Moments

He's going to survive . . . in spite of me . . .

2011-12-12T19:59:00.004-06:00

Do you know that happy place of blissful ignorance in life when you have no idea you have just done something very stupid?

I live there often. I was there on Sunday, actually.

Unfortunately, my bliss was rudely interrupted.

The short version to the story is simply this:

Buff went to church early. He took big kids with him.

I went to church later. I took a kid with me.

Church started. Brice leaned over and asked, "Um, where's Owen?" I thought he had come early with Buff. In a split second, I had complete understanding of the situation. I had just left my six year old - still in his bed - at home - all alone. My heart stopped.

Blissful ignorance was truly a happier place to be.

I raced home (which is subjected to definition because I got behind the one guy in town who firmly held to the speed limit) terrified of what condition I would find my son in. He has been known to freak out if I venture to the basement without notifying him of my departure.

When I flew threw the door, he was lying on the couch, eating a pancake, watching tv.

His first words, "Bummer. I only got through one pancake."

Sigh.

Now if you don't know anything about my Owen, you simply need to know that he is a very verbal boy. The morning got very funny when he started talking.

Here is an excerpt from his explanation of how his morning went:

Me: "Owen, I am so, so sorry. Were you scared?"[sense the great remorse]

Owen: "Well, yeah [sense the sarcasm], at first. I went upstairs, then downstairs and couldn't find you, so I went out to see if both cars were gone. When I saw that they were gone, I thought, 'Now that was a cruel joke to play on a six year old.'"[still thick with sarcasm]

"Then I decided that I better quit crying and start having fun. I was home alone and I could do whatever I wanted! So, I went into the kitchen to make me some pancakes. Then I saw pancakes already on the counter and I said, 'Oh, mom already made some. Cool.' "

"I was going to go watch tv and then looked around and had the thought, "Um, if they never come home - I have A LOT of cleaning to do."

Apparently, he recovered well.

His one request, "Mom, next time you leave the house, walk through and check all the bedrooms. If I'm still sleeping, please, just throw something at my face."

Um. Okay.

Lessons learned:

Owen is memorizing (once again) my cell phone number. "I was going to call you, Mom, but I forgot your number." Hey, at least he thought of it. I'm a-thinking I need to post it somewhere too - because now that I've finally thought of it, he will now never need to use it.

Owen has been given the lecture, "You will NEVER make pancakes without an adult to help you!" His reaction, "Yeah, I know. I meant waffles. I know how to make those." I think he's still missing the point.

Owen apparently cares more about a clean house than he lets on. This can and will be used against him.

Owen is NEVER allowed to watch the movie "Home Alone." They are too close of kindred spirits. His imagination doesn't need any help.

All in all, the whole ordeal simply made for a good laugh. In the end, he was only home alone about 30-40 minutes and was only awake for about 15-20 of them.

In the meantime, I'm moving back in with blissful ignorance. I like it better there. It's much easier on my heart.

But tomorrow morning, I know how I'm waking him up.

Hidden in this moment . . .

2011-12-02T11:52:00.001-06:00

He loves, loves, loves books.

She loves, loves, loves him.

And I love, love, love the special bond these two have . . .

My heart smiles that they get to "live" together during the school-time hours and make their love bigger.

I often need this reminder as I'm changing another diaper - during the spelling test - after the "math-fact-meltdown" - before I empty the overflowing trash can.

It's like unwrapping a special gift tucked away in our everyday moments . . .

Linking up with Emily @ Chatting at the Sky.

I have . . .

2011-11-29T09:18:00.001-06:00

He is a "professional" vomiter. He has been since he was a tiny four-pound peanut. It is amazing how a few ounces of milk can seem like a gallon when it is spewing across the room unexpectedly.

The doctor thinks it could be reflux. I think it is just a really big mess. Especially, when I am wiping it off my face.

It comes and goes, and today we are in a season where it has come again because he has a cold. It seems to trigger it and make it worse.

He isn't sleeping well, and so we spend many hours in the night rocking. Together.

I listen to him breathe. I don't like it when I can't hear it.

It makes me hold my own.

I hold my hand right above his little body and I wait . . . and his chest slowly fills the space between.

I exhale.

I don't mind the long nights and the messy clean up. I truly don't. I don't mind them, because I almost lost them.

I wish I would have had that perspective with the other four kids before him. I have whined and complained about all the hard things I've had to do. I have stomped my foot, clenched my fist and convinced my heart that it wasn't what I deserved.

There are many women I know that would love the messes I live in. The messes that come because there is love. The messes that come and give purpose. The messes that are ultimately gifts. The honest truth is that I don't deserve any of it . . . the love . . . the purpose . . . or the gifts.

I don't like the fact that I had to learn it this way. I want to understand life and all of God's ways simply because it is. I don't like my questions. I regret my doubt. I hate that I forget.

On my hands and knees scrubbing, I get it. The messes are His too. I can see it because I'm forced to live in it. It is on in my face. I have to do it. I want to do it. I don't want the alternative.

At midnight, in the silence, it all makes sense. Holding him, I can see what I almost lost. I am thankful.

I simply have . . . just because.

I didn't earn it. It's not because He loves me more.

I simply have . . . just because.

At noon, in the chaos, the truth gets a little fuzzy. Living in the frenzy, I forget what I have. I am selfish.

Now I have to choose to live in it. My heart rebels.

I don't want to give. I just want to have.

And I choose again. I choose to believe what is true.

I have because He gave.

Not just the gifts.

The hope.

The hope that I can treasure it all, without questions, doubt free and never forgetting because He is. He is love. He gives purpose. He is the gift.

Someday.

Today.

Linking up w/ Chatting at the Sky . . . .

Mikayla . . .

2011-11-27T06:00:00.000-06:00

In 1996, it snowed on November 27th. It was the day before Thanksgiving. Ask me about the fourteen years in between then and now, and I'll look at you with a blank stare.

I only know all those details because that was the day I became a mother . . . and today she turns fifteen.

(blink. blink.)

I'm in shock.

She's been notifying me of the upcoming celebration for about six months now, and just yesterday she declared that this time next year she will be driving.

Don't worry. I grounded her for such awful talk. I will not hear it in my house. Period.

So, this is officially the year I go into denial and celebrate her dependence.

Mikayla Kristine,

In honor of your love for life . . . and to help us remember you today . . . fifteen years from now . . .

Fifteen things you loved in year fifteen . . .

♥ swinging. (rain, sleet, snow or sunshine. winter through fall. you have the resilience of a mailman.)

♥ Cadbury. (no wax allowed in your chocolate.)

♥ learning. (nerd.)

♥ violin. (please learn quickly. ;0) )

♥ reading.

♥ drama. (We're so proud of you, Miss Casewell.)

♥ cappuccino.

♥ writing. (like writing a letter to a vet on Veteran's Day. all the poor desolate animals thank you for being their voice. I thank you for making me laugh.)

♥ Harry. (Potter.)

♥ Taylor. (Swift.)

♥ music. (it makes swinging so much more fun.)

♥ friends. (somehow you find them all over the country.)

♥ Lady. (but not the Tramp. you've loved her since you were two.)

♥ water. (to drink. like a fish. if fish drink water.)

♥ family. (siblings? parents. cousins. aunts. uncles. grandparents. you love them all.)

Bummer. I'm trying to figure out how to add your serious addiction to chapstick to the list . . . but that would make sixteen . . . so I'll just wait until next year to mention it . . . ;0)

Happy, Happy Birthday, Mikayla. We love you deeply. You teach us. You surprise us. You make us laugh.

Thank you for being you.

Thank you for being ours.

Thanksgiving . . .

2011-11-22T21:45:00.001-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving

A day in the life . . .

2011-11-21T09:21:00.000-06:00

Unbelief . . .

2011-11-11T10:15:00.001-06:00

He likes to know that I am here. A little peek around thecorner and his world is set right again. He can continue with the busyness around him, knowing I amnearby to rescue, to soothe, or to laugh when he needs it.

That suddenly seems familiar.

My world goes still, and Iwonder if God left me.

I want to be sure Heis nearby. I know it down deep in my soul, but I want to feel Him with myfingertips. I still have to peek everyonce in a while to remind myself that He is true. I want it all to be real.

God is kind to show me that He is there, in every moment,if I dare to look. The tear. The breeze. The healing. I touch them. I feel them. And I know I am safe.

But today it's harder to see. Unbelief is whispering into my world and I'm listening to the lies. Sure, I feel the breeze and I'm reminded He is here . . . but can He move this mountain? Can He rescue that soul? Can He heal my heart?

It feels impossible. The whispers are getting louder, and my God is seeming smaller.

And I realize I've just defined faith.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1)

He never promised that I'd see Him working. He never said I would always feel His presence. I don't have to see Him for Him to be true. I don't have to feel Him for His ways to be right. He simply promised that He would be faithful. Even in the silence. Even when the world goes dark.

. . . we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:18)

Know therefore that the LORD your God is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments, to a thousand generations . . . (Deuteronomy 7:9)

Lord, help my heart of unbelief.

Be God. Be faithful. Be enough.

He was there . . .

2011-11-04T07:00:00.000-05:00

I know I talk about him a lot. I guess that happens when someone enters your world you weren't expecting and changes you.

My heart gasps at the journey that has been and calms by the miracle that is.

I need to see it. I need to feel it. I missed it once - but not anymore.

All the little moments that lead up to the one that would literally take my breath away were miraculous too. It took a while to see them, but now I live in them and now I know them.

That one moment is frozen in my memory. Something wasn't right, and I knew it.

I sat.

I held.

I prayed.

When I looked down, he was gray. I never liked the color pink before, but in that moment it was the color of life and I wanted it. Desperately. I didn't want gray.

After that, all the little moments become a blur. There were people and machines. Tubes and needles. Doctors and ambulances. There was help.

And, thankfully, there was life.

It all happened a year ago, the day he stopped breathing, but I live in it like it was yesterday.

I left part of my heart in the hospital. I want to go find it.

As I walked the halls of that hospital to get to my sick child, I passed children so ill they had come to call a hospital "home." I had high hopes that I would take my baby home soon and find "normal." Our stay was temporary. It all caused a conflict in my heart, the world I was witnessing colliding with the world it would become. As scared as I was of this new world, I knew it could be so much worse.

Some people have to live their stories out loud. The realityof life can rip people apart and scream pain in plain view of a stunnedaudience. Other people live their stories out in the privacy of theirown imaginations, or hidden behind classic charades of happiness, while the painslowly eats away at their hearts.

Either way, their stories cause suffering and suffering ishard.

And that's when I had to learn that suffering isn’t a competition.

While my heart hurt as I lived out my story, it was veryobvious to me that there were stories that were far worse than mine with manypeople who were enduring a much deeper pain. In some ways, that was a comfort tome because I could see one side of God’s mercy in my life. On the flip side, itmade me minimize the story God was attempting to write. I chose not to listen. I covered my ears and screamed inwardly, “But he didn't die.” I didn’t see these moments for what God designed themto be. He wanted to meet me. There. In the middle of their messes. In spite of my own.

Let me tell it to you. Please, don't say your journey doesn't matter. Don't believe that your story doesn't get to change you because someone else's story hurt more. That is their journey. Embrace your own.

And we can't do it to others.

We can't qualify pain. It hurts. Period.

Let's love each other in this mess we call life. Let it hurt. Let it be hard. That's how we know we need a Savior. That's how we find Jesus.

Find Him in every day. Find Him in every moment. You are exactly where you are meant to be. Let Him meet you. Here. In the middle of the mess. In spite of your own.

Let Jesus enter your world . . . it can be unexpected . . . it can change you.

Nine . . .

2011-11-01T06:45:00.000-05:00

He brought us flowers when you were born. Roses. Lots of them.

It seemed appropriate. God let him love two others and now he had you. He was so happy you were here. He was so happy you were ours.

2 months

That simple gesture meant more than we knew. The nurses were amazed. One daddy. Three babies. Same mommy. We were graced - in so many ways.

5 months

1 year

You're turning nine today. I suspect you secretly wish it was nineteen. We're glad it's not. We need more special moments.

2 years

3 years

You make us ~~smile~~ laugh daily. We love your style - even if it requires more clothing changes than a queen.

3 years

You're our bubble-gum-chewing, pickle-eating, lipstick-wearing . . .

. . . fashion-loving, problem-solving, deep-thinking, . . . .

8 years

. . .daddy-adoring, baby-caring, brother-annoying, mommy-playing. . . .

8 years

. . . . Carra Grace . . . and it all equals JOY!

Happy, Happy Birthday.

let them be little - iheartfaces

2011-10-25T12:52:00.000-05:00

I know you've seen this before, but this is a submission for i ♥ faces this week. The theme is "let them be little."

He changes so much every day . . . as little as he was when he started his journey . . . he's thinking he's pretty big stuff lately.

