Hello? Is Anybody In There?

Where have I been? I have no idea. And, I have virtually nothing to say, so why am I even back? I'm chock full-o-questions -- no answers.

Remember the movie "The Money Pit"? It's no wonder that movie called to me long before I owned a home, since I've spent most of my adult life re-living some version of it. However, my favorite line from it comes when Shelly Long's character is rushing into orchestra rehearsal. The lady in the chair next to her, with a very proper British accent, is apalled:

"Where have you been? You were almost late!!"

To which Shelley Long repeats a phrase I have used to my husband on more than one occasion: "In this country we have an expression for almost late. We call it "on time."

Troy lives by the philosophy, "If you're early, you're on time; if you're on time, you're late." I live by the philosophy, "I'm here, aren't I?" It has taken some years to reach a happy medium about such. Thankfully, however, our children seem to have inherited their father's sense of punctuality. They're doing a great job of getting themselves to school on time so far.

Not only do Kendra and I share a classroom and all those kids, but our oldest children both started middle school this year. Kendra was asking me how it was going for Ashley and commented that the most interesting story she has heard from middle school has been the kid who got in a fight and then ran away from the teachers and climbed a tree. I figured surely Ashley had missed this excitement at middle school since I hadn't heard anything about it. So, I asked Ashley about "climb-a-tree" boy and she said, "Yeah, I saw it. I told you about it, but you were being 'supermom'."

"What does THAT mean?"

"You were doing 12 different things and weren't really listening."

Obviously, the label of 'supermom' combined with "you weren't listening to me" is my proudest moment as a mother. Really.

I'm hoping to post pictures of what happens when you force an intelligent child to step away from all electronic devices with screens and they find an extra stash of pencils and mix in some army men with their pencil-town-landscape. You, too, should force your child to turn off all electronic devices with screens and see what they come up with. You'll be amazed.

No Title Saturday

Remember Thing Two, of the confused holiday syndrome? This week he also told me on the WAY to lunch: "My bweath smells like nachos!"

Hmmmm. Anticipatory Halitosis. I think he needs to see someone about that.


Close to my favorite back-to-school commercial, but not quite:



My favorite is for the same store, though. Stay tuned!

Does anyone have any grand plans for Labor Day? Any End-of-Summer hoorahs planned out there? I'm thinking about vacuuming. My husband did a ton of my laundry today, so I guess that's out. Big doin's, I tell ya.

Mom's Home!

(First 60 Seconds)
Ashley: I had math homework, but I did it on the bus and can you help me figure out how to clean my clarinet, like REALLY clean, with a Q-tip and alcohol and...

Riley: You're not working tomorrow, are you? I have to be a little late coming home because of color guard. Oh, and Tammy called and wants you to call her back...

Mom: Is it okay if I put my bag down?

(5 Minutes Later)

Mom: I'm taking a hot bath. If the house is on fire, please alert me. Otherwise, please leave me alone for the next 15 minutes. I cannot: answer the phone or door, your question about homework, sign a paper, or get down your snack. I can help you in 15 minutes.

(4 Minutes Later)
tap,tap,tap

Riley: Mooooooom? Can I go next door?

Yes, I've read the book "5 Minutes Peace". Still not very cute to me. Just a little too close to home...

Hallmark, I'm Not

Because it's the first week of school. Because I'm horrible about birthday cards and gifts. Because I know my father will wake up at some ungodly hour in the night, prowl around the house and at some point click on over to my blog:

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Dad has endeared himself to my blog readers by his funny comments (check THIS ONE out!) and his never-failing pride in his daughter. He also has a child-like curiosity about people, vehicles, nature, animals, your hobby, your family, and probably your pets as well. He's pretty easy to talk to, as you might imagine. I generally have so much fun with mom and dad -- and, yes, sometimes it's at dad's expense. But he's a good sport. And a great gran'dad. Well, great as in, excellent. Since my middle schooler is his oldest grandchild, he won't be a great-gran'dad for LOTS of years. But he'll still be fun.

Dad, we're all over here wishing you the happiest of birthdays. About the time you are reading this I will be hustling home from the gym to shower and roll weary bodies from beds and do the whole shuffle-off-to-school routine. Hope your day is full of big real estate deals!

Quote for the Day

Thing One commented that we don't have school next Monday because of Labor Day.

Thing Two pondered this in his heart and then asked, "Is Labuh Day the one where you wear gween so that you don't get pinched by a lepwechan?"

Precisely.

First Day!

I have such a weird life/ occupation. I spent all last week getting ready for school to start. So, what happened today? School started -- and it was my day off! I took my own babies to school -- shed a tear or two over having a middle schooler -- and had coffee with friends, a doctor's appointment, gave blood, did some housework, yada, yada. 'Lest you think I need to move my bracelet, I am NOT complaining! But I did feel disconnected somewhat. I couldn't wait to hear from Kendra, and she reports that we have an awesome class, of course. I hope I don't run out of blog material from Room 24 (like THAT will ever happen! :-)

Everyone in this house had a great first day and all were smiling after school. God provided friends for my middle schooler at every turn. I am so thankful. And tomorrow we will all get up and do it again -- only this time, I will go to school, too!

I need to share some of my new favorites with you! I mentioned a little over a week ago that Paula lost her dad suddenly in an accident. As one who speaks as only one who claims eternal hope can, she wrote of the last public prayer her dad led and how he prayed that he longed for the day he would worship the Lord forever. Oh, that those words would be remembered as our last prayer! Paula went on to mention that it made her think of Chris Rice's song, "Circle Up". So I had to head over to itunes and check it out.

Maybe it's the James Taylor-type style of the song, maybe it's the friendly visuals the song calls to mind, and maybe it's a musical evidence of the hope Paula has in a difficult time, but this is one of my new favorite songs. I just love it.


And, I wanted to share it with you so desperately, this has become my new favorite website because I learned how I can post music on my blog (without you being blasted with it every time you pull up my blog because that is a peeve of mine that causes me to move my bracelet incessantly until I close out the blog).

Enjoy. I hope everyone's first day of school was great. Now grab a hand, twirl a dance, circle up and worship Him!

Good Things Out There

I don't know where Pioneer Woman lives, but I think I need to spend a few lifetimes there.

I endeared myself to my pedicurist yesterday when I told her how she could use her DVR to record Gunsmoke and The Rifleman while she's treating other people to pedicures. It's the simple things in life.

I need to read this post every day. So do you.
Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. 1 Peter 4:10, 11


This is from my church this morning. It made me cry. Indeed, please pray for us!

My Attitude is GREAT, thanks for asking!

Okay, I just have to comment on some of the comments from the last post. You people are SO funny!

I really don't think -- or I DIDN'T until I posted that -- that I'm all that Zig Zigler-ish type positive and don't think it's that big of a deal to simply strive to keep my mouth shut when appropriate. But, indeed, I am striving to be a star in the universe.

Kristy -- no doubt a combo stop complaining/ bracelet-moving exercise program would do some people a LOT of good! Great thoughts!

Brandi -- so I guess you look like a jerk if you complain to the "no complaining" people that you never received your "no complaints" bracelet. That made me laugh more than anything. I should give each of the parents of my class a "no complaining" bracelet. Or simply post this:

And Kendra is absolutely right -- complaining, done correctly, can be HILARIOUS. Hence my personal struggle with trying to quit. I do, actually, find much humor in Kendra's humor. I have had a great time getting my room ready with her. She says all the things I want to say -- she just says it funnier. And she thinks 11 year old boys are the best folks to hang around -- and not in a creepy way. She's just a hoot. Sadly, now that school is starting, I'll see her about 2 more times this calendar year!

Updated -- forgot to mention Miss Bits and Pieces. I used the word 'rumor' because I simply couldn't believe that this tiny, mild-mannered, little china doll of a gal would do such a thing. I still haven't confirmed it with Bits and Pieces, but have heard it from several other sources. Which just proves -- we all have our limit. Please do not try to find mine.

Have a great Sunday -- maybe we could at least take the Lord's day off from complaining! (I think that will be the hardest day for me NOT to complain!)

