Lessons from the Flower Patch

We worked in our yard this morning, so I don't need to tell you that I feel tired right now. We've taken on a lot this year. Last summer I was pregnant, so we didn't do much besides baby the grass in our front lawn. This year we've seeded grass on one side of the house and in the back, planted a large vegetable garden on the other side, and put a flower patch in the front for the girls.
Jason worked on the vegetable garden while I weeded the flower patch. I gotta tell you, I was irritated at some points. But I was also laughing at myself, because I kept thinking of the Parable of the Sower. (Matthew 13:1-23)

Earlier in the spring, when we seeded our back yard, we were so hopeful. We imagined a lush, Ireland-esque carpet of grass for our children to run through on their way to the swing set. But, by golly, we kept seeing birds on our seeded dirt, and we knew that was no good. Our dirt-y backyard (because it is still largely dirt) grew weeds, with strands of grass here and there. Birds: Don't think they won't come to try and steal your seed.

There I was in the flower patch. I knew I needed to weed it a few weeks ago, but we'd been busy and it's been raining. What a mess it was. And then, I have this problem. I don't actually know what I'm doing when it comes to gardening. My mother is Mrs. Green Thumbs herself and I guess I've always hoped that I would inherit the "Gift of Grow" by living in a home that at times was disguised as a jungle of African violets. I sat there looking at my little garden, and I wasn't completely sure which plants were unbloomed flowers and which were weeds. I mean, some were obviously weeds, but then there were some . . .
For example: Little plants with small, round leaves -- friend or foe?
I had another problem. I planted the garden using a packaged seed mix. There were a least half a dozen types of flowers in that bag. I'm assuming this means that all the flowers will look different as they start to grow, so now really -- how am I supposed to tell a weed from a flower?
I guess if you don't have a clearly defined goal, it's hard to know if you're bearing the right fruit.

There are some decorative logs that separate the garden plot from our front lawn. The lawn we watched and babied last summer. The lawn I made sure to water at the beginning of the day before the hot sun could kill it. The lawn I slipped on and fell flat on my rear while I was seven months pregnant because I was moving the sprinkler from one wet side of the yard to the dry side. Our beautiful lawn. But the grass is doing so well in front that it's trying to spread between the logs and into our flower garden. Those roots were deep! It was a lot of work to dig them out. A beautiful thing growing in the wrong place doesn't help anyone.

Then there were the rocks. The plot where we planted our flowers used to be rocked. But most of the rocks were gone, so we didn't think much of starting a garden there. Until Jason tilled the soil. Up from the ground came rocks and more rocks, hidden by eroded sand and dirt. I wanted to stop and pick them all out, but Jason pointed out that we only had a limited amount of time. If we didn't plant the seeds that night, it probably wasn't going to happen in the next few busy weeks. After that it might be too late. So we decided to plant and see what came up. Today while I dug out weeds, I threw out rocks. So many rocks. It may not be fun, but sooner or later you have to deal with the rocks.

But every once in a while I would glance up at the side of the yard. We seeded it with grass, tried to water it dutifully, and lo -- there is grass. It's not Ireland, but there is a lot of good, pretty little grass on that side. And it's comforting. When a seed produces like it's meant to, it's so satisfying.

Seriously though, does anyone know about those little, round leaves?

Day Five

Hurray for us! I wish I could throw us all a big party to celebrate! Truly, you guys are all awesome.
Here's my song 5:


Til I Know

Lord You said nothing could separate me from
Your passionate tender heart, the kindness of Your love

And I long to search for You
How I long to search for You

Chorus:
I wanna know again the fountain of Your blood that washes me
Wanna dream in the freedom of Your truth
I wanna see You wave Your banner over me, whose name is love
Til I know

Bridge:
Wanna know how high
Wanna know how deep
Wanna know how rich
Wanna know how sweet
Your love
Jesus, Your love

Day Four

Today Jason and I decided to write a song together. Enjoy!

