom! After about 2 days of that racket my husband and the boys went out and built a makeshift chicken coop behind the garage. I had visions of one of us heading out to gather eggs and then all of us sitting down to a delicious scrambled egg breakfast every morning. There were 2 problems with this scenario. One, do you have any idea how tiny Bantam Chicken eggs are? It would take about 5 per person to equal 2 regular chicken eggs. The other problem was, it seems that most of our chickens were roosters.
Not only that, but they were mean, ferocious, dangerous roosters! They were so mean that after a couple months they'd managed to kill about half their brothers and sisters in bloody chicken wars. Talk about sibling rivalry...
Anyway, winter came and went and by the following spring we were down to 15 chickens-all of them roosters and all of them mean. Every time the boys went out to play they were chased and attacked by those nasty little birds.
It wasn't just their beaks the boys had to look out for; the spurs on the chicken legs proved to be more dangerous than their bills. (Can you call a chicken beak a bill?) Every time the boys went outside to play or feed the chickens they'd come in with tears in their eyes and bloody scratches on their legs.
I finally gave the boys my permission to kill the chickens. I just didn't want to know how they did it. Every once in awhile I'd hear a whoop from outside and I knew the boys were one step closer to being free of fear and pain.
However, there was one afternoon James came in and his legs were a mess. Blood trickled down his calves and tears were streaming down his cheeks. I was furious! I'd had enough of those chickens!
I marched down the hall, grabbed a 22 and a bunch of bullets and went outside. In my fury I managed to shoot and kill all but one sneaky little rooster. The meanest one. He was mean, but he wasn't brave; he perched his little self high in a tree where he knew we couldn't get at him. I wasn't about to go shooting a gun into the trees, so we left him up there. That evening when my husband got home the boys told him about the last remaining bad guy nobody could get.
That was all Dad needed to hear. He put his chaps on, pulled a bandanna down over his mouth, tipped his Stetson down low over his eyes and sauntered out to the barn. I mean garage. There in the corner was his weapon of choice. An antique weed whacker that looked more like a dilapidated machete than something to garden with. We all stood around the yard, waiting...finally the chicken came down out of the tree. After all, it was getting dark and it was time to be fed. We watched breathlessly as my husband casually walked over to the beast, the weed whacker hidden behind his legs. Then, with a stroke Mike's golfing dad would be proud of, Mike swished the weapon through the air and thwack. A hole in one! The boys yelled and cheered. I swooned at my hero's feet. Mike picked me up, blew the smoke off the barrel of his weed whacker and strolled back to the house. He sat down at the table and slammed his fist down.
"Give me a shot of whiskey, Woman!"

I'm Stuck With A Chicken

2011-12-03T05:47:00.007-05:00

Do you have anything in your home that's not your favorite thing? That's not your thing at all and yet...yet you feel you have no choice but to keep it? No choice but to look at it, protect it, dust it...somehow find a way of making it fit in with the rest of your things even if it doesn't?

And, as if that weren't enough, you know you're stuck with it til your dying day?

(sorry about the picture quality. It's the only picture I have of my chicken at the moment.)

I love birds. Crows, Great Blue Herons, Canadian Geese, the Tufted Titmouse, Brown Thrashers, woodpeckers....

There are some birds I don't like. Vultures for instance. Another one? Chickens. They are noisy, smelly, ignorant birds. In my humble opinion, the only thing they're good for is eating. (Yes, I know, eggs. But we eat their eggs, don't we?)

But using chickens as part of my decorating scheme? Um, no thank you. I'm not a chicken person.

Having said all that, I will now tell you about a chicken that's come home to roost. (It's actually a rooster but let's not split feathers.)

As you may recall from previous posts, my dad died of lung cancer in 2002. One morning, about a year before he died, my dad called me.

Hey Jude, how would you like a chicken?

A chicken?

Yeah. I have a metal chicken who needs a home. I bought him for our church to use as a mascot at their men's retreats but they don't want him. (Don't even ask me what that was all about.) I can't just dump him. Would you take him? He needs a good home and naturally I thought of you.

Ummm...sure dad. I'll take him.

About a week later the chicken arrived. He was packaged with as much tender loving care and bubble wrap as a chicken could ask for. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I like this chicken. He's my favorite color, and he has a sparkly, marble eye that catches the light when you look at it from just the right angle. He lives on the shelf I told you about last month. (It seems fitting the two should live together since dad gave me both of them, don'tcha think?)

Sometimes I'm tempted to add a disclaimer to my chicken. I want to make a pretty little label and dangle it from his tail for all to see. The label would read:

I am a chicken. I know that and you know that.

Judy wants you to know that while chickens 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.

For some reason, I was important to her dad,

so he asked her to care for me. Her dad

is gone; he is safely Home, waiting for her to

someday join him. In the meantime, she has me to

enjoy; A crazy, metal chicken that reminds her of

her dad. I am both a mystery and a hug. She is

happy to be stuck with me.

Movie Night

2011-12-02T06:59:00.004-05:00

The other night my husband did something remarkable and completely unexpected. He wanted to kick back, relax and watch a movie. No, that's not the unexpected part. The movie he picked was though. Of all the movies we have in the house and all the movies Netflix offers, my husband chose....

Sense and Sensibility

He said he really likes it. I was flabbergasted. It's not been very often, living among over 600 pounds of testosterone for years and years, that a chick flick gets picked for movie night. And the really amazing part? My husband meant it. He sat there and watched it whether I was in the room or not; he wasn't watching it because he thought it was something I'd like to see. He wanted to watch it. I guess even after 27 years of marriage there are still new things to discover about your spouse.

That movie is up there among my top ten favorites.

Some of my other favorites? I'm so glad you asked. Here are a few of my other favorites:

Much Ado About Nothing

As You Like It

Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Fiddler on the Roof-I can't watch this one at this point in my life but it's still one of my favorites.

It Happened One Night

An Affair to Remember and anything else Cary Grant was in

I can't leave out:

The Wizard of Oz

The Sound of Music

Sabrina

Almost anything directed by Alfred Hitchcock

and almost all of Katherine Hepburn's movies-especially when she stars with Spencer Tracy

I have a feeling I'm leaving some out, but I'll leave this as is for now.

How about you? What are some of your favorites?

Missing Them...

2011-11-30T06:04:00.015-05:00

These are my sons. Four babies turned toddlers, turned stinkers, turned young men. They carry my heart with them wherever they go.

I tried to soak them up when they were small; tried to memorize their little boy voices and their little boy hugs; tried to memorize the way they laughed and the way they told their little boy stories. I tried to absorb into my heart the flowers they placed in my hands and the sweet sweaty kisses they placed on my cheek.

That's #2 in front of the rock. He walked a few feet off the trail and said, "I'm tiowd. I'm staying heow." If you look closely at this photo, you'll spot a tiny dot up at the top. That's #1. He climbed as high as we'd let him go....he's always been that way. Stretching to do more, learn more, pushing himself to accomplish one more goal...

I miss him more than words can say. I miss late our late night discussions over theology, algebra and apologetics. I miss playing scrabble with him and watching him sleep. I miss seeing him intensely going after God, studying the Word...

I miss laughing with him over something only the two of us found funny.

Our second son has always been a conundrum. Intense, thoughtful, sneaky, sensitive, sweet, sarcastic, selfish then selfless, deep and hilariously funny.

You never know what he's going to say or do next, which is one of the best gifts he has...one of the best gifts he gives. I miss him more than words can say. I miss his smile and his hugs, his encouragement and his sarcastic sense of humor. I miss watching him intensely study the way something works and patiently fixing something that was broken.

#3...this boy was a handful and is a heart full. Imaginative, creative, spontaneous, random and tender hearted. He has the ability to make me laugh so hard I practically fall over. We have so much in common sometimes it's mind boggling. Even our weaknesses mirror each other.

I miss him more than words can say and he hasn't taken flight yet. But, in many ways he has... His thoughts and heart and dreams are out there...he's beginning to look away, longing to stretch and move and test his wings...

Then there's this one. The unexpected one. The gift I almost didn't get because I let fear rule my heart for too long a time. This one is an assortment of all of his brothers, plus a unique blend all his own. He's a goal setter; someone who loves to learn and be stretched. He's sweet and sensitive, deep and selfless. He's imaginative and funny and creative. We love to be together crafting, reading, cuddling, talking.....

However, I'm beginning to miss him more than words can say. He's already wanting to stretch his wings; he is slowly moving toward manhood and wanting to be with daddy. He's cutting the apron strings and bruising my heart. I'll let him go though. I won't cling and pull...I won't. Watching them, seeing them grow, observing their lives from a distance...seeing what God can do when I step back...it's a sweet, painful part of mothering.

Letting go and moving on; letting them become and cheering them on....

what would you do?

2011-11-29T05:36:00.004-05:00

#3 had a cold a few weeks ago and is still coughing; he just can't seem to shake it. Like all coughs it seems to be particularly annoying when he's trying to sleep. The other night he was able to sleep through the coughs but they still found a way to annoy him-they snuck into his dreams. He dreamt his cough was part of an incurable disease and come to find out, the doctor gave him but two years to live.

"Well Kid, you have two years left. If you want to git it done, git it done."

When my son told me about his dream, the first thing I did was laugh. Two years?? Wouldn't that be nice? To know you only have so much time left and then to have such a long/short time to wait? What would you do with that time?

You could prioritize your projects and goals, divide the time and then conquer. You could work on your bucket list and take a trip around the world. You would have plenty of time to say goodbye to everyone; plenty of time to make new friends and say goodbye to them. Plenty of time to mend fences and write a will.

Toward the end of those two years, while you still had strength and stamina, you could throw your own going away party/memorial service and invite all your friends and family to attend. Do you wonder what they'd say about you?

And finally, when the end was very near, you could tell someone everything. Everything that's hidden and every longing you've had; every unfulfilled dream and every ugly exposed...

The thing that stands out to me...the thing I'd really like to do...the thing I finally wouldn't be afraid to do, is tell certain people near and dear to me all about Jesus. I'd tell them He's real and He is the Son of God. If eternity were staring me in the face, I'd remind them that they too will someday be standing in my shoes, with eternity the next step. I'd ask them about eternity and if they ever wonder where they'll be spending it. I wouldn't be afraid of what they thought of me or of losing their friendship because, well, our friendship would be coming to an end anyway. (at least here, on this planet)

I'd tell them Jesus is the only way to have whole, unbroken hearts, and forgiveness no matter what on earth they've done. I'd search through the bible and books and any lectures I could to find a way to push through their arguments and doubts and the lies they cling to in hope of seeing their eyes open...

I wonder if I'd be able to forget about eternity if I knew in two years I'd be facing it? Would things like bills and annoying kids and a flat tire get to me the way they do now? Would I still yell at the person driving in front of me because he forgot to use his turn signal? Would it be as easy to put God on a shelf or in a box and ask Him to wait "til later" to spend time with me?

So now, as I sit here in the dark, with the rain beating against the window, I think about that doctor's words. Yes, I know he was a dream man, but he spoke truth. If you want to git it done, git it done.

What do I want to git done?

a walk to remember

2011-11-24T05:09:00.003-05:00

Exactly 20 years ago today I was pregnant with our 3rd baby. That pregnancy had started out like most do: morning sickness. It also included noon sickness and night sickness. For months I couldn't move without being sick.

Finally, on Thanksgiving day, I was able to raise my head off the couch, stand up, and actually begin to function. It felt so good to be alive again.

At the time, we were living about a block away from a cemetery. It was beautiful that day so after we'd eaten we decided to take our 2 little boys for a walk through the cemetery. (Don't ask me why....)

My husband took our oldest son's hand and the two of them meandered through the tombstones. I could hear my son's little voice reading all the names and dates and asking questions about each person he came across.

In the meantime, I walked around with our 3 year old, James. He chattered too, but couldn't read yet, so his questions centered more on the birds, the grass, and the little flags he saw on some of the graves.

I started daydreaming about the baby I was carrying and wondering whether it was another boy or would we have a girl this time?

Suddenly James stopped walking and he stopped talking. He stood, frozen to the ground, staring at a 12" cross standing guard over one of the graves. He had a puzzled look on his face, then:

"Look. Look at dat cross Momma. Jesus wasn't vewy big, was He?"

out of a full heart

2011-11-23T05:37:00.005-05:00

today i am thankful for

Jesus

twinkle lights and candles

friends who think i'm worth their time

memories

baby clothes in the laundry again

4 strong sons who love me

the gifts of sight and touch, hearing, taste and smell

pizza hut

21 years of learning, teaching, laughing and crying as the teacher of my own children

a long-suffering, gentle husband

a place to call home

the friendship of two new daughters

hard things that have made me soft

my dad's final words to me

the day my husband burglared something for me

crows outside my window

the magic of words, spoken or read

you, because today you stopped by to see what i might have to say

The Only Thanksgiving I Really Remember

2011-11-22T05:32:00.006-05:00

Over the last few months I've spent a lot of time chewing on my mother. Not literally. You know me better than that by now.

What I mean is, I've been looking at the relationship I had with her and how she mothered and how it affected me. The strange this is, as I've pondered and written and dug into my heart and laid it all out here, I find myself able to forgive. A little. I'm still praying about all of this, but just by opening all that up to you and exposing the uglies I was battling, I'm now able to look at her and our relationship a little more objectively. The little girl in me still hurts, but the mother in me sees my mother's hurts and understands....

Anyway-as interesting as all that is, that's not what I want to write about today. I wanted to tell you about my very most favorite Thanksgiving. The one that I will never, ever forget. The one God used to give me hope and healing-I learned that day that good things can follow heartbreak.

I'm sorry-I know I keep talking about my parents' divorce. It's either that or my broken body. Please bear with me because, well, here I go again.

As you know, my parents divorced when I was 7 or 8. And as you know, until then my life had been idyllic; I knew I was loved and I always felt safe. We had a comfortable home and the holidays were packed with family, good food, and tradition. When the divorce came all that shattered. I felt like I'd been floating through life on a magic carpet and suddenly found the carpet gone. Needless to say, I was devastated.

At this point my oldest brother was living in Evergreen Colorado with his wife and two babies. I finished 3rd grade and then my mom made an announcement. We, (she and I) were moving to Evergreen to be near my brother. I absolutely hated the idea. Even though my dad was gone, we were still living in the only home I'd ever had. The one filled with safety and memories and stability.

To make a long story short, mom and I ended up living with my brother and his family for a few months. I enjoyed spending time with my baby nephews and getting to know my brother and sister-in-law, but I still missed my "old" life. I missed having a place that was home to mom and me-a place to call our own.

Then one November day, (the Wednesday before Thanksgiving to be exact) my teacher handed me a note from the school office. Mom had called and wanted me to take a different bus home that day. I was to go to a place called Sunnybrook Lodge and go to Unit 9.

Sunnybrook was a small vacation spot tucked away in the mountains. There was a large main building where the owners lived, and then 9 units designed to be rented out by the day, week, or month. Each unit was a different size, but they were each laid out like a cozy little home.

I followed the note's instructions and went to Sunnybrook. I found #9 and timidly knocked on the door. To my surprise my Mom answered the door. She was smiling and happy and so excited. She'd rented #9 just for us. It was a tiny place-just big enough for a double bed, a table for 2, and a teeny tiny kitchen. There was a pumpkin pie cooling on the counter and a chicken roasting in the oven. It smelled exactly like Thanksgivings had in Illinois. Like I said, it was a small place, but it felt safe and cozy-it wasn't the home I was used to, but because of mom's attitude, it felt like home. She somehow managed to press beyond her own pain and create a loving, happy place to land that day after school. It was a holiday that wasn't filled with family or tradition but it's always been my favorite.

I saw and learned a lot about parenting that day. It doesn't matter where you live or how much money you have or how many people are there-what matters to a child is the love and stability a parent can give. I saw my mother leap over a broken heart and ignore her own fears and unstable circumstances to give to me; she wanted to create a wonderful memory for me and she did. She taught me how to look beyond circumstances and act like an adult. She showed me, by example, that being a family, and having a home and wonderful holidays are an attitude rather than a place or the traditions or the food. Because of her outlook, she was able to carve a cozy, loving holiday out of a tiny cabin and a chicken and give me a memory I will always, always treasure....

going home

2011-11-20T05:51:00.003-05:00

I am a conundrum.