Big stuff = Big trouble.

I seriously need to figure out how to utilize his love for toilets . . . but today I'll just "let him be little".

Puddles . . .

2011-10-19T16:06:00.000-05:00

He did it again.

He looked up . . . and melted my heart.

He walks now. E.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e.

Backwards down the slide is the way to go.

He chooses to dance. I'm learning to dance along.

Kisses. They are just that sweet.

He signs. Yes, sign language. Cutest way to communicate - ever.

He's currently seeking employment as a "laundry re-organizer." Will consider "rubbermaid re-arranger" as an alternative.

He still bites. With love. It still hurts.

E.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. goes into the toilet. Hang on to your shoes if you stop by. We're currently drying out the Ipod.

Temper tantrums. Oh, boy.

And still . . . my heart's in a puddle.

We've got spirit . . . yes, we do!

2011-10-04T13:35:00.000-05:00

It's Spirit ~~Week~~ Day here at the Powers' homeschool.

What that means simply is . . .

Dad bought an extra can of blue hair costume spray . . .

Just because he knew they'd love it.

The delighted spirit went downhill from there . . . one didn't like the stiff feeling of her hair and immediately washed it out. The other has a sore throat - and has resigned himself (and anyone he can take with him) to certain death.

I think we'll take our school spirit outside and enjoy the beautiful day . . . once the shower is over and the drugs have kicked in.

Go, Powers!

The garden . . .

2011-10-01T09:03:00.007-05:00

I have very happy memories of walking through my grandma's garden. I think they were such pleasant memories because they came with raspberries. Grandma could do anything. Sew. Cook. Garden.

Grandmas are like that.

My mom is a grandma now. She has a garden (a really, really BIG garden) - and it's filled with happy memories - and raspberries. She sews and cooks too. It's quite an heritage I have.

And then there's me. I'll tell you straight up - I don't sew and cooking is done on a need-to basis only. I don't hate it. I don't love it. We eat - so I cook. My grand kids are getting completely jipped.

I think my mom felt bad for me (or possibly for my future grand kids)- so this year she planted over 6 dozen tomato plants from seed in her kitchen.

And then one day, I found her and dad in my back yard digging holes.

Gardening must be my last hope . . . if they have anything to do with it.

Now let's all stop the story for a moment and suggest what we think is wrong with the picture above. Granted, it was 90 + degrees that day and Grandma asked her to hold the umbrella . . . and she is a book worm . . . and worms work well in the garden . . .

But still.

(We will say nothing about the woman doing no work, but happily snapping pictures of her mother and father working in the 90+ degree weather . . . .)

Back to the gardening . . .

They dug 37 holes . . .

. . . planted 37 tomato plants . . .

. . . and then they went home.

They completely left me in charge of keeping them alive.

So it was a good think I had this guy.

Two plants did die (I blame it completely on the defenseless 6 year old) and I was able to give a few plants to friends . . . leaving the final count at 29. Twenty-nine. TWENTY-NINE tomato plants. In my garden.

Can you say . . . SALSA?!!!

My husband was thrilled. He learned to make salsa from his mom - they make a good team and an amazing dip. The secret is in the peppers . . . shhhh.

Now fast forward through the summer . . .

I now get to wear the label . . . "The Accidental Gardener."

It worked. The plants grew.

It was all very exciting.

Even more exciting than that were the pumpkins . . . from last fall's fun . . . that were thrown into the garden as trash . . . and were rototilled under to make room for the tomatoes . . . that grew.

I've tried for two years to grow pumpkins. Nothing.

My dad rototills my trash . . .

Voila. Pumpkins.

But alas, that is not the end to my gardening story.

They also threw in a few rows of potatoes while they were here.

Here is where the story gets a little sadder. The potatoes didn't do so well.

Until I found this guy.

This is for real. Unaltered. No pins holding his nose in place. He is authentic.

Do you see he even has hair?

But wait. It gets better. Here is his backside.

I am so not making this up . . . that I'm not making this up.

He made my summer.

So all in all the garden was a success - if you are into tomatoes, pumpkins and funny looking potatoes.

Don't ask me about the salsa yet . . . all those tomatoes are in my freezer still waiting to be transformed. It appears I need a visit from the other set of parents to conquer that task. Hint. Hint.

Maybe there is hope for me yet (as long as my parents don't lose my address).

And maybe I can pass something on to my grand kids.

Though I'm sure we'll always at least have memories to share.

One . . .

2011-09-22T05:39:00.001-05:00

I have started this blog post in my head a hundred times . . . and I still don't know what to write today.

Sappy? Sentimental? Funny? I feel every emotion right now.

It has been one year. A year since he came tumbling into our lives. Literally.

Some days it makes me laugh. Other days I cry. Every day I am amazed.

The day started so calmly and then twelve hours later, in a flurry of panic, he was a part of our world.

"Umm. Excuse me, Doctor, but there is a baby on my wife's bed," the father said calmly as he stepped into the hall looking for help.

You really should hear the whole story sometime.

Then the whirlwind started - and it's still blowing today.

The other day, I found Carson with the step stool - you know, the one made for the kids - pushed up to the window sill. He was standing on the stool on one foot. . . with the other foot propped up on the sill in an attempt to climb onto the window.

I chose rescue over a prime photo shoot.

In one year, he has scared us half to death when he stopped breathing, left us blurry eyed from lack of sleep, made us laugh in moments we thought we never would, and showed us all how to fall in love more deeply than we ever knew.

Even though he was premature and had a bit of a bumpy start with two hospital stays, he has hit every milestone right on target. Don't tell him he can't walk - he won't believe you. He just charges from any standing point and topples without flinching. He crawls off his knees and on all fours like a stinkbug when the road gets too hard and climbs any obstacle that towers in front of him.

All of this seems vaguely familiar. I really hoped he would be the calm one.

Sigh.

It's a good thing he's cute.

Newborn First Smile (6 weeks) 3 months

4 months 6 months 7 months

8 months 9 months 11 months

We've learned so much because of this little man. God had a plan for our hearts when he gave Carson to us. Maybe someday I'll talk about it more - but the today lessons are still too fresh.

In the meantime, it's time for celebration, cake and lots of kisses - big, slobbery, wet ones. They're the best.

We love you, our little Carson-inator. We are forever changed.

Happy, Happy Birthday.

Letting go . . .

2011-09-08T11:43:00.001-05:00

We have a story we like to tell every March on his birthday.

Immediately after Brice was born things were a little crazy in the hospital room. Come to find out in the years to come, crazy would be more common than not - but that's not the point I"m trying to make here.

When it came time to cut the umbilical cord, Buff spread the specially designed, extremely sharp scissors wide. At the same moment, little Brice, who was flailing his arms and screaming desperately at this insulting new environment he'd just encountered, grabbed one side of the open scissors. As soon as he felt the cold metal on his hand, he did what any normal healthy baby would do and clasped his fingers around it. He gripped the end of those scissors with the extraordinary strength only found in newborn fingers.

Thankfully, in spite of the craziness, Buff noticed this to be a problem before he caused irreparable harm to those tiny fingers. Everyone gasped loudly and froze for 1.2 seconds. This was a unique situation.

The doctor was the first to spring into action. She leaned over and tenderly pried each little finger off the scissors one.at.a.time. Those scissors were capable of amputating every finger or, at the very least, slicing them severely. She was beyond careful and extremely gentle in her approach.

He needed to let go. Holding on was only going to cause pain. This was not optional.

That is exactly how I feel this week.

I have been clenching very tightly. My grip is strong in spite of my lack of confidence. Now it is time to let go.

There are many ways God could loosen my grip. Most of those ways I imagine to be quite painful. They are abrupt and they get the job done.

But today he is very tenderly peeling off each finger one.at.a.time and quietly whispering in my heart, "Tina, please let go. I can take care of them. Trust me. Holding on will only bring pain. Let me help you. Let me be in control." His approach is so kind and gentle. It is so much more than I deserve.

And so after a couple last minute lectures, a few extra nuggets of good advice and a text or two filled with last minute reminders, I let them walk away.

After eight years of homeschooling, I sent my older kids to school. I think I've cried as many tears as the new Kindergartener's mom. Letting go when they are ages twelve and fourteen . . . it still hurts.

They aren't gone forever - that would have been the abrupt approach - but just for a few moments. I get them back. I'm allowed a few more lectures, another opportunity or two to share some wise advise, and I'm sure I'll get in couple more gentle reminders, but they need to take some steps on their own.

Part of learning to walk is falling. They can't fall if I'm holding too tightly to their hands.

I get to walk beside them still. I have my megaphone ready to cheer them when they soar and my kleenex and bandages ready for the moments when they trip.

I get to be here - because I let go.

I get to be here - because God doesn't.

Summer . . . pt 2 . . .

2011-08-24T07:13:00.004-05:00

Free tickets + expensive parking + hot sun + picnic lunch + roller coasters = good times.

We made our annual trek to the amusement park this summer . . .

Just to hang out with Scooby Doo . . .

He's our hero. He bumbles and goofs his way through life - and always comes out on top in the end - looking like he planned it all along.

And Carra can make the same face . . .

The goal of the day is to survive the Giant Drop . . . cuz Brice talks about it all.year.long.

He literally makes himself sick with anticipation. That's entertainment all by itself - and a lot of stopping by the restrooms . . .

I tried the Giant Drop this year. It's giant. It drops. I scream.

Awesome.

Mikayla's 14 - she's such a good sport to pose with a goofy dog . . . for a goofy mom. I'm a-thinkin' this is the last time though. . .

Carra loves, loves, loves the Whirligig - the giant swing that spins around and around. She'd still be on it if we didn't threaten her that she'd have to walk home. It's as close as she's ever come to flying. She lives her dream up there. . .

Owen. He's not afraid of anything. He's just too short. Every year he creeps closer and closer to that coveted height and gets to try a bigger ride every year. Of course, they are "Totally awesome!" with each one becoming "So much more awesomer" than the last one. I hope the trend doesn't continue when he discovers girls . . .

I am so glad we are successfully raising roller coaster kids. I can forever rest assured that my parenting accomplished something . . . They'll probably end up living in my basement when they're 40, but I will sleep at night because they're not afraid of long falls and fast rides.

At the end of the day, we always come home tired and stuffed with cotton candy (that takes a lot of cotton candy by the way - and quite an accomplishment when we're sharing with Carra).

Happy Sticky Memories.

He makes my heart melt . . .

2011-08-21T22:55:00.000-05:00

Don't be fooled.

He bites.

Hard.

And it's all because he loves me. So. Very. Much.

How could I not forgive a face like this . . .

Summer . . . pt 1 . . .

2011-08-17T22:25:00.000-05:00

Summer. It's almost over - at least the lazy part is.

We were busy enough. We never did go anywhere, but we found plenty to do close to home . . .

As a general rule, I don't pack my camera when I go out. I pack a stroller, water bottles, a diaper bag, a car seat, snacks, five kids and my sanity (a.k.a. My Husband).

He brings along his really cool Iphone (a.k.a. His Brain, or, on really bad days, His Other Wife) loaded with some cool photo apps upon request (by me, a.k.a. His First Wife, or, on really good days, His Favorite).

First up - our trips to the fairs (county fair & then the state fair). It was also my first time using the phone and apps. That basically means I didn't know what I was doing and therefore deleted all the photos of Brice.

It's a good thing he has a memorable personality.

So, cue the country music . . .

You can even line dance if you'd like . . . I promise I won't laugh.

Can you sing along? "She thinks my tractor's sexy."

Cream puffs . . .

Amazingly - Carra didn't like the cream. Carra. The child who thinks powdered sugar is a snack food and gum is a necessity for survival. (Her t-shirt actually says - "I Want Candy." Irony.)

As you can see, she suffered through the entire ordeal.

This year I sampled goat milk caramels, maple root beer and maple cotton candy . . . all of them made the redo list for 2012. They may even get added to the fair requirement list of gyros and cheese curds - deep fried, of course.

I love the fair.

So did anybody else go? I really want to know if anyone tried the deep fried butter . . .

More summer fun to come . . .

Giggles . . .

2011-08-10T20:57:00.003-05:00

You know how it goes. He giggles like he has never giggled before, so you pull out the camera . . . and you just can't get him to do it quite like that again.

Oh, well.

It's still warms my heart because none of my other kids ever did pull off that deep belly giggle. God knew this tired momma needed a giggler.

On a side note: I know what it sounds like, but Brice says, "Oh, a jam."

Really.

I would never let my kids shoot their brother and cuss - at the same time.

The question remains unanswered . . .

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

Are they cousins?

Are they best friends?

Apparently, you can't be both . . . .

Said the six year old best-friends-who-also-happen-to-be-cousins . . .

bllttllblltttlll . . . .

2011-08-04T11:21:00.000-05:00

And that just about sums up how I feel today . . .

Summer Treats . . .