Never be the Same

Never said it would be easy
But You'd make the crooked paths straight
And You said there would be trials
But You'd make a way
You'd make a way

Here in this moment, I don't know what to do
So I'm holding on to this hope I have in You

I will run to You
(You never change)
I will hide myself in You
(You're the safest place)
Your love has chased the fear away
I'll never be the same

Day Three

If you know me at all, you may have seen this coming . . . a praise song for kids! This idea was inspired by Elsie, who actually sang/shout out, "Turn around, turn around, jump, jump, jump!" a few days ago. Here it is:

Turn Around (Jump Jump Jump For You)

I believe that You are good all the time
I can count on Your love
I've heard You say your dreams for me are so, so big
I'm not afraid, You live in me

When I think about my God it
Makes me want to

Turn around, turn around and jump, jump, jump for joy
Wanna clap, clap, clap and shout Your name out loud
Wave my hands in the air and do a crazy dance
Turn around, turn around and jump, jump, jump for You

When I think about my God
When I think of who You are
When I think about my God it
Makes me want to

Day Two

Here's my song for today:

Happy Birthday Me (I'm getting older)

Day One

I'm doing a 5in5 hosted by my friend, Dan. Five songs in five days, Baby! Here's song one.

Believe

Abraham decided he would trust You
Even though he had no earthly reason
Against all hope, in hope he believed
And received a promise greater than he'd seen

Lord I wanna believe
Even when I don't have answers
I wanna believe
Though I can't see it today
Wanna hold fast to hope
'Cause I know that You are faithful
Wanna believe for things
Greater than I've seen

Here's to the straight paths.

We never know what a year will bring, do we? I tend to think of myself as generally optimistic, but sometimes life throws you some lemons. And you can make all the jokes you want about throwing the lemons back and demanding chocolate . . . some days you don't have the strength for that.

This last year I had had some good sized lemons tossed in my lap, and it was hard not to ask why. Why God, why? Seriously? This is how things are going to be? This is in my story now?
I know that why can be a dangerous question to ask, especially when you're thinking with your emotions. But sometimes I couldn't help but ask anyway.

One particularly hard, teary night, I asked why and flipped through my Bible. I was not looking for answers really. Just comfort. Just something to soothe the ache. And I found this:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and shun evil. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones. (Proverbs 3:5-8 NIV)

I think it was the words "health" and "nourishment" that stopped me first. I wanted healing in my soul more than anything else in that moment. So I read it again.

All the whys I'd been asking . . . that was me trying to lean on my own understanding, wasn't it? I wanted an answer, something to understand, a reason for why things happen the way they do. That way, I could make sure it would never happen again. I wanted to never hurt like this again.

If I found an answer, I would be wise in my own eyes, but it would not bring the healing that I wanted. Only fearing the Lord can do that. Only trusting HIM. My own understanding wouldn't hold me up.

I read it over and over, trying to lock those words with their new meaning into my heart. You know what else I found? God doesn't promise us straight paths in this verse. He doesn't say, "Trust me and all your paths will be straight." He says when we acknowledge him, He will take the make our paths straight. He will take the crooked, bumpy path we're on, and make it straight.

Amen and amen.

In which, we meet Maureen.

Well. I've taken a very long break from posting, but allow me to make my way back into blogging by introducing you to someone.


For those of you who love the stats, Maureen Nicole was born October 16, at 3:04pm and was 7 lbs 11.5 oz, and 20.5 inches long. Maureen means "wished-for child" or "great", and Nicole means "victory of the people" or "victorious people," all of which seem appropriate.

I love this pic. Maureen in her "Little Sister" shirt, between her two sisters whose shirts say, "Big Sister."

Maureen is sweet and kissable. She brings something special to our family already.

Somehow, I really thought we would have a girl again, even before we saw the gender through ultrasound. After the ultrasound, strangers would see my pregnant belly while I pushed my other two daughters in a cart through the store and ask if we knew what we were having. And when I said that the doctor thought it was another girl (with a big smile on my face), they would say things like, "Oh no! Maybe next time," or even apologize. They always walked away quickly after that, which is probably good because I was annoyed. I was very much NOT sorry to be having another daughter.