How's Your Attitude?

This week, as teachers, and soon children, return to school, our campus is participating in this project wearing these bracelets:

You can read the "instructions" here, but the simple idea is this: Wear the bracelet. When you catch yourself complaining, gossiping, or criticizing (I just this minute saw that gossip is included -- I have some work to do!) you move your bracelet to the other wrist. Obviously, the point is to make yourself aware of your behavior so that you can change it. The difficult part is that you are to take your bracelet off after you have gone 21 days without complaining, gossiping, or criticizing. The preacher who started it all confessed that he went through three bracelets before he made his 21 days!!

So, y'all know I am on board with this, since I'm trying to shine like a star in the universe. And let me also confess my pride. The first day I did all right -- I moved my bracelet twice, and once was when I chose to gripe about Heelys and just moved my bracelet as my "payment" for griping! But, pride and the fall, don'tyaknow.

Did I mention that it's the week before school starts? And my class list is 2 over state regulations? And we're out of lamination film until Sept. -- because of that whole clever budget idea, remember? And special ed. has new regulations AGAIN about referring students -- but I do love how our counselor refers to the federal regulations as "The Feds", as if Men In Black will come in and mow down our school should we get a percentage wrong in our referrals. It's been a challenge not to complain. And, I failed at not gossiping or criticizing, but I plead ignorance.

I have cracked up, though, at the lengths people will go to in order to ignore or rationalize their behavior. Which, in all fairness, I don't think this is something you can foist off on people and expect that their hearts are ready to buy into. Sometimes it's all you can do to put one foot in front of the other -- and you need to gripe that you got it done! So I think people should choose if they are ready to change this behavior about themselves -- not their place of employment decide FOR them (it's not a requirement where I work, but it was quite a bit of peer pressure).

So, I think some people are not quite ready for this. The folks who take their bracelet off so that they can gripe freely -- then put it back on -- I'm not sure they're ready! Rumor today was that one lady cut her bracelet into pieces. Not sure she was ready. People are also ready to help you rationalize. When I made a disparaging remark about someone yesterday and said, "I probably need to move my bracelet for that," one sweet soul said, "No, that was simply stating a fact." Okay. So if your griping is fact, it's okay. I have also noticed -- especially this time of year -- that my griping stems from my problem solving thought processes. I see a way this could be done more efficiently, or I don't understand why we do what we do. So I have decided that unless I have the financial resources and/or the time and energy to fix the problem, I better keep my mouth shut.

It's been an interesting experiment. I plan to keep at it. I'm afraid, though, that as I get busy and tired, I will just go 21 days without realizing that I'm griping, gossiping, or criticizing. One of "the rules" of the project is that if you point out to someone else that they need to move their bracelet, then you also must move your bracelet (plank from your own eye and all that). I had to make a new rule for my bracelet today -- if you are not wearing one, you may NOT point out to me when I need to move my bracelet. Especially if you are married to me. It could be bad for your health.

Public Service Announcement

I pride myself on being a "fair and balanced" blog. I believe that every story has at least two sides, and I think we all should strive to see things from others' perspectives. Let's all hold hands and sing with me, "We are the world, we are the children..."

That said, this is my blog. Therefore I have a hard and fast stance to communicate unapologetically. You are welcome to disagree with me -- on your own blog. I will read it, not leave a comment, but shake my head and say, "Bless their sweet soul." For you will be wrong.

Please note these shoes. The marketing world calls them "Heelys" because they have the oh-so-clever skate wheel in the heel.



I prefer to refer to them as, "Satan's Handiwork."

Here is a partial list of all the places these shoes do not belong. I, as the blogger at hand, reserve the right to add to this list at any time for any reason:

• a grocery store
• a restaurant
• a gimongous discount store
• a tiny convenience store
• a department store
• the mall
• my classroom
• amusement parks
• a church building
• any place people may be walking carrying food or small children
• any place people may be pushing a shopping cart
• any place people may be walking that deem their own toes valuable

Here is an extensive list off all the places these shoes are appropriate. This list is complete as-is and will not be ammended:

• a skate park
• a neighborhood sidewalk

Stay tuned for the regular blogging to continue.

What Is Your Legacy?

I kind of had thoughts of "what we pass along to our children" last week -- I'll explain why shortly. Then, our sermon on Sunday was about legacy. We saw this video of a wonderful young man at our church:


Then I came home to read this article in our paper -- that tells of the most recent homicide in our town. A mid-30's woman was killed exactly how her own mother was: in front of her own home by domestic violence. That lady has a daughter and granddaughter already. What is their legacy? Do they have any hope?

Yesterday I visited with a young mom who mentioned that she isn't close to her mom, and hasn't ever been. From watching her with her own girls, I know she is intentional about changing that emotional legacy.

Before Sunday my thoughts were of financial legacy. Part of my staff development over the last year has included reading this book: A Framework for Understanding Poverty by Ruby Payne. She uses the phrase "generational poverty" to describe those whose habits and lifestyle will keep their family at poverty level through several generations. I visited with a gentleman last week that illustrated this clearly, while my work brings me in contact with people in the same situation. Later I would like to devote a post to that -- generational poverty and the habits that keep people there. I find it interesting and eye-opening, but I'm not sure I will ever "get" not wanting to change that legacy.

I'm sure specifically talking about financial legacy sounds shallow and materialistic of me, but I think as we ourselves prepare for our future and our children's future, we leave them a legacy of security and generosity. Or, I should say, we can. We could also leave them a legacy of greed and hoarding.

All of it -- spiritual, financial, and behavioral legacy has given me pause. We all KNOW that we are passing along a legacy to our children. Just sometimes I wonder if it's the one I WANT to leave.

My favorite quote through all of this is from Chris, the young man in the video. He said, "My family history doesn't define me. God defines me." If I can instill THAT in my children, we're good to go.

Good Things Out There

*sigh* This is "Good Things Out There", but I'm still grieving and I ask that you join me in a moment of silence -- for a pair of shoes I can never wear. I came to grips many years ago that the only part of me that can be accused of being "long and lean" stays horizontal and on the ground all the time -- but sometimes I just have to grieve missing out on cuteness. Like these, for instance. They are precious. They call to me. Alas, I must leave them be. If you have a foot shaped like an ample egg, these are for you. And they are on sale at Target this week.

If you aren't from Texas or married to a Texan, you won't appreciate this post. If you are married to a tried-and-true Texan, or even are one yourself, you will simply nod and understand it ALL. I love it.

I've never showed you the wonderful table my Texan made for our home. I confess that I was VERY nervous about exactly how rustic it was going to look. I also confess to growing weary of the empty frame and then rustic slab of wood -- with protective ratty towel -- being in my entry way. But it has SO paid off! Now, however, I THINK we still have another time of dry/ then sand, so it still sits without anything on it in my entry way. But isn't it pretty? (Warning: Y'all know I am all about using words and LOTS of them, but the piece about the table has lots of "blah, blah this tool" and "blah, blah, this kind of epoxy". Just look at the pictures! It's pretty!)

The guys that do this enjoy their job. I like that.

(Non) Flood Update

We are still here, high, dry, and sane! And SO very thankful. Several neighborhoods were evacuated -- I assume homes were damaged, but I've not heard anything yet --, and one poor lady was killed when her car was washed away in flood waters.

I have been very impressed with the city's response. It seemed we all learned something last flood. There have been constant updates and monitoring, as well as upkeep of the creek beds where all of this water drains away from our city. We have gotten two "reverse 9-1-1" phone calls. They weren't horribly informative (be prepared to evacuate, Elm Creek may spill over its banks in 3-4 hours) but it at least made me realize I may want to pay attention to the news/weather -- which I hadn't been doing.