There are times where I am a very timid, cautious person who startles when the wind blows. On the other hand, I've been known to just leap first and ask questions later.

The brave person, (or foolish, depending on how you look at it) nearly got me killed 13 years ago. In all honesty I'm not sure how close to death I actually came, but I thought I was dying. I'll tell you the story and let you decide.

My whole side of the family were in Colorado for a family reunion. There were several planned activities-things like horseback riding, sight seeing, a funeral, and white water rafting on the Colorado River. It was the rafting, or the lack of a raft, that got me into trouble.

There were 1 or 2 places in the river that day where no man in his right mind would purposely get out of a raft; there were a couple places where we had to actually get out of the raft and pull it down the river because the water was so low. Then there was the place where I learned for the second time in my life that I am not invincible.

The river at this point was very deep and bounced along at a good clip, pouring over large boulders periodically. We had pulled the raft to the river bank and all of us got out to stretch our legs. Suddenly, all the 20 somethings in the group decided they were going to jump into the river and ride this spot in their life-jackets. I stood there and watched a few of them bounce down the river, looking like little dots in the churning water, laughing, making it look so incredibly fun and inviting. After about 1 minute I decided I was going to do it too. You only go around once in life, right? Go for it. Have some fun!

I received some dubious looks from my family, but no one tried to stop me. They gave me specific directions on how to ride the river in a life jacket:

You pretend you're sitting in a chair-you keep your head up, your tush back, and your legs straight out in front of you. That's all there is to it.

Great, thought I. Looks easy peasy, sounds easy peasy. So, I took a flying leap and there I was, bobbling down the Colorado River, a tiny dot at the mercy of the water, the rocks, my life-jacket and God.

There was just one teeny tiny problem. I could not stay in a sitting position. My legs refused to stick out in front of me; the force of the water kept pushing them behind me. (that and the fact that they kept slamming into those large boulders.)

Every time I went over a boulder I would be forced completely under water. When I came up for air I would swallow gallons of said water instead. This went on for a bit; me bobbling along bouncing over rocks, coming up, swallowing large bits of the Colorado River, going down, coming up, swallowing large bits of.....you get the point. And, it got to the point where my lungs decided they'd had enough water and wanted some actual air. The problem was, I couldn't find any.

OK-so that's what was going on on the outside. On the inside? I was terrified. At first. But then, after a bit I realized I had no say in the matter. It was either live or die but that was up to God.

The fear went away and I started thinking, hmmm, what would happen if I died right now? Here? Today? Amazingly, the thought didn't bother me. I had perfect peace about it and I could sense God was right there, next to me as I moved down the river. The only thing that bothered me was thinking about our then 6 year old growing up without a mother; other than that, the only thing I thought was, hey, death by drowning isn't a bad way to go. I don't hurt, I'm not afraid. This isn't bad at all.

Right around the time I thought it truly was The End, that part of the river calmed down and one of my nephews came to my rescue. He saw me bobbling by, looking and feeling literally like a drowned rat, grabbed a corner of my life jacket, and pulled me to the river bank. I sat there on a boulder, gasping for air, happy to be alive.

Looking back, I am so thankful for that experience. Like I said, I don't know how close I truly came to dying. What I do know is that when my time comes, God will be right there, giving me the strength and peace I need, when I need it, to get through whatever it is. If He was there doing all that when I didn't die, I know He'll be there, doing all that, when He comes to take me Home.

a lightbulb moment

2011-11-18T06:08:00.006-05:00

My brother came for a visit 2 1/2 years ago. We spent some time catching up on what was going on in our lives and a lot of time reminiscing over the past.

One thing I noticed about my brother was the fact that he spoke quite fondly of our mother. He had loved her dearly and misses her deeply. I don't feel that way. I miss the idea of a mother, but I don't miss my mother.

As a matter of fact, after spending 2 days with me my brother told me he thought maybe I have some unresolved issues with my mom and I should spend some time working through them.

Well guess what? After approximately 910 days I have finally figured it out. (I'm fast like that.)

I have finally figured out why my heart still longs for even a peak at my dad's face, but I still feel relief when I think about the fact that my relationship with my mom is over.

I know both of my parents loved me and something tells me it should be mom that I miss. She was the one who raised me; she provided a home, and food, laughter and practical advice.

On the other hand, my dad was pretty much out of the picture when they decided to divorce. He re-married, had 3 more sons, and lived a busy life with his new family.

So, why don't I miss my mom and why do I still struggle with feelings of bitterness toward her? Why were there times I didn't even like her? She was funny and generous, creative and practical. Why do I simply feel relief when I think of her? I have pondered that question for more than 910 actually. I've been thinking about this for over ten years.

Then finally, finally it hit me yesterday. I finally figured it out. My mom provided for my physical needs, and yes, even some of my emotional needs, but she also attacked my essence. I never really felt unconditionally loved or understood or accepted. There was always something about me she didn't like and thought I should change.

Dad on the other hand, just wasn't there. He was busy with his new family and his new life. But, when we did talk on the phone or we were together, I felt completely loved, accepted and missed...I knew he liked me and enjoyed my company.

I really should've been able to sort through this years ago. I've worked hard as a mother not to be like my mother. You'd think I would've been able to put two and two together; I guess denial is a powerful defense mechanism. Who wants to admit their mother didn't like them?

OK, so, now that I've figured that one out, I know what's next. I need to forgive and let go....

I'm not sure why I'm sharing this with you. I guess this blog is my cyber-journal and that's what's been going on in my head and in my heart....

I do know parenting is a tight-rope act. It's a parent's responsibility to help train a child's character; to point out his weak spots and help him see where there is room for improvement.

However, it's also a parent's job to stand behind a child; to let that child know he is loved and accepted no. matter. what.

I'm not sure what else to say. Maybe I should've called this one, "A Ramble Through My Heart". I guess I'll leave this as is and let you take from it what you will...

I'm not a squirrel. Really. I'm not...

2011-11-17T05:00:00.000-05:00

I must admit here and now, I have a few obsessions. Mt. Everest is one of them. I have longed to climb that mountain for years, and like I said once before, I've read more books about Everest than I have books on marriage, homeschooling, or parenting.

There are other things I'm obsessed with; things that are closer to home and, unlike climbing to the top of the world, things that are actually within my grasp. (One of them is collecting heart shaped rocks. God-made rather than man made; they are everywhere if you take the time to look for them.)

Another is gathering acorns and fall leaves. (Oak leaves are my very most favorite.) I have yet to discover why I do this. If I believed in reincarnation I would guess I'd been a squirrel in a previous life.

However, since I'm not a squirrel, nor have I ever been a squirrel, there must be some other reason for this strange behavior. One thing is clear-I drive my family nuts with it.

We hike nearly every weekend in the autum and every autumn it happens; we put our hiking shoes on, (or our sneakers since that's all that's necessary here in the Midwest) and off we go, out to enjoy the crisp fresh air, the colorful leaves, the deep blue sky, and as many trails as we can find.

I miss out on so much when we autumn hike. I very rarely look up or around. My eyes are focused on the ground. I'm so busy concentrating on, and collecting squirrel food and leaves that I miss the big picture-the beauty up and around and over my head.

I have a shoe box full of leaves I've gathered over the years, and a gallon size zip lock bag full of acorns. Once in awhile I'll use them for a project or a fall centerpiece, but more often than not, the nuts and leaves stay hidden away. I know they're there, and it's a comforting knowledge, but why? Why do I do this and what is the need?

Like I said before, this need to collect is somewhat annoying to my family and I think they are secretly concerned about my sanity.

The other day our youngest son took a walk with me. As we walked I kept pointing out leaves that were just too pretty to leave behind.

"Oh Barrett! There's one! Grab it before it blows away..."

"There's another one. Look how red it is! Would you nab it for me?.."

Finally at one point, the poor boy nearly snapped. I was standing in the middle of the road, chasing after a leaf when a car came zipping around the corner. My son yelled and pulled me out of the way.

"Mommy, you're going to get killed looking for leaves. I bet you'd try gathering them if we were caught in a storm!"

Then, when we got home he drew this picture, just for me:

a once in a lifetime prayer

2011-11-15T05:32:00.006-05:00

It was just around 2 years ago our pastor challenged us, his sheep, to pray a simple prayer.

"Lord, please do something big in my life and make it obvious You were the one who did it."

I wrote that prayer down on the church bulletin, brought it home, and thought about it. Visions of sugar plums danced in my head. I could only imagine something wonderful, and sweet and miraculous coming as a result of saying those words to God, so I prayed them. Then I forgot all about that prayer. God didn't. I have no doubt He heard it. (can you hear me sighing?)

To make a long story short, my back went out. I had a herniated disc which led to a smooshed sciatic nerve in my left leg, which led to horrendous pain, which led to back surgery, which led to 15 months (and counting) recovery time; my left leg still bothers me frequently. My surgeon was baffled when he looked at the MRI and x-rays. He said there was no sign of osteoporosis, no sign of arthritis, no sign of anything that would cause the herniation. (I should've told him it was an answer to prayer.)

Anyway...many, many, many years ago I heard a sermon on sheep. Apparently they are very stubborn, independent, prone to disease, and have been known to make stupid choices a thing of habit. The speaker said that when a shepherd has a sheep that's being particularly sheepish, he will gently, tenderly kneel over his sheep and break her leg. Then the shepherd will bind the leg, pick up the sheep, and tie her to his chest. He will carry that sheep with him, everywhere he goes, until that leg heals. The purpose? The sheep gets to know the shepherd intimately. She smells the shepherd's breath, feels his heart beating away in his chest, becomes intimately acquainted with his voice, and feels his warmth and caring day in and day out. Then, finally, one day, the leg is healed and the sheep is free.

The shepherd hopes that by now his little sheep has learned that being stubborn, independent and stupid is not the way to go. He hopes that the sheep has learned to trust him; to know that no matter what happens she is loved and will be cared for. He trusts that by spending all that time in the shepherd's arms the sheep will crave his company and will stop being so sheepish.

I have since googled this information, trying to find out if shepherds really do break a sheep's leg, or if they ever did, maybe in ancient times? I couldn't find anything that proves this has ever happened.

However, I still love the story, true or not. And, like that sheep, I have learned so, so much. I could literally write a book about it all....I asked my husband if he's noticed a change in me since all this began. He says he has. He says my faith is stronger, I'm less stubborn, more feminine, more vulnerable and compassionate, more open to the Lord and less independent and prideful than I've been in days past. We both know I'm not perfect, but we've both noticed some improvement in my character and in my relationship to our Shepherd.

The last 2 years were an unexpected answer to a prayer. My broken, bruised leg has been used to teach me many lessons. It's been an exhausting and confusing time. Wonderful, sweet, miraculous things have come from it all; really, really wonderful things....(If you're interested, I wrote a bit more about all of this here and here.)

But, would I ever, ever pray that prayer again? Just between you and me? I don't think so. It's been worth it, but...nope. I'm just not sure I'll ever utter those words to my Shepherd again....I'm not sure I have the courage....

would you?

be it ever so humble....

2011-11-13T05:25:00.004-05:00

No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my bedroom best.

Well, that sounds good, doesn't it? Before you rush off, thinking I've become someone you shouldn't spend time with, let me explain.

As with most people, home is important to me and I've had what some would consider quite a few of them. When I was small, home was a house in a typical little "Mayberry" town in Illinois. I loved that house, but not because of it's spaces or the way it was decorated. I loved it because our family was still intact when we lived there. It was a place filled with love, safety, laughter and ease.

After that my mom and I lived in a vacation "lodge" in Evergreen Colorado, bouncing around from unit to unit depending on actual vacationers' reservations. (long story-you can ask me about it some time if you're all that interested.)

For one year my mom and I lived in an apartment right across the street from my school. Now I ask you, isn't that every child's dream? To have the joy of staring at your school day in and day out whether school is in session or not?

Later, as a young teen, (for ten months) home was a cabin in Alpena, Michigan and for almost another year I made my bed in a Christian community in Minneapolis.

For 3 1/2 months my address was a manor house in England and I lived with 6 girls in a trailer in a campground in Spain. The beautiful Mediterranean Sea was on one side of the campground and the Barcelona Sewer System on the other. (I'm sure you can imagine the smells that wafted through the area depending on which way the wind blew.)

I had a tiny apartment all to myself in Estes Park, Colorado and I spent one summer living with 11 other girls in an army tent in the Rockies.

After we married we lived in an apartment above a garage, another apartment that stared Rocky Mountain National Park in the face, and we lived in a teeny tiny cabin on the banks of the Big Thompson River. (Our bedroom was literally the size of our bed!)

After 2 1/2 years of marriage we moved to Indiana. We lived with my brother for 4 months, and two different apartments for 8 years. Then, we rented a house. I loved that place, and the Lord used it to bring a lot of healing and wholeness to my heart. But I learned there that it's not the beauty of a home, nor the furnishings, nor the paint on the walls that fulfill me. It's being with the people I love that make a house a home.

And now? We still live in Indiana. Our house is small; tiny some would say. It's only 1200 square feet-we have 3 bedrooms, a livingroom and an eat in kitchen. I've tried to make the house a welcoming place. The kitchen is painted a warm, happy color; it's bright and happy when the sun shines, and twinkle lights make it cozy and homey when it's gloomy outside. The table only seats 4 comfortably. I admit that is a drawback, but that table....the stories it could tell...I'll save that for another day; for now I'll just say if the house burned down, that table would be one of the things I'd miss the most.

I always thought our livingroom would be the place to hang out in this house... I've worked hard to make it a place that is welcoming, relaxing, warm, and friendly. I've tried to declutter it to get rid of some of the visual noise and have made the guys in my life rearrange the furniture til their backs ached, trying to create a space people would love to visit in.

Our bedroom is the last place on earth I thought people would want to hang out in. It's the last space in the house to "finish". My husband just painted the room and we have yet to find a comforter that can be friends with the walls. There is a treadmill, a sewing machine, our computer and a large desk in the room. It has been impossible thus far for me to make it a cozy, romantic place. It's more like a basement bedroom where all the things that don't fit anywhere else get tossed.

And yet, it seems to be a favorite place for the family. Maybe because of the basement type atmosphere? Whatever the reason, for some strange reason, whenever the 9 of us are together, we often end up here, in the "master bedroom", most of all of us piled on the bed. We lounge around, we laugh, tell stories, and hang out here, in this crazy, un-cozy, un-romantic place.

Which leads me back to the beginning. I think our family loves this bedroom, but not because of the way it's decorated. I think they love it because we can relax here. When we spend time here, we are together, with people we love. It's a place filled with warmth, safety, laughter and ease.

a very expensive shelf

2011-11-10T05:11:00.011-05:00

There is no eternal purpose to the story I'm about to tell. It's just a story; a story that stares at me every single day. It's about a bookshelf that fills my heart with laughter, contentment, deep sadness, and a shake of its head. (that is, if a heart had a head to shake)

One day, about 11 years ago, I asked my dad to make a shelf for my cookbooks. I had an ulterior motive for this request-not only did I want a place to stuff my cookbooks, I wanted something from my dad. Something he had made specifically with me in mind. Something I could look at every day and picture his large, warm, rough hands creating.

Well, I got my wish, but it came with a price.

When I asked dad for the shelf he asked for something in return. He wanted a pair of slippers crocheted by his one and only daughter. Okay, thought I. No problem. It's a deal.

So, we set to work; dad went to his workshop, found a beautiful piece of oak, and carefully put together my shelf.

I went to my yarn, found some, and carefully crocheted his slippers. There was only one problem. Dad wore a size 13 shoe. I had no idea how large to make those slippers, but I knew they had to big. As I crocheted, I kept holding them up to my husband's size 10 foot for comparison. I finally decided to make them a couple inches longer than a size 10 and hope for the best. I'd like to tell you now, guestamation isn't a wise idea when you're making slippers for someone. They were not slippers. They ended up looking like small canoes. Dad was sweet enough to say he loved them and he actually wore them.