Jason bought this shirt in Jericho for Maureen when she was about 9 weeks gestation. It says, "God did a great work here."

I think it would be great if we had a boy someday, but I am so glad we have Maureen. She is perfect for our family. I don't know how to explain it, but when I look at her, I know I could have all girls and be completely satisfied.

It helps that she's adorable and has a great smile.

And so, Maureen has completely stolen our hearts. People look at her and say that they don't know who she looks like, but she definitely belongs to us. And I love that. I love that she's with us, that she's part of us. I can't wait to find out more of who she is.


I love you Baby Girl!

Well. I've taken a very long break from posting, but I'll give you lots of pictures to try to make up. For those of you who love the stats, Maureen Nicole was born October 16, at 3:04pm and was 7 lbs 11.5 oz, and 20.5 inches long. Maureen means "wished-for child" or "great", and Nicole means "victory of the people" or "victorious people," all of which seemed appropriate. And now I would like to present, for your reading enjoyment: Why I Love Being the Mommy of Three Girls - I've always liked pink and purple - Every Sunday is like playing dress up with my three favorite dolls - They can sing "Sisters" from <span style="font-style: italic;">White Christmas</span> - Giggling and squealing - Female trios sound awesome - Rainbows, glitter, hearts, unicorns, sparkles, jewelry, princesses, fairies! - Headbands and piggy tails - Playing with make-up

When I looked it up in the dictionary I saw your picture.

About a month ago I went through my typical Mommy-and-Daddy-are-both-on-worship-team-today routine. I woke up at 5, so I could be ready by 6, so I could get the girls ready and we could all be at the church by 7 (or pretty close to it, anyway). Jason and I had picked out and ironed our clothes the night before, and I had set out the girls' dresses. I was in the kitchen, packing up breakfast for the kids to eat during worship team practice. I had hard-boiled four eggs, packed two baggies of cereal, put grapes in two bowls that have lids, tucked two packages of fruit snacks into a small pouch of the diaper bag (for a snack in between the two services we hold), and was pouring water into two water bottles. Sometimes, depending on what we are doing after church, I will also pack an extra change of clothes for all of us (and maybe swimming suits and sunscreen for the girls). And the thought came to me ...

"This is ridiculous."

Now, it's not really ridiculous, because all that prep work makes the morning go more smoothly, and all that food is needed because my girls are getting up earlier than they usually do, and eating lunch 2-3 hours later than they usually do on Sundays like these. But suddenly the thought of adding one more small person to that -- oh man. But then I realized what was really going on here.

I ... am amazing.

Yes. It's really true, I've come to see. But I don't say this to you as a way of patting myself on the back. I say this because if you are a mom, you are amazing, too. Just take a look at everything you do. Make dinner nearly every night of the year. Keep tabs on everyone's underwear and socks so you know when you absolutely have to do laundry today. Find the missing shoe that no one else knew where to look for. Keep your temper with your children when you want to be given over to fits of rage. Teach those small people running around your house how to do productive things like clean their rooms, or tie their shoes, or say sorry with the nice voice, when most of the time they don't want to learn how to do those things at all. You pray for your husbands and support them. You let them go out with the guys while you fix dinner, give bathes, and put the kids to bed alone. And you smile about it, because you know he will come home a happier man, and you don't really begrudge him that time anyway (too much).

So, good for you! Take a look at yourself -- you do amazing things everyday. And even though you do them everyday, you don't quit. You keep giving and loving -- something that is truly amazing.

My problem is I want it all.

I have a friend who cloth diapers her babies. She knows all the new tricks and is making converts on facebook. I've been reading all her tips, and talked to Jason about it a few times. I like the idea of being green, and of saving a landfill from more diapers that will just sit for 7, 000 years. I really, really like the idea of saving money. I mean, this is child #3, here. But when I talked to Jason, he said, "I don't know. If I were you I wouldn't do it. You're going to have enough to do without keeping up with cloth diapers."