In case you are wondering, yes, I made a few preparations "in case". The kids are in Louisiana with Nonna and Grandad, so I went into their rooms and made sure all clothes and any electrical item -- CD player, etc. -- were off the floor. (Kids -- a)you have some things to take off of your bed when you get home and b)we need to have a little conference about the fact that you aren't supposed to eat in your rooms...) One thing that I learned last flood -- any dirty clothes on the floor, in baskets, whatever -- I had realized they were there, but thought, "I can wash those" -- yes, you can wash them until the creek runs dry and they will still be UT burnt orange due to the red clay mud that washes in with the flood waters. So I picked up dirty clothes baskets off the floor. I put some things in the bathtubs to keep them dry. I also made sure any clothes in closets that still touched the floor were up off the ground. In my closet, I put Rubbermaid tubs on the floor and put the ends of the clothes in there.

There were three things that I didn't get to, but could have done "last minute" (unless we were prevented from returning to our home after church, like some people in the evacuation area were). I hadn't yet gotten my scrapbooks off of the bottom shelf of the bookcase, I hadn't unplugged the computer tower and picked it up -- way too many cords -- and I didn't get the kids' gamecube and that other thing we have -- playstation? something --out of the bottom of the entertainment cabinet. And if the water got deep enough -- it would have all been gone anyway.

Dean is expected to bring even more rain next weekend. I can't spend my week worried and stressed. Here's what I know: if your area is declared a federal disaster, FEMA will buy your home from you at (pre-disaster) appraised value. However, they do that so that they can flatten what's there, and NO BUILDING may ever be built there again. They figure a one-time purchase of a home in a disaster-prone area is cheaper than bailing people out every 3-6 years (and they're right!) Anyway, my neighbor and I decided that if we flood, we will load up what's left, say "Thank you very much" to FEMA for the purchase of our home, and we'll let the neighborhood remember us fondly when they build a park, volleyball court, retention pond, or neighborhood pool on our two lots.

And through it all, God is faithful!

Lord, Plant My Feet on Higher Ground

So the rain. It's raining. A LOT. This desert where I live is gorgeous and green and mild temperatured in August. Not bad. However, the rain just keeps on coming. Tropical storm Erin brought a wash yesterday and through some of today. Next week it will be Hurricane Dean.

Usually, at this time of year, if we are facing the prospect of getting some rain from a hurricane or tropical storm, we silently nod and act as if we are really upset for those poor folks on the coast who are washing away in the storm, yet on the inside we are leaping for joy at the possibility of actual moisture falling from the sky onto our parched and cracked earth. However, this year we're already a little soggy, and the 8 extra inches of rain we got last night is a bit much. At this point, "less is more" is a good mantra.

I have mentioned here, a time or two, that our house flooded shortly after we moved in. I don't think I have mentioned, however, how much we were blessed and carryed along by our surrounding community in that horrible time.

I have gotten 5 phone calls in the last hour: one was my wonderful city -- a recorded message -- telling me to prepare to evacuate. It wasn't an evacuation order, but a "heads up" that they might give one in a few hours. The other four were some of that wonderful community -- checking on us, seeing if we would need a place to sleep, or help filling sandbags. Okay, actually, one was my next-door neighbor, who I initially came to know while mopping out our homes from the flood. She was just telling me that she didn't want to go through this again. I agreed.

For now, we are dry. For always, God is faithful. I did just move back into my house from the jackhammer/ Elegante' Suites adventure. I'm fairly certain that a flood would cause State Farm to wash their hands of my family. I can't worry, though. I can prepare and what will happen will happen. And, already, I'm thankful for the lessons I've learned the first go-'round. I'll keep you posted!

We Interrupt this blog...

I paid $2.48/ gallon for gasoline at a Wal-Mart in Weatherford, Texas.

I needed you to know.

That is all.

School Days, School Days, Good Ol'... Oh, Never MIND!

If you live in Texas and send your child to a public school, they are still underfoot. School in Texas is under some new law about school starting in conjunction with Labor Day, the first full moon after Yom Kippur (I kid. It's just another arbitrary thing that makes as much sense as reality), and yet still before any district's new budget kicks in (I don't kid. Districts start school without campuses -- campi? -- being able to buy Sharpies or plan books b/c new budgets don't start until September 1).

But in my little dusty, wind-blown district, school is in session for the teachers. Today we are all back on contract -- I marvel at the teacher's I met this week who didn't know when they were supposed to go back. You have missed some serious last-minute fun if you didn't know when the fun would end!

So, of course, all the irritation gods conspired against me. Because you KNOW I left at the precise moment that I could get to my campus with 17 seconds to spare. So, of course, MY intersection where I turn to my school was completely shut down and torn apart. Pardon me? Did you not have ALL summer when I WASN'T going to be turning there to do that? When did the city quit consulting me about their construction? Actually, sometimes I think the city follows me around for a month before they decide where to start construction. It's usually in my three most frequented routes.

Then, at lunch, I stopped at my house for a quick bite of lunch but was (cue horror music) OUT OF DIET COKE at the house! So, with about 2.2 minutes to spare (are you catching a theme) I run into my local not-very-convenient store. They are not very convenient because the drink machine was frozen up. Pardon me? I am in desperate need of Nutrasweet and caffeine in that beautiful, bubbly form I love oh-so-much, and your machine picks THIS MOMENT to freeze up? I really try to hide my eye-roll and disgust (I hope you people who said you "loved my transparency" were being honest!) but I think I was fairly transparent at that moment, as well.

I am nothing if not a)resourceful and b)desperate so I remember that the donut place across the street has jumbo drinks for $.99. Why didn't I think of that earlier? My spirits lift as I wheel my car up. AND it's even drive-thru -- I should have come here first. I place my order and dig out my $1.07 ready for the trade. Kind lady says, "That will be $1.38." WHAT??? I KNOW-- it's $.31. AND, 'lest I leave you hanging, YES I paid it! I would have paid $3 at that point. But, people! For my first day of up on a schedule, with clothes on, and no pool-lounging, I am really needing you all to work with me here!

I am NOT going easy into this whole schedule/ routine business...

For My Yoke Is Easy

I started to send this in an email to a select few folks who will know the whole story (and by "select few" I mean, "anyone who happened to be standing nearby while I was whining about this situation"). But I have often said that I am all about transparency, so I shall transparently tell you of my ugly pride and how it continues to stand in the way of the Lord's work.

As the previous post mentioned/ illustrated -- I interpret for the deaf at our congregation. This summer, with college students gone, I have taken on most of the interpreting. As in, all of it. I had a few people who said they would try to help as they could, but, like most folks, they were in and out, and I didn't think any of them were really comfortable with doing most of it, so I forged ahead. For many weeks, I simply considered it my honor to be able to serve. I preached, led singing, shared a communion meditation, prayed, and read scripture, then taught a Bible class -- in my second language. Then, I staggered to a restaurant for lunch, then home for a very long nap. And thus it was.

At one point I figured out that one woman really would help out, she just needed a little advance warning/ notice. So I got her all lined up to help me out on the Sunday I was traveling to Houston -- then her husband got very ill suddenly. And died the next week. And I was SO sad for this precious woman who has become very dear to me and at the same time I was continuing to wear myself out. I prayed and prayed about it. I gave it to the Lord many times over.

Until I finally said, "That's it. I can do no more. During August I will sit. I will not interpret. If our deaf friend would like to know what's happening in service, I will tell him. Otherwise, I will be sitting." I can't tell you the guilt and agony over that one decision. It goes against every bit of my training, but was all I knew to do to save my sanity. Other people who had initially offerred to help were shocked, I guess, and a few started back-pedaling, "I'm not sure how much I can do." or "I may still be gone a lot in August." I told them, "I had to make that decision for me -- whether or not anyone else would step up. Do whatever you are at peace doing -- for that is what I am doing."

So as August has gone on, and people see that I really am sitting, it gets under the skin of some of the interpreters out there, too. They can't let church go by without being interpreted. I truly THOUGHT I had given one and all every opportunity to take my place. Maybe I gave off a "vibe" that I didn't want anyone else to do it. Maybe they weren't ready to take it on. But it seems that now that I am out of the way, interpreters are coming out of the woodwork.