Okay-so, now fast forward about a year. My dad has lung cancer and is in a literal battle for his life-it was a losing battle.

Early in December of that year I got an email from my dad. He just wanted to say hi and give me an update on how everything was going. He felt fine, had a lot of energy, was still active and busy except for one minor problem-that stupid cast on his foot. I whipped out a reply: Cast on your foot? Dad, what happened to your foot??

Oh, it's not a big deal. Those slippers you made are just a bit too big and I tripped over one, fell, and broke my foot.

Great. Not only is my dad dying of lung cancer, he has to do it with a cast on his foot? Because of me??

Now fast forward to December 21 of that year. I was having a normal, busy day with 4 boys in the house. We were doing school, baking Christmas goodies, crafting and doing all the other normal things a family does as the holidays approach. Suddenly the phone rang. It was one of my brothers.

"Judy, I just wanted to let you know I think...I think dad's dying. He's going fast. If you want to see him before he goes, you better get up here soon."

About 8 hours later my husband and I were at my dad's side. I'm not going to tell you everything about those last few hours with my dad. They were precious, but obviously it was one of the most heart-breaking times in my life. What lightened it up for me was that cast; that silly, stupid cast.

Dad was laying on the bed, not really coherant, but not completely gone yet either. He was literally, carefully balanced between two worlds. Sometimes it seemed as if he was leaving-fluttering away from me....then suddenly that heavy cast would pull his whole leg off the bed and dad would return, growling and grumbling, completely ticked off by the fact that that cast was there, pulling him back, causing pain.

All through that night I sat by dad's side, in the dark, crying, talking to him, praying for him....waiting, watching....and, occasionally soothing his ruffled feathers when that cast would pull his leg off the bed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get that leg far enough from the edge of the bed to prevent the whole falling thing from happening. Dad was just too heavy for me to move.

I don't know how to tell you this, but each time that cast did its thing, I laughed inside. It wasn't a wicked laugh, or a huge laugh. I just knew that was dad's last little thing he had to go through and it was amazing how annoyed he got each time it happened. He liked to be in control, and no one likes pain...and I know each time it happened it hurt. But his face...he looked like an annoyed little boy and I kept thinking, dad, you're about to be ushered into the prescence of God...eternity is literally here, now, in this room with you, just moments from taking you away....life and all it's everything, including that stupid cast, are almost over for you....

Do you understand why I find the whole cast thing amusing? Or am I warped? I wasn't the one dealing with the pain or the dying. I had a bird's eye view of the situation and, along with the heart break, I had incredible peace about it.

There was one bible verse that came to mind that night:

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. (2 Timothy 4:7)

I just kept thinking wow, my dad is going to be with Jesus any second. He's going to see Jesus, finally and face to face....

Thinking about that put the cast and the pain of a broken bone in perspective for me and I was able to be amused.

So, the story is over but never forgotten. I still have that shelf, and every time I go into the kitchen I see it. I see large, safe, rough, warm hands; I see a man I loved with all my heart going Home; I see a cast on a leg annoying the daylights out of someone, and I see a silly pair of slippers and I laugh, but only inside...along with a few tears...

two worlds becoming one

2011-11-09T05:27:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I just don't know what to write about or what to say or whether to say it because of this: A few years ago our pastor told us to examine our lives; he told us to think about every single thing we do or say and ask, will this stand for eternity or is it a waste of time?

Do you have any idea how much pressure that question puts on a person who loves to write? Especially one who is not a teacher nor a bible scholar? Sometimes I'm able to ignore the little voice in my head asking that question and just type. Sometimes that question makes me question should I write? I wonder about you-what do you get out of this place in space? Is it a waste of your time? Is it ok to tell you stories about my life, or my thoughts? That's all I have to offer. I'm not Anne Graham or Kay Arthur or Ann Voskamp. I couldn't even begin to string together a bible study or a deep spiritual lesson, but I don't want to waste a minute of your life either.

I often struggle with the whole idea of living in two worlds-we are eternal beings created to have a deep, intimate friendship with God. I believe there is an unseen world all around us-a spiritual world where God is, and sin, repentance, angels, demons, hell, and heaven....

However, we also live on a planet filled with moose, stubbed toes, music, bad hair days, new babies, and beautiful sunsets. And I know our pastor loves football. That's not eternal. (At least I hope not.)

I also believe the things we experience in life are sifted through God's fingers. That's an amazing thought if you spend time with it; that certainly reconciles the two worlds, doesn't it? God who is eternal and invisible, giving us a planet and experiences that are altogether tangible...

Somehow, we are meant to live straddled between the two. Our noses pointed in one direction while our feet take us in many.

Which brings me back to the question: will this stand for eternity or is it a waste of time? What about the music we listen to or the books we read? What about the pain we experience and those lovely bad hair days? None of those things are eternal.

And yet, think about Jesus.

What did He do? He told stories. He used tangible examples of everyday experiences to bring people to their knees in invisible repentance. Each story He told was like a tiny thread tying this world to the invisible, eternal one. His stories built friendships and showed people how to live and love and have a renewed relationship with God the Father.

Please don't even think I'm comparing this blog to the stories Jesus told! That's not where I'm trying to go with this, although it does sound like it, doesn't it?

What I'm trying to say is this:

stories are good for us. I love hearing about people's lives-what they've seen or done or experienced. Our life stories may not be eternal, but they do help us along while we're here, on a temporary planet, to get to there, an invisible eternal home. Your story is full of experiences like bad hair days, deep heartache, sin, good food, and memories of your childhood. When you tell your story, when you give others bits of yourself...when you are vulnerable and expose your sin or pain or the things you long for, you are tying strings from your heart to another. You're telling someone you've been there, you understand...you're creating a link from a tangible experience to an unseen world, the one that is eternal.

what do you see?

2011-11-07T05:40:00.007-05:00

I know you know what I'm about to tell you, but I need to say it anyway, for my own peace of mind.

We are not perfect. Our marriage isn't perfect, our sons and daughters-in-law are not perfect. Our lives are not perfect.

I went out for coffee with a friend yesterday and I noticed something. We hadn't seen each other for a few months so we spent the first hour or so just catching up with surface stuff-we talked about our homes, our busy schedules, and what each of our kids are up to. It was light hearted and relaxing.

However, the longer we lingered, the deeper things got. We shared our hearts with each other and told each other things we don't just tell any or everyone.

This blog is sometimes like a coffee date. Sometimes it's light hearted, sometimes relaxing. Sometimes I go a little deeper and share my heart with you-I tell you things I don't just tell any or everyone. But those things are my things. I can't write about the struggles and stresses and lessons being learned by my family because those things belong to them.

I will go this far-I will tell you my husband and I drive each other crazy once in awhile. There are things I've said or done that have hurt him deeply and he in turn, has done the same to me. There have been times where I've wondered if our marriage would make it, and to be really honest, times where I just didn't care anymore and I've wanted to walk away.

I can tell you I lose sleep over my sons at times, and spend hours praying for them or worrying about them through the dark hours of the night. We have misunderstandings and get annoyed with each other and say things we want to take back.

There are times where I've felt like a failure as a wife or mother or have wondered what on earth I did to deserve these people I'm stuck with. There are times where I've wanted to run away from everything because I have felt helpless or hopeless.

I've tried to look at this blog from a bird's eye view and wondered what you see when you stop by. Do I give you the impression that we are a perfect little family, living a perfect little life? Do you leave here feeling discouraged or wistful?

I pray not. I pray you go away knowing we are not perfect. We hurt each other, we struggle, we annoy the daylights out of each other. It's just that this blog is my blog. It's not my husband's nor my sons', nor my daughters-in-law's. I have no right to share their stories with you-I can only tell you mine.

What I want to show you is our perfect God. No matter what we've gone through, or what our struggles or hurts have been, He has been at our side, walking through it all with us. He is constant and consistent. No matter how hard the things we've gone through or how much we hurt or annoy each other, He promises to bring good from it. I've learned to cling to that and I've been known to remind Him of that promise. No matter what I see my sons or husband going through I cling to that promise. Whatever the state of our marriage or whatever is going on in our family-when I've felt like the only thing holding me together are chintzy bandaids or the only thing holding me up are my fingernails, I've clung to that promise.

That is what I hope you see when you stop by. I want you to see God. I want you to see He is love, He is good, He is able. I want you to know He is all you need and He can be trusted.

He is the perfect One. That's what I pray you see.

oh those phone calls....

2011-11-04T05:07:00.013-04:00

My daddy was the most important thing in my world when I was small; he was my anchor, my hero, my comforter...I trusted and loved him more than anyone else I knew.

I know I've told you that before, but I love saying it because I love/d him.

All that changed when I was 7 or 8 and my parents divorced. Dad moved to Michigan and I moved to Colorado. From that point on our relationship was sporadic and required actual work to maintain. I was only able to see my dad twice a year-the rest of the time we communicated via letters or his phone calls.

Those phone calls...they were intensely bittersweet and always left me feeling lonely, hungry for more of him. On the other hand, I always felt treasured and missed; I knew he was lonely and hungry for more of me too.

The worst part of each phone call was saying goodbye. At first, when I'd hear his voice on the other end of the line, I was thrilled. My daddy had called me! He'd ask me about school, my friends, what I was doing for fun, and then he'd tell me about his life and what he was up to. After a bit we'd come to the end of the conversation and dad would say, "Well sweetheart, I love you. I miss you. I'll call again soon, but for now let's hang up."

"OK daddy. I love you too. Bye..."

Silence. Neither one of us hanging up.

"Judy, are you still there?"

"Yes daddy."

"Sweetheart, we need to hang up now, so hang up the phone."

"OK daddy. I love you..."

Silence. Neither one of us wanting to end the delicate connection we had.

"Judy, why don't you hang up?"

"Because I miss you daddy...."

"OK sweetie. Let's hang up together. I'll count. 1, 2, 3..."

and then I'd hang up. I wouldn't leave the phone for a long time though. I'd sit there, staring at it, waiting, wondering if he had actually hung up. Was he still there, on the other end of the line, hoping to hear my voice telling him I love him? Telling him more than I already had? Was he longing for those tiny phone wires to keep me there, in the room with him, as close as we could be under the circumstances? Sometimes I'd doubt his love, and would wonder, did his heart hurt like mine did, or was he off and running, on to the next thing?

I'd sit there, staring at the phone, aching to hear his deep, comforting voice cradling me, making me feel loved and safe....so thankful he'd called, relieved to know he still loved me, regardless of our circumstances.

There are so many spiritual parallels here...so many. A Father's love, a deep connection, sin severing that, work that brings it back, work that maintains it, doubt, time spent together that heals it....

I think, if this were my last blog post...if I never put my fingers on a keyboard again, my last words to you would be Romans 8: 38-39. Unlike my dad's availability, God is always, always, always available. We can talk to Him and pour out our hearts to Him incessantly. (I think He'd actually enjoy that.) His love is constant and there's no reason to ever doubt it.

I used those 2 verses yesterday when I wrote, but they are perfect for today as well and I pray you would get it. I pray I would get it...

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all of creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

(not even severed phone lines...)

The Rock

2011-11-03T05:34:00.002-04:00

Sometimes my husband overwhelms me with his love. It has been constant, regardless of my words, my actions or my state of being. He has never, never, not ever said a cruel, impatient word or lost his temper with me. He has never said that I was anything but beautiful in his eyes, regardless of how I looked. He has never made a nasty joke at my expense. He has patiently been by my side for over a quarter of a century, consistent, trustworthy, gentle and loving. My steady man.

My husband is my rock. I know, the bible clearly states that Jesus is our Rock. I don't mean to imply that my husband has become God to me. He's not that perfect. Here's what I mean: imagine a forest full of deep green pine trees. Then imagine a huge boulder sitting there in the midst of all those trees. It's larger than a minivan but not as big as a semi. Got the picture? Now imagine a curly haired, hyperactive, fearful, emotional poodle running pell mell around that boulder. It can't leave the vicinity of the rock because it's leash is stuck under it. It cannot get away from that rock. If that were our marriage? Well, let's just say I'm not the boulder. My husband has consistently been there, allowing me the freedom to be an emotional, fearful-at-times, typical female, while steadily keeping me in line with The Rock; with Jesus.

The other night we went to our son's house for dinner. I'd had a rough day pain-wise and was feeling weary of it. As we were driving home that night I asked my husband if he was getting sick of taking care of me; I asked him if he was sick of helping me with the mundane little things I can't do; I asked him how he'd feel if this turns out to be the new me. It still hurts to lift a wet blanket out of the washer to put it in the dryer, I still can't scrub the tub, (I learned that the hard way) it still hurts to clean the floor, and I can't climb up on a chair to put something away or dust "up there". I still need so much help.

When I asked my husband if he was getting sick of it all, he said, "What?? What are you talking about?? I love you. I married you and promised to love you in sickness or in health til death do we part. I'm not sick of it or you. This is how it is now and I love you no matter how you are because I love you." He said a lot of other sweet things and blew me away, really. He was truly dumbfounded that I could even imagine him being sick of helping me.

In turn I was dumbfounded that anyone can love like that. I'm not sure I could. If the tables were turned I'm not sure I'd be as patient, as unconditional, as selfless. I'd be so ready for "this" to be over...

Then my happy little thoughts turned to how deeply painful it is to be this vulnerable. To actually need constant help. I hate it-I have never liked being dependent on people and I sometimes wonder, what if this never changes? What if I'm never able to be independent again? What if this is the new me?

When I voiced those thoughts out loud, My husband said he wondered if that is why I'm still healing. He wonders if God is wanting to whittle down (even more than He has) my independence. My pride. He wonders if God is wanting me to learn to be vulnerable and allow myself to depend on others. (All I had to say to that idea was yuck which probably proves his point.)

And that's where the boulder/poodle thing comes in again. That poodle is vulnerable. It is so dependent on that rock to keep it safe and grounded.

And that's where The Rock comes in again too. God's love-it is perfect. It is even more consistent than my husband's. He is even more patient, more trustworthy, more steady.

Romans 8:38-39 says, For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Don't those verses take your breath away? Don't they make your heart skip a beat? Don't they make you want to fall on your face and lay there, worshiping, in awe of Him? Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing can separate us from His consistent, trustworthy, patient love.

Psalm 48:14 ...for this God is our God for ever and ever; He will be our guide even to the end.

He is faithful and He loves. He is our Rock. Our giant, consistent boulder.

getting through the winter

2011-11-02T06:14:00.005-04:00

I am sometimes a rebellious, sometimes sneaky person. I've been known to take the last 2 cookies from the cookie jar and hide them just so I can have them in the morning with my coffee.

(Yes, I know, "breakfast is thee most important meal of the day", but this isn't breakfast, it's pre-breakfast. There is a difference-at least that's what I tell myself every morning.)

Anyway, a few years ago, when I decided to lose weight, I kept my weight loss efforts a secret. For some reason, in the past, whenever I'd lose a few pounds and someone would comment on it, I'd stop trying. Rebellion? I wonder.... when I got good and serious about weight loss, I didn't tell anyone and I did it during the winter so my big, comfy sweaters would hide the fact that I was shrinking until I'd shrunk. That idea worked.

Well, about 2 weeks ago I told you my how-to get-through-an-Indiana-winter plan, remember? I pick a major goal to focus on and race the winter months to see who wins. Can I accomplish my goal before the first crocus blooms, or will dandelions be pushing up through the ground before I finish what I started? (Please note, this is not the same thing as daisies pushing up...)

This year I'm in big trouble. I think I have what may be too many goals, even for an Indiana winter. I have not 1, not 2, not even 3 goals. I have fourteen. I've decided to go ahead and share them with you-at least some of them. The really, really important ones I'm keeping a secret, just like my weight loss, because I know me. If I told you what they were, I wouldn't work on them. (Can you explain that aspect of my personality to me? If so, I'd be most appreciative)

Anyway, here's my list:

spiritual goals:

-Barrett and I want to finish memorizing Hebrews 11:1-12:13. We are almost done with this and hope to have it completed by Christmas time.