And really, he was telling me what I already knew was true. Especially about me. Let's review the facts:

1. According to my previous records, when a new baby comes, laundry is the first thing to go down. Yep -- add a person, neglect the laundry. Makes sense, right? But truly, this has been the way of it. And cloth diapers = even more laundry. How can I be sure I'm going to get diapers washed every day if I'm not even sure I'm going to remember to wash everyone else's underwear? And while Jason is more than willing to help out with the laundry, I'm not sure it's fair to make him have to remember to keep up on cloth diapers when I'm the one who wanted to use them.

2. I'm homeschooling a child for the first time. We've decided to teach Natalie at home. I taught first grade for two years before she was born, so I feel confident that I can do it. But it's not the same as having a job where you leave home and only work with one age group. I have a kindergartener and a two year old. I teach while I'm at home. The day goes something like this: Bible, take Elsie to the bathroom, Spelling, recess (while I start a load of laundry), give them snack, wish that dirty dishes weren't staring at me, water the lawn because we'll be gone that night, Reading, take Elsie to time out for ______, Math, you get the idea. All this means I have no idea how I'm going to add a newborn to this schedule, and yet, the baby will often preempt the schedule.

3. I have a two year old. And I don't want her to feel lost in the shuffle. Big sister will get lots of attention because of school, baby will get lots of attention because she's a newborn. Little/new big Sis will need lots of attention, too. Well, and also, because she's two. Not giving a two year old attention sounds like a disasterous thing, if you know what I mean.

And so, I'll be using disposable diapers. And I'm a little sad. I probably should be relieved that I have excuses, but I liked the idea of it. And this makes me realize one important thing about myself: I want to do it all.
I mean, last night on the way home from a weekend getaway with my husband I was thinking about how Natalie wanted to be Ariel this year for Halloween, and how I'd been planning on making an Ariel costume for her. Ok -- that right there is craziness. I do, in fact, own a sewing machine thanks to my grandmother, but it's still in the box. I've had it for months. Do you know the last time I sat down to a sewing machine? Seventh grade Home Ec. Do you know the first time I sat down to a sewing machine? Seventh grade Home Ec. Now, in my mind I figure it can't be too complicated to make a simple shirt and a tail that Natalie's legs will stick through. Maybe not perfect, but passable. When I'm being realistic I wonder if it will turn out like my cupcakes. And if I'm setting Natalie and myself up for disappointment (if I finish it at all).

But there I was, in that car, really thinking I could teach school, have a baby in October, and sew a mermaid costume if I got started on it right away. Then, after a reality check, I wondered if she would be ok with being Ariel as a human. We have a pink princess dress, and I could still use that fake hair color spray to turn her hair red. I figured Elsie could go as Belle, since the little yellow dress we have would probably fit her (it doesn't fit Natalie anymore). Um, but both of those dresses would require a sewing repairs. One would require a new zipper. I have never sewn on a zipper. Surely I could find a youtube video or google it or something.

Do you see how crazy this is? How I go back and forth? Do you know what is most likely to happen? Most likely, I will publish this post and then forget about Halloween until mid-October. I will then either stress myself out with dress repairs while my house looks like the Salvation Army blew up inside it, or I will find some simple solution (uh... headbands with paper ears taped to it? We could be the three bears...) and feel like a lame mom.

You see, this is why I cannot cloth diaper. If I'm going to spend the money up front I have to stick with it. There will be no turning back. And as much as I sometimes aspire to be a supermom, I can only do so many things well.

I want them to stay that way.

With the release of Toy Story 3, Natalie has been interested in watching the other Toy Story movies that she'd never seen before. So, thank you very much, Netflix, I will take a copy of Toy Story 2.
We decided to make a movie night out of it. So there we were, in the living room eating popcorn, when the toys turn down the Barbie aisle of Al's Toy Barn. Their jaws drop, their eyes bug out, and I was sorely disappointed. I don't want my girls thinking this is a normal way for guys to act around girls, anymore than I want them to go around scantily clad like the Barbies.