2011-07-30T12:10:00.000-05:00

Just in case you missed it . . .

2011-07-08T21:40:00.000-05:00

I am firmly convinced that there is one purpose for goggles.

Please note the positioning of the tongue to create the optimum appeal.

Most people think they are designed to keep water out of ones eyes while swimming under water.

That is only partially true.

I'm a-thinking hers are upside down . . .

If you read the fine print on the packaging, I'm sure it's there . . .

Before . . .

Goggles main purpose is to create a unique photo opportunity for mothers everywhere.

. . . After

One simply cannot resist faces like these.

Ring-around-the-eyeballs

They just simply must be preserved.

I just know they will thank me someday.

'Cuz I'm already thanking them . . .

It's a good thing he's cute . . .

2011-07-06T10:09:00.000-05:00

I think we're in trouble . . . again.

I told you he's gone mobile.

He can get wherever he wants, so you can imagine the word that gets used regularly around here now.

"No-no."

I was using it regularly yesterday and he would respond. Unfortunately, it wasn't the response I was looking for, so I asked him, "Do you know what 'No-no' means?"

He smiled and did this:

And that explains why no one has ever listened to me when I say "No."

It's cute.

It's just a game.

I kinda wished someone would have explained that to me about 14 years ago when I started this parenting adventure . . .

Sigh.

To remember . . .

2011-06-28T06:18:00.008-05:00

Professionals "out there" say that every blog should have a purpose - and to name it.

I write to find my heart. I take pictures to create. I put them together to remember.

My kids will never believe these stories in fifteen years otherwise.

My sister often proclaims to me about the five unique personalities God granted the little people running around this house. I believe her. Some days we have more personality bouncing around this house than sanity. There are plenty of moments I wish I'd forget - and many more that I hope they do.

But today, I want to remember . . .

. . . remember the treasures that tumble out of my dryer . . . the nails (over 50 of them - at once), the Legos, the weapons . . . the tooth . . . all with their own stories to tell.

. . . remember the conversations . . . with the eight-year-old alarmed about slimy armpits . . . concerning her that she "got puberty" . . . and delighting her with her first stick of deodorant.

. . . remember I am living in their childhood . . . with spaghetti noodle sword fights . . . and hearts broken over squished tadpoles . . . and they matter . . . more than the sticky floors and the unsorted laundry piles begging for my attention.

. . . remember that when I got exasperated . . . I was the one with the problem.

. . . remember the sleepless nights . . . with cries for comfort . . . dissolving into complete trust as they slept again in my arms . . . are reminders that these children are not mine . . . but only gifts for this moment . . . to teach me what it is like to be His.

God, please don't let me ever forget.

A Day in the Life . . .

2011-06-25T07:16:00.006-05:00

I am so proud . . .

2011-06-22T20:54:00.002-05:00

I can completely . . .

not think . . .

of anything to say . . .

There really are no words . . .

Let's hear it for the boys . . . .

2011-06-20T11:25:00.000-05:00

When my daughter was born over 14 years ago she was a busy kid. I remember her as an infant just laying on my lap with her hands and feet constantly in motion. She walked at 9 months and kept me moving constantly.

Everyone would tell me, "Yes, she's busy, but wait until you have a boy."

My boy was next. He slept anywhere anytime. He didn't crawl until he was 10 months old and didn't speak until he was 2 1/2 years old. He was a laid back, happy boy.

Then we had another girl. I don't remember specific details about her except that she was much, much busier than her brother. She was the happiest of my babies and always had somewhere to go (and it usually had to do with changing her clothes - over and over - but that's a story for a different day).

I remember thinking, "Boys aren't that bad . . . I'm having a harder time keeping up with the girls."

And then we had this guy (pictured above). He's "the boy" everyone was talking about. He had more energy in his little pinky than the other three kids combined. He completed his word quota for the day by 6 a.m. and then started filling in everyone else's quota for them. He had no fear and a lot of opinions.

God knew I needed this kid, lest I get comfortable in my ways and think I can actually do all this on my own.

He has a little brother now. It's not looking too hopeful for him to be taking after the biggest of the brothers.

Apparently, God has a lot more for me to learn . . .

So, let's hear it for the boys . . .

I suspect life would be very boring without them!

If you want to celebrate more pictures of boys, go to iheartfaces and smile!

Here he comes . . . or, wait, there he goes . . .

2011-06-17T15:13:00.003-05:00

He's got a new nickname.

We're calling him Kirby now - although Hoover fits too. (Kenmore canister just doesn't have a good ring to it)

It's official. He's on the move . . .

He spent all day sitting and then in a moment figured out how to get to the remote control. Nothing is safe anymore - especially your shoes.

And he puts everything in his mouth. It could be a good thing seeing we have four other kids, no dog and A LOT of crumbs on the floor, but then again - maybe not.

We did manage to pick up a bit. The machete, the scizzors and the nail booby trap are now put away - and if you know us at all, you'll know that I'm totally not kidding.

So if you don't hear from me in a while, you'll know I'm over there . . . no, over there . . . wait, I'm over there . . .

Or else I'm taking a nap.

He makes us laugh . . .

2011-06-04T07:03:00.003-05:00

and now Carson is finding out why . . .

And that's why we love him.

Ready, Set . . .

2011-06-02T11:45:00.002-05:00

Hike?

It's that or he's watching an exercise video . . . (and stretch 2, 3, 4 . . .)

Either way, I have a sneaky suspicion he's trying to get somewhere . . .

And someone better be ready to follow. He can't be up to any good.

I better go "Carson-proof" the house.

Entertainment . . .

2011-05-29T06:43:00.003-05:00

Who knew that this little device . . . (a wireless remote trigger for cameras)

Could bring this much fun?

It's much more entertaining to take pictures of yourself, by yourself. Mom gets a bit too bossy when she's controlling the camera. Don't tell her I said that.

Rabbit ears are totally optional . . .

My anxious heart . . .

2011-05-27T06:59:00.003-05:00

Dinner . . .

2011-05-24T06:38:00.001-05:00

This is how she came to dinner . . .

And ate her entire meal . . . as if it was normal attire. "Seriously, what are you looking at, Mom?"

If that wasn't enough to make me smile . . .

This guy gets to join us at dinner now . . .

Yay for food!

Even dinner is not uneventful . . .

Happy, Happy Days.

They make my heart smile.

The things they say . . .

2011-05-22T07:20:00.010-05:00

Here is a sampling of what has had us laughing lately . . . .

For Easter, we bought all of the kids Bibles. We got the Seek and Find Bible for the two younger kiddos. It is filled with pictures and key questions related to the Bible stories being featured in the pictures.

Of course, there is a picture of a giant fish spitting a man out onto the shore. Classic Bible story.

I didn't read the Bible story to Owen, but instead just started asking review questions about what he knew. He could relate the story to me - up until I asked him the name of the man flying out of the fish's mouth.

Him: "Isn't it Goliath?"

Me: "No. That was the giant. This man's name starts with /j/."

Him: "Oh! Joliath!"

Me: "No. Try Jon . . ."

Him: "JONIATH!"

Um. I'm getting concerned. He either hasn't been listening or he is reading a unique Bible version.

Me: "No, it's not Joniath. It's Jo . . . Jona . . ".

Him: "JOE JONAS!"

Yeah, he hasn't been listening . . . well, to me at least. I think his sister has his attention though.

___________

We were reading through Romans 3 as a family. The intention was to memorize a few of the verses for the church wide memorization plan. To make sure there was full understanding of the passage, Buff asked Carra (age 8) about the the phrase "The venom of asps is under their lips."

Buff: "Carra, what is an asp?"

Carra: She thought for a moment and was clearly stumped. Then with absolute seriousness and complete sincerity she answered, "Umm, an ass with a /puh/?"

____________

The Easter egg hunt at Grandma's this year was a complete success - if you are into sugar. Sugar is Carra's absolute favorite. If she were to get her way picking what we eat for dinner - we'd have gum.

So imagine my complete surprise when she brought me two packages of gum and said, "These are for Carson. Since he won't eat them, you can have them."

Wow, the generosity of her heart overwhelms me.

About 10 minutes later we are having a conversation about all the Easter candy and she comments on Carson's Easter candy in my bedroom. I correct her and tell her Carson didn't get candy this year (seeing he is only 7 months old) but that candy is Owen's.

Without missing a beat she states, "Oh, then you better think twice about eating the gum I gave you. Owen will be mad at you."

Yeah. I'm overwhelmed.

____________

Owen jumps up onto the chair so he can look me straight in the eyes.

"Mom, I want to look deep into your eyes so I can see your eye nipples."

Um, I think you mean PUPILS. You might want to get that one right before you start dating . . .

Treasures . . .

2011-05-20T06:59:00.004-05:00

We decided it was time to do some spring cleaning in the basement.

At the time, it seemed like a good idea to let the kids help.

It was a good idea - until they emerged from the basement looking like this . . .

They crack me up . . .

Who knew that a trench coat and a pink zoot suit could be this much fun?

If you want a set of your own - you can now find them at our local Good Will.

You are welcome.

Infestation . . .

2011-05-18T22:58:00.000-05:00

This is how life works at our house. . .

God graciously gave us five beautiful children. That means one simple thing for our house . . . disaster. Our life is full of surprises.

We woke up one morning and found this . . .

I really do sweep every day (at least twice). . . and they really do keep eating every day - the kids, I mean . . . all.day.long.

One chip. (Okay, and half a fruit loop). But really, one chip - required hundreds of ants.

The ant path was 3-5 inches wide and ran about 5 feet from back door to the chip. They seemed to be a rather disorganized bunch of ants. I think they felt right at home in my house. Sluggards, do not consider these ants. Oh, wait, that's me.

Because at my house, we are all about going green . . . (ha!)

And I mean that literally . . .

The boys put the pet frogs to work . . .

And yes, they ate the ants. It was very cool to watch.

Seriously, do clean people have this much fun?

Because ants and frogs IN your house is fun . . . by the way.

Soft and Sweet . . .

2011-05-02T11:18:00.000-05:00

The theme this week over at iheartfaces is "soft and sweet."

This is my Carra generously spreading our dandelion softness to all our grateful neighbors. I'm sure they are muttering their sincere gratitude under their breath.

We are here to please . . .

Coconuts . . .

2011-04-27T07:18:00.001-05:00

He sent me a text.

Note: He was upstairs. I was downstairs. We have achieved a whole new level of laziness.

The text read:

Mom, there are so many foods I want to try like lobster, cooked snake, crab, coconut, prickly pear, cactus fruit. I mean the list is endless! So I was wondering if we could try some this summer? Please :D BP

He was supposed to be reading his History assignment. I didn't bank on trying to parent while competing with technology.

He finally did finish his assignment and so I sent him to the store.

He came home with a coconut.

I sent him for milk.

Parenting is truly complicated.

This was the only bite he tried.

What an adventure that turned out to be.

Actually, I suspect the adventure is just beginning. His sister is so excited to recycle the used coconut shells.

I'll give you a clue as to what she is thinking . . . think Luau.

Actually, I just remembered - we've been here before . . . the year was 2007.

Now I'm wondering where the cooked snake adventure will take us.

pets . . .

2011-04-25T11:49:00.000-05:00

If you know anything about life around here, you would know we rarely have soft, fuzzy, sweet pets around here.

Usually it's little guys like these who feel quite at home around here.

If you really want to see the warm fuzzy faces . . . you'll have to go to iheartfaces this week.

Trust me, if you like pictures or want to learn a thing or two about taking good ones - it's worth the trip.

Fighting the tears . . .

2011-04-21T07:31:00.009-05:00

I don’t like to cry.

There I said it.

Tears are just not something I do well. If you’ve ever had the privilege of seeing me after my tears, you’d understand why. A few tears take a physical toll on me and become an all day ordeal. My nose, lips and eyes swell, lasting well after the tears have gone. I can’t breathe. My eyes turn red and I usually get a nasty headache. It isn’t pretty.

I have friends that have sat on my couch and bawled their eyes out, only to stand up, dab their eyes and return to normal within minutes. I am in awe. I think I even have a little tear envy. How do they do that?

There are other reasons I don’t cry. The main one is that it just isn’t my natural reaction. I just don’t feel like crying. I don’t know why. I don’t have a deep psychological explanation. I just don’t feel like it.

But then something happened.

I was standing in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit at Children’s Hospital looking at my son attached to more machines than I could count. I was exhausted because I hadn’t slept in over 36 hours. The adrenaline rush was over and now I was all alone. I sat down in the chair and I started to feel the tears come.

It was the thought that came next that burned into my brain and rather surprised me. “I can’t cry. My God is in complete control of this situation. If I cry, it simply means I don’t trust him.” That was that. I didn’t cry.

And I didn’t cry for five months.

I realized the real reason I don’t cry. Somewhere along the road of life, I had developed a theological predisposition that any tears indicated a weak faith. God was about to rock my world.