-there are 2 more here, but, well....those are the most important ones

physical goals:

-exercises that will strengthen my back, arms and stomach muscles. I have a granddaughter I want to hoist around and play with and I've become quite wimpy over the last year.

-cut way back on sugar. I've noticed an increase in the size of my sweet tooth and I want to shrink it down to size.

relational goal:

-another secret-my husband says this one's impossible for the time being, but I'm stubborn enough to keep stewing on it and will at least be praying about it

miscellaneous goals:

-make and send out birthday cards ON TIME

-scrapbook some random photos that have been floating around

-do some fun science experiments and other projects with Barrett. My days with him are numbered and I want to soak up any time I have with him.

-Barrett has asked me for a granny square blanket-I have the squares made, I just need to put them together

-finish another granny square blanket I've started for our bed

-another secret. This one is huge, but I'm really excited about it-I just may share it with you in the spring, depending on how it goes.

-scrapbook my husband's pictures from his childhood

-begin sorting and organizing our sons' photos so I can scrapbook those maybe next winter?

So, there you have it. Realistic? I doubt it, but I also doubt I'll notice the grey this year!

the most boring post ever

2011-10-29T05:26:00.009-04:00

If my husband were made out of some stretchy material like silly putty, his arms would be long. As in, Very. That man works so hard to keep our ends pulled together; it's a constant juggling act but it is no game. It's hard work, as I'm sure you know.

I wish you and I could sit down together and discuss ways to save money. I'm sure you have some great ideas and I'd like to hear them. I'll show you a list I made of what we do to keep all our plates in the air and then, if you're feeling extra energetic, you could leave a comment telling me what you do. Maybe we can help each other?

So, without anymore chatter, here's my list:

-menu plan-this has saved a lot of money and time

-I make a lot of things from scratch and will very rarely buy any pre-cooked, instant food (this is also because I don't like some of the nasty ingredients they put in food)

granola
bread
cookies, pies, cakes, graham crackers etc.
salad dressings
furniture polish
sometimes our crackers
taco seasoning
Cajun seasoning
flavored coffee creamers
yogurt
meat is a treat, not a staple

I tried making laundry and even dishwasher soap, but was never satisfied with the way they worked. Any helpful household hints on that one?

-my husband does our grocery shopping and errand running on his way home from work. (We live out in the boonies so this saves a lot of money, especially with gas prices the way they are)

-rather than buy books, we get most of them from the library. If we run across one we can't live without we'll see if it's in the budget, but most of the time, it's the library

-we keep the thermostat at 68. That's as low as I can stand it. My husband works with a guy who keeps his at 60 or something crazy like that!

-my husband does all our home repairs and car maintenance (unless it's something impossible for a mere mortal to fix)

-I cut our hairs. Every one of them. I can't remember the last time I went to a beauty shop. (no comments please. :-) )

-I make birthday cards, thank you notes, congratulation cards etc.

-we very, very rarely eat out and we don't go to the movies (unless it's something you have to see at the theatre, like Lord of the Rings. That one almost requires a big screen!)

-we take stay-cations rather than vacations

-rather than shopping for something I'd like for the house, I'll either make something with what's around or "shop" the house; I look around and see if there's something somewhere that could be moved or rearranged to give the room a face lift.

-when we do need something for the house, we'll see if we can find it at a garage sale or Goodwill before we buy it new

-instead of putt putt, mini-golf, bowling, or whatever, we play games with the boys and do a lot of hiking

That's all I can think of at the moment. Now it's your turn. Any ideas you'd like to share with me?

cows are not Holy

2011-10-27T05:27:00.006-04:00

I like to think I'm mellowing as I age, and in some ways, I am. Things don't agitate me as much as they did when I was younger and my feathers aren't as easily ruffled. Sometimes I look inside and I actually think, (with a contented sigh) ahhh, you are finally softening...you are becoming a Jane Bennet sort of person; someone who is soft, gentle, sweet, quiet, feminine....

But then? Then something comes along that ruffles not only my feathers but my heart and soul as well and Jane disappears. Completely.

Take the other night for example. Our house was full of people; we were relaxed, laughing, teasing each other and talking about anything and everything. Suddenly someone in the room started to blurt out: "Holy C....!"

When I heard, that something inside me snapped. I'm sorry if I upset you by typing a not-so-nice word here but crap is not holy. Cows are not holy. Mackerel are not holy. It deeply offends me and hurts my heart when I hear the word "holy" used in connection with those words- I let that speaker know it and, unfortunately, I was not quiet or sweet or gentle about it.

There is only one Being who is Holy and I don't think describing cows, fish, or bodily functions with the same word the bible uses to describe Him pleases His heart.

I love the way Webster's 1828 dictionary defines Holy:

HO'LY, a.

1. Properly, whole, entire or perfect, in a moral sense. Hence, pure in heart, temper or dispositions; free from sin and sinful affections. Applied to the Supreme Being, holy signifies perfectly pure, immaculate and complete in moral character;

Have we as Christians become so corrupt, so cold, so lethargic, that we are willing to ignore the power of that word and link it to cows?? To crap? To fish?

Have we lost the sense of who God is? His purity? His perfection? His righteousness? Do we not care that He died a horrible, horrible death to make us Holy as well? Because He loves us?

He is Holy and He wants us Holy. It seems to me, when we take the word Holy lightly and use it to describe anything other than God, we are practically slapping Jesus in the face. We're telling Him His life on earth, His horrendous death and His endless love for us are insignificant.

He is so Holy that for all, all, all of eternity it is going to be broadcast day and night for forever:

Each of the four living creatures had six wings and was covered with eyes all around, even under its wings. Day and night they never stop saying: " 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty,' who was, and is, and is to come."

Revelation 4:8

so let it be written, so let it be done

2011-10-25T05:25:00.005-04:00

Does God ever speak to your heart? Do you ever hear His still, quiet voice shouting at you from somewhere deep inside telling you to do something you may or may not want to do?

He did that to me when I was 19. He told me to homeschool my future children.

OK-wait. Please don't leave because you think that's what this post is about. It is, but it isn't. And please don't leave because you think I'm crazy. God does speak to our hearts.

When He told me to homeschool I was thrilled. I've always loved babies and children and the thought of being able to teach my own? At home? I was so excited I could hardly wait.

Finally the day came and my oldest son was ready for kindergarten. No longer was I purely excited, I was "just a tad" nervous. The reality of what I was about to do hit me and I realized I could completely mess up this boy's entire life. So, we decided to take it one year at a time. Kindergarten. I could handle that. A B C's and 1 2 3's. No problem. I knew those by heart.

Then first grade. Well, I know how to read and I can add 2 +2, so off we went and again, no problem. We managed to make it through the first several years taking it one year at a time. I had no idea I was in it for the long haul and in my mind I could always back out if it got too hard.

Well, when that boy hit 8th or 9th grade it not only got too hard for me to teach him, it was impossible. I could not do it. Literally. For reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, (one of my favorite quotes, btw :-) ) I think I only have about a 7th grade education. Don't splutter at me. I'm dead serious. There is no way I could pass a college entrance exam. I've never learned algebra, never learned chemistry, I couldn't diagram a sentence if you put a gun to my head, and here's the really embarrassing one, I actually flunked high school biology.

So, when our son hit high school and God was still whispering to my heart, homeschool this boy...keep going....obey me....I almost lost it. I was no longer just a tad nervous. I was terrified. I had visions of my son standing on a street corner holding a sign that said, "Please feed me. My mom homeschooled me."

In a nutshell, our sons ended up teaching themselves throughout high school. I handed them the books and said, "learn all this." My heart was overwhelmed-I felt so guilty. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do....but, I knew that I knew that I knew this was what God wanted.

As our sons struggled along, I did what I could. I encouraged them. I prayed for them. I baked cookies for them. I prayed for them. I told them they could do it. I prayed for them. I reminded God over and over again that this was His problem. They were His problem. I dumped our sons in His lap and stepped back, asking Him to see them through.

In all honesty, I was not the Queen of Faith. I cried. I acquired many grey hairs. But, in the end? In the end we all learned that God is faithful to finish what He starts in us. He is faithful to see us through something He tells us to do because, after all, He wants it done.

Our sons not only learned the curriculum. They learned how to study. They learned how to research. They learned how to persevere when something is overwhelming.

Our oldest son said this experience prepared him for college in a way nothing else could. College professors don't hold hands with their students all the way through. They hand them the curriculum and say, "learn all this." It's up to the students to study; to research; to persevere.

To make a long story short, we did it. Actually God did it, and that's what this post is about. God's faithfulness. His doing what He told us to do when He knew it was something we could only do if He did it.

i know you believe you understand what you think i said, but i'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what i meant

2011-10-24T05:17:00.009-04:00

Do you have a favorite clothing item you wouldn't give up for all the fish 'n chips in England?

A few months ago my husband and I drove to town for some un-remembered, unrelated-to-this-story reason. As the miles passed under the tires I started thinking about the man sitting next to me and what he means to me.

"Mike, you are like a favorite, ratty old sweater, or my favorite pair of sneakers."

For some reason, he took that as an insult. I meant it as the highest compliment a wife could pay her husband and he took it wrong. He was so perturbed he wouldn't even listen to my explanation. So, since he won't listen to me, I've decided to explain it to you; maybe you'll understand?

Let's start with the favorite, ratty old sweater. I don't have one. But, I do have a favorite ratty old jacket. 19 years ago we went to Michigan for a family reunion/camping trip. We left here on a steamy hot July morning and headed north. The further north we drove the cooler it got. By the time we got to Michigan it was downright cold. And, guess what I hadn't packed? So, we stopped somewhere so I could pick up a jacket. It was soft, and big, and oh so comfortable. But the best part? It covered and protected me from the nasty elements.

Here it is, 19 years later and I still have that jacket. The sleeves are freyed, the zipper's a tish worn, but it's still soft, and big, and oh so comfortable. It reminds me of so many things-my entire family gathered together to love and annoy the daylights out of each other, beautiful sunsets on Lake Michigan, sitting around a campfire eating burnt hot dogs...I've worn that jacket for a very long time and we know each other. We understand each other. I keep it clean and dry and it keeps me warm and snug. See? Just like my husband. He's a little frayed around the edges, maybe a tish worn, but he's still soft, and big and comfortable and he protects me from the elements...

Now, let's take my favorite pair of sneakers. I bought them right before my back did it's crazy thing. At first they were awkward and stiff and slightly uncomfortable. We had to walk past a lot of miles before I had them broken in, but now? Now they fit well and are very comfortable; they were there for me through all the pain, all the confusion, and all the miles of healing I've gone through in the last 16 months. They were there for me before, during and after one of the hardest times in my life.

Just like my husband-we've seen a lot of miles together and he's been there for me before, during, and after a lot of the hard things in my life.

I see no reason for his feeling injured. It makes perfect sense to me. How about you? Do you understand?

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

2011-10-21T04:45:00.006-04:00

The Great Blue Heron, beaver, Canadian Geese, Brown Thrashers, moose, crows, and....yes, don't hate me...squirrels.

Those are some of my favorite wild creatures.

Take this little guy for instance. He kept us amused for about a week one winter, and around here, anything that amuses us for even one day during the winter is a plus.

He would come up to that feeder and plant himself in the corner, (just like that) leaning against the edge of it with one tiny paw, acting like he owned it. He'd bend over and scoop up bird seed with his other paw and then stand there, leaning, munching to his heart's content. (or should I say stomach's?)

Anyway, even now I smile when I look at him-he's just too cute.

OK. That's it for today-I hope this gives you a quick smile too. :-)

Winter-The Longest Night

2011-10-20T05:31:00.008-04:00

A day without sunshine is like, you know, night.

Steve Martin

I grew up in Colorado; it's not known as 'The Sunshine State', but it should be. (My mom told me when I was little that the Denver Post was so confident the sun was going to be shining every Sunday that they'd give away their Sunday edition if it wasn't.)

Colorado is such a sunny place that, after years of living there I actually got sick of the blue skies and bright days. I wanted the mystery and romance of a wet, cloudy day full of fog, rain and gloom. Can you imagine? What was I thinking? I wanted those things so badly I actually chose jolly old England as a place to go on a mission's trip.

A few years later I ended up here, in Indiana. America's England. For almost 5 months out of the year we get those wet, dark gloomy days. I'm so confident the sun won't be shining on Sundays that if I owned the Indianapolis Star I'd give away the Sunday edition if it did.

For almost 5 months out of the year it is grey here. The trees are grey. The roads are grey. The grass is grey. The skies are grey. Our moods are grey.

When I had 3 little boys at home with me I didn't really notice the grey. I was just too busy teaching, cooking, cleaning, etc. to even think about the lack of color outside.

But then my sons started doing something I wasn't very excited about. They grew up and one by one needed less of me. I didn't change-I still had the same need for challenge; the same need for something to pour me into, but I didn't know what that was.

At first I tried novels. I'd read book after book and escape into the romantic world of a fictitious girl having wonderful adventures, and dream. (popping Doves into my mouth as the pages turned.) However, that only made me fatter than I already was, lethargic, and discontent.

Finally, about 6 years ago I had a thought-why not set a goal to get me through the winter? I needed to pick something hard and challenging that I could pour me into; something that would demand my attention and most of my energy. That first year I chose my blubber. I wanted it gone. (That did the trick, btw. Winter was barely long enough for me to accomplish that goal!)

The next year I chose scrapbooking. I made two scrapbooks of my parents' lives for my brothers and again, that worked. It gave me something to focus on and the grey winter to race against. And again, I won, but barely.

Each year now I do this-I pick a goal or two and race against the gloom. Last year it was Survival. Healing. Not driving my family nuts as an invalid.

Maybe that's the reason I'm in trouble this year. I missed out on a year of challenge and my goal list? It's long. I have spiritual goals, emotional goals, physical goals, a family goal and one huge crazy goal that will most certainly demand a lot of me.

So now as I sit and think about the winter I'm almost excited. Almost. It will take more than a few goals to get me truthfully excited about winter. (Maybe like spending it on a beach somewhere?) But I am excited about my goals and the challenge they give me. They really do help me get through the longest night.

This One

2011-10-18T06:30:00.003-04:00

This one, out of all of them, has surprised me the most.

He was such a funny, stubborn, independent little person.

opinionated.....

sweet and gentle....

he loved being outside, in the woods, alone and quiet, more than anything else in the world. (getting ready for a backpack trip in this pic.)

As he grew, his focus turned outward.

He noticed people and started caring deeply for them, especially children.

He fell in love and got married, thus giving me a daughter. (and a new granddaughter, but I don't have a picture of her on hand)

This boy, as a boy, was so independent. As a newborn he wanted to be left alone. Nursing was for filling his tummy, not security or comfort or warmth. Once his hunger was gone he'd fuss and squirm until I put him in his crib. He'd sigh, snuggle deep into the mattress and go to sleep. See what I mean? Solitude.

Even before he could walk or talk he preferred sitting in a corner, by himself, with a pile of toys instead of interacting with people. As long as we left him to his own devices he was happy.

As a young boy his favorite thing to do was spend hours and hours on our little pond, by himself, in the row boat. He'd look for turtles, fish, bugs and birds, thrilled to be alone dreaming and thinking boy things.

Sometimes I'd stand in our livingroom, looking out the window, watching him row around. "What is he thinking about? Is he praying? Hoping to catch a turtle? Thinking about math?" I'd wonder what he was going to do with his life. I knew it would involve nature and solitude. Maybe a park ranger?

I did know one thing for certain. I wanted him to go to college. As I grew up my mom and I were poor and she struggled constantly to make ends meet. We were never homeless, and never went without a meal, but living like we did was sometimes scary and sometimes painful, and sometimes just plain old hard.

That pattern continued after my husband and I married. He never went to college and we've struggled to make ends meet. We've never been homeless, and never gone without a meal, but living like we have has sometimes been scary, sometimes painful, and sometimes just plain old hard.

Rather than focusing on things eternal, like loving and serving, forgiveness and hope, I allowed fear to pull me and I pushed college. Rather than looking at our son's heart, and his strengths and gifts, and the desire he had to be with children, I pushed college. Rather than trusting God with our son's life, I pushed college.