My children are still very innocent, and I like it that way. When the dentist asked Natalie if she was dating, she gave him a blank look. She doesn't know what that means. When he asked if she had any boyfriends, she knew how to answer. She has lots of friends that are girls, but only two close friends that are boys. "Yeah, I have two -- Avery and Ethan."

My mom took Natalie and her cousins to the store while we were visiting, and Natalie came back with a Polly Pocket pool set. It's got a pool, swimming suits, clothes, Polly, and a boy. Natalie says that the boy and girl are brother and sister. I LOVE that. Because, why else would a girl and boy hang out together in their swimming suits unless they were brother and sister?

So Disney, go ahead and make movies for children. I mean, I'm not crazy about it when you put scary parts in, or make the villain a witch doctor like in your last princess movie. I'm still watching you pretty closely before I decide if my kids lay eyes on you. But please, could you spare us some of the junk and make movies for children?

Commenter's Intimidation

Ok, I admit: I have commenter's intimidation. There are blogs I read on a regular basis that I will not comment on. Way too scary.
Sometimes I don't comment because I have nothing to say that wasn't already said by someone else. Sometimes it was so beautiful that it seems inadequate to write "That is so beautiful." But mostly, on these particular blogs, I don't comment because these people are cool. And you know that saying, Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt? I'm trying not to be a live demonstration of that one. Well, the "remove all doubt" part anyway (ok, and the being thought a fool part, too. But I'm only in control of one of those things).
A few times I have bucked up enough courage to leave a comment, and usually I have regretted it. Even tortured myself with it. Surely I sounded dumb. Ridiculous at best. Why did I ever comment? They would never know I was even reading their blog!

One blog I read is maintained by a Christian chic-lit writing pair. If you've never read a post by these gals, you should go browse a couple. I find them very entertaining. But I never comment. Oh, no. In fact, they have contests where they give away books they've written if you tweet about their new book coming out, or write a blog post on a certain topic. I seriously considered entering the last one because, wouldn't it be so fun to win?
But, no. Because those other people who are so cool that I don't want to comment on their blogs? They read AND are brave enough to comment on this one. And . . . what if I won (they announce the winners via a blog post) and thought, "What, she reads this one, too? Does she have to invade everything we read? Isn't there anything left that's just fun for us?"

You have to understand, I know that line of thinking is silly. These are nice people; they probably would never think that about me, or if they did, they would be remorseful immediately afterward. But I still feel like I can't take the chance. And so, it looks as though I will not be winning free books anytime soon.

I would like to take this moment to say that if, by chance, I have regular readers out there who are afraid to comment here, you really shouldn't be. Honestly, haven't I shown you enough of myself to prove that you are cooler than me? Be free. If you don't like to comment, I'm cool with that. But if you are one who sits there, holding yourself back so that you won't comment and feel dumb later, please don't. After all, blogging is slightly narcissistic -- bloggers like to know that people are reading what they write.

So, is there anyone else out there who joins this silent frustration of commentor's intimidation?

On a scale of 0 to 10 ...

Hello. My name is Eleanor, and I'm a distracted messie.

I don't really know how this happened, or when my family first noticed it. I suppose it's hereditary.
I first learned to recognize it when my mother gave me a book -- one that I think she had been given herself -- called, "The Messie's Manual." In its chapters I found descriptions of myself, nodded my head, and even laughed out loud. I'd never before known that my problem was so common.

I don't think my father is a true "cleanie;" he probably falls in the "4-6" group on the given scale of 0 to 10. "0" = disaster, "10" = perfection. They say "0-1"s don't even come to a Messies Anonymous seminar. They don't care enough to want to change. "7-9"s are cleanies; there is really no need for them to attend a seminar like that. It's the "2-3"s that need help. Although, "4-6"s sometimes come to learn and get a little better.

To be brutally honest, I actually fall into more than one category of messie. I think it was 3 or 4. Yikes. But "distacted messie" is the one Jason and I laugh the most about. I've come a long way since I've been married, believe me. In fact, I have a mental list of things I want done around the house each week, and I'm really good about getting them all done. Well, I was before I became pregnant. But like I say, I was pretty proud of my progress.