I have repented so many times over of missing the Lord's leading. I think of it as God's work is/ was a steamroller, with me running along in front of it. The Driver was shouting SOMETHING to me, but over the noise of my life, all I thought He was saying was, "Run faster! Run harder! Don't quit! Run faster!" NOW I know He was saying, "GET. OUT. OF. MY. WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Again, with the perfect vision of hindsight, I have also recalled Matthew 11:28-30:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

His yoke is easy! His burden is light. Which should have told me all along, "Hi, Jack. I'm Annette. You're doing it wrong." I was doing it wrong. I let my pride tell myself that surely I had to do it. Surely the Lord needed ME. Now I know that the Lord can use so many more people if I will get out of His way!

How Beautiful

by Sarah Stirman
on heartlight

She drove to mid-week service in a stupor. Stress of the day and physical weariness consumed every fiber of her being. She tried to relax, breathing slowly and praying.

The praying became pleading, "Lord, I am honored to participate in my ministry — signing for those who are hearing impaired, but Father I am so physically weary. I know it needs to be done tonight. I know others are depending on me for their worship experience. Father, let me remember that it is for You. It seems like it's for others, and taken for granted that I will do it; but Father, let me always remember that it is service to You. Continue to lead me to serve You faithfully."

She made it to the church building and wandered inside, smiling wearily at the church family she encountered. Her heart still prayed; her body still weary.

With a few blissful moments before duty was required, she reveled in the singing voices around her. With closed eyes she joined in the songs of praise and prayer, still pleading with the Lord for a clean heart (Psalm 51:10-12).

With the first few lines of the next song — "How Beautiful" by Twila Paris, see full lyrics below — she was sure the Lord was speaking directly to her:
How beautiful the hands that served
the wine and the breadand the sons of the earth.
How beautiful the feet that walked
the long dusty roads
and the hills to the cross.
How beautiful
is the body of Christ.

She began to pour forth praise that she was a part of the body of Christ, that she was able to serve, and that the Lord was reminding her through these words, which come from HIS word (Isaiah 52:7), that serving hands are beautiful hands to Him.

The tears flowed freely as the song continued:
How beautiful the radiant Bride
who waits for her Groom
with His light in her eyes.
How beautiful when humble hearts give
the fruit of pure lives
so that others may live.

How beautiful
is the body of Christ.
How beautiful the feet that bring
the sound of good news
and the love of the King.
How beautiful the hands that serve
the wine and the bread
and the sons of the earth.
How beautiful
is the body of Christ.

Yet again, the Lord was so faithful to pour out His Spirit and fill her empty soul. Not only did He give strength to the weary (Isaiah 40:29), He reminded her that she was beautiful in her service to Him! And every woman loves to hear that she is beautiful. The king is enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord (Psalm 45:10).

He was enthralled by her beauty. The beauty was the beautiful hands that were serving Him. The beautiful, serving hands would honor Him and praise Him for the rest of her days.

TWILA PARIS lyrics

Good Things Out There

Tammy mentioned my "new look". I spent a little while Saturday afternoon playing with my template/ layout. I especially like my new little sidebar button.





Soon I will tell you why that verse has new significance for me.

This doesn't exactly fall under "Good Things Out There" category, but we can be Christ's body to a hurting sister. I learned this morning that a precious woman of God that I know lost her father in a tragic accident this week. My heart is heavy and I am so sad for Paula and her family. Please say a prayer and remember all of them.

I like to consider Antique Mommy a personal friend. I'm sure you do, too. Even though I have never laid eyes on her in person or heard her voice, she touches my soul. The last few weeks she has had a lengthy series that talks of a legacy-altering event in her family's history. You need to read it.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Conclusion

**Updated ** I almsot forgot this little treasure: Go read this adorable story.

Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:4

The first time I got this video in my email inbox, I couldn't wait to share it with you. The fifth time I got it in my email inbox, I was fairly certain you saw it recently. But it is PRECIOUS. Can you do this?

Expelliarmus!

Nathaniel got the closest guess to the cardboard tube conundrum at my house. Indeed, if the Harry Potter craze isn't over soon, I will not have any hangers for pants! We are casting spells on each other, Mom, Dad, and the dog. Expelliarmus!

You MUST see Paula's idea for diverting grumpy shoppers in her comment under "A Plan". Aren't digital cameras the best thing ever? "Sure, take 48 pictures of your thumb! No sweat!"

I'm doing "assigned writing" today. Now I remember why I don't consider myself a writer -- assigned writing is also what I refer to as "forced writing" because I have to force myself to do it. To me, it's like building a brick wall using only my hands -- no tools. It's messy, each word is laborious, and when it's finished it's as attractive as a brick wall built using only hands. My writing, the writing that pours from my soul, does just that -- it pours out of me, as frantically as an artist who MUST get their work on canvas. I can't write or type fast enough. Unfortunately, I have to wait for that kind of writing to wash over me. As you have noticed, if you're still hanging around this blog, I'm in quite a dry spell lately. So "forced writing" is about the only writing happening these days!

Pop Quiz

What fascination is currently gripping my family (okay, my children) so that I don't have one hanger in my house that still has a cardboard tube on it?

In Christ Alone

I awoke to these words on my radio this morning:

In every victory,
Let it be said of me,
My source of hope,
My source of strength,
Is Christ alone.

Psalm 23 says "He restores my soul." This week my soul has been restored. And, amazingly enough, as much as I have professed being an introvert -- He has restored my soul by talking to other people. Soothing people -- you know the kind: the opposite of chafing people. And you KNOW the chafing people. I'm thankful for those soothing people. I'm thankful for my restored soul. And I'm thankful for my victory -- in Christ alone.

In every victory,
Let it be said of me,
My source of hope,
My source of strength,
Is Christ alone.

Good Things Out There

So much I want to share you with you!

First, this isn't a good thing, simply my observation for today: don't ever underestimate the soul-nourishing value in simply sitting amongst believers letting the word of God be spoken to you, and time to sing praises in return. Please don't ever let me take that for granted.

On to good things:

Think what you will about our military, government spending, or the war in Iraq. Good things are going on in our military and here's proof: Read about my friend, Jumpin' Jack Flash's opportunity to be pilot for a day at our local air force. But, most importantly, check out the BEAUTIFUL pics his photographer mom took here.

Celebrate a very special anniversary with another Sarah and her gorgeous girl, Addison.

Lastly, I have mentioned my good and faithful mechanic here before (and here, too). In fact, there was a point in time that I LONGED to make a blog post, "An Ode to My Mechanic", but since I am poetically challenged, I could only make it look like this:

Oh, John W., we love you.
Oh, John W., we'll be true.
When you aren't with us,
We're blue and our car is, too.
Oh, John W., we love you.

"The poet laureate of Dogwood Lane" -- that's me (quick, where's that quote from?)

So, thankfully, John W. can let you see for yourself why our family thinks he's all that and a box of dougnuts:

A Pic for Saturday

It's not always an entirely bad thing to have to make your 2nd trip of the day to the grocery store. If you keep your eyes open and look around, you'll probably find a blessing the Lord has for you.

Who Should You Call for Help?

Borrowing Denise's "Friday Fun Zone" idea... I saw this at a teacher workshop yesterday. Currently, it's about all I remember from the workshop!

A Plan...

Seriously, you've gotta try this:

When kids are too old to ride around the store in the cart but too young to be elsewhere in your eternal summer days while you grocery shop, do this: Give each kid a $10 bill. They are free to spend up to $2 of it on candy, the rest is for snacks and/or breakfast items that they generally harass me about unmercifully and I never buy. They will be gone for about 7 minutes and return with their sugar-laden bags and, depending on the kid, anywhere from $5 to $.07 in change. Then, when they continue on your trip with you and MUST have something, you can reply, "Do you have any money left?" Well, then.

The only drawback is when one child runs into a former teacher and explains, "My mom paid me $10 to go away." I'm expecting that phone call from CPS any moment.

Dear Children,

Yes, indeedy, I realize summer is dragging on. And, this year, we have an extra couple of weeks of summer. And, because God is so very funny this way, this is almost the rainiest summer in our little town's history. So we have more and more weeks of indoors togetherness. I know you are wearying of me. Your none-too-pleasant words and tone of voice have illustrated this. The following is a list of answers to your questioning retorts. Feel free to use any or all of them at your leisure. I've found it best if I not speak right about now:

• I do NOT have to explain myself to you -- I gave birth to you.