Thankfully he ignored me. He prayed and sought and studied the Word. The Lord took that strong will, that stubborn, independent boy and now?

Now that boy lives in the inner city, surrounded by lost, hurting children and their lost hurting parents. That boy is seldom alone, seldom outside, seldom in quiet. He spends his days laying down his desires and his life, serving. Showing people there is a God who serves. Showing people there is a God who loves and cares and wants to be involved in their lives. Pointing them to the One who is the only One. The One who can heal and comfort and forgive.

God is good

2011-10-17T07:03:00.000-04:00

God is good.

Lately I've been noticing those words a lot. They are so deeply true, but the only time I hear them is when something good has happened in someone's life. And I must admit, I think the same thing when life is right; when the sun is shining and something wonderful has happened. But what about when life is grueling? When horrible, daunting things come and you feel overwhelmed, what then? It's so hard at that moment to think, "Hey, isn't God good?"

I must admit, that has never been the first (or second or third) thing I've thought when thorny things have knocked on my door. Sometimes it takes years of looking back over my shoulder before I can see and admit God's goodness during a difficult time in life.

Lately, when I hear those words and see the circumstances under which they're used, I've wondered two things:

1. Is it possible for humans to hurt the father heart of God?

2. Do we hurt that heart when we say He's good only when life is good?

Maybe not. Maybe, because He is our Father, He understands how difficult it is for us to say, "Hey, you are wonderful!" when life isn't.

But, I think as our Father, he'd appreciate it if we would.

The bible says,

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see...

....Hebrews 11:1

And, the bible says He is good. All the time. Daytime, nighttime, lovely times, trying times. All the times. He is good.

He is good when life isn't:

The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in Him.

Nahum 1:7

He is good when we aren't:

Good and upright is the Lord; therefore He instructs sinners in His ways.

Psalm 25:8

He is good when life is frightening:

Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him.

Psalm 34:8

He is good when it looks like He isn't:

For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all

generations.

Psalm 100:5

He is good when we don't deserve it:

The Lord is good to all; He has compassion on all He has made.

Psalm 145:9

He even has goodness stored up for us:

How abundant are the good things that you have stored up for those who fear you, that you bestow in the sight of all, on those who take refuge in You.

Psalm 31:19

Clinging to those words, those verses...remembering them as life happens rather than spotting them years after the fact...trusting Him minute by minute, when life doesn't make sense-that's my prayer. To get to the point where I can see and say "God is good" regardless...Rememebering Hebrews 11:1 even when life doesn't make sense:

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see...

every man's home is his castle, and this one comes with a draw bridge

2011-10-14T05:29:00.008-04:00

I met a hermit the other day. He is very social and slightly flirty, but he is a hermit.

I never did find out the name of my hermit, but I wish I would have. As it is, I feel like Maria in The Sound of Music when she was praying for the children in her care, " ....and God bless what's his name...."

What? Oh. You want to know what on earth I'm talking about? Sorry. I'd love to tell you his story-I'm so glad you asked. Now you'll know my hermit too, and you can pray for him as well.

Last Sunday we went to a state park about 2 hours from home. I was standing near the door of the lodge, waiting for the rest of the family to arrive, when I spotted an old grandpa sitting in a rustic log rocking chair, apparently alone. We smiled at each other and began to chat.

I asked him where he was from and how many children he had and he asked me the same. Then he wanted to know if I had a job. I told him I hadn't had a "real" job in 25 years; instead, I've stayed home, raised 4 boys and home schooled along the way.

My answer, I think, inadvertently wounded an already broken heart. He told me his story, with a smile on his face, but I could see hurt behind his thick-lensed glasses.

He was born and raised not far from the state park we were visiting in. As a young man he'd gone to college and become an engineer. Somewhere along the way he'd met "her", the girl of his dreams, and asked her to be his wife. They hadn't been married long when they had a baby boy. Right around this time they found a beautiful piece of property, nestled in the hills and the forest about a mile from the state park. 16 acres of wooded privacy. They bought it and construction on their new home began.

They were so excited. It was going to be a lovely home and his bride wanted lovely new furniture to go with it. She asked her young husband if she could get a job, just for a bit, so they could buy that furniture. He consented and within a few weeks she was a working woman.

Well, a few months down the road she met another young man and ran off with him, taking their baby boy with her. My hermit was crushed. He finished the house, and then...then he built a draw bridge.

At this point in our visit my little grandpa stood up and pulled out his wallet-he wanted to show me something. It was a very old picture of a long, gravel driveway that meandered through the woods, over a creek, and up a hill. Right over the creek was a cozy little red covered bridge. This wasn't a normal covered bridge though. This one had a large door on the end with a padlock attached to it. I could see the necessity of that door, and that lock, if he'd built his home in the ghetto, or in jolly old England where a neighboring knight might attack, but here? In Indiana? Deep in the woods? Who was he afraid of??

(After he showed me the picture he sat down and looked at me. He grinned and said, "You know, there aren't too many women who are willing to stay home and take care of a family. If I could get you across that bridge, I'd lock the door and throw the key into the woods!")

Before I could think of a response to that statement he finshed his story.

Apparently, after about a year his wife thought better of her decision to leave and wanted to come home. She begged him to forgive her and take her back, but he refused. His heart and his property were padlocked shut and that was the end of that. He's lived all alone in that cozy little house for 50 years now. Nearly every day he gets in his car and drives over to the lodge and sits. He thinks, he watches people, he talks to some. But at the end of the day he goes home. He closes his little draw bridge and hides where no one can get in. No one can see him; no one can get at him; his life and his heart are safe, locked up tight....

my cup runneth over, but it's empty

2011-10-12T06:21:00.006-04:00

As I sit here at this computer, I wonder what to say.

Who are you? Why are you here? What would I say to you if we were at Starbucks having coffee rather than the way it is-me here, alone in the dark, and you...there. (wherever that is) Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can say that would help you take one more step in your journey? What do you need the most at this moment?

I wonder about that and then I look inside. My heart is empty and I have writer's block. (What a great time for that to happen-right after I hand you my uglies. I want to bury that post as soon as possible and now I can't think of a thing to say??)

On the other hand, I should be able to write all day. I am 50 after all. Surely there's something God has done, God has said to me, God has taught or given me, that I could write about...

Take them for example:

and this:

Four amazing gifts; four lives; four stories. Each boy so very different from the other, matchless and precious. They all have a body; they all have hurts, and needs, and desires.

One of the most difficult things about mothering is that fact. Each child is unique. It was quite challenging bouncing around from child to child, wanting to relate to each one in the same way, but there was no way I could. They were just too different. I had to come to them and mother them on their terms. I couldn't treat goggle boy the same way I treated our oldest son.

Sometimes I would have to put aside my preconceived ideas about how to parent and come to each boy empty-ready to just listen, asking him, Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can say that would help you take one more step in your journey? What do you need the most at this moment?

I think about that and then I think about this planet. Each person is a gift, matchless and precious. Each person here has a body, has hurts, needs and desires. Each person has a story.

Maybe that's what you need today? Someone to come to you with an empty cup, ready to just listen and let your heart fill it....maybe that's what God wants all of us to do. Put aside our preconceived ideas about how to relate, and ask each other, Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can say that would help you take one more step in your journey? What do you need the most at this moment?

my uglies-at least some of them

2011-10-09T20:51:00.014-04:00

-if i have a problem that needs solving i fixate on it til it's solved

- i have panic attacks once in awhile

-my tongue can be so sharp sometimes i shock myself, let alone the person i'm talking to

-i like to argue a point to death every now and then

-after being a christian for 37 years i still struggle with having a quiet time every day

-i love a lot of secular, romantic songs

-it's easier for me to have faith that God will care for and protect others, than it is to believe those things for me

-fear and i are life-long companions

-sometimes, when i'm weary, i want to hide from God

-i never send out birthday cards on time

-i can be very blunt

-my sons heard their first cuss word from one of their parents, and it wasn't their dad

-i know God loves me, but i often picture Him looking at me, sighing, and shaking His head rather than actually enjoying me

-sometimes i can hold onto hurts for years before i finally forgive

-occasionally i'll take the biggest brownie or the cookie with the most chocolate chips just because i still have a pig, i mean sin, nature

-i still wrestle God for control over my life, frequently

-i don't like to get near my kids when they're sick. (i've been known to stand in a bedroom doorway and throw a bagel at a sick boy when he asks for food)

-sometimes i don't think i'm lovable (it's no wonder when you read this list!)

-green smoothies are becoming a comfort food for me

hmmm. i wonder if the 5th one down improved, the others would. ya think??

Praying...

2011-10-06T11:44:00.008-04:00

When our sons were very young, (they still seem young to me now and 2 of them are in their 20's-but I'm thinking diaper-wearing young) I read an article in a parenting magazine. I don't remember most of what the article said, but one thing jumped out at me. The author of the article said it's a wise thing to pray for you children.

You might be thinking, oh for Pete's sake. I do that nearly every waking moment of my life. But, the article went on and spoke about the wisdom of praying scripture for your child; taking an actual passage right out of the bible and praying it for him.

Please, just take a minute out of your crazy day and read these verses. Pretty please? You won't regret it. Think about your child-put his name in place of all the "yous". Look at all the incredible things you would be praying for your child-things that are eternal; things that have priceless value; things that will give your child a godly focus....

For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you. We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light. Col.1:9-12

And look at this passage:

So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ. Col. 2:6-8

Here's another one the article suggested praying:

And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God. Phil.1:9-11

And the last one:

I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers. I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is the same as the mighty strength he exerted when he raised Christ from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms, far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every name that is invoked, not only in the present age but also in the one to come. Eph. 1:16-21

I don't always pray scripture for our sons. Sometimes I've only had the brain power to throw out an S.O.S. But, I did write these passages out on recipe cards and put them in my bible. From time to time I will take those cards out and pray them. I pray them for our whole family, not just our sons....

oh those heart strings

2011-10-05T08:25:00.003-04:00

One year, rather than a class on how to teach children, I went to a parenting workshop at the homeschool convention. I would have to say that was, by far, the best workshop I ever sat in on.

The speakers were the Quines of Cornerstone Curriculum. Have you ever heard of them? God has blessed them with so much wisdom. I have pages of notes I took, and every word they spoke was worthwhile, but there was one thing they said that went straight to my heart.

"Right now you are setting the tone for a relationship with your child that will last for the rest of your lives."

Whew-don't feel any pressure now, ok?

Thankfully they went on to share some very practical advice on how to set a good, loving, healthy tone for that relationship. They started out by drawing two hearts on the chalk board, with strings tying them together, like this:

One of those hearts is yours, the other, your child's. When you have a baby that baby comes with pre-packaged heart strings and they're all attached to you; millions of them; tiny little lines of love, trust, and need. That baby is absolutely certain you will care for and protect him, regardless of his behavior.

No other person on the planet will have the influence you do on that child. And, with every word you utter, every hug or slap, every look or sigh, you are affecting those tiny strings. You can fray them or sever them, or you can add to them, making that bond between the two of you even stronger.

Harshness will close his spirit; it will cut those precious strings and your hearts will begin to lose that precious connection.

What we need to do is look deeply into our child's heart-and see him the way God sees him. Remember God made that child-He gave your son or daughter gifts and strengths and a character all his own. Look for those giftings and strengths and point them out to your child. Frequently. Look into his eyes and tell him he is unique. There is no one else on earth just like him, nor will there ever be. God created him and God wants to use him to give and love and serve those around him. Give him practical examples of ways God could use his strengths and gifts in the lives of other people. Tell him you're so very proud of him and thankful for him.

Use your tongue to praise your child; encourage him and build him up. He needs your confidence and your trust. Let him know you trust him to make wise choices, even if deep in your heart you're doubtful. He doesn't need to know that. Most children, (and this applies to teens as well) want to live up to your expectations. Trust your child, but really trust the Lord.

Lay that child in God's arms on a regular basis and ask Him to make that child the person God wants him to be. Ask the Lord to help your child make those wise choices. (Your offspring doesn't need to know you're doing that either. That's just between you and the maker of that child.)

Even during times of disciplining your child you can build him up and love on him. That's not easy to do, especially when all you want to do is call the nearest orphanage and hand him over.

Sometimes it takes incredible self-control to discipline a child in love and with patience because usually by the time discipline is needed, your patience is gone. That's when you lay yourself in God's arms and ask Him to do it. Ask Him to help you teach and train your child without breaking his spirit or fraying even one tiny string.

As you go throughout your days, ask Him to help you love your child unconditionally and strengthen those heart strings. Ask Him for the strength to do that day after day after day after day.....it's only through His strength we can do anything.

One of my favorite bible verses is Galatians 6:9. I have it written out on a card and have had that card stuck on the cabinet in our kitchen for years. I guess it's become my life-long parenting verse:

And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.

My Strange Identity

2011-10-04T04:58:00.009-04:00

What would you say if I told you I bought this? At a garage sale. On purpose.

I looked at his sweet little face and thought, "That is me." and brought him home.

My husband thinks I'm nuts-he said that little guy looks like someone from the old TV show, Night Gallery. He wouldn't be surprised if some night that boy picks up his little chair and bashes one of us over the head with it while we're sleeping.

My sons think I'm crazy. "Mom, he is just creepy looking. Be careful, he might stab you at night while you're sawing logs!"

(Just out of curiosity-if I see me in that little boy, and my family sees those things......)

I would like to tell you, before I go on, that I am not a doll person. I don't collect them and don't plan on starting now. There was just something about this one boy. I tried to explain it to my family, but they don't get it. One son practically dissected the poor little guy to see how old he is. Maybe he's an antique and worth some money?

So, now I sit and look at my boy. I ask him, "Why are you me?"

If I couldn't explain it to my family, how on earth can I explain it to you? I'd like to try though.

It would be nice to know someone out there understands what I feel when I look at that doll....

I see a new mother, not quite 25, holding her blue eyed baby boy; she's overwhelmed at God's trust in her. You put this life in my hands? Are you sure I'm up for this?? What if I screw up and he turns out to be a mess of a person because of me? Three more times I would be given God's trust and three more times I would ask God those questions.

I stare at him and I see 75 months of nursing; more than 6 years of my life spent connected to a baby boy, vulnerable eyes looking deep into mine. Those were moments like no other. I'd fill a tummy and that look would fill my heart.

When I look at my boy, sitting peacefully in his chair, I remember all the years of diapers-probably 10 or so if I think about it. Ten years of not-so-sweet moments and ten years of stinky laundry. But, changing all those diapers said something to me. They said, This boy needs you. You are his servant. Serve him whether it's pleasant or not; whether you feel like it or not; whether it's convenient or not. We are all called to serve and lay down our lives. Begin here.

He also reminds me of all the noise, dirt, fighting, boo boos and band aids that go along with mothering sons. I see chubby little legs learning to walk; grubby little fingers holding tightly to mine; cars and trucks, GI Joes, smelly pets, camo, camping, fishing, cowboys and Indians, mud tracked through the house and dirty fingerprints on the walls. I see 21 years of homeschooling: reading boy books out loud, tears over math, the joy of watching someone "get it", hugs all day every day, any time of day. I see boys grown into men and discovering their wings; letting go and now welcoming back. I see God's faithfulness in using me to do what there is no way I could do without Him. I see Him filling in the gaps and bringing good out of brokenness and fear.

I've been mothering boys for exactly half my life. And for some strange, indescribable reason, that doll sums it all up for me. All that I've been and so much of what I've learned is smooshed into his stuffing and his sweet little face. That is why he's me.

helicopter parenting

2011-10-03T05:05:00.003-04:00

This post was originally written about 2 years ago, but I wanted to post it again today...

Last year, when our 2 oldest sons moved out within a week or so of each other, my poor old heart went through quite a time of adjustment. I think my midlife crises actually started when our oldest son was a senior in high school, but having 2 leave the nest almost at the same instant, accelerated that crisesy feeling.