One day, after a conversation with a friend, I was broadsided with this thought:

Jesus felt.

And Jesus felt deeply.

The story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane right before his death played out in my head. God had just asked his son, Jesus, to do a seemingly impossible task. He wanted Jesus to die to appease his wrath.

What was Jesus’ reaction?

And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, "Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will."
(Mark 14:35-36 –emphasis mine)

Jesus prayed this three separate times and he did it with great emotion.

saying, "Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done." And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground.
(Luke 22:42-44– emphasis mine)

Jesus felt intensely and he did it without sinning.

He was honest with God. He expressed his heart to his Father. He pleaded. He begged. He wanted another way. And catch this: he trusted.

And in the end, he agreed.

He would live out the story the way God had planned it all along.

God was asking Jesus to do the impossible. To be separated from his Father. To appease his Father’s wrath. To rescue his Father’s people.

God has never asked the impossible of me. Watching my son struggling to breathe was not an impossible task. It was hard, but I had hope.

While sitting in the hospital, someone shared this quote,

Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out. ~ Vaclav Havel

It made sense to God.

I didn’t have to do the impossible – because Jesus already did.

Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.
(Hebrews 12:3)

God simply asks me to live in his story. The story he is writing with my life. It really is okay if I feel it along the way.

And now it makes sense to me.

Crying doesn’t necessarily mean I’m not trusting. I can find my God in the emotions he created. The emotions he designed for me to experience him deeply, to love him profoundly, and to express him completely.

I doubt I will be crying from here on at the drop of a hat, but now I won’t be so afraid of the tears when they come.

It’s Easter week. It‘s a good week to understand Jesus’ agony in the sacrifice that he made. A sacrifice that allows me to feel. A sacrifice that allows me to live. A sacrifice that allows me to love to the glory of God.

Big boy food . . . .

2011-04-18T19:08:00.002-05:00

He's tried the sweet potatoes. Yum.

Squash. Not too bad.

Bananas. We'll do those again.

But green beans . . .

Well . . .

I think he's pretty clear about how he feels about them . . .

He's a Powers. If it needs to be communicated, do it with flair.

But then on the other hand . . . I can't say that I blame him. I wouldn't want my food from a jar either.

I just wish I had the gagging sound effects that went with the pictures.

I suspect we will be disguising nutrition in the near future.

Child abuse . . . .

2011-04-09T21:12:00.000-05:00

Warning:

This photo is a bit alarming. Only look if you think you can handle it.

HIS father can't handle it . . . he's a little upset.

That's our boy . . . he was hanging out with his sister. Something he deeply regrets.

You can bet she's been grounded from ever "playing" with the baby again. Apparently, she's still wishing for a little sister.

I think I've just found a taker for diaper duty . . . maybe she'll learn her lesson that way.

Finding Treasure . . .

2011-04-01T08:32:00.003-05:00

The following discussion was recently endured in our home.

Owen found a little white bag while playing outside. It was across the street, and he discovered his new treasure while rescuing a wandering basketball. The treasure was in a little white bag - and he decided he was keeping it forever and ever.

But . . .

curiosity got the best of him and he wanted to know what was inside the little white bag. He sniffed it. The smell got stuck in his nose.

Motivating . . .

him to show it to his dad, who happens to have experience in this department. It was tobacco meant for making homemade cigarettes. Should we be concerned that he recognized it right away?

Kindling . . .

a declaration from Carra about how smokers don't care about the universe.

Causing . . .

her mom to giggle and correct her. "I think you mean environment."

Making . . .

Carra giggle. "Yeah, I don't think they care about the stars and outer space stuff either."

Leading . . .

to her mother correcting her again. "Smoking is bad for your health, not the environment."

Allowing . . .

the dad to step into the potential teachable moment and google "smoker's lung." Teachable moment accomplished.

Including . . .

a quick lesson about nicotene, it's addictive qualities and it's ability to turn teeth yellow. And walls.

Disturbing . . .

Owen greatly as he looked around the dining room and declared, "What?! Our walls are yellow because someone smoked in here?"

Evoking . . .

a round of laughter from the entire family. Mom picked out that color.

Generating . . .

multiple comments about how the all the house wall colors all came to be. Someone was murdered in the red kitchen, sneezed in the green living room and threw pumpkins in the orange bathroom. Yes, I have an orange bathroom. It's quite the conversation piece. Even with my children, apparently.

Creating . . .

a conversation that went downhill quickly. One of the colors mentioned was because someone vomited. I'll leave that color to your imagination. I also won't tell you which room - just in case you ever come to visit.

And it was all because Owen found a little white bag. A treasure indeed.

It makes me wonder where the next treasure will lead us . . .

Dance . . .

2011-03-31T16:18:00.000-05:00

Dance

like nobody is watching . . .

Sing

like nobody is listening . . .

But totally watch out . . .

Because your mom has a zoom lens!

I took these pictures 4 years ago (she was 4 years old), and she's still singing and dancing like this today. What you can't see in the pictures is she can see her reflection in the kitchen window. She's having a blast . . .

It's one of the things I love most about her . . . she lives boldly and doesn't care that anyone is watching.

The innocence of childhood . . .

She makes my heart smile!

I made my animated gif at gifninja.com. Go make one for free!

He's growing up . . .

2011-03-27T20:15:00.000-05:00

He's six months old . . . already.

Now, since you are "talking" with his mom, you have to know that he is the cutest thing ever . . . well, the cutest thing to happen to me this year at least.

And of course, he's a genius.

His new thing is to go "pthbbbt."

It's just remarkable.

He cut his first two teeth this week too.

As you would expect, he was an absolute gem. It was a walk in the park. (Ahem . . . Have you been to the park this time of the year? Bring your Tylenol.)

His tongue just found those teeth. At least that is what I choose to believe, because we all know he would NEVER stick his tongue out at his mother.

And then there are those baby toes.

They're my favorite. Mostly because everybody else's toes around here are just gross.

I don't remember having this much fun with the other kiddos . . . probably because I was too tired to remember. I'm so glad I've gotten another chance.

I love you, my little man!

No Way!

2011-03-22T05:00:00.019-05:00

My baby is six months old.

My biggest boy is 12 years old.

The sun came out this morning. It really is out there - behind those clouds . . .

I took a nap on Sunday. A long nap. (That deserves a No way! all by itself . . . but it doesn't end there.) When I woke up, my daughter was sitting at the table doing a 100 addition fact math worksheet - because she was bored. Absolutely no chocolate was required and I wasn't dreaming.

My oldest daughter has more money than I do. She's only 14.

Spring arrived. Right on time. I didn't have to plan it. I didn't have remind it to get ready so it wouldn't be late. And it will still be here tomorrow. Sigh. What a wonderful feeling.

My baby cut his first two teeth. Thank you, Lord, for Tylenol. Did I mention he is six months old already?

My husband was gone for ten days and I still have five living children, a standing house and my sanity. More amazingly, not an inch of duct tape was needed to pull it off.

My husband was gone for ten days and my son didn't need a doctor once. (FYI: He did this last time his father left the country. ------------->
Just so you know, they charge A LOT of money to pop it back into place.)

My baby is six months old.

I am amazed.

Reality . . .

2011-03-12T16:34:00.002-06:00

There is beautiful music playing in my head. An amazing scene is playing out in front of me. I have all my children out in public and they are picture perfect. They are courteous to each other. They are respectful. They are obedient. People are amazed.

It is the way life is meant to be. It's the way life always is - really?

Then we ~~strut~~ walk out to the parking lot . . .

and the beautiful music screeches to a halt.

The children have already managed to provoke each other to anger. One is shoving. One is pushing back. The rest are screaming, including the mother.

It is reality. It is the way life always is - really.

Having five kids has taught me a lot about living in reality. I know what you’re thinking - it took me five kids to learn something? I am a slow learner.

Somewhere I got a picture in my head of what life should look like around here. A life that fills our house with joy. Well-behaved children. A doting husband. A clean house. A crock pot simmering happily in the kitchen.

It's not necessarily a picture of what I always wanted. It's a picture of what I thought people expected. Phantom people. People I have spent my life trying to impress - they have never existed. It's my dream world.

Then I open my eyes and I'm faced with reality. The children are screaming at each other. My husband is distracted by a mountain of tasks. The dishes are piled up - again. We're having raman noodles for dinner. Just raman noodles.

I don't want reality. I don't want reality because it's hard. Surely other people don't live this way. What am I missing that everyone else seems to master?

I'm missing Jesus.

The reason my day is crashing is not because of the successful execution of an evil conspiracy plot by my children. It is because of that deep desire for an unrealistic world that was so easily dethroned and now someone needs to pay for my misery. It's so subtle. I barely realize I love it more than I really do. I really thought I loved Jesus most.

But it isn't a competition. I don't have to sacrifice all love of peace and quiet, well-behaved children and a clean house so I can have more love for Jesus. I can love those things because I love Jesus. And because I love Jesus, I can love the screaming children, the distracted husband and the dirty dishes more.

It is reality.

I want to be that "sensational" Christian that rescues the orphans and visits the needy instead of the "ordinary" Christian that stays home to challenge my children's sinful hearts and clean up their messes - again. But being the ordinary is sensational if the end result is that I look more like Jesus.

It's living in the gospel.

The gospel makes it all worthwhile. Jesus came for sinners. Jesus came for this sinner. He didn't come to make my life perfect. He came to make my life matter.

I came that they might have life and have it abundantly.
~John 10:10b

So this week I want to live in reality as I wade through the spilled Cheerios and into the screaming war zone. They are here to remind me of the gospel - and it seems I shouldn't want it any other way.

"Remember this, had any other condition been better for you than the one in which you are, divine love would have put you there."
~ Charles H. Spurgeon

The Miracle on Clover Drive . . .

2011-03-09T22:34:00.001-06:00

Carra read on the back of a cereal box the other day that breakfast is the most important meal of the day - so she asked me, "Why?"

Because I wanted this teachable moment to work to my advantage, my loving reply was, "So you have more energy to do your exciting math fact worksheets every day."

With absolute sincerity she muttered (and I think she even stomped her foot), "I hate breakfast." It has become her motto every day when I hand her that dreaded worksheet. It's all breakfast's fault. Just so you know.

But . . .

There was a miracle at the Powers' home today. It happened at dinner (and, no, dinner wasn't the miracle . . . although there are days when that claim can be made.).

The miracle: my children begged me to do spelling and math facts - again - after dinner.

It is true. Really. I even have an eye witness to the whole exchange.

And do you know what I answered?

I answered, "Nope!"

I've got to hang onto a good thing while I've got it.

We have been attempting math facts and spelling tests in this household for years and they have always been met with tears. I won't tell you if it is the student or the teacher who has been doing the crying - but it hasn't been pretty. I have every math fact and spelling gimmick available. I was always hoping there would be something new out there that would make my kids fall in love with the mundane. If you want to try one, ask me before purchasing. I probably own it. Computer games. Check. Hand held electronic math drill devices. Check. Fancy flash cards. Check. Check.

And today all I needed was - chocolate.

Who knew?

It's a big bag of chocolate - and it now has the value of gold.

This Momma is going to bed smiling (and clutching a big bag of M&M's)!

Guilty

2011-03-03T21:34:00.001-06:00

We suspected he was getting help. We just couldn't prove it.

No one can be that good at math without someone else feeding him the answers.

But you can only hide your secret for so long - and someone will find you out.

And I have the pictures to prove it.

Of course, cheating never works out, because eventually someone eats the evidence. . . or at least tries to . . .

Alas, he'll have to do his own work from now on.

Life just isn't fair.

My Moment(s) of Grace . . .

2011-02-26T10:45:00.000-06:00

Wow. What a week it has been. There were many emotions, many activities, and many gracious gifts this week . . .

Snow - I get to live where there are four very distinct seasons and so I get to personally experience God's creative beauty in four very distinct ways. The snow this week was beautiful how it clung to the trees. I actually caught myself thinking this week that "the people in Hawaii right now are missing out . . ." (which is easier to think standing in a snow drift than on the beach . . . I would imagine.)

A snow blower - I saw it as a gift this week - because it broke.

Strong backs and good health - Shoveling snow wasn't so bad. It was kind of fun, actually. It certainly was beautiful. It was snowing lightly AND the sun was shining. Can you tell I don't get out much?

A fixed snow blower that was graciously fixed and tuned up . . . for free.

The kindness of a stranger who flagged me down and warned me that my back car tire was flat. I was able to pull into a gas station safely and call for help.

The hot looking rescuer who came in his manly coveralls to change my tire in the snow.

Children's Tylenol - What did poor mothers do 100 years ago with crabby, fevering babies?

God's gracious protection of my mom. She broke her leg this week and it required surgery to fix. It was an accident that her doctor warned her could happen easily. God graciously allowed my dad to be home at the time to care for her and get her the help she needed quickly. There were many other scenarios that could have ended the story very differently.