• Because I said so.


• Because you live in my house, eat my food, and breathe my air, that's why.


• How 'bout I just let you continue living in my home rent free and we'll call it even?


• Nothing -- but I can tell you what I WILL give you if you DON'T.


• (Fill in the blank with whatever you deem satisfactory just do it for the love of Pete before my head blows completely off my body).

Summertime and the livin' is mouthy...

Practice Hospitality

I am far enough along in this world to acknowledge and appreciate that the Lord has given me certain gifts. Some of you -- okay, probably only Dad -- think I have a gift of words and writing. Other people may say that my intelligence is a gift. I will readily acknowledge that I do have above average intelligence, but lately I feel as if I only use my gift to be impatient and critical of those not quite so intellectually gifted.

I'm also far enough along in this world to acknowledge that there are certain gifts that I don't posses in any degree. Seriously, imagination is one. That's why (*gasp*) I don't get too much into Harry Potter OR Narnia. It's not in my world, I have no frame of reference with which to make it line up, and I can't picture it. Maybe that's why 'style' seems to be elusive, as well (is stylishness a spiritual gift? I think it could be!) If I haven't already seen it done, I can't/ won't come up with it. For my wardrobe OR my home.

While I am tempted to jaunt off down the long and winding road of all the ways I am NOT gifted, the point of this post is hospitality. I do not consider that to be one of my gifts.

Well, let me rephrase that: Is hospitality ONLY the act of welcoming people into your home? Because that is my question, I guess. It's hard for me to have people over for (at least) 18 different reasons. I do it on rare occasion and do enjoy it but you know people who have that GIFT, don't you? It is not mine.

So I ponder on these scriptures:


Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality. Romans 12:13

Do I have to have people in my home to share? Is that the only way?

What about this:

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms.1 Peter 4:8-10

If we are to "offer hospitality (AND without grumbling)" and also "use whatever gift I have received to serve others" -- is that a contradiction? What if hospitality isn't my gift?

And, again, I'm asking, by definition is hospitality having people come into your home? Don't get me wrong, I think there is immense value in welcoming fellow Christians into your home for times of fellowship and laughter. But I've mentioned here before that I'm classified as an introvert, which means that being around other people is fatiguing to me. My home is energizing to me. It is my refuge and time to recharge. In my pajamas.

So something that was mentioned in Sunday school a few weeks ago made me think maybe I'm not a complete loser/ failure in this regard. The teacher mentioned hospitality as a trait you carry with you. It wasn't his point at all, and he quickly skipped to another subject, but it made me think about this subject. I can't stand for anyone to feel left out in any manner. I can't stand for anyone to walk into a church building and have no one talk to them. I can't stand for anyone to feel as if everyone around them has been friends forever and they are missing all of the jokes. It is my burden (and by this I simply mean that it is something the Lord has put on my heart) to reach out to the invisibles -- especially in my classroom. Those kids who don't cause problems and do okay but aren't stellar in school. They are in danger of being invisible to a harried teacher of 22. Am I being hospitable when I seek out those folks? The left-out and invisible? Or am I simply trying to justify being a poor and infrequent hostess?

Is hospitality your thing? Where are you hospitable?

(P.S. -- if you were a recent dinner guest in my home, this is NOT a not-so-veiled attempt to garner accolades for my adequate hostessing skills. It's just what I've been thinking.)

What Do You Know...?

What do you know when:

• you're scrounging dinner from what you can create from the 'fridge because it's the end of camp/vacation month and payday is still two days away?
• your washing machine sits chock full of hot water and nasty whites that desperately need to be agitating, yet still it sits? (At least YOU are agitated by this point).
• the "hit-the-tennis-ball-against-the-wall-between-the-windows" game finally results in a broken window?
• you have a meeting to look forward to for the evening hours?

You know it must be a Monday. Good thing God is bigger than all those little annoyances.

A Pic for Monday

Returning from our get-away week, Troy and I stopped in a convenience store in Small Town, Texas. Small Town was a lovely town with a quaint little square full of shops surrounding the courthouse. And, as evidenced by this picture, a wonderful town full of people being community to each other. And, believe me, I know the spirit behind the people doing this is pure gold. They are doing what they know to do to help someone they love. But it made me laugh uncontrollably.

'Cause, and I'm just throwing this out here, to benefit someone's heart condition, you may want to go with something other than fried pies, cream puffs, cakes, and breads. But that's just me.

Riley Got His Groove Back

I doubt you missed it, but I didn't tell just a whole lot about baseball season here. Not much to tell, even though our little team went to the finals. This was Riley's first year in the 9-12 year old league, so he was one of the youngest and most inexperienced. This league is also his first experience with kid pitch. He saw plenty-o-the-bench and got up to bat only once each game. He pretty much got to where he would gamble on getting walked or struck out by just standing at home plate holding the bat.

He did, at one point, get hit in the face (on the face plate of his helmet) by a pitch. In kid pitch, you're going to get hit by a ball. But it evidently scared Riley enough that he could hardly stay in the batter's box if a pitch got close. Since he had so few opportunities at bat during the season, we didn't really address it. As long as he was having fun... but we knew he would have a better time if he could show what he was capable of doing.

Advance to summer league -- summer league is an instructional league where you play two full weeks of games, but don't have any practices. You also aren't allowed to play the same position two innings in a row and Riley's coach was great about mixing things completely up and letting anyone pitch that wanted to, etc. Riley has had a great time, but didn't swing the bat one time. Oh, he got up TO bat, but stood with his bat on his shoulder. Sometimes he walked. Sometimes he struck out. He always leapt out of the batter's box if the ball got close.

After his 2nd or 3rd night in a row striking out without swinging his bat, I talked to his coach after the game. "Not swinging isn't his primary problem. He's moving his feet to jump out before the pitch is even thrown. If we can get him to stay in the batter's box, then we can worry about him swinging the bat." So we had a little family conference when we got home -- we didn't really intend to, but it worked out that we were all in there and, of course, Riley felt attacked. It was awful. His little quivery chin and watery eyes and "But I can't tell if it's going to be a strike or not." We told him we were just telling him what he couldn't see for himself and told him some other things coach had said that may help. With only two games left in summer league, we just wanted the guy to make contact with the ball.

The next night coach had him bunt just so he could track the ball and make contact with the ball (it worked like a charm, but I would think the last thing you would try to get a kid to do if they were afraid of getting hit is try to bunt -- that's why I'm not in charge, I guess). He fouled and ended up striking out, but he at least made contact. Awesome. We just raved when we got home about his turn at bat.

Last game was Friday night. We invited two families to come watch the game with us and then to eat dinner -- since that's kind of the only way you can have a social life during baseball season. Once we got to the ballpark, Riley got pulled from his regular team to fill in for another team (from our same little league) who was a player short. He knew some of the players, but not the coaches. Their little team was playing a tough team from across town who, in their first inning at bat, got all 6 runs (only 6 allowed per inning) before an out.

Our (new) little team got up to bat. Some hits, some walks, some outs, and (dum, dum, dum) Riley gets up to bat with bases loaded, two outs, and eight of our friends there to watch! My stomach was ROLLING -- "Please just let him make contact!" I recited over and over. The first pitch, he tried to keep his feet in the batter's box, but jumped the top of his body back. He completely lost balance and tumbled back about a mile. Bless him. Okay, he recovered. Second pitch, he smacked it so hard it sailed out to far left field. When it bounced up it hit one of the advertising signs on the fence. I don't remember much else except the screaming -- my own, of course. The little turkey made it a home run and since bases were loaded, that is known as a GRAND SLAM.