Lately one child or another has been waking up in the middle of the night, and sometimes I have trouble going back to sleep. After being up for an hour and a half last Saturday, I decided to get out of bed at 5 in the morning. I figured I could pick up some toys that were scattered in the den, start some laundry, and maybe even wash the dishes I was too tired to tackle the night before. I started out well enough in the den. But when Jason walked out to see what had become of me a few minutes later, I felt a little sheepish.

"I couldn't sleep, so I came out here to pick up a little bit. But then I saw this book I've started and realized that I hadn't read the forward yet, and I really wanted to . . ."

Are you beginning to understand what a distracted messie is?

Veil blog

Hey, everybody! It's that time of year again -- Easter, which for our church means "The Veil", our original musical production. This year some of the characters (including yours truly) are blogging on our church website, so if you're interested you can go here to check it out!

You know you're a mom if . . .

You can't remember the last time you ate an entire apple by yourself.

You say things like, "Pull up your pants, please" or "Tuck that piece of hair behind your ear."

Or things like, "Do you want to say thank you to your sister? Or do you want to sit on your bed?"

You feel accomplished when you clean a room, only to turn around and find the room behind you has become a disaster area.

Somewhere in your house is a small, electronic something that needs a new battery. And you know this because it won't stop playing the same three notes over and over again.

Today you cleaned up a water mess on the floor. Tomorrow you will be sweeping up half a box of cereal.

You own a crayon/marker drawing that did not make it to the paper.

You helped confirm the statistic that parents of 2-3 year olds answer the question, "Why?" up to a staggering 70 times per hour.

The bulk of books you read are finished in 3 minutes or less.

A bag of tiny marshmallows can save your day.

You hear "I love you" randomly throughout the day.

You can't wait for bedtime -- because you love the snuggles.

You realize you're already doing the most important thing you'll ever do.

Things hoped for.

I've been thinking about faith lately. And people like Joel Stockstill. Joel Stockstill is the youth pastor of the biggest youth group in America. He has also lived with kidney failure since he was sixteen. He is now in his early 30's. So two or three times a week, for three hours at a time, for the last fifteen years he has gone into the hospital to have dialysis. I follow him on twitter, and he writes things like this:

"today i am still basking in thankfulness that Jesus has given me life for 30+ years. Many have passed on & yet HERE I AM! His Stripes 4 me!"

"Today a day of rest and treatment. Wait,1 of those doesn't go! Treatment isnt Gods best. I reject all reliance on medicine & embrace healing"

"Claiming total miraculous healing today in Jesus mighty name! perfect function in kidneys and restoration of all things stolen by the enemy"

"Today my petition and confession are the same 2 BRAND NEW KIDNEYS!!! i will settle for nothing less & stop at nothing to receive Jesus best"


He totally inspires me to believe God for . . . anything, everything! But sometimes my faith gets tangled with doubt. Because now I have a daughter that I'm trying to teach about faith. And I know what I think about the power of Jesus, but . . . what if she becomes disappointed? What if I keep confessing healing over her, and she never gets rid of her glasses? I mean, I'm confessing complete healing in her eyes while I stand there looking at her through my own glasses! I've answered several calls for healing, and prayed over my own eyes with no noticeable difference. What if that doesn't inspire her, but makes her think I'm foolish?

I can handle waiting for healing. Everything worth having is worth waiting for, faith is the substance of things hoped for -- you guys have heard the same messages I have. I'll keep standing, but I want Natalie's faith to be unshakable, too. What do I tell her about people who believe for healing and die in sickness? Because that happens.

But who has more faith: the person who thinks it's pointless to believe and is never healed, or the person who believes without wavering and is never healed? Which is more likely to be healed? Which is more likely to move in a spirit of healing? Of course, it's the person who believes.

So I will believe for me and for her. And for both of us to have great faith.

"Lord, I believe, but help my unbelief."