Philippians 4:8 - Think on truth.

Philippians 4:9 - Put truth into practice

The Psalms - They comforted my hurt, confronted my sin and encouraged my heart. God is kind.

At the end of the week, I can honestly say that God was present. There was exhaustion, there was frustration, and there was even pain.

But more importantly . . . there was grace.

Every day we may see some new thing in Christ. His love hath neither brim nor bottom. ~ Samuel Rutherford

Want to join me by sharing your grace gift? Click here to find out how . . .

Surprise . . .

2011-02-16T05:53:00.007-06:00

I've never surprised him before. Seventeen years of marriage - not one surprise.

Well, that's not entirely true. I surprised him once.

I surprised him when I told him that this guy was joining our family . . .

That turned out to be a good surprise.

(Aren't you just dying to know what he is thinking . . . and trying to tell me in this moment? Me too!)

But otherwise, nothing. You see, I'm a terrible liar. Don't leave me with your secret surprise party cuz I'll grin my way through my entire lie. I just can't help it.

But . . . I've crossed a threshold. I've had success. I surprised him for Valentine's Day.

He never saw it coming - and he loved it.

I'm doing my happy dance. I do have one, you know. I bet you'd like to see it - Ha!

It'll probably be another 17 years before I can do it again . . . so I'm totally enjoying my moment!

Happy Dance - Happy Dance - Happy Dance - Happy Dance

Tape . . .

2011-02-15T13:50:00.000-06:00

Reason #462 why there is never tape when I need it . . .

Hey, he's cheaper than an interior decorator!

Just breathe . . .

2011-02-12T10:28:00.001-06:00

I was completely alone. Well, not completely alone. He was there - but that was exactly the problem.

I couldn't move and I could barely touch him. I reached down as far as I could stretch and kept saying it over and over again as I patted his little bottom, "Just breathe. Just breathe. Please, please, just breathe."

I couldn't see his face or even his arms, but I saw his little legs and his belly . . .

. . . and he was breathing.

The whole scenario plays out slowly in my head, but in reality the whole ordeal took only seconds.

In a flash, we were no longer alone. The doctor was there and too many nurses to count. They snatched him up . . . and they ran.

They rescued him when he needed them the most. They echoed my pleas and told him to, "Just breathe. . . "

. . . and he did.

________________________________________

I have had many grace gifts given to me this week. I have seen them in my marriage. I found one in a heartbreaking conversation with a friend. I was even given one after sinning against my kids this week. God has been very kind.

But the above story has played over and over in my head this week. It's the story of our little Carson when he was born 4 1/2 months ago. He came nearly 6 weeks early. It has taken me a while to feel his story - but I did get there eventually.

There were so many other endings that could have been written to this story, and the story would still have been filled with grace. God wrote Carson's story this way and I am so very thankful.

So many pictures of grace were packed into one little story:

Carson was born breathing. He never needed oxygen - an amazing prognosis for a 4 lb. premature white male. Even the doctors were amazed.

Carson was healthy. There were no infections and no defects. He just had to learn how to thrive.

We were amazed at technology. Some brilliant scientist(s) somewhere invented a machine that could read Carson's heart rate and saturation levels just by placing little stickers on his chest. They gave me confidence in each moment that he was really okay. They were my heroes.

If I had delivered five days earlier, I would have delivered at Froedert and Carson would have ended up at Children's Hospital. That would have been higher stress and higher cost. God allowed us to be in our small local hospital, close to home and with our doctors.

God gave us gospel-believing doctors (for me and my baby). My OB/GYN shared with me two days after Carson's birth how she had prayed for me on the day of his birth. Some tense decisions were made in order to get Carson into an environment where he would be safe - and she was praying for me through it all.

We have an amazing church family that cared and provided for us in ways to numerous to count. They allowed my husband to take the week off be with me. It was the first time in 6 pregnancies that was even possible. I have many neat stories of how our church family provided specific needs for us at the exact moment we were attempting to fill the needs - not to mention all the diapers!

And the story keeps going. There are so many other things I could say, but in the end we can only state that we saw grace . . . and we were amazed.

_______________________________________

I keep thinking how so much of it correlates to my life. I was born dead. I couldn't breathe and I was destined for the worst outcome imaginable, but Jesus came running. He rescued me at my deepest need and he let me breathe . . .

. . . and that was grace.

The Spirit of God has made me, and the breath of the Almighty gives me life.
(Job 33:4)

Want to join me by sharing your grace gift? Click here to find out how . . .

Who needs store bought toys?

2011-02-09T22:51:00.000-06:00

Kleenex: $1.19 a box

Glue: $0.25 a bottle

Vacuum head: $ ????? (I'll bet it's more than I want to pay to replace the part . . .)

Having an active imagination: Priceless!

9 ways to enjoy a snow day . . .

2011-02-04T22:45:00.003-06:00

1. Sleep in.

It really helps if you know the storm is coming and you are guaranteed a snow day. You can tell this by turning on the local news and seeing if everyone is acting like they've never seen a snow storm before. They'll probably be doing strange things like jumping on huge snow drifts and videoing poor stranded motorists trying to unbury their cars - without offering to help.

2. Go out and move the snow.

There is at least 12 inches . . . and it is in the way. It is a great way to get to know your neighbors too - especially if they don't have a snow blower and you do.

Of course, this step is optional if you married well (i.e. someone with a snow blower). Then you can just take pictures from your bedroom window where it is warm.

3. Get a warm blanket and cuddle.

You can even take a nap if you are so inclined . . . which I highly recommend.

4. Go out and enjoy the snow.

If you are 11 years old, you might enjoy making a snow fort in the snow plow drifts.

If you are 38 years old, you might reconsider going out into the sub zero temperatures to actually take a picture of said snow fort. Instead, resort to taking pictures of the snow encrusted clothing - before they hit the ground and make puddles that are beyond annoying to walk through in your stocking feet.

5. Mop the floor.

Since the janitor has failed to show up in a while and everyone is throwing dirty looks in your direction every time they lose their socks, you might as well take your "day off" to keep sanity in tact.

Besides it's a good way to get rid of all the snow puddles . . .

6. Have friends over for dinner.

Hey, if they are brave enough to venture out into the snow, company is always welcome.

7. Build gingerbread houses.

If you hit the Christmas clearance sales, you can pick them up (completely assembled - a definite plus for a day off) for $2 a house. They are great for a ~~rainy~~ snowy day.

Start with this . . .

And end with this . . .

8. Stock up on " extra" special snacks.

You know, the ones you would never buy normally, but since you sent your husband to the store- and he was so excited to be staying home too - he decided he would make the day "extra" special. (And that's why you love him - because he always makes everything "extra" special. It's just your job to keep the floor clean.)

Then have your 6 year old declare that since it is a special day, "You can never stop eating and never stop doing things."

Since you're never going to stop eating, it is recommended that some of the "doing things" be running in place and stomach crunches.

9. Regret not going to bed early

. . . because the stomach flu is on it's way.

So, what did you do on your snow day?

Hope . . .

2011-02-02T05:00:00.005-06:00

A friend was flying in an airplane to confront a task that she dreaded. She was alone and she felt it - deeply. As she looked out the window of that airplane, she saw hundreds of cars moving about on the earth below carrying hundreds of people to live out the hundreds of stories of their day.

They were little dots. They seemed so minute and insignificant. But when she panned out, they made one big picture - and all of it was being painted by God. Not only was he putting each piece in place, but he cared personally for each little piece - and each stroke displayed his love.

When my friend sat back in her seat, it was as if God was talking directly to her. "You are not alone. I have gone before you. It is all planned - just trust me." Suddenly, she saw it all clearly. All those dots, all those people, so much to oversee, so much to plan - and yet he cared for her story . . . personally. He was in control. He had been all along.

Everyone has a story. Everyone.

She thinks she is the only one who hurts, but it isn't true. It is amazing how small a world becomes when she only sees her pain. No one else can possibly relate until they have lived and hurt to the same degree.

I am so glad God doesn't see it that way.

He never spent a day with her kids - or stuck to her kool-aid stained floor - or battled her never-ending, ungrateful tasks yet to be conquered - but he lifts a mother's head and gives her joy in the tasks he has ordained for her day.

But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head. I cried aloud to the LORD, and he answered me from his holy hill. Selah.
(Psalm 3:3-4)

He never felt the sting of disappointment -but he still holds her hand when they rip her dream away and all her best-laid plans change. Then he gives her his plan. A plan that was more fulfilling than she could have ever dreamed.

fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

For I, the LORD your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, "Fear not, I am the one who helps you."
(Isaiah 41:10 & 13)

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.
(Isaiah 55:8-9)

Jesus was never devastated by the rejection and unfaithfulness of a spouse, but he prays for the heartbroken wife when her husband betrays their love, walks away and she is now left so alone. And He prays for joy.

I am praying for them. I am not praying for the world but for those whom you have given me, for they are yours.

All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I am glorified in them. And I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, keep them in your name, which you have given me, that they may be one, even as we are one.

But now I am coming to you, and these things I speak in the world, that they may have my joy fulfilled in themselves.
(John 17:9-11,13 emphasis added)

He never endured endless nights of sleeplessness because of a sick child or the heartbreak of a rebellious heart, but he provides the strength to make it through the night and to make it all matter.

do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

(Philippians 4:6-8; 13)

He was there first. He had a plan and now she has confidence. Yes, it hurts and yes, it matters.

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.

Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

(Hebrews 4:14-16)

It's called HOPE.

They have a brother . . .

2011-01-31T07:12:00.002-06:00

Can you tell they have an annoying brother living among them?

What was your first clue?

Now, I know he looks suspicious . . . .

But he's innocent . . . really . . .

Brothers, you gotta love 'em.

My Moment of Grace . . .

2011-01-29T13:55:00.002-06:00

I have a grace gift this week . . . and while it is so obvious to me now, I almost missed it as such until my husband pointed it out to me.

God gave me one particular child that is so full of personality that he can be a daily challenge to my sanity. I love to see him live out his imagination, but he has also become a rather demanding child. By the end of the day, I can be very, very tired just from parenting this child . . . and that doesn't include the four other children, the laundry, dishes and schoolwork also stuffed into the day.

I had been strongly convicted lately in my responses to this child. I truly just wanted sanity, quietness and obedience. Very rarely did I have any concern for the condition of his soul. His need for obedience was about me and not about my God. Never once had I directed his attention to Jesus. He didn't know he needed God's rescue, he just thought he needed to keep mom happy.

Recently I had directed him to get his socks and shoes on so we could leave the house, and once again he had turned it into a war. I sighed deeply, set him on the chair and got down to help him with his shoes. As I did this, I stated how weary he made me and how sad he made my God. His anger and disobedience was sin and it grieved God.

He paused and looked at me. "Aw, man, that means that Satan gets a point. There is a great big score board in my head and every time I obey God, he gets a point, but every time I disobey, Satan gets a point. I don't want Satan to win . . . cuz I'm on God's team."

He totally had my attention. I had no idea that he had any type of God awareness.

Of course, he insisted that God was winning on the scoreboard in his head. I was tempted to challenge that statement . . . but figured that could be another conversation for another time.

I am not convinced he is a believer because of this conversation, but it truly was my grace gift. God was kind to give me encouragement in my desire to help my son see God daily by my conversations and in my parenting.

I don't know what God has for this child's life, but I know God is making me a different person because of this child.

And that is grace.

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
(2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

Want to join me by sharing your grace gift? Click here to find out how . . .

Moments of Grace . . .

2011-01-29T13:03:00.003-06:00

Grace gifts.

I don't remember where the term came from or if it just kind of evolved from conversations. It has become a term we use often around our house.

My goal is to look for grace; to find it in each day. God promised grace for each moment and it is always there. Some days grace is harder to see than others but that is usually just because I don't want to see it or I'm not looking through God's eyes. Sometimes it isn't obvious in this moment, but it reveals itself later. The point is that grace is always there . . . and we don't deserve it.

Gifts of grace.

Some are obvious. A good result on a test or a restored relationship.

Some are subtle. A smile breaking through her brokenheartedness or a broken promise that leads him down another path he never would have considered.

Some we almost miss. Life. Air. Jesus.

As a practice in discipline, I want to share what I see with you each week. My plan is to post "Moments of Grace" every Saturday and share my grace gifts from the previous week.

Here is the plan though . . . I want you to join me.

All you have to do is journal your grace gift in your blog and link to the "Moments of Grace" post (not my blog) from that week somehow in your post. Then grab my "Moments of Grace" button on the side bar and copy and paste the URL below it into your blog post. When you post on your blog, it will link back to my blog and we can share our "Moments of Grace" with everyone. (If you are totally confused, I can explain what I mean.)