In an effort to understand everything I was feeling I read a book about the emptying nest. The authors described two kinds of parents in the book: one is a hoverer and the other steps back completely and almost becomes "obsolete" in the grown child's life. Outwardly, I'm not sure I fit in either category, but in my heart I'm definitely a Hoverer. I wrote this to our sons hoping it would explain how I feel:
If I hover it's because: Other than the Lord and your dad, I love you 4 boys more than anything else on the planet.

I carried each of you in my body while the Lord carefully knit you together. I was there the first time you kicked a leg, stretched your arm, and hiccuped. Your life was literally knit to mine for nearly a year and the bonds that formed in my heart are almost indescribable.

We reassured each other after you were born. You had lost your safe, dark, quiet world and I had become a mother for the first, second, third, or fourth time. Those first few hours together were terrifying for each of us; to hold you next to me and breath in the scent and warmth and reality of "us" brought comfort to our hearts.

I hover because I know what a precious, amazing gift each child is. When I look at your face, your eyes, your hair, your hands...when I look at your heart, your strengths, your desires, and your needs...I am awed that the Lord chose me to be your mother. He wanted me to partner with your dad to raise you?
It's no wonder your lives have been bathed in prayer. God alone knew where He wanted to go with the tiny life that was placed in our arms when you were born. He alone has the plan for who you will end up being. The lives you will touch. The people you will love. The hurts you will experience.

I hover because I want to make sure I get it right. I forget sometimes that I'm only an instrument in your life. I am not your life. He is. Jesus is.

To release your life into His capable hands is a daily choice... to surrender you to Him and say "He's your son. He's yours." It's getting easier.

Easier because I see that by letting you go you're becoming someone much bigger, much better, much more of everything good than if I'd held on tight and not let go. Jesus is using you-if I hadn't let go you would be loved. You would be safe. You would be protected. But you would be small.

love them
listen to them
give them deep roots
give them wings

2011-09-29T05:22:00.006-04:00

When my oldest son was 4 years old he came to me with his heart in his hand. Literally. Oh, he also had a black crayon. He handed them both to me and said, "Write this, momma." So I did.

Even now, with three grown sons, (and one half-way there) I often wonder what I'm writing on their hearts......

Poor Bob

2011-09-28T05:17:00.014-04:00

No, this is not the Bob I wrote about Monday, although if anyone deserves our compassion it would be that Bob.

The Bob I'm talking about today is a man who is attempting the seemingly impossible and doing it with seemingly endless patience.

He's my pottery instructor.

For three weeks Bob has spent his Tuesday evenings dealing with a full grown child who can't remember a thing he taught her last week, let alone 5 minutes ago. He deserves something. A medal? An award? It's a good thing this class is only 6 weeks long-otherwise poor Bob would end up with a vacation in a Swiss sanitarium. (Oh, but hey! That might not be a bad thing....Switzerland. I've always wanted to see Switzerland. The fantastic mountains, the world famous cows, their reliable watches. A pocket watch would be a really fun souvenir for Bob to bring back with him, provided they could restore his mental health after what I've put him through. Put him through....put him through...Oh yeah. I was talking about pottery.)

Moving along. Have you ever wanted to do something so badly you could taste it, but you just can't get it? That's how this pottery class is going. I love, love, love it, but it is really stretching me. I'm having to learn how to focus and put all of my attention into detail, and I am not a detail person.

When I was young my mom attempted to teach me things too. She could cook like Rachael Ray,

clean like a Merry Maid and get this: she invented a way to crochet a blanket, making it double thick as she went along. Every time she tried to teach me that pattern, or how to clean something, or cook Sunday dinner, we'd fight. I couldn't get it and I always blamed her. She's not patient. She just doesn't know how to teach. I honestly never thought it was me and now that crochet pattern is gone, lost forever. (I have figured out how to cook and clean, much to my family's relief.)

The problem is, I'm random. A big picture person. A very. big. picture. person. A person who sees a great movie and gets so caught up in the feelings the movie evoked that she can't remember the plot, who the protagonist was, or how it ended. But boy howdy, it was a great movie!

My pottery class is progressing along the same lines. There's poor Bob, patiently trying for the umpteenth time to show me how to cone the clay. I stand there, watching him, my ears listening, trying to absorb his words. My brain, however, is another story. It sits between my ears going wow, Bob has such big hands. I love how he can get the clay to do whatever he wants. It would be so fun to have a pottery wheel at home so I could do this whenever the mood strikes. I wonder how much a pottery wheel costs? And a kiln. I'll need a kiln...would the electric bill kill us? What color glaze should I use on this bowl I'm, no, bob is making. Bob is making. Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be listening to Bob....

I used to be able to laugh at myself for being this way. I didn't mind being a floaty-in-the-head kind of person. But lately? Not so much. I'm getting extremely frustrated with myself. It's impossible for me to study the bible and figure things out with this kind of brain. It's impossible for me to learn how to make a simple pot out of clay with this kind of brain. And don't get me started on cell phones. I can't even figure out how to turn one on. Every single time someone attempts to teach me how to use one it's pottery class all over again. Wow. This tiny black box is sending signals through space. It can connect me to someone in Switzerland if I knew anyone there to talk to. That's incredible. I wonder how they figured these things out?....

Lately I've been feeling "just a tish" insecure about myself. It's an embarrassing way to be. However, I need to remind me that God made me this way. On purpose. (see my post from here.) I'm not here for comic relief and there's nothing "wrong" with me. However, I'm also thinking it's not a bad thing to be stretched...to learn how to focus and put at least some of my attention into detail. It's exhausting, but if nothing else I need to do it for poor Bob.

life is a pain in the neck (or leg, or stomach, or heart, or....)

2011-09-26T05:16:00.015-04:00

I think this has got to be, hands down, the most difficult post I've ever written. There is just too much to say, and too many people have done a way better job saying it than I ever could.

Pain. A friend wants to know how to live with chronic pain....I suddenly feel like a school girl facing a final test. "So Judy, what have you learned this semester??" My question is, have you learned it if you don't always do it? If you don't always live it, is it still a part of you? Because I don't, you know. I don't always do the things I'm going to tell her to do. I believe the things I've attempted to live out are truth-that's why I'm sharing them.

When my friend first put the question to me, I must admit, I bristled. My pain isn't chronic. This is temporary! It will go away. But it has been 15 months.....

Living with pain can be a lonely walk. All around you you see your family, friends, and strangers bouncing around, doing everything you wish you could do. And of course, you remember how it felt to do those things, before your body turned traitor.

However, I've had to remind myself I am not alone. To be alive is to experience pain. It can be physical or emotional, but even the bible promises it will be a part of our experience here on earth. Jesus tell us in the book of John, "I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

So, maybe the first thing I would say is, remember you are not alone; pay attention to the people in your life. What are they going through?

Everyone deals with pain. I have 2 friends who have lost husbands. Another family is losing their teenage son to brain cancer and a young mom, with 2 small children, is also dying of cancer. Another friend is having a not-so-fun marriage.

My brother has lived with terrible back pain for years, and for a very long time I watched my mom shrivel up with rheumatoid arthritis.

A few weeks ago I met a little girl who had been sexually molested for years before the government finally opened it's eyes and rescued her; she will have pain and scars in her being until the day she leaves the planet.

Last summer and fall I spent a lot of time in bed, laying on my right side because that was the only place I could be where I didn't hurt. It was sooooo easy to lay there and feel sorry for myself. But then I would hear about others in pain, and, because I hurt, I could empathize. So I started to pray for the people I heard about. For a very long time praying was all I could do. When I did that, when I prayed for others, I would experience joy. Yes, some of that was because I knew there were other people out there who hurt. (misery does love company) But the real joy came in knowing I was saying, "Lord, they hurt. Please be with them. Heal them. Comfort them...." It took the focus off me and centered it on others and their need.

Another thing that helps, maybe even more than praying for others? is looking for God in my circumstance. If you are a believer in Christ, He promises to never leave us or forsake us and He is not a liar. Count the ways you see His involvement in your life, every day. Search for things. You wouldn't have to look far, I know. You could make an actual, written list, or you could just list things in your heart. But don't stop there. Thank Him for each one. Praise Him for walking this road with you and the ways you see Him hugging you through it. Each moment is a gift from Him, even the ones filled with pain.

Here are a few examples for you. Last summer I had a herniated disc that smashed the daylights out of my left sciatic nerve. The pain...I still cry if I think about it. I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on a mass murderer. I had no idea a body could feel that kind of pain and live. It broke something inside me but it's also given me so much more compassion for other hurting people than I had before. There's #1.

#2. As I was going through that time, the only thing I could do was walk. Day and night for over 2 weeks I paced our house, back and forth, forth and back. As I walked, I cried. I shook, my body vibrating with pain. Yes, I know-this sounds terribly melodramatic. I'm trying to set the stage for showing you what may be one of the sweetest gifts the Lord has ever given me: amazing time with my husband and sons. Going through a deep, deep valley with them and seeing the incredible depth of their love for me. My husband's love and compassion during that time was bottomless. He lost so much sleep walking through the nights with me, praying for me. My second oldest son did the same thing. For two different nights, (as a newlywed!) stayed here and walked the house with me. We even managed to laugh and tease each other while I was walking and weeping. I saw what an incredible, compassionate, patient, tender heart he has and was blown away by it.

My oldest son came and spent a day with me during that time. He walked with me, letting me squeeze his arm so tightly the circulation probably stopped. He cooked and baked and played with his little brother. He cleaned our kitchen and after I had surgery he brought a meal over that he had made himself. He still calls me several times a week to say hello and see how I'm progressing.

Our third son has had a more difficult road with this than his brothers have. He lives with me. He's had to be here, listening to me wonder, whine, cry, and rejoice. He's gone on countless walks with me, shared his heart with me and cheerfully helped me lift, move, cook, and clean. He's made me laugh so hard I couldn't catch my breath.

Finally, my little guy. He is constantly available, with a sweet, willing heart. He's helped me get dressed, cook, clean and do laundry-all the time without one word of complaint. During times when I've had anxiety attacks, felt fearful, or just deeply lonely he's been here, ready to hug or comfort me as only a little boy can.

Then of course, there are the little things to be thankful for. Last spring, every evening, I was able to lay in bed and watch crows by the dozens cawing and soaring right outside my bedroom window. They made me feel free and wild and whole. I sensed God loving and hugging me when I watched those crows, and I praised Him every day for sending them to our back yard.

I'm still thrilled that I can now tie my own shoes, and lift my bible...so you get the point. He is aware of our every waking moment and blessing us as we live them. Again, I want to say, count the ways you see Him.

Having a sense of humor also helps. Learn to laugh at yourself, or watch a funny movie. Listen to a comedian on Netflix. Laughter is good medicine.

We went to a cookout/bonfire at our oldest son's house last weekend. The weather was cool, the food good, and the bugs were at a minimum. We had a lot of fun laughing and pigging out with family and friends.

As the evening progressed it got a little more difficult for me to enjoy myself. I kept sitting, standing, kneeling, leaning. Finally my husband asked me if I was OK.

I said very quietly, "Oh, I just hurt a bit." We'd been talking together very quietly and I didn't think anyone was paying attention to us. I didn't want to put a damper on his evening so I added, "Do you remember what my mom said a few days before she died? 'Jude, there's always someone worse off than you are.' "

Without missing a beat my second oldest son said, "Can you imagine being the guy on the end of that?? The guy with so many things wrong with him no one can find another thing to add? 'Here lies Bob. He died of blah blah, doo doh, tee dee, froo frah......' " We laughed so hard we couldn't breath. Poor old Bob. Sorry-our family has a warped sense of humor, but you get the point. Laughing helps ease the stress.

I know this is really, really long, but I do have one more thing to share. Spend time in the word. Read the Psalms, read the old testament. Read Hebrews 11 and 12. Those are two of the most amazing chapters in the bible to me and have comforted me over and over and over again as I've gone through this time. He is near, He loves you, He is with you. Eternity is coming. We won't always hurt. Cling to that. Eternity is coming. This is just a passing through place and we will soon be gone...

never in a hurry

2011-09-22T05:27:00.006-04:00

About a year ago I was able to let it go. I pushed in the little knobs that lock the sides in place, folded the sides in, picked up the helpful little contraption and carried it to the garage. My husband was out there so I handed the walker to him and said, "Here. I don't want this in the house anymore and I hope I die before I need to use one again."

Now, a year later, I almost regret that moment. Almost. I almost regret becoming whole again.

For a very tiny bit of time I stopped running and it was sweet. My whole life was narrowed down to living one minute at a time and each one of those minutes ticked by slowly. I needed help with every single thing I did; getting out of bed, drying off after a shower, getting dressed, tying my shoes...even my bible was too heavy to lift. Every movement had to be analyzed and prioritized. Is it necessary to do this? Does it really have to be done now or can it wait a month or two?

I did struggle with the whole "life boat" thing. I'm no longer a productive member of society, nor even of this family-just throw me overboard. Why am I here if I can't function? But then I remembered we're not hear to function. We're not here to rush around performing and doing. Like Ann Voskamp says in her book, 1000 Gifts, life is not an emergency to be sped wildly through. I listened to the trailer from her book and here are a few quotes:

moments are all we have

time is blurring by and everyone is slipping past

the voice we need to hear is the Voice that is saying each moment is for you

although time moves on, it's moments are holy

this is how you spend your one life well-receiving each moment for what it really is: holy, ordinary, amazing grace...a gift

My doctor told me walking was the best thing I could do to heal so that's what I did. Barrett and I walked for hours each day, but it was a slow, toddily walk, highlighted by my son's incredibly sweet observations. It wasn't the walk of a mom in a hurry to exercise and get home so she can check things off her to-do list. It was just a walk.

I learned so much from my little guy. He was never in a hurry. He noticed the way an ant carried a crumb across the sidewalk and the iridescent colors on a dragonfly's wing. He pointed out minuscule flowers hidden in the grass and the way the wind blew the smell of early autumn across a field. Every single second with him was a gift and he taught me that every single second of our lives is a gift as well if we would only slow down and pay attention to them.

My son was in awe of God-His creativity, His wisdom, His ability to make no two things alike. Barrett felt that each thing he saw was a hug from God....God's way of saying, I love you. I'm here. I care. I am here, and here, and here, and here.....

be it ever so humble....

2011-09-21T06:32:00.001-04:00

From the photos I've posted here, you'd never know I wanted to be a photographer when I was in high school. Either that or you'd think, hmmmm, no wonder she's not a photographer.

Well, I must warn you, the quality of the photos I'm posting today are of the same caliber. Lousy. They were taken by a person (who shall remain nameless) that has never used a digital camera before using a camera she borrowed from her nine year old son.

I've poured out my heart on this blog and let you see the good, the bad and some of my uglies. Now you can see where those pieces of me dwell. Just remember what I said in my poem from a few days ago:

I'm from a house filled with inexpensive objects; things found at garage sales, Goodwill, handmade, or handed down. Almost everything here touches my heart, tells a story, or simply brings joy.

This is the desk my husband built for me. Sitting is still an issue so he built it 39" high-that way I can stand and plan school, stand and scrapbook, stand and do bible study...I like to stand and work on projects regardless of what my body's doing so even if I'm "normal" again someday this will still be the perfect desk for me.

Winters here in the middle of America are long and grey. The sky is grey, the trees are grey, the grass is grey, the roads are grey. I had to do something to bring a little joy into those lonely grey days: twinkle lights seem to help. You saw them around my desk, and here are some in the livingroom. We're still tweaking that contraption. There's still too much wood showing. But, the twinkle lights are there, reminding me of the stars on a crisp winter evening and funky little restaurants hidden in cozy little nooks of the world.

Don't ask me why I'm showing you a bookshelf. I guess I wanted to post it because it's made from an old ladder that had been leaning against the side of the house for years. Rather than throw the ladder away, we re-purposed it. It's a bookshelf here, a piece of it is in the boys' bathroom as a towel rack, and another bit is hanging on the wall with a few nick-nacky things thrown onto it. Oh, and the monkey? Sock monkeys hold a very, very special place in my heart and that's all I'm going to say about that today.