Riley's hit tied up the game to 6-6 and that was the last time all night his new little team was anywhere close to ahead. And, like those games tend to do, continued to drag on and on. The last time we had time to get up to bat the first kid struck out, second kid got out and first, and then it was Riley's turn at bat. Again, two outs, only this time there was no one on base and we were losing 18-7. I figured anything he did would be a downer from the first phenomenal hit. He swung once and missed. He didn't swing at a way-outside ball. Third pitch, he knocked it to almost the same exact spot as the first. Only this time, left-fielder was ready. It was a win-win: Riley got another fabulous hit, and it ended the eternal game! Riley's slump is definitely over -- maybe mine is, too!

I wrote this article two years ago after I was driving to pick up Riley from baseball practice with my windows down. I drove by another team practicing and heard the 'ping' of a successful hit (sorry if that offends your baseball sensibilities: bats don't thwack anymore, they ping). I knew there would come a time that Riley making that ping would give me a thrill. Indeed it has.

But Will She Do Windows?

Having an 11 year old girl is quite a learning experience. There is crying, eye-rolling, back talking, hormone surges, and door slamming on a good day. But there is also, "Mom, do we have the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies?" And she's off, knowing she DARE not leave my kitchen any worse for the wear. And soon there will be fresh chocolate chip cookies. I think I'll keep her.

Summer Blahs

Yes, I'm actually in town. And perusing my list of summer-things-to-do-still-undone. And it is LONG. I haven't touched my sewing machine. I've done 2 of about 10 things I was going to do for my classroom. I have moved back in from the month-long hotel stay, but I still seem to have plenty of overflowing drawers and cabinets.

Obviously, I'm not really blowing the doors off the bloggy world, either. Because I'm not doing anything. Well, nothing to report anyway. And I'm evidently not thinking anything. Well, nothing to report anyway. "If you can't say something nice...!"

It finally is raining for less than an hour each day (I don't think it has rained at all today -- yet!) so we are soaking up our pool time. We're also in the middle of summer league baseball. It's two weeks of games and players change positions each innings. It's been a real learning experience for everyone. It is also the best summer ever to have picked to play summer league. It's the end of July and temperatures are in the 80's or even 70's by the evening. That does NOT happen around here -- ever. And, there's always Webkins, the biggest time-drainer, ever. But Goober's Lab was the game of the day yesterday, people! You CANNOT pass up a deal like that!

Yes, I know, I promised a report of our get-away, but I also promised a report on my Colorado trip 13 months ago. I've gotta pace myself. For the record, we went to Fredericksburg, Texas, and relaxed so well we slid around like the folks on the McDonald's breakfast commercials. You know, I THOUGHT that Troy and I were doing okay about protecting our time together -- we have fairly regular date nights and lunch dates -- but a vacation together is a whole other deal. Did you know that a vacation without children is actually restful and relaxing? Who knew? It was nice to find out we can still hold a conversation, laugh, and just sit together well.

So I shall go and do some more fun summer things -- like laundry and wiping the ice cream handprints off the doors -- and commit to try to think or do something exciting to report. So how's your summer going? Do you make a to-do list? If so, are you tackling it?

Because I'm a Mom...

... I read the directions to, and successfully loaded, the stink cartridge in a treasure of a garage sale buy: The Stink Blaster.

... I did approximately 15 loads of laundry in the two days prior to delivering two different children to two different camps and two parents to one get-away destination.

... I successfully planned and executed a baseball meeting and two camp drop-offs with a Sunday afternoon itinerary that resembled a NASA launch schedule.

... I swallowed a lump in my throat leaving everyone at his and her respective camps.

... I THOROUGHLY enjoyed my get-away destination while occasionally hoping with all my heart all was okay at all of the camps.

... I couldn't wait to squeeze little necks at the end of camp. I've only successfully completed half of this one -- still have to wait to re-claim one little neck tomorrow.

Can't wait to tell you about my trip! Glorious!

The Community at M.D. Anderson vs. The Beast

I just returned from a quick trip to Houston where my dad had surgery at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. (quick side note – Dad is GREAT after having a benign tumor removed from inside his head. That’s a whole other crazy story unto itself) Across the street from M.D. Anderson is the Rotary House Hotel – a hotel run by Marriott, but part of the Texas Medical Center complex in Houston. You have to have a patient number to even check-in to the Rotary House. So, as soon as you walk in – to the hotel or hospital, either one – you are automatically ‘in’. Not ‘in’ as in ‘hip’, but ‘in’ as in ‘in the group’ or ‘on the team’ or ‘one of us’. The Beast* of Cancer has touched you in some manner.

Being ‘in’ at M.D. Anderson reminds me of when Christopher Reeve was voted president of the American Paralysis Association. He said, “I’m president of a club I wouldn't want to join.” As soon as you walk into M.D. Anderson you are in a wonderful community of people who never want to join that particular community. You are given a front-row seat as people you don’t know engage in the most intimate and basic struggles in life – the fight to stay alive.

If you are among the patients or family at M.D. Anderson, it’s because the Beast has clutched a life, shaken it hither and yon, and left it upside down, leaving the occupant to wonder if he/she will live long enough to right themselves.

You’re automatically on the team and granted unlimited kindness, for no one knows where your fight has taken you that day. Volunteers, patients, doctors, technicians, food-service workers, patient’s families, housekeepers, nurses and so many more all openly and warmly welcome you as one of their own – for you are fighting the fight, as well. There’s no elevator rage, line-position envy, or grudging the cafeteria prices. There’s plenty of, “No, you go ahead.” “You have a great day, Sugar” and piles and piles of laughter. It’s as if one of the unspoken rules is that we must not let the Beast sense any disunity among the survivors! We must present a united front. There are smiles and nods and searching eyes. As I looked into the eyes of survivors, I saw the same questions I was asking internally reflected back: “Why are you here?” “How are you holding up?” and, of course, “Are you going to make it? You’re going to make it, right? My own hope depends on you making it – you HAVE to make it!”

It seems that even my kids picked up on it. I took them with me, honestly, because it was easier than figuring out how else to juggle them, and because I knew they would be fine. They were more than fine. They seemed to sense being admitted into the community of survivors, as well. They walked and walked and hiked the maze that is M.D. Anderson. They waited and waited and waited some more. They did it all without griping or arguing -- with me OR each other! Truly, there is some magic dust in the halls of M.D. Anderson.

Maybe it’s the visible reminders of the survivors. We saw an elderly woman with no nose. We saw a 20-something young lady with no right shoulder or arm. We saw three bald women and one precious bald little girl – two of the ladies had beautiful sequined hats, all had beautiful, beaming smiles. We saw IV pole after IV pole being waltzed through the halls by its accompanying survivor. We sat in the waiting room with the family of a gentleman who was having his esophagus removed and his stomach stretched up to do the job of the esophagus. We saw one anguished man pace the waiting room for no less than 6 hours – he was still pacing when we left.

Today as I drove back and returned to civilization and real life – maybe more accurately: real shallow life, I wondered what life would look like if we gave everyone the same kindnesses out here. What if the person who almost walked into you without seeing you had spent all morning in a waiting room waiting on news of a loved one? What if the gentleman who was impatient had been unable to eat while waiting on a test that has been delayed by hours? What if the “idiot driver” had vision overtaken by tears as the enormity of the Beast overwhelmed her? My precious preacher keeps talking about what makes us be community to each other. I'm pretty sure the folks at M.D. Anderson have a handle on it. Heaven forbid we must be touched by the Beast to figure it out.

Like everyone else, I never wanted to be introduced to anything about The Beast – the hospital that treats it, the community that fights it, or the medical personnel that would devote their lives to fighting it. Now that I have been, though, I feel so blessed to be a part of that world – just a tiny, little way-out fringe part, quietly looking on, finding ENORMOUS blessings in my family’s situation, while pleading-praying for those around me. Leave it to The Beast to put all of life into perspective.

(*I stole the reference to cancer as The Beast from a fabulous article at the back of the current ACU Today that I cannot currently locate and isn't posted online yet-- when I find the originator of the phrase, I will give him due credit as the accurate genius he is)

Complaint Department, 300 Miles That Way -->

Do you have someone that you call when you just need to vent? If not, please do not make it me. I am evidently several folks' go-to steam release, and I've about had my fill of the griping. Don't get me wrong, I have done my share of griping, and once I get started... oh, man. And, better yet, I love to use BIG words when I gripe, so it becomes hysterically funny. I think that's why I'm having such a hard time listening to the complaints of others -- I want so much to join in. Like a dieter who has a hard time hanging out with her friend who is trying to put on weight, it's hard for me to listen to some griping and not join in.