If you don't have a blog, consider just leaving a comment in the comment section of that weeks post sharing your grace gift from the week . . . or you could even do it in Facebook and link back to here. You can do it any day of the week - it doesn't have to be just on Saturdays.

My goal is not to promote myself, but rather to encourage others to look for God's sufficient grace in their lives. The more we share, the more we see God working and the more God is glorified. This could be very exciting!

So journal away . . . and then share it so we can see grace too!

This is the LORD's doing; it is marvelous in our eyes.

Psalm 118:23

HT: for the button tutorial

I live with Ramona . . .

2011-01-27T21:41:00.003-06:00

Have you seen the new movie "Ramona and Beezus"? I loved it. I loved it mostly because Ramona totally lives at our house.

She's eight years old and is completely her own person.

She dresses herself . . . unfortunately . . . and doesn't care who sees her.

She loves to play "house." She's the mom and her favorite child is named . . . Baby-With-The-Big-Fat-Head . . . and no, I am not kidding.

You know where she has been . . . because she has left behind a disaster . . .

She is always thinking. Just this week she saw me making a bottle for the baby and I was adding some formula to it. She asked what it was so I told her it was man-made milk specially made for babies. Yep, she furrowed her brow and exclaimed, "What?! Men can make milk too?!"

And she is super creative.

She drew this . . . and once again . . . I am not kidding . . .

Do you see it? It's a living room. There is a cupboard with books and a lamp, a side table, a chair and some stairs. Amazing. The only thing I ever managed to create on an etch a sketch . . . was the staircase. I thought I was cool for getting that far . . . sigh.

I love my Ramona . . .

She's Back . . .

2011-01-22T20:34:00.000-06:00

I don't know if that will strike fear and dread in readers . . . or if most will just roll their eyes . . . but I'm coming back to blogging.

I write so I can think. Based on the amount of blogging that has been done in the last year and a half, you can tell how much thinking has been going on . . .

As you can see, I have changed the name. That is so I can post more of my life than just thoughts. My life is filled with many little moments that end up defining my days. I hope to make each one count.

I'll share them with pictures, stories and an occasional ramble or two.

So if you are up for it . . . join me again.

And hopefully we'll see how God's grace covers each moment . . .

What can you do?

2009-05-25T12:56:00.008-05:00

Recently, I was asked to move from teaching the 2 & 3 year old class at church to teaching the kindergartners. It has been a bit of an adjustment to go from antsy toddlers who are just learning how to talk to a group of busy 6 year olds who need to learn how to keep quiet.

On Sunday, I posed the question for each of the students to answer, "What is something you CAN do?"

Immediately, a student, whom we will call "Billy"(name changed to keep his parents from going into hiding), piped up and said, "Oh, Oh, Oh, I got one! Can I just show you what I can do?"

My adult discretion kicked in. I pictured him attempting flips or somersaults and decided it was not a good time for demonstrations so I said, "No, just tell me about it."

He was still very excited about what he can do, so I let him go first.

"Billy, what can you do?"

"Armpit farts."

Okay. My curriculum didn't prepare me for that one. Is this the part where I say, "Praise God! He gave you the ability to do that!"?

I'm also glad I discouraged the demonstration.

Of course, you know what the question started the next round . . . "Now tell me something you can't do?"

I let Billy go first again. Discretion had officially gone out the window and now I was just plain curious.

"I can't do head farts."

He sounded so disappointed, I almost felt bad for him.

Now I hoped for a demonstration . . . because I just couldn't picture it - but he reminded me that he CAN'T do one . . . yet.

I'll keep you posted.

I think I'm going to love teaching this class . . .

2009-05-08T05:59:00.002-05:00

This is for my two wonderful friends. (You know who you are.)

Thank You again!

I feel so loved!

2009-05-07T08:43:00.000-05:00

Cheesecake for breakfast . . . .

I love birthdays . . .

Twins . . .

2009-05-06T05:18:00.009-05:00

I have an identical twin. I have always lived my life with the privilege of knowing that other person in the world who looks "just" like me (or do I look just like her?).

People often ask what it was like having a twin growing up . . . . ummmm, what is it like to not be a twin? It is all I have ever known.

Being a twin has had its advantages.

I was never alone.

Changing schools (which we did every year K - 5th grade) was easier because I always had my sister with me - which was also helpful when it came to homework. Because she was always around, she remembers memories I have forgotten. We wore the same size clothes - and she was a much better shopper than I ever was - so I just wore hers. (You will note that most of these advantages were better for me than for her. . .)

Of course, being a twin also had its disadvantages.

I was never alone.

We shared a room, clothes, friends and school books. We were always compared to each other and no sleepover was complete unless we BOTH got to go. I was convinced that SHE was the messy one - and she made my side of the room messy too (ironically, now that's what Buff says about me). And the competition was fierce - there had to be something I was better at than her (I never found it). I also learned to answer to the name "Kerry" - especially if I was in a hurry. I suppose I could have thoroughly ruined her reputation had I been clever enough to think of it back then . . .

We never fought over boyfriends - although she did go out with Buff once (before he and I ever dated). It was on a dare and thankfully - it didn't go too well. We did fight over friends, bikes, clothes and who got to drive the car. She was always the star role in all the school plays - and I was always there to support her as the walk-on role. It was okay though. I just learned to accept all the compliments meant for her because some people didn't know there were two of us. It was just easier to say "Thank You" than to explain and embarrass them when they found out that they were complimenting me for just walking across the stage as an old lady in high heels.

According to medical science, identical twins are supposed to have the same genetic makeup. I am not a medical scientist - but I am an identical twin - and I think the scientists must have gotten it wrong.

My sister and I are alike in a lot of ways. We look alike. We have similar quirks (can you wiggle the tendon on the knuckle of your middle finger?). Tension breakers. We even married similar men (well, at least their occupations are the same . . . ).

The problem lies in the fact that she got ALL the creativity. I swear she got my "creativity" gene.

No, really.

She can take an ordinary backpack, add swirls and flowers with paint, and it looks clever. If I start swirling with paints, I just get dizzy. She takes an ordinary cake mix and transforms it into a cake that actually looks like Dora the Explorer - without a cake mold. If I tried that, Dora would have looked more like "Cousin Itt" from the Addams family. She looks at ordinary piece of wood and sees possibilities - and then paints it. I just see firewood.

She makes homemade journals for gifts, paints unique decorations for my kids bedrooms, and considers glue and tape to be as valuable as gold.

Thankfully, after 37 years together, she still likes me. It is nice, because she gives me clever gifts.

. . . I got this for my birthday . . . (last year)

It's a photo album - (still missing all the photos - I'd like to make that her fault somehow but I doubt I'll win that argument . . .)

Isn't she great? (I bet she'd make one for you too - if the price was right!)

She scrapbooks. She sews. She paints. She stamps. Do you see what I am up against?

Okay, so the competition is still fierce . . . apparently . . .

We haven't lived together for 15 years and our lives have changed dramatically in that span of time (thankfully - would you want to be stuck in the 90s?). We have been separated by oceans and yet united by a common heart for ministry. We have produced 7 children between the two of us, and she mourned with me for the one I lost. When we get on the phone to talk to each other, our families just roll their eyes and glance at their watches - it's going to be a long one. She's the only sister I've had - and I think I got a good deal. Unfortunately for her - she still looks like me . . .

So why all this rambling?

Today is our birthday.

We've spent 36 years and 712 "creative" minutes together (she is 8 minutes older than me - which might explain a lot - she is so much wiser . . .).

This is my blog and so I get to say . . . .

Happy Birthday, Sis

I hope your day is filled with more "creative" memories . . . and confetti angel food cake with pink frosting . . .

And I think I want my gene back . . .

i heart faces

2009-05-05T13:41:00.006-05:00

I have found a wonderful blog full of photo inspiration. If you love photos as much as I do, you can go and check out iheartfaces.com. There are weekly contests and helpful tutorials to help the feeble minded such as I. Now you officially know where I waste my time . . . I really should be scrubbing down the bathrooms instead . . .

After much procrastination and with much trepidation, I am entering their contest for the week. The theme is "Hats."

This is a photo of my friend's daughter . . . wearing her daddy's hat . . .

There are a lot of amazing photographers entering - so go and check out their "hat" ideas too - there are some really great ones!

Our Life . . . .

2009-04-29T12:28:00.005-05:00

Did you know . . .?

Ipods . . . are dishwasher safe. I doubt it is a claim Apple will vouch for - but ours survived the cycle in the utensil tray. It still works. Amazing. (This falls in the "don't try this at home" category - I will not be held responsible for anyone experimenting with their Ipods . . .)

The "Exit Only" sign in the parking lot apparently doesn't mean . . . "this is the only way to exit." Apparently, it is code for, "If you go this way, you will be going the wrong way through the drive through."

It made me laugh when . . .

Owen was the first kid awake in the morning. When I told him everyone else was still in bed, he exclaimed, "Sheesh, we need to get us a rooster."

My son scrubbed down in the shower . . . using a paint roller.
Maybe he's on to something . . .

Weep with me . . .

The laundry room smells (and it's not the dirty laundry - but that is all we know . . .), the front door jams, and please have a moment of silence . . . for my dishwasher. It's nearly over. The only thing we haven't tried is duct tape . . .

And yet, I am so thankful . . .

We live well, love much . . . and can't stop laughing.
(which is reason number 13 the front door hasn't been fixed yet).

Image of Grace

2009-04-22T05:46:00.002-05:00

Small wonders . . .

O LORD, how manifold are your works!
In wisdom have you made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures.

Psalm 104:24

My gods . . .

2009-04-19T05:30:00.002-05:00

"Earthly comforts are loaned. They are not gifts, for all that we possess is God's property. He has only lent them, and what he lends He has a right to take. We hold possessions and friends on a lease that can be terminated at the Supreme Owner's option. Therefore, do not complain when God takes His own. In a world where thorns and briars grow, it is natural that some sharp points will pierce you.

The world swarms with thieves, deceivers, and slanderers, with losses in business, crosses in our expectations, false or fickle friends, and with sickness and death. Little wonder our joys are stolen. Our Master warns that our habitation is not theft-proof. "Do not lay up for yourself treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal" (Matt. 6:19).

Beloved, because of these calamities may be expected, let us be prepared. Hold all things loosely. Hold them as though you did not have them. Look at them as fleeting; never expect them to remain. Never make mortal things your gods. If you do, your heart will be broken when they are taken, and you will cry with Micah, "You have taken away my gods which I made" (Judges 18:24)."—Charles Spurgeon, Beside Still Waters

HT: Josh Harris

Today . . .

2009-04-16T13:40:00.003-05:00

I'm wondering . . . what to get conquered today . . . maybe a little spring cleaning?????

I'm reading . . . The Age of Opportunity.

I'm feeling . . . a little anxious about the argument I'm overhearing over whether geese float or swim on the pond . . . I think the loudest answer is the winner . . .

I'm happy . . . the argument is over . . . for now (I don't think either side was convinced.)

I'm dreaming . . . of the cd scratching so we don't have to listen to it - again . . . Thank you Uncle Ryan!

I'm going . . . to the library . . . this morning . . . so we can enjoy the beautiful day later.

I'm wishing . . . little girls didn't have soooo much hair . . . .

I'm enjoying . . . the diligence and help of a 12 year old daughter . . . she can be very efficient when she's bored . . . the kitchen is clean - and I had nothing to do with it!

I'm planning . . . to finish school soon . . . we are so close - but it seems like so much when the weather is nice!

I'm laughing . . . at the new game we learned last night . . .

I'm loving . . . the taste of spring . . .

I'm listening . . . . to all his questions . . . he's at that age where they never end . . .

I'm wanting . . . another week off . . .

I'm thinking . . . how to live in God's grace TODAY . . . does it apply to arguments over geese too?

I'm clinging . . . to . . .

Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
. . . it is good to be near God;
I have made the Lord GOD my refuge,
that I may tell of all your works.

Psalm 73:25-26, 28

Memories

2009-04-09T05:38:00.002-05:00

Elizabeth Barret Browning was married to Robert Browning and they were deeply in love. When they wrote love letters, sonnets and poetry to each other the rest of the world stopped, took a deep breath and sighed. It was deep. It was beautiful. It was so romantic.

A few weeks ago, we had a few issues hooking up a washing machine. It flooded the laundry room, which dripped into the basement, which drenched the box on the shelf below (which, ironically, was put on the top shelf to protect it from potential flooding). This is how my life works.

The box I rescued was Buff's labeled "Memories."

He saved all the love letters I sent him when were dating and first married. It was sweet. It was sentimental. It was so, so, sad.

You see, Elizabeth wrote things like . . .

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Sonnet XLIII from Sonnets From the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barret Browning.

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only.  Do not say
I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of ease on such a day--
For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so.  Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheek dry,--
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.

Sonnet XIV from Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barret Browning

I wrote things like . . .