OK. I know. A boot? Really? For a plant?? This boot was probably once worn by a cowboy out in Idaho. It then became a vase full of flowers at my nephew's wedding reception. I brought it home as a reminder of that special day. Rather than throw it in the closet to collect dust, I threw a plant in it and hung it from the ceiling. Now I can picture the mountains, blue skies, a beautiful wedding and a vacation out west every time I look at it.

This is a picture of some of my babies. These are the babies that will never grow up and leave home. I have 37 of them scattered around the house.

I couldn't leave this little bookshelf out of this post. My dad built it about a year before he died. We made a deal: he would make a bookshelf for me and I crocheted a pair of slippers for him. I think I got the better end of the deal. Oh, the rooster. Normally I am not a chickeny type person but that too is from my dad. He bought it for someone else who didn't want it and dad wanted it to have a good home. Guess who got it?

And of course a piece of the kitchen. This is where I spend a LOT of time. See? Twinkle lights in here too. :-)

And finally this. It's an old window my daughter-in-law gave me. We put pictures of the boys in it, hooks along the bottom of it and voila! A one-of-a-kind, sweet reminder-of-days-gone-by coat rack. It didn't looked finished even when it was finished so I just stuck some dead branches around it to frame it in. That helped, but like the livingroom thingy, I may do some tweaking here.

So, that's it. A few of my favorite places in this place I call home.

a reality check

2011-09-19T21:45:00.009-04:00

If you stopped by here yesterday, and read the poem I wrote, you are probably thinking, well, aren't they the perfect family with the perfect little life?

I'm sorry if I lead you to think that. I'd like to be completely real about life when I write, but if I were, I'd either lose your friendship because you'd see what a nasty little person I can be, or I'd embarrass certain other people in the family, which I don't want to do.

So, here's what I can tell you. We've been married 27 years. The first 17 were hard. I'm not going to list everything now, but trust me, we've had our share of struggles. Through it all our friendship was good. We knew how to stick together and nothing really came between us. Things came at us, but not between us.

On the other hand, the last 10 years have been more difficult than I care to think about. It seems like nearly everything we've gone through, (and it's been more than the first 17 years combined) has come between us, and we've had to work at being friends, work at loving each other, work at forgiving, work at trust.

Two years ago we went through a fun year. Something so big came between us we barely spoke to each other unless it was necessary. For a year. We weren't even out of that tunnel when we hit Last Year. The Year to Beat All Years. I hope. Mike turned 50, #3 graduated, not one, but two sons got married within 6 weeks of each other and my back and left leg turned traitors and abandoned me. But, God is faithful. He promises in Romans 8:28

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good,for those who are called according to his purpose.

He used those outside circumstances and my weak, wobbly body to show us how much we actually need each other. We are close and friends again, which is always nice when you have to sleep in the same bed with someone.

As for parenting? Hmm.....what can/should I say? Like all parents, we've had our share of sibling rivalry, messes, giving emotionally or spiritually when it felt like there was nothing inside to draw from, and bad attitudes. In many ways it's been on the job training for both of us and we've had to take it one day at a time.

There have been times when we've wondered what we did wrong. How did we lose his respect? His friendship? Will his heart ever come home again?

There have been times when all we could do was go to God and dump a boy in His lap. "God, he's your problem. You deal with him. You teach him. Please do whatever it takes to make this boy what You want him to be. We can't do it, Lord. You have to. Please?"

We've had to surrender and let go and God has proven Himself capable and faithful.

So, now you know. We are not the perfect family with the perfect little life. We are a weak, stumbling along, bumbling along little family with a perfect God holding our hands and I'm sorry if I gave you any other impression.

Sometimes life reminds me of a roller coaster. You strap yourself in and off you go. Up, over, down, around, each phase a surprise. The "up" side of the ride is your chance to catch your breath, rest, get ready for the next curve, the next surprise. Yesterday's poem was written during an "up" phase in our lives. The last ten years have been rough and I think right now God is giving us a chance to rest and catch our breath, to rejuvenate before the wild ride begins again....

Where I'm From (a new version)

2011-09-19T05:39:00.008-04:00

I am from a tiny house in the middle of America-woods, corn fields, county roads, a feeling of safety and quiet nights

from 4 sons: Benjamin, James, Alec and Barrett. They love Jesus, a good challenge, laughter, hard work; they are compassionate, funny, 2 are great husbands, one a good daddy; they love each other and they love their dad and mom

I'm from a house filled with inexpensive objects; things found at garage sales, Goodwill, handmade, or handed down. Almost everything here touches my heart, tells a story, or simply brings joy

I'm from hiking on holidays, playing games as a family, merciless teasing, long talks late into the night, lots of laughter and frequently confounding the 5 men in my life

I'm from "wash your hands", "business before pleasure", "here's a chore if you're bored", "go outside if you're going to do that!"

I'm from the bible is absolute truth, God is real and very present in our lives, He will complete what He's started in you

from a tender-hearted husband-he's patient, self-sacrificing, and spoils me rotten

I'm from biscochitos, my mom's takes-all-day-to-make spaghetti sauce, homemade apple butter and a to-die-for apple pie

I'm from long grey lonely winters, renewing spring, hot humid summers, and soul filling fall

from playing with houseplants, blue jeans, wandering the woods, writing, good books, laughter and caring for my family

I'm from being a wife, a momma, a teacher and a friend to our sons; becoming a mother-in-law, a grandma and an emptying nester

from a house full of noise to wondering what's next

I am from a tiny house in the middle of America

Lending An Ear

2011-09-18T08:05:00.006-04:00

Sometimes I wish I could tell you everything. I wish we could go sit on the porch of a mountain

cabin, put our feet up on the rail and just be real. Pour our hearts out...wouldn't that feel good?

To know I was there for the sole purpose of listening to you and you to me? It would be even better if we were able to actually focus on what the other was saying without getting distracted.

The other day my son and I were discussing what we'd be like if we were able to use 100% of our

brains. He said, "Well Mom, we'd be a whole lot smarter than we are now."

I'm wondering what we'd be like, what life would be like, if we could take that power, all 100% of

it, and put it toward just listening to another person. Imagine the insight you'd have...

the compassion...you'd be able to hear their soul crying out for oh so much...

I had a glimpse of what that would feel like a few years ago. We were at a friend's house for lunch;

(actually it was my sister-in-law's brother's house, but that's splitting hairs) there were a lot of

people in the room and a lot of noise. Everyone was talking and laughing, cooking and munching.

I was relaxed and comfortable, enjoying the moment, when suddenly my sister-in-law's other brother

stopped talking, munching and laughing. He looked me right in the eye and said, "Judy, how are

you?"

Normally when you're asked that question you say, "I'm fine. How are you?" But when I looked up

to answer him I was taken completely off guard. He meant it. The room grew quiet as

every person there looked first at him, then me. They all knew he meant it. He really and truly

wanted to know how I was and he wasn't going to look away, take a bite, start talking, or scratch

his head until he'd heard my answer, no matter how long it took or how much I said.

I was taken so off guard I couldn't at first reply. I didn't know what to say. My heart was so full

of the need to have someone actually listen I didn't know where to begin. How vulnerable

do I want to be? Do you have days and days to sit here because I really think I could talk that long.

Good grief, where do I begin? No one has EVER put me on the spot like this. Are you for real?

To top off the moment, I knew this man had just given his daughter away in marriage less than

24 hours ago. I also knew he was a very busy man with a stressful job, and was leaving in a

day or two on a business trip and he's wondering how I am??

I sighed and finally settled on one topic. Our sons. I poured out just a bit of what was going on

in my heart as the mother of an emptying nest. The sadness, the concerns, the confusion I felt with

some of their choices, the joy I felt at how they were turning out...I gave him just a bit of me but it

was enough. He listened with both ears and gave me complete and total eye contact. Not for a

second did I sense he was bored or thinking about anything except what I was saying. It was a gift I will never, ever forget.

To make the moment even sweeter, it turned out I wasn't the only one with those mixed emotions.

Every person there was feeling the same way. We all laughed, vented, sighed, and teared up.

Because one man took the time to listen, many were encouraged and when the afternoon was ending, we all left, feeling less like islands and more like life boats.

A Bit of Blue Yarn

2011-09-17T05:56:00.006-04:00

Have you ever heard the question: Why is it old people remember all kinds of stories but they can never remember how many times they've told them?

That's one reason I blog. My family has heard the same stories spilled out of my heart so often they can finish telling them before I do. Whereas here? I could write the same tale every day and no one could do a thing about it. (Well, you could walk away from your computer, but I wouldn't know that, would I?)

So now I have what could be the grandmommy (as opposed to granddaddy) of all sob stories and you get to hear it for (what I think) will be the first time.

When I was very small I had a toy box. It was filled with typical little girl belongings: baby dolls, baby doll paraphernalia, a little iron that actually plugged in and warmed up... I loved the toys inside, but the box was a treasure as well. It was white and big and had a padded lid so you could sit on it without getting an achy bum. Not only that, but Cinderella and her pumpkinny coach decorated the front of the box; I could tell by looking at her face that Prince Charming wasn't too far away.

As you probably know by now, when I was 7 or 8 my parents divorced and sold our home. Mom decided she and I would move to Colorado to be near my oldest brother. She sent me ahead so I could start school out there while she stayed behind to pack up the house.

It was months and months later when we finally found a little place to call home. When we did unpack our belongings I discovered most of my toys and books were gone. I had 2 books and 1 baby doll left to call my own. Okay...I don't remember asking my mom about the toy box or the toys. They just weren't there.

About a year later we went back to Illinois to visit my aunt. While she and my mom were chatting over coffee I explored her home. I walked into the door of her guest room and there, in all her glittery beauty, sat Cinderella, smiling at me from the front of my toy box. Not only that, but all my toys and books were still inside.

I stormed into the kitchen feeling quite hurt and angry. Why are my toys here?! I want them back! They are mine and they are coming back to Colorado with me!

For some strange reason, mom remained silent. It was my aunt who did the talking. She told me mom had given her the toy box and toys so my cousins would have something to play with whenever they came to visit her. Auntie said the toys belonged to her now and I couldn't have them. I looked at her face and knew she meant business. But oh how I wanted my toys. They represented so much more than mere entertainment to me. They were from a time when life was happy and safe and my family was whole. I wanted them back as a reminder of those times.

For the next two days a battle of wills ensued. Aunt Birdie and I went round and round, back and forth and up and down over those toys. I finally realized she had years of experience in being mule headed-I was a novice by comparison. At last I settled on one doll. A light blue yarn doll with a sweet face and yellow suspenders. I spent nearly every waking moment begging, pleading and trying to manipulate my aunt into letting me have her. She had originally been mine after all. This. Was. Not. Fair.

Just as we were loading up the car to head west, my aunt relented. She had a strange gleam in her eye, but she finally gave in. She let me take that doll. I knew in my heart I had won a battle, but she'd won the war. I didn't care. I had a tiny piece of home to carry with me; I still have that doll and I still treasure her.

When I look at her I see so very many things. I see my aunt and her childish desire for victory over a little girl she was supposed to love. I often wonder what hurts hardened her heart and closed it off to compassion and affection...I wish now I could hug her and let her know it's ok to be soft. We aren't wounded every time we're vulnerable.

I see my childhood and all those sweet, happy little girl dreams and memories; that's all they are now-sweet memories. God has taught me that it's only in my friendship with Him that my heart will truly be filled. I don't need things to feel whole.

I see a mom, broken, hurt, filled with despair. I know why she gave away so much. I've been there too.

Finally I see triumph. I duked it out with an adult and won a skirmish. Maybe that's why I'm tenacious to this day? I tasted victory and it was sweet.

roots and wings

2011-09-14T20:20:00.006-04:00

This is a picture of our oldest son, taken in the fall of his senior year. Standing next to him is the baby of the family, taken before he even knew what school was.

The quality of this picture leaves much to be desired, but it's still one of my favorite photos. I can't look at it without my heart doing a strange, bittersweet flip flop...

one son looking out, away from the family, so ready to test his wings and fly; the other son just a baby, still so dependent on me, looking around to make sure I was nearby.

I've said it before, but one of my favorite poems about parenting is this:

love them

listen to them

give them deep roots

give them wings

bits of paper

2011-09-14T05:30:00.005-04:00

(*I just wanted to warn you, this post was written while under the influence of TWO sleeping pills that have not yet worn off and no sleep despite the fact that the two pills were consumed.)

Other than my teenage son, I am the most random person I know. Actually, now that I think about it, I am a conundrum.

The "things" in my life are very organized-I try to live by the rule, a place for everything and everything in its place.

(I'm going to interrupt myself and tell you it's raining outside. The window is open a tish and there's a soft, gentle rain falling....it sounds so cozy and peaceful, especially since the temperature has dropped. An early fall day-my favorite time of year!)

Anyway-I just proved my point. Random. Back to my stuff. I don't have a junk drawer and except for one map which falls out of the closet every time we take out the vacuum, our closets are quite organized. I even have my scrapbook stuff all sorted by color!

On the other hand, you know how frustrating it is when your life is unorganized? When you need something you know you own but you just can't find it? Is it in that drawer, that box, on that shelf, or in that basket?? You get so frustrated looking for "X" that your blood pressure rises?

Well, it's my brain that's like that. If I weren't convinced God made me this way, on purpose, (I'm sure I was made for comic relief or to teach people patience) I'd be very insecure. Half the time I can't even finish a sentence without interrupting myself to tell a story within the story I was already telling, then I forget where I was and have lost my listener in the process. Where was I?

Oh! I remember now....yes, like you, I write everything down. I jot down ideas for blog posts, library books that are due and when, bible verses I want to remember, questions I'm pondering, passwords I can't afford to forget, things I need to do, goals I have, wishes I long for, ideas for a story I'm writing, directions for finding places, and books I want to buy.

The problem is, each and every one of those things is assigned its own little place in the world. I have bits of paper stuffed into my jewelry box and my sock drawer. I have a whole section of my purse set aside for them and I carry little slivers of paper in my pockets. My bible is stuffed with scraps of paper and my desk cluttered with them. (and no, I'm not exaggerating)

I have 3 notebooks set aside for all this. Three. Are they organized? No. I simply open the nearest notebook to a blank page, write down whatever was in my head, feel relieved that the thought is now on paper so I won't forget it, and walk away. It really is frustrating when I then want to find a specific thought and can't.

I'm not sure what to do about this problem. I've tried to categorize my thoughts, but nope, they won't cooperate. It just can't be done. Is there such a thing as a professional thought organizer?

Are You Bored in the Bedroom?

2011-09-13T05:13:00.005-04:00

Ha! That got your attention, didn't it? Wait!! Don't run off. I just couldn't resist being a bit ornery. I've been feeling mischievous for several days now and didn't want to stop here. This post is actually about strengthening your marriage. Bet you didn't think that from the title, did you?

OK. I'll get serious now.

I'm wondering if you've ever crawled into bed and thought about the person lying next to you, wondering, how on earth did I get stuck with him/her? We have nothing in common.

I did that the other night. I started out feeling pretty annoyed and just a bit trapped. Of course, thought I, we do have some things in common. We share the same house, the same children, the same TV and the same neighborhood. But after that? Hmmmm.

He likes fishing... I do too, IF it's not too sunny nor too cloudy, there are no bugs within a hundred miles of the water, it's not too hot nor too cold, not too windy but not too still, and, I actually. catch. fish. He'll sit out there no matter what and bake, freeze, soak and/or swat just for the fun of it.

His music? I was going to say it's for the birds, but I'm sure they hate it just as much as I do.

His food? Meat and grease. No thank you.

He likes strange reptiles for pets...I won't go there...

Anyway, you get the idea. I couldn't think of even 10 things we do have in common.

So, after a few minutes of this I had a brain storm.

"Mike? Let's play a game!"

"What?! Now??"

"Yes. You don't have to move or anything. Let's just take turns listing things we have in common until we can't think of anymore. It won't take but a minute or two, I'm sure."

Silence from the other side of the bed....

Then I hear: "We both love the mountains."

My turn: "Road trips."

"Hiking."

"Pizza."

"Camping." (That one was iffy, but I let him have it. The conditions have to be similar to those of fishing.)

"Going to the symphony."