About a year ago, I REALLY read Philippians 2:14-16a: "Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life." Sure, I knew the verse "Do everything without complaining or arguing," and I'm pretty sure I had my children memorize it as well. Not only is it a directive (order/command), it has a reason with it -- and a darn good one: "so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life." Basically, how in heaven's name is the world going to know you belong to Christ if you're just as gripy as the next person? And, truly, when I look around at my life -- what in the world do I have to gripe about anyway? I mean, honestly...!

I really do TRY to limit my griping to God and my husband. Sometimes I will call Troy and say, "I don't need you to do anything, but I just need to VENT." If I ever need to vent ABOUT Troy -- oh, yeah, it happens -- I really try to keep that between me and God. 15 years ago we became one -- I signed up to be a part of him as well as being his biggest fan and cheerleader. I don't need to "spread the (kill)joy" by griping about half of me to other folks. That is where it is really hard to not join in when griping is around me, 'cause, turns out, some other husbands can annoy their spouses, too. But then you have to remember that marriage is for our holiness, not happiness, right? It's all a cycle.

So, when you get all good and worked up about whatever it is, please do not call/email/stop-by-my-house/whatever. Blog about it. Pray about it. Find what the Lord has to say about it in scripture. Google it -- I'm sure at least 15,000 other people have your same exact gripe.

I'm over here trying REAL hard to shine like a star in the universe!

For Terral

Everyone check out Terral's comment to this post. Hilarious. Which made me laugh out loud, and start to sing the song. So, for a little nostalgia (and don't forget to gather your kids 'round -- they've never seen it, and they need to!)

Why Is It?

Why is it that you can take not-so-smallish kids to the dentist's office and they climb up the walls, stand on the chairs, swing on the doors, then on to get a haircut where they roll on the floor collecting hair from the last decade, re-arrange the furniture and engage in hand-to-hand combat in such a manner that granny gets knocked off of her walker, then when you return home they collapse on the couch and lie inert for the remainder of the day?

Heavy Thoughts for the 4th

I haven't been able to get this post out of my mind. If you're too busy/ lazy to click over, the part that I think about the most is the question: "What if all of life was worship--the way we approached every day...expecting God to show up?" I admit that I initially, very smugly, thought, "Yes, indeed, it is the way I live life and it is a glorious life."



So I challenged myself, for one day, to "expect God to show up." It starts out easy enough, because my summer habit has become to start my day with my Bible and prayer, then go on my walk, where I generally continue much of my prayer. Which is why I felt like it is how I spend my day. And, no doubt, I do spend much of my day in constant dialogue with God and enjoy the constant conversation.



However, as I spent a day "expecting God to show up" I realized there is virtually nothing I want to be caught watching on TV when God does show up -- I'm either feeding my desire for materialism, or enjoying watching someone else's immoral life. If God is going to be present in my driving, I may want to take it a little easier on my fellow travelers and obey all traffic laws, not merely regard them as "suggestions". I also need to live a little less by my 'to-do' list, and a little more, well, expecting Him to need me to get off my franny when He shows up. Not that I'm on my franny all the time, but I do LOVE my to-do list, and to veer from it is difficult. But I'm willing to bet God just might show up with something for me to do that is NOT on my to-do list. That's a challenge. Of course, there's always the constant arguing of the children -- is God in that? Maybe not, but I bet God wants me to guide them in problem solving rather than yell at them to cut it out.

I know this is another variation on the 'WWJD' theme/ idea, but we don't have bracelets made just yet, so people may actually think about it. What does your day look like when you expect God to show up? Give it a try -- you may be surprised to find that He's already there, just waiting for you to notice.

Random Thoughts on a Soggy Tuesday

This weekend was the way weekends were intended. Troy and I worked around the house on Saturday and wore ourselves OUT. My current ministry at church takes everything I have out of me by the time church is over, so it's all I can do to even say "good morning" to people on my way out the door to get some lunch and get in bed. So we napped on Sunday afternoon and then did... nothing. The kids played some games, Troy spent some of his birthday money at Lowe's, and I cleaned out my armoire'. Yes, that is NOTHING at this house. We all hung out together and and had a great time.

Then, I guess due to the nap, Troy and I both had insomnia Sunday night. It was like a slumber party, only the one of us that had to get up to go to work on Monday was a little bit grouchy for the party.

It's STILL raining around here. Pretty strange for the desert. Since none of it is finding its way into my home, I'm not sick of it yet. I'm just cleaning out cabinets and getting things done and refereeing the madhouse. Yesterday I took the dog for a walk when it had gotten cloudy, so I thought it would be nice and cool. 15 minutes into my walk, I could tell it was going to be cool and wet. So I turned for home. But it was just a few drops here and a few drops there so I kept going, enjoying the cool and sprinkles. I was about 100 yards from home when the bottom fell out. So, I got in a little bit of a soggy jog, as well. The kids were worried SICK.

Run the Race

by Sarah Stirman
on heartlight

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. (Hebrews 12:1 NIV)

This passage from the book of Hebrews has always been one of my favorite verses. In the few-and-far-between seasons of my life when I am a runner, I love to meditate on this verse as I run. Life is a race — A marathon! — and I am so encouraged to think of the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds me.

The phrase in the version with which I am familiar reads "the sin that so easily entangles." This phrase kind of tripped me up. To me it sounded as if sin is a creeping vine that seems friendly, enticing, and harmless until you realize that you’re in too deep and helplessly stuck.

While I know that’s true of sin in so many ways, it didn’t fit with the running analogy to me. Most runners I know avoid running through foliage. Also sin, in my own personal experience, is much more like a wrecking ball in the cartoons than it is like a vine — creeping or otherwise. By the time I have identified the sin (wrecking ball), I am lying flat on my back, complete with stars and birdies circling my head, wondering how I got there.

However, more recently I have come to think of this phrase in a new way. I am struggling with forgiveness — even somewhat struggling with laying down the badge that identifies me as "someone wronged." I know this is not the life Christ has called me to embrace, yet I battle with finally laying down this burden of another’s sin. I have prayed and thought and meditated about why this is so difficult to let go.

I recently prayed asking God to let me run this race victoriously. That’s when this verse came to mind: I must throw off the sin that so easily entangles! Sometimes I cling to my past sins and let them weigh me down. Sometimes I cling to another’s sin against me and let that weigh me down. It’s impossible to run with perseverance the race marked out before me if I am clinging to all of the burdens of the past — my own or anyone else’s. Christ calls me to run victoriously and I can’t do that with my hands full of old junk. It hinders me and I must lay it down if I want to run the race ... victoriously.

The apostle Paul gives us this victory thanksgiving: "But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him." (2 Corinthians 2:14) I love to think of the "triumphal procession" as the time we are being led in as a victory parade after we have finished our race victoriously. We already know who wins this race.

Now, let’s run it victoriously!

Originally published April 26, 2006.

Pride, Fall, Pride, Fall, Happy

Pride -- My post on caring for your "temple". ALSO forsaking caffeine (FOR THE SUMMER ONLY, PEOPLE) to better care for my temple!



Fall -- Forgetting to take my iron pills for a week at the same I'm quitting caffeine-- SO tired I can hardly walk across the floor. Try to persevere and get back on my iron pills.



Pride -- Iron high enough to give blood! Which, when you're so tired you can hardly walk across the floor, giving away a pint of life-giving blood is one of the wiser things you can do, right?



Fall -- Blood pressure, however, is 93/60. I realize that perhaps caffeine is a good thing for my body.



Happy -- I'm ironized and caffeinated and functioning. The sun has finally come out and LIFE IS GOOD.

The Give-aways! You Won't Believe the Give-Aways!