"Have I ever told you how awesome you are? Let me tell you. Every day I think you are even more awesome! You really are the greatest! And I am being serious! You're just plain wonderful!"

"I couldn't ask for anymore and I won't ask for anything different. I love every part of you! From your 'cute' little head to your ticklish little toes!"

And I wrote it over and over and over - and it is about all I ever said. (Except I also seemed to do a lot of apologizing for being grumpy . . . )

And still he asked me to marry him. Talk about love being blind. . . I think he needed to have his "cute" little head examined.

In the end, it made for a good laugh. I resisted the desire to pitch them, replaced the soggy cardboard box with a water resistant rubbermaid container, and put it back in the basement. I figure I will I need to be reminded in about 30 years when Mikayla starts dating that some couples really are that sappy - and the relationship really can make it. Some people just say it better than others, while others should reconsider ever writing it down . . . .

Of course, if anything happens to me, I doubt Buff will make any money publishing my letters - unless there is a market for nauseating reading . . . it sounds like just the thing I would be remembered for!

2009-03-31T05:43:00.002-05:00

I can hardly wait . . . .

When I'm An Old Lady

by Mary Ann Hopkins

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with my son,

And make his life happy and filled with such fun.

I want to pay him back all the joy he's provided,

Returning each deed. Oh, he'll be so excited!

. . .when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

I'll write on the walls with red, white & blue and

Bounce on the furniture, wearing my shoes.

I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.

I'll stuff all the toilets, and oh, will he shout!

. . .when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

When he's on the phone and just out of reach,

I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.

Oh, he'll snap his fingers and then shake his head,

And when he is done, I'll hide under the bed.

. . .when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

When my son's wife cooks dinner and calls me to meals,

I'll not eat my green beans or salads congeal.

I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,

And when she gets angry, run fast as I'm able.

. . .when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

I'll sit close to the TV, thru the channels I'll click.

I'll cross both my eyes to see if they stick.

I'll take off my socks and throw one away

And play in the mud 'til the end of the day.

. . .when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

And later, in bed, I'll lay back and sigh

And thank God in prayer and then close my eyes.

And my son will look down with a smile slowly creeping

And say with a groan, "she's so sweet when she's sleeping."

. . .when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

Our Greatest Need

2009-03-29T05:11:00.001-05:00

“If God had perceived that our greatest need was economic, he would have sent an economist.

If he had perceived that our greatest need was entertainment, he would have sent us a comedian or an artist.

If God had perceived that our greatest need was political stability, he would have sent us a politician.

If he had perceived that our greatest need was health, he would have sent us a doctor.

But he perceived that our greatest need involved our sin, our alienation from him, our profound rebellion, our death; and he sent us a Savior.”

- D.A. Carson, A Call to Spiritual Reformation

HT: Of First Importance

Dog hair and trash cans . . .

2009-03-27T05:39:00.000-05:00

A friend shared this article with me and it was a needed reminder and great encouragement to my days.

Maybe it will encourage you too . . .

Here is an excerpt:

Sticky messes and smelly garbage cans aren’t detours and roadblocks; they are God’s highway of significance. My daily planner may not contain anything that would impress a highly paid executive, but my work has great worth before the Lord. He says that the things I have done for the least of these I have done for Him. Sometimes I try to picture Him sitting on the kitchen stool waiting for a bagel, smiling as I sing a worship song on my knees beside my toddler’s bed or sighing with contentment as I zip a cozy sleeper over my infant’s full tummy and squeaky-clean skin.
Pleasing the Lord wouldn’t be enhanced by bringing home a paycheck or having a title before my name. I have just as many opportunities to please Him within the four walls of my family room as I would in a corner office. As I wipe a little bottom, I have the same wherewithal to gain the Lord’s favor as does a top marketing strategist for Pampers.
Tying little shoes, reading picture books and making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches grant me just as much potential to hear “Well done, good and faithful servant” as I would if I performed brain surgery.
The significance of dog hair, trash cans and toilets is this: They each give me an opportunity to serve my family and pursue a life of great value before the Lord. As I cast off the burden of being ranked among the most accomplished and pursue His approval instead, I see the road that lies before me — and it leads me home.

Read the whole thing here. . . .

warm thoughts

2009-03-26T05:39:00.000-05:00

Soon . . . .

Hello, Tuesday . . .

2009-03-24T08:09:00.004-05:00

It was one of those weekends that I am glad only happen occasionally. Because it was so incredibly busy and extraordinarily exhausting, Monday was even harder to endure than usual. I have stories I could tell you (this is the Powers' house after all). . . but I promised I wouldn't. I'm sure I will tell them soon - and everyone will be laughing, but I will wait until everyone is ready to share. When my Monday is a long day, I know it is going to be a long week.

I woke up this morning - too stiff to stay in bed and too tired to face the day. I am just weary.

But God is kind. I found this reminder in my inbox between the bookstore advertisement screaming for my business and the gentle reminder that I need to get moving, run more errands and return those library books:

“Your worst days are never so bad that you are beyond the reach of God’s grace, nor are your best days ever so good that you are beyond the need of it.”

- Jerry Bridges, Discipline of Grace (Colorado Springs, Co.: NavPress, 1994), 18

I know I can do it now.

Sticky floors, laundry mountains, math equations, and busy children - here I come - by the grace of God.

HT: Of First Importance

Happy St. Patrick's Day

2009-03-17T05:09:00.001-05:00

I am not Irish, but . . .

Last year, my friend Mark posted this video in honor of the holiday and made me laugh . . . very hard . . .

You will realize after viewing the video that I have a very, very sad sense of humor. Not much in life makes me laugh - and this is what gets my funny bone. I watched it many times during the year and every time it brought me to tears- because I was laughing so hard. I watched it again before I posted it - and I didn't laugh as hard . . . I'm getting old and mellowing . . .

So, for what it is worth - maybe at least a smile . . . Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Mother of the year

2009-03-14T19:01:00.006-05:00

I have talked before of my grand intentions of becoming mother-of-the-year . . .

It is only March and I am officially out of the running.

There are a few things you might not know about me - but when the sun goes down and I finally fall asleep - I see weird things, hear weird things - and unfortunately say weird things. Sometimes it is in the form of sleep talking. Other times I just wake up in a panic yelling frantic commands to Buff (who has yet to take one seriously - we should consider counseling - but for two very different reasons). And then there are times when I wake up with no sense of urgency and give gentle commands when I should be moving around frantically . . . . This is one of those times.

Carra nudged me up at 2:23 a.m. and whispered quietly that she just woke up and found a lot of red stuff in her bed.

"Okay, Honey. Why don't you just go and get your pillow and blanket and just sleep here on the floor by me," was my compassionate motherly reply. I remember the entire thing - and I remember it seeming completely reasonable. I even remember being impressed with myself that I was not at all annoyed about being woken up at such an ungodly hour. Such a good mother.

The next morning I was sitting in my recliner reading and the whole scenario replayed through my head - only now my common sense was back.

"Something red?"

"In her bed?"

"Did she mean - BLOOD?????"

I went running into her room to check her bed - and sure enough there was a rather large blood stain right in the middle of her bed.

She was bleeding and I sent her back to bed.

In the first wave of panic, I thought that she had coughed up blood. In a matter of seconds, I pictured the rush to doctor, the hospital stays, and crying at her funeral. I always think the worst first. Then I realized that I never heard her cough at all during the night. I calmed down and decided to check her nose. Sure enough, she was still alive (although still asleep - probably because being awake at 2 a.m. makes one tired . . .) and she had had a bloody nose.

She survived the whole ordeal - without my help. Not necessarily a consoling thought when we consider it all involved blood - a major life source.

I think from now on we are going to encourage the kids to notify Buff of any emergency at 2 a.m. Hopefully he will be able to respond with a bit more common sense, keep everyone alive - and I'll get some sleep.

2009-03-06T17:17:00.000-06:00

"Remember this, had any other condition been better for you than the one in which you are, divine love would have put you there."

Charles H. Spurgeon

Image of Grace

2009-02-19T05:46:00.001-06:00

Quiet

In case you were wondering . . .

2009-02-18T05:35:00.003-06:00

I found this meme online once upon a time and thought it might be fun someday. The problem is that it was about watching movies, t.v. and eating out - things I rarely do (unless I can put PBS kids, Prince Caspian (x100), and McDonalds down all 8 times).

(I have decided my life makes a boring meme.)

These are the original categories . . .

Crazy 8's

8 T.V shows I watch

8 favorite restaurants

8 things I look forward to in the morning

8 most recently viewed movies

8 things one might find peculiar about me

8 smells I love

Soo, I don't know if this is legal (is there such thing as blog police?)- but I changed it a bit so that I could play too.

8 places I love to be

1. Asleep.

2. In my bedroom, curled up in one recliner talking with my hubby in the other recliner.

3. Out taking pictures of the kids (or pictures of anything - it would be more fun if I knew what I was doing though).

4. Out on a date with my hubby.

5. Playing games with the kids.

6. Family Hug!

7. Family night.

8. Talking with good friends.

8 things I look forward to in the morning

1. Snooze button.

2. Bible reading. (The Old Testament stories are fascinating . . .)

3. Hot shower.

4. Morning grins as they slowly wake up . . . They always come into the room like it has been a while since we have seen them and they are so glad to see us . . . They each have their own particular "greeting grin" as they move in for the morning hug.

5. A good morning hug from Buff.

6. Checking my e-mail. (Which is interesting because I get so few e-mails . . . )

7. Checking the weather report. (Which is also interesting because it never really matters because I rarely leave the house . . . but I always check - just in case . . . )

8. His goodbye hug and kiss. (The day is just off-kilter without it.)

8 things one might find peculiar about me

1. I love, love, love the smell of coffee, but can't stand the taste of it - no matter how much sugar and cream is put in it.

2. I talk in my sleep. It keeps Buff amused at least (well, as amused as he can be at 3 a.m.).

3. I like being either here or there, but I dread the commute from here to there. I just don't like driving.

4. I have a lazy eye that wanders when I don't have my glasses or contacts in. If it didn't give me a headache, it would be fun to taunt Buff with it.

5. I hate chocolate covered cherries. Even the picture on the box makes my stomach turn. Let's just chalk it up to a bad experience with them when I was a kid.

6. I might have mentioned this before (but it's hard coming up with 8 peculiar things). . . I can wiggle the tendon/muscle on my right middle knuckle when my hand is in a fist.

7. I have never fallen asleep during a movie. I just have to make it to the end - no matter how tired I am!

8. I don't like hot drinks. That might be part of my problem with coffee. I do like an occasional vanilla steamer when I'm out with Buff on a coffee date - but I have to be cold. (One possible exception - Snow White Cocoa . . . )

8 items I could live without but I am glad I don't have to . . .

1. A hot shower.

2. My lined Wal-mart brand "crocs".

3. My computer. (It makes lesson plans soooo much easier.)

4. Heated seat warmers in the car. (Oh, wow.)

5. My Wolfgang Puck griddle. (One of the best gifts ever - use it nearly every other day!)

6. Chapstick.

7. Adjustable wastebands (in the kids pants - the BEST invention ever!!!)

8. Lotion.

8 gifts I have received recently

1. A frying pan - love it. (Hopefully this one won't disappear like the one I got last year for Christmas. Seriously. How do you lose a frying pan?)

2. A wonderful handmade (by my daughter) blanket (perfect for those recliner talks & early morning Bible reading . . .)

3. A Ticket to Ride (thrilled - until I lose miserably every time I play it - then I hate it.)

4. Cookbooks. (the ones put together by churches (and families) that are the best because you know they are the favorites of people you know and trust and actually taste good.)

5. Scarf. (Not one designed for warmth - but rather for fashion. I'm still getting the courage up to wear it . . . I'm just not good at fashion . . .)

6. Restaurant gift cards. (Date night!)

7. Music CD. (Sons of Korah)

8. Food!

8 smells I love

1. Buff

2. Coffee brewing in the morning.

3. The kids after a bath.

4. Bread baking.

5. Pine. (Real Christmas trees . . .)

6. ummmm. . . .

7. Well . . . .

8. Er . . . . just can't think of anything . . . .

So who wants to join in? Pick your categories and post away!

Thinking out loud . . .

2009-02-16T05:47:00.004-06:00

Whenever I pursue something, and it doesn't work out the way I planned, my usual thought is that God rescued a good me from a bad situation.

I think I need to consider possibility that the real reason it didn't work out is that God might have rescued a good situation from a bad me.

I am just arrogant enough to believe that I am only ever the victim - and never part of the problem (and therefore rarely part of the solution).

A week in review

2009-02-14T05:58:00.009-06:00

This week I stopped every once in a while to write down what our life looks like in a given week.

In my mind, it was a rather mild week and yet,

The vacuum died. It is a long, sad, uninteresting story - and completely our fault - so therefore it is not covered under the warranty. This is my life.