"Old movies."

"Playing cards."

On and on we went. We listed so many things we actually do have in common we fell asleep before we'd finished. The next day it didn't feel like I was stuck, married to a stranger. It felt like I was stuck, married to my friend.

The Bear

2011-09-11T21:41:00.015-04:00

Almost ten years ago this:

lead to this:

which lead to this:

then this:

and this:

then this:

what is this?!

and finally this:

See? There's always hope.

Who Cares if He's "Wrong"?

2011-09-11T06:28:00.005-04:00

Have you ever stopped and thought, "What if I'm mistaken? What if the convictions I hold to are just plain wrong?" Or, worse yet, you look at someone who's not doing it the way you are and you know they're wrong?

Have you ever taken Christians and really looked at them? There's an umbrella of truth we all stand under:

-Jesus is the Son of God

-We are all sinners

-A price had to paid for those sins

-God loves us and provided a ransome

-Jesus died and conquered death to pay the price

-Believing in Jesus and who He is and what He did and placing your life in His hands is what saves you (gives eternal life)

But, outside that umbrella? There's a dance going on that's so intricate it'll make your head spin. People all over the planet, with the same bible as a guide, have an incredibly varied faith:

-women should only wear dresses

-it's ok for women to wear pants

-you should be in "full time" ministry

-whatever you do you are in "full time" ministry

-birth control is a sin

-birth control is a gift

-we are all called to home-school

-children need to be in the public school system to be salt and light

-you can lose your salvation

-once saved, always saved

-secular music is sinful

-secular music is ok

-you should only read christian books

-it's ok and even good to read a variety of books by a variety of authors

-women should never cut their hair

-God doesn't care what length a woman's hair is

-speaking in tongues proves you've been saved

-speaking in tongues is a thing of the past

-Christians can be possessed by demons

-Christians can't be possessed by demons

-God is sovereign over our every move

-God plopped us here and the rest is up to us

-we need to go to college in order to provide for our families

-God will provide

-it's ok to have fun

-life is hard and we need to take it seriously

The confusing thing is, in most of those cases, you can find a bible verse to back up what you believe. There are some grey areas in the Christian faith.

Churches split over those things. Families divide. Friends part ways because of them.

Why did God do it this way? Why did He make room for so much confusion? So much potential for hurt? We waste so much time and energy focusing on our beliefs and waggling our finger at people who aren't doing it our way.

We really need to put all that on the back burner. We are people, right? We all have baggage. We were all given life and we will all someday die. We are all just bumbling along, taking it one day at a time. I think it's fun, and even good to discuss those things. To banter over them and examine them. But when we forget to love people over them? Then I think we've lost track of our purpose or our reason for being here.

As the Westminster Shorter Catechism says, man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

Ps 86 pretty much sums it up:

Among the gods there is none like you, Lord;

no deeds can compare with yours.
All the nations you have made
will come and worship before you, Lord;
they will bring glory to your name.
For you are great and do marvelous deeds;
you alone are God.
Teach me your way, LORD,
that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart,
that I may fear your name.
I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart;
I will glorify your name forever.
For great is your love toward me;
you have delivered me from the depths,
from the realm of the dead.

Having Fun & Cutting Loose

2011-09-10T06:03:00.005-04:00

I've never, except in the privacy of our living room, enjoyed dancing. Moving in time with the music just isn't my thing. When we clap our way through a song at church I make a choice: sing or clap; I can't do both at the same time. Either my hands are apart when they should be together or I'm clapping when no one else is. So, you can imagine what my entire body does when it's dancing and it ain't pretty.

Along with my lack of rhythm is my fondness for corners. I love to hide in them and remain unnoticed.

And...in the past I just wasn't sure dancing was something "acceptable" to do. Oh I know the bible says it's ok to dance, and even King David danced before the Lord with all his might; but, that's what I wondered about. Is it ok to dance when you're not dancing to the Lord? When you just want to cut loose and have fun?

Well, a few years ago we attended a wedding and reception I will never forget. I knew most of the people there-they all went to our church. At first I hid in my little corner, not wanting to make a spectacle of myself. But then, suddenly and unexpectedly, a very handsome young man appeared, asking me to dance. Me. How on earth could I turn my son down? I knew in my heart that I would never have that opportunity again. He was an adult with his own life to live, busy, moving on...but for that one moment in time he wanted to dance with his mother.

Needless to say, I practically jumped out of my corner and onto the dance floor. We danced and laughed and I didn't care what people thought. I was going to soak up that moment whether it was "ok" or not.

When that song was over and another began I was once again shocked out of my corner. Another very handsome young man (better known as another son) asked me to dance. Words cannot begin to tell you how I felt when at last all 4 of our sons had asked me to dance and had pulled me out onto the floor, right there in front of all their friends. They weren't embarrassed to be seen dancing with their mom, and they didn't seem to notice my lack of timing. It was just plain fun and they wanted to have fun with me.

The whole evening turned into something magical. I know that's a corny phrase, but for now I can't think of a better word to use. It was an eye opening experience. For a few brief hours I cut loose, had fun, and forgot to be afraid of what others were thinking or whether God was watching and approving or not. I knew He was. For a few brief hours I wasn't narcissistic. I just was.

This will sound corny too, but I wonder if that night was a tiny taste of what our first few hours in heaven will be like? We won't be focused on us anymore. The weight of all that we carry here will be gone. We won't be worried about our bills, our health issues, world events, or the things on our to-do list. We will be focused on Him and freedom, being thankful, having fun and cutting loose.

Adopting

2011-09-09T06:09:00.000-04:00

If I had it my way our house would be huge and our family much, much bigger than it is. It seems like every time I turn around I find someone else I want to adopt.

For instance, there's a tiny, weathered grandma I see each week at church; all through the service she appears to be smacking her gums silently while she listens to the sermon. She has a feisty look in her eye that defies her aged body. She looks sweet and tough and ornery- like someone who would keep you in line but laughing while you stood there.

Then there's Bill. He's another old person I'd like to keep. My son and I see Bill almost every day when we walk. At first Bill would just nod, and smile as we passed each other on the road. Then one day he stopped us and asked our names. The next day he wanted to chat for a moment. Now he actually comes wobbling down his driveway to greet us if we don't see him on the road, in a hurry to say hello and visit. Bill's body is falling apart, and he's practically deaf, but his spirit is strong. He's cheerful and sweet and optimistic. He doesn't need adopting-his daughter lives just two doors down and watches out for him-I just appreciate his positive attitude and thankful heart.

Old people aren't the only people I want to bring home. Everywhere I go I see teenage boys that look like they desperately need a mom. I would love to bring them all home, bake cookies for them and tell them they are loved no matter what they may have heard to the contrary. Some people are afraid of teenage boys and avoid them at all costs. I used to feel that way, but having had 3 of them pass through our lives has changed my attitude. Teenage boys are so funny, interesting, creative, refreshing and unpredictable. They don't frighten me at all. And the lost, angry, sad looking boys? I want to clobber their parents. They were given the gift of caring for a sweet little life and they ignored the miracle.

On the other hand you have teenage girls. They intimidate me-I haven't seen too many adolescent girls I'd like to invite into our home. Why do some teenage boys look sad and lost while the girls look a lot like predators?

I must say however, that there are about 6 teenage girls I would actually steal and bring home if given the chance. I'd love to snatch the entire Chinese girls gymnastic team and hide them away somewhere. Talk about sad and lost looking. And after they taught me Chinese or I taught them English, I'd tell them about Jesus and that He loves them even if they never, ever, ever bring home a medal. I'd hug them and love them and just. let. them. be. Don't they look like that's what they need? To just be? Someone needs to tell them that it's possible to be loved even if you don't perform....

Finally, if I had it my way, there would be several bedroom suites way up at the top of the house for some of the single moms I see. I'd give each of them a light, airy room with a comfy rocking chair near a window and a soft, warm crib waiting in an adjoining bedroom. I'd let them rest their weary hearts and reassure them that life can be better; it's always changing and there's always hope. I'd give them nights of uninterrupted sleep by holding their babies, rocking and loving them so their mommas could rest.

Just imagine it....our home full to overflowing-noisy, and busy. Grandparents toddling around, teenage boys making them laugh so hard they'd need their walkers. Small, muscled girls joyfully tumbling and cartwheeling through the house with babies crawling under their flying feet. Weary young mothers sitting and pondering their next step but feeling safe and cared for while they think.

I wonder how much I'd need to build a house like that?

Sponges

2011-09-08T05:24:00.005-04:00

It goes without saying that my parents were very instrumental in my life-they were my parents after all. They had an enormous impact on me simply because they existed. I learned so much just by listening to them and observing how they lived.

I've recently finished tweaking their scrapbooks-every picture I own of each of them is now carefully protected, organized, and sort-of labeled, never again to be jumbled up in ratty old shoe boxes.

I had a lump in my throat the whole time I was working on those scrapbooks-especially my dad's. There were times when I had to stop, cry, wait a few days, begin again. So many memories, and wishes for memories that will never be....

As I worked on their scrapbooks I naturally thought about their lives. They both lived into their 70's but I know so little about them. Just tiny snatches of their stories have been handed down. One thing I've never told you is that I have royal blood flowing through my veins. Yep, it's true. My grandmother was the illegitimate daughter of a German Baron. (Is that something to be proud of? I must admit I am.)

Anyway-there are a few other things I know about my parents. They were strong and determined people. (That couldn't be helped. Dad was 100% Italian, Mom 100% German.) They were generous and funny, creative and practical.

One time I called my dad, feeling "just slightly" out of sorts. "Dad, the place where I'm living has been labeled a cult! What should I do? Should I leave?!"

"Jude, are they hurting you?"

"No."

"Are they jeopardizing your faith?"

"No."

"How long before you're scheduled to leave?"

"Three months Dad!"

"Oh just stick it out. You could stand on your head and spit nickles for that long."

See what I mean? Practical.

When I think about mom and dad, I don't recall noticing any deliberate parenting. They just were and their kids could take it or leave it. As far as I could tell, they didn't have a parenting game plan. I never discovered a spread sheet with step by step goals for each kid carefully charted out.

On the other hand, Mike and I have worked very hard at being "deliberate" parents. Each year we sat down and wrote out the goals we had for each of the boys and then we'd discuss the steps necessary to accomplish those goals.

A few years ago, knowing our sons would soon be old enough to date and marry, I read a book on courtship. That book was impractical, and had some crazy ideas in it that no one I know would ever consider trying. Take this one example for example: When your son finds a girl he wishes to marry he needs to switch homes with her for one year. Meaning, your son moves in with his future in-laws for a year, and that girl moves in with you for the same length of time. They listed many reasons for this, one being to observe the new family.

My point in telling you that is this: can you imagine having a stranger move into your home for the sole purpose of observing you? Of watching how you live and what you do with your time and how you react to things? Being there through all the stresses of a year to see what you'll do with them? Would you change your behavior? Could you fake it for that long? Would you need to or want to?

That's sort of what parenting is like. God puts a tiny stranger in your home to raise, not just for a year, but for 18 years, or more. That baby lives with you, observing you, watching how you live and what you do with your time. Soaking up, like a sponge, who you are. That little person learns how to deal with life and stress and everything by your example. Having goals is a good thing, but not the only thing. It's a scary thought, isn't it?

"Spinning." My State of Being Speech (sort of like the state of the union speech the president gives every once in awhile)

2011-09-06T04:56:00.011-04:00

I "fell asleep" about 15 months ago and have only just recently begun to wake up. For about 14 months I was so focused on pain and healing that there was no room left in my brain for other thoughts. But now? Watch out. I know I'm driving my family nuts; something tells me they would almost prefer my semi-comatose state to the one I'm in now.

I can't stop my brain from going into overdrive. (don't ask me what that means technically. I've heard that phrase often enough that I think it means working really hard.) Whatever- when my brain is busy, so is my tongue. Hence, my nutty family.

Anyway, no matter what you call it, I can't get my thoughts to settle, to relax, to focus. It feels so good to think again that my brain is bouncing around like a lamb in a spring field. "I'm free! What shall I do today?? Oh look over there! No, wait! Look at that! I wonder if I can jump over that bale of hay?! Maybe I can butt heads with Fred!....."

Memories, desires, goals and my lack of goals, the character of God, predestination, regrets, mothering and spousing, theology, my purpose now that mothering and teaching are coming to an end, who am I, now that what I thought my purpose was, is coming to an end? Trying to figure people out, books I want to read, projects I want to tackle, on and on and on......

As if that weren't enough my body is screaming at me too. "I feel better! Do something! Climb somewhere. Go hiking! Spring clean, travel the world, go bungee jumping, sky diving, have fun!" I have to keep reminding my body that we're not there yet. Close. So close to being normal...free....I can taste it and it's driving me crazy! Stopping is not something I do easily and this forced halt has been so not fun. I feel like an arrow neatly tucked into the bow string, quivering, impatiently waiting....(haven't I said that before? If so, that proves my next point)

Then we have the other side of my body. The side that is saying, I'm old. Time to shut down. Nah. Not Yet. Yes. No. Yes. No.....Emotions zingy, thoughts going haywire, body doing strange, annoying things. I'm so thankful for "my" homeopathy guy. He and his concoctions are making this time much easier to bear. I can function like a fairly normal person saving those crazy moments for my oh-so-patient husband.

All in all, I feel like those plates those guys in the circus twirl on sticks. Each part of me spinning in a different direction and barely balanced. Please don't take that wrong. Just because I feel a tish dizzy doesn't mean I'm not happy. I love being alive again and feeling like a person! I'm not just a blob on my bed anymore, waiting. I'm back in the saddle and it feels good.

our beautiful God

2011-09-05T03:22:00.000-04:00

I'm reading bits and pieces of a book called The Gospel According to Job by Mike Mason. Have you read it?
I just read one paragraph recently that really jumped out at me. It is so simple that it never occurred to me to think it. (I'll explain that after I show you the paragraph)

When the Devil is exposed he is shown up to be a cosmic bore, whereas when the Lord shows Himself He
becomes more mysterious than ever. Those who do not really know the Lord take exception to His riddles
and paradoxes. But to know Him is to know continual, exponential growth in one's capacity to live with
contradiction. Divine contradiction is like an exotic food or music:one must acquire a taste for it. Many people, even
the very religious, have no real stomach for mysterium tremendum. They are fine when gazing up into a starry sky,
but when they encounter the infinite abyss of Christ on the human level, it turns their stomachs. This was apparently
the case with one of the great writers of the twentieth century, Franz Kafka, who when asked his opinion of Christ
answered, "He is an abyss filled with light; one must close one's eyes if one is not to fall in." Often people perform the
most astounding mental gymnastics in order to keep from falling into the mysteries of God. Such paradoxes as
predestination and free will are endlessly debated, when if only we would submit our minds to the bright
unyielding enigmas of Scripture, we would see that the New Testament plainly teaches both. Often even mature
Christians have, in some areas a monaural theology; the richness of stereo sounds like noise to their ears.

There is so much there to think about...but let's just take one piece of that paragraph, that one tiny aspect of God, predestination vs. free will. It has been debated in our house over and over and over again. We've dug out different versions of the bible and our concordances and thrown verses at each other like we were ping pong players. All six of us have discussed it until we were blue in the face. Not once, ever, never, did it occur to me that both could be true and possible. What do you think? Could both be true? Or is that a dumb question? Something even a child knows?

I want God to fit into a mold-either He is sovereign over everything and "all things were predestined" or "everything we do and experience is a result of our free will". I would hate to have a God I understood, but I've never really thought about giving Him the freedom to be that not-understandable. Why do we shake our heads and sigh, disappointed in the mystery of His Godness when in reality that's what makes Him God?

In all honesty, I'm not sure I like looking at the possibility of both predestination and free will being true, but I do love the idea. It makes Him huge....

All my life, in order to either bend my head around this idea, (which I couldn't do) or totally ignore it, I have simply clung to Romans 8:28:

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.

I know that's true and when I go through hard things, I remind God that that verse is in the bible. "You promised, God..."

So, what do you think? Or was that book written for 7 year olds and I'm right there with them?