Okay, 5 Minutes for Mom has give-aways at least once a month, usually more often. It's usually for those with little-bitties, which I no longer have, judging by the size of the shoes strewn about my living room right now.

But for the 4th, they have completely out-done themselves and I am just signing up trying to win like a crazy lady. I mean, are you kidding me? And don't we all need one of THESE?

Click on over and check them out!

How Great The Father's Love

by Sarah Stirman
on heartlight

I overheard a young mother recounting her nighttime ritual of laying her head on her pillow and asking herself, "Did I love my family enough today? If something happens to me tonight will they know exactly how much I loved them?"

As an "older and wiser" woman — and more skeptical and a bit jaded, I suppose — my first instinct was to laugh: "Well, of course you didn't love them enough! How silly!" Jesus conceded that though we are imperfect parents (He literally called us "evil"!) we still do the best we know how! (Luke 6:11-13) Chances are, I did NOT love my family enough today or on any day.

Her question, however, haunted me. I continued to turn it over again and again in my mind. The question seemed a bit less daunting and a lot less accusing if I rephrased it: "Could I love my children more, could I love my children better, tomorrow?"

Well, Lord willing, I will be given tomorrow with my family. And yes, I will try to love them more completely tomorrow. However, none of us is promised tomorrow for our families or ourselves.

I have wept with mothers who have kissed tiny foreheads for the last time to send them to "The Land Where There Is No Tomorrow." I have prayed and pleaded with mothers whose children have been precariously close to the edge of "The Land Where There Is No Tomorrow." Those women know what it is to lay their heads down at night and ask, "Did I love them enough ...?"

My husband and I have tangoed around the line of calling it quits on "happily ever after." With our new resolve for our marriage, I am painfully aware of how fragile a marriage can be. I am fully aware of his choice to be here. I am intentional about daily letting him know that I appreciate his choice and all that he is to our family. Thankfully, I have not faced the horrific loss of one of my children. But, I think I have failed to be intentional about letting them know how thankful I am for them, as well.

The old apostle John, near the end of his life, reminded us, "How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!" (1 John 3:1) My loving Father has LAVISHED His love on me. Surely, that lavished love should run over and splash on my family.

One small thing I am realizing more and more is that as my children grow, the frequent opportunity to touch or hug them is diminishing. I don't lift them in and out of car seats or high chairs any more. I don't help them in and out of the bathtub, wipe their faces, or even brush their hair for them any more. They are no longer at an arm's distance or underfoot all day, so I must be intentional about meaningful touch for my children. I know that my arms ache when my husband is not in town to hug and touch me. My children need touch and love even more!

I also realize that sometimes I really have to try to listen carefully to what my children say. I am frequently guilty of multi-tasking which, I've come to realize, means doing several things poorly at the same time. It really doesn't take very long to sit, look into their eyes, and really hear what they are saying — and sometimes, if I am really listening, I can even hear what they aren't saying. I think about how much it means to me when someone has obviously heard what I said and then later asks me about it. I want my children to know they are valuable enough to get my full attention!

Another thing that I've realized that means a lot to my kids is to simply sit together and hang around together. Of course, the TV should be off for this — although it's also a good idea to know what they're watching and talk to them about it. My kids like for me to talk to them about my day, as well as listen to them about theirs. We dream and scheme, hope and plan.

Meaningful touch, intentional listening, and being together are not huge undertakings. They take a very little amount of time — my kids really like to limit how much time they hang out with me anyway— and they require no money at all! I just have to be intentional about doing those things.

And tonight I will wonder, "Could I love them more tomorrow?"

Originally published March 27, 2006.

Question of the Day

So, all this week has been VBS for our church. Only we're not allowed to call it VBS. It's SBA, don'tchaknow. Well, Summer Bible Adventure, of course! Silly you for asking!

MY question -- what, precisely, was WRONG with 'VBS'? Was it broken and needed fixing? I don't think so. Was it too "old-fashioned" and "traditional"? Probably. Did we just need some new letters (which, of course, means a new logo at our church)? Most likely.

One Thing That I'm Thinking...

Okay, there are thoughts rolling in my head. Thoughts that don't have to shove out of the way to deal with Room 24 or where everyone has to be in the next 12 minutes.

One think I'm thinking is my deal with fitness/ health.

Towards the end of school, I was really pleading with the Lord about my attitude: my mouth, my heart, my actions. It wasn't all THAT terrible -- believe me, it's been a lot worse! -- but, as Beth Moore says, "Haven't you noticed that the more time you spend with God the pickier He is with you?" Very true. The Lord was really convicting me of my heart and attitude and I was finding myself needing to repent quite frequently and pray for patience and a pure heart.

I know it will come as no surprise to you that I began to notice those times that I was not at my best physically were the most difficult for me to seek God's heart -- when I was excessively hungry or tired, or had gone too long without a workout, I had to pray overtime to control my mouth and heart because I was GROUCHY. As an educator, this is a no-brainer. This is why public schools serve all kinds of meals -- we learned a long time ago that when a person's basic needs aren't met (food, shelter, rest, etc.) they can't learn. (I'm sure some high- falutin' theorist said this, and I'm sure at one time I knew who it was -- I can actually remember where it was on the page of my textbook -- but my brain seems to have squished that info out for other more important drivel, like my current favorite Lorelai Gilmore quote).

So that led me to think about caring for this house (meaning, my body, the house of my soul) that the Lord has given me to live in (at some point, as the Lord gets pickier with me, I'm sure I will feel the need to talk about taking care of my actual house that He has given me to live in, but that steps on my toes too much right now). I think about how much more I enjoy life and long to follow the Lord when I am well rested, well fueled, and de-stressed.

No doubt, my initial motivation for pursuing fitness was purely vanity, but I have come to realize what a blessing and benefit it is for all of me -- yes, even my soul -- to take care of my physical house. If I am getting proper sleep, I can more easily listen to what the Lord is putting on my heart. If I am not fatigued from carrying around extra weight, I don't have the need to rest as frequently and I am able to DO what the Lord has put on my heart. Properly fueling my body by what and how much I choose to eat, as well as clearing my head with a workout of my choosing all lead to a healthier me, which leads to a ready servant of the Lord.

So, that's just one thing I've been thinking. Caring for my body isn't purely a selfish act, but it's being a good steward of what the Lord has given me.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Romans 12:1

Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body. 1 Corinthians 6:19, 20.

All Boy, But No Chest Bumps

Last weekend when we went in to celebrate Poppa Max's birthday, the nephews were there, of course. My kids only get to see them twice a year, at the most, but it's becoming closer to once a year. I noticed immediately that the nephews enjoy "loving" on both of my children by gentle punching, stepping on toes, or pinning one against a wall, like so:

My children don't particularly enjoy such behavior, but, especially since the nephews/ cousins are all younger than my two, we just chalk it up to physical exuberance at being reunited and try to be patient with it.

I haven't really given that ritual much more thought until yesterday, when we went to the Rangers game in Arlington. For the record, it was like most other baseball games to me: two and a half hours of sweating profusely while watching a game as exciting as watching paint dry, and about 30 minutes of good ball. We ran into some people we know from here in town. The little guy Riley's age approached Riley with an elbow poke. When Riley politely moved away from him, he persisted with a chest bump.

This really gave me pause. Perhaps the physical wear-and-tear of your friends is a boy trait that Riley is simply missing. The kid from yesterday is an only child being raised by a single mom, and while I don't know all of her habits, I feel fairly certain she doesn't greet him with a chest bump after school. So, in my demented logic, I guess it has to be in-born. So where is Riley's chest bump/ back slap/ toe stepping/ pin to the wall gene? Is he missing one?

Then it occurred to me that one of the reasons I find this so odd is that none of Riley's friends seem to chest bump/ back slap/ toe step/ pin to the wall when he encounters them. So, I guess I must conclude that Riley has surrounded himself with friends of the non-chest bump/ back slap/ toe step/ pin to the wall variety, which is probably smart for a kid who weighs 68 pounds dripping wet.

That Riley is HILARIOUS, and he is definitely all boy. Just don't chest bump him.