We had an extra unscheduled trip to the dentist (making it trip #6 in two weeks). I think we have single handedly paid for the dentist's summer vacation home. I wonder if he'll let us borrow it for a week?

The toilet overflowed. Pure nastiness . . .

Owen colored his toenails with a permanent marker - and then used someone else's toothbrush to try to scrub it off . . . I still wonder whose toothbrush it was (I just know it wasn't mine!)

I found the nail clippers in the refrigerator. You're just jealous 'cause you didn't think of it . . .

We had a quick round of the stomach / intestinal flu race through the house. Can it actually feel good to feel hungry again?

We took a day off school and I took 6 kids the zoo! Where Carra threw up, Owen and Aaron jumped in every mud puddle (love those rubber boots), and I pulled about 100 pounds (3 little boys) around in a wagon. They had fun and I slept well that night . . . (You have no idea what a big step that was for me!!!)

I planned ahead and purchased valentines for the little kids to share - then successfully misplaced them. I swear I hid them in the laundry room . . . I'm sure they'll show up on Monday. I guess I'll be ready for next year! Bummer. They came with tattoos . . .

Another day. Another week. And I wouldn't trade any of it for the world . . . . (okay, maybe the toilet overflowing . . .)

It was Just Another Day in Paradise . . .

Image of Grace

2009-02-12T05:04:00.003-06:00

CONTENTMENT

Now there is great gain in godliness with contentment,
for we brought nothing into the world,
and we cannot take anything out of the world.
But if we have food and clothing,
with these we will be content.
(1Timothy 6:6-8)

Observations . . .

2009-02-09T05:03:00.000-06:00

Has anyone else been frustrated by the fact that you turn off the tv and take your family out for a small treat and some fun family conversation at the local fast food restaurant, only to compete with . . . the tv?

Bless You . . .

2009-02-07T05:35:00.001-06:00

When we walked into the store, she was smiling, but now she was so cranky. It figures.

She wasn't very old, and I only had to pick up a few things at the grocery store. We were making good time until we came to the soda aisle and then she decided she had had enough.

It didn't matter if I held her or laid her in her car seat. Her response was the same - to scream.

I must have looked a bit frazzled by the time I got to the checkout counter. I had the attention of the entire store, and I was mortified.

I remember thinking that she will scream no matter what I do, so I will just let her scream in the car seat so I can move more quickly. I frantically wrote out the check and moved to stuff the groceries in a bag. Of course, I had chosen the aisle without a bagger. That was a lesson I would learn to never do again!

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone move to the end of the counter and start bagging my groceries - and she wasn't wearing the store uniform. I had never met her before, and she didn't make any effort to introduce herself. She just moved quickly and with purpose. She had those groceries packed and reloaded back into my cart by the time I had moved to the end of the aisle.

I think I remember her saying something about being there once. I honestly don't know if I even got to thank her. I might have been too frazzled to think of it. I hope I said something sensible and somewhat appreciative.

People like that still amaze me. They see a problem and don't wait to be asked to intervene. They just step in and help. They bless people by just being there and doing what needs to be done. Deep words of wisdom aren't necessary - but they know how to meet people where they are.

That is what I want to be like. It doesn't come to me naturally. I often don't even see a solution or if I do, I'm often to self-centered to move. Will they be offended? What if I make their problem worse? It's people pleasing at its finest - and it's selfish.

So I'm looking. Looking for opportunities to bless and help and live out the gospel.

How has someone blessed you?

Image of Grace

2009-02-05T05:42:00.004-06:00

Creativity

Thinking out loud

2009-01-29T17:07:00.005-06:00

I have spent a LOT of time sitting in doctor's waiting rooms lately. I am not exaggerating. We have had 12 appointments in 13 days - and 5 more scheduled within the next month. The good news is that 90% of them are the regular yearly checkups and dental cleanings - so we are healthier than it appears.

When I am organized, I bring my own reading. Of course, when I do that the doctors are on schedule and there is really no time for reading. (My name should have been Murphy.) When I forget something worthwhile to read, I whittle away valuable time trying to find something to read in the stacks of magazines. It is usually not very productive.

For instance . . .

The miracle jeans I need to make my tummy slimmer and my bum smaller cost $178. Apparently the only solution I can actually afford - is to stop eating . . . bummer.

I also read that boys require more energy to raise than girls - starting in the womb. Oh, really? The only reason I was sitting in the doctor's waiting room - was because I have boys. I need to figure out how to get paid for writing the obvious. (Oh, and girls require more patience. It is apparent that my children were doomed from day one.)

So, I'm back at the dentist this week - 2 appointments scheduled and one of them is for a boy with ANOTHER chipped tooth (this one had something to do with a sled and asphalt pavement . . .). I am planning on bringing my own reading . . . and it probably should have something to do with self-control and parenting.

Image of Grace

2009-01-29T05:16:00.002-06:00

Wonder

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?
And not one of them will fall to the ground
apart from your Father.

But even the hairs of your head are all numbered.

Fear not, therefore;
you are of more value than many sparrows.
Matthew 10:29-31

Confessing my self righteousness . . .

2009-01-27T05:33:00.000-06:00

“Before you can ever make a clean and unamended confession of your sin, you have to first begin by confessing your righteousness. It’s not just your sin that separates you from God; your righteousness does as well. Because, when you are convinced you are righteous, you don’t seek the forgiving, rescuing, and restoring mercy that can be found only in Jesus Christ.”

- Paul David Tripp, Whiter Than Snow (Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway Books, 2008), 22.

HT: Of First Importance

Image of Grace

2009-01-22T05:13:00.001-06:00

TIME

The dilemma . . .

2009-01-13T05:52:00.003-06:00

My oldest daughter and I were checking out at the store the other day. I was oblivious to the world around me, but in usual fashion, she was paying close attention to the cashier. My daughter is observant. She watches very closely. Trust me - she's good. Try sneaking a treat with her in the room or sending a non-verbal message across the room to the love of your life, and she will call you on it faster than you can blush.

Besides that, she dreams of getting a job. I dream of her getting a job too - but not for the same reasons.

In all her observing, she noticed that the cashier actually forgot to scan one of the items . . . she had given us a $9 shirt . . . for free . . .

Of course, true to form - my daughter panicked. I think she really thought we could all go to prison for life for this felony.

So, there was the dilemma . . . it was their mistake . . . they would never know . . . they have insurance to cover such issues . . .

Actually, none of that crossed my mind - but for the grace of God.

I was actually more amazed by the customer service representative's reaction. She asked who my husband was and why he would bring it back to pay for it. She must have thanked him 20 times and was actually disappointed that she didn't have a reward for him. Her only consolation to him was that "the Man Upstairs" would reward him someday.

Well, it was true that "the Man Upstairs" was involved. All we could think of was the lesson our kids would gain if we kept the shirt without paying. We tell them God is watching . . . He is everywhere . . . He is with us . . . we do all for His glory . . . and now we got to prove that it all matters in how we live life - not in just what we say.

It is also true to say that we could only see what needed to be done because of His work in us. He has opened our eyes and changed our hearts. We only do right because he helps us.

These little opportunities are priceless. We got a chance to instill the thought that while they think everyone else is watching and everyone else cares, in eternity it will still only matter what God thinks.

Thank you, God, that it was never a dilemma . . .

Resolutions . . .

2009-01-11T04:59:00.001-06:00

I generally make the New Year's resolution - to not make any resolutions. Honestly, I can't say that I ever really "made" resolutions, but rather some good ideas of what I really needed to work on, but then never really changed.

This year will be different - because I actually have a plan.

No, I'm not going on a diet (although after all my holiday eating, it may not be a bad idea).

I resolve to actually get my pictures developed as I take them. Back in the day of film cameras, it wasn't a necessary resolution. Now that I own a camera with a memory card that can hold up to 1,000 photos, it has become a real problem.

I haven't developed any photos for two years. We won't get into excuses, explanations or whatever-I-need-to-call-it to make me feel better. It just didn't get done.

So here is what it looks like to get two years of photos developed - all at once.

Thank goodness for year end photo sales! It doesn't seem like enough, but there are over 700 pictures there. (And I have more I could develop . . . )

I don't have photo albums to put them in . . . yet (that should take at least another year - I resolve to save that project for 2010 - at least).

But I still have to file them all somewhere . . .

Today . . .

2009-01-09T05:22:00.000-06:00

In My Thoughts

Thankful for the Fleas

"The barracks where Corrie Ten Boom and her sister Betsy were kept in the Nazi concentration camp Ravensbruck were terribly overcrowded and flea-infested.

They had been able to miraculously smuggle a Bible into the camp, and in that Bible they had read that in all things they were to give thanks, and that God can use anything for good.

Corrie's sister Betsy decided that this meant thanking God for the fleas.

This was too much for Corrie, who said she could do no such thing. Betsy insisted, and so Corrie gave in and prayed to God, thanking him even for the fleas.

Over the next several months a wonderful, but curious, thing happened. They found that the guards never entered their barracks. This meant that the women were not assaulted. It also meant that they were able to do the unthinkable, which was to hold open Bible studies and prayer meetings in the heart of a Nazi concentration camp.

Through this, countless numbers of women came to faith in Christ.

Only at the end did they discover why the guards had left them alone and would not enter their barracks.

It was because of the fleas."

HT: Crosswalk

In My Heart:

In the span of one week, I coveted someone else's master closet, envied someone's laundry room, and drooled over their kitchen sink (and I wasn't eating anything at the time).

Today it all seems silly. I have so much and, yet, I flirt with discontenment and even lust. If it had been another man I had considered, that would have been appalling. Yet, somehow covetousness of things I can shrug off as insignificant and harmless.

My life doesn't hurt too much. I don't fight fleas or fear assaults. My daily pain comes more from my inward struggle with sin than from outward circumstances. Recognizing my sin makes me more aware of a holy God. Becoming more aware of a holy God makes me hate my sin. The very fact that I see my sin and am repulsed by it, is a grace gift.

I am not necessarily thankful for my sin, but I am thankful he uses even it for his glory.

What circumstances in my life am I not thanking God for . . . that really are for my good?

My Encouragement:

" . . . admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." 1 Thessalonians 5:14, 16-18

Praying for my pastor . . .

2009-01-07T19:55:00.004-06:00

I have the unique privilege of being married to my pastor. When he is teaching others, he is teaching me also. Because of this privilege, I also know very well the heart, motive and humanity of my pastor when he is speaking. He is a sinner teaching and leading sinners and he desperately needs God too.

When I saw the following list online, my first response was to think that it is necessary for his church people to pray for him this specifically. Then I realized that this means me too, and I truly fail him in this point.

This list is helpful, very specific and so, so true. I know for a fact that each of these areas are the heart cry of my pastor.

Please, please pray for your pastor. He can't do it alone.

Just replace [your pastor] with your pastor's name as you pray.

Pray -

1. That [your pastor] would know and love the living God, would have a saving interest in Christ, being purchased by His blood, and thus would be bound to the Lord by the indissoluble bond of the Holy Spirit.

2. That [your pastor] would know, embrace and ever more deeply understand the Gospel and be shaped by it in life and ministry.

3. That [your pastor] would be useful servant of the Lord, that he would know and love God's word, God's people, and God's kingdom; that he would be used to build it up and so that it prevails even against Hell's gates.

4. That [your pastor] would study, practice and teach the Word of the Lord, by the grace of the Holy Spirit.

5. That [your pastor] would love to pray, because he loves to commune with his God, and that he would be a man of prayer, characteristically.

6. That [your pastor] would be ever dependent upon and filled with the Spirit; and that he would possess true Spiritual wisdom.

7. That [your pastor] would be holy unto the Lord. That his tongue and heart would be wholly God's.

8. That [your pastor] would be kept from pride, and especially spiritual pride. That the Lord himself would be gracious to slay pride in him, and that your pastor would endeavor to always be putting pride to death, by the grace of the Holy Spirit.

9. That God would give [your pastor] guidance as to where to focus his efforts in ministry.

10. That He would protect [your pastor] from himself, from the enemy of his soul, and from all earthly enemies.

11. That no decision which [your pastor] ever makes or desire that [your pastor] ever pursues would restrict his ability to pour his whole soul into the Gospel ministry.

12.That many would be converted and many built up under [your pastor]'s ministry, to God's glory alone.

13. That the Lord would bless [your pastor]'s wife, [. . . ], with holiness and happiness, Gospel assurance and Gospel rest.

14. That God would make [your pastor] a decent husband and father.

15. That [your pastor] would be a good friend to his wife, and love her self-sacrificially,

16. That [your pastor] would be a good daddy to his children. That they would love God, their parents and the church.

17. That [your pastor] would be a testimony in the home so that his wife might be able to respect him when he is in the pulpit, and so that [your pastor] will be able to feed her soul, along with the rest of the congregation.

HT: Challies