The most powerful thing I can do now.

This little stool sits in the girls' bathroom (or do stools stand?). Ruth has one similar to it, and we've had them for so long that I don't even remember how old we were when they came into our possession. If you could hold it and turn it over, here is what you would see written underneath:
Handcrafted by Floyd and June Spidle. Eleanor, Jesus loves you! So do we!

And underneath their names is a phone number. I've often wondered if that could really still be their phone number after nearly thirty years.
I don't remember Floyd and June Spidle. I don't remember how old they were when we knew them. I don't remember what they looked like. I don't remember if they lived close to us, or if they used to give us candy. I only know, from what my parents have said, that they were a spiritual mother and father to my parents, and that he built the stools and she painted the characters on them. I don't even know if this was something they did for a lot of people, or just something they did for us.

When I was fourteen, a family moved to my hometown and started attending our church. She was pregnant, and after a while I became their regular babysitter. For a season, I went to their house every Saturday. I remember that it was this often, because I basically spent my Saturday morning waiting for the telephone to ring. If it didn't, I became a little sulky, because they weren't going to need me that week. When we had special events at our church that I thought they might attend, my insides jumped with expectation and hope.
I had fallen in love with this family. At first, I just loved their baby boy. He was a roly-poly ball of adorableness, and I loved him from his round little head to his round little feet. When he grew a little older, we would jump down the stairs together holding hands. I blew him bubbles in his backyard, and pushed him in his red and yellow Fisher-Price car. I was sad when it was time to put him to bed because then the fun was gone. But I couldn't have been more delighted than the night when I put him to bed, told him I loved him and heard him whisper back, "I ov oo." In fact, I put it in a calendar.
I discovered I loved his parents, too. They had southern accents, and really -- who can resist that? They were always saying kind and encouraging things to me, and blessing my heart. The car rides to and from my house were full of friendly conversation and jokes instead of uncomfortable silence. They gave me gifts, and cards telling me how much they loved me and appreciated all my help. We even ate dinners together and watched movies together. Honestly, I was a little insecure around them, because they were so cool, and I loved them so much and wanted to always make a good impression. But even with that teenage insecurity, I still felt that they were the first adults that could be my friends, too.
They moved away when I was a junior in high school. Several states away. I was devastated. My parents took me to their house the night before they moved so that they could help pack and I could watch their little boy. I was so jealous over that little boy. I was honestly irritated that night when anyone hugged him goodbye, because I knew they didn't love him nearly as much as I did. What fakers.
The mom had given birth to another baby the month before; a girl. I sat in a room with her just before it was time to leave, crying because I wouldn't see her grow up. Somehow I pulled myself together enough to hug everyone and say goodbye. But I was crying before I could walk down the driveway to my parents' car. And I didn't stop until I fell asleep that night.

For the first few years I was able to keep in touch with them, but after I went to Bible College I lost track of them. They had moved a few times, so the phone number I had was useless. Last year someone told me they had gotten divorced. I was heartbroken. My friend didn't really know any other details, which made it worse. I had witnessed how madly in love these two were, how could it be possible that they divorced?
A few days ago on facebook, I asked a mutual friend if he had any contact information. Yesterday I received his reply. He told me that both of them had remarried, and that he didn't have any information, but that he had always gotten a hold of his friend by googling his name and city. I tried over and over again to get some sort of connection with them from the internet -- a phone number, an email address. I actually found the husband, but couldn't get his information without paying for it. Which seemed a little intrusive, if nothing else.
After I had given up (for the day, anyway), I went into the bathroom and cried. And cried. That's where Jason found me when he came home from work. I just kept thinking of that beautiful family. Of that couple that had been been so important to me, and made me feel special at a time when I was self-conscience and unsure. And oh, the babies. Those babies that I would have done anything to shield from pain. That I had held and kissed and prayed over. And all I could do was resolve to be important to someone, and make them feel as special as I had felt.

But last night, after the tears were wiped away, I thought of something else I could do. I spotted the little stool in the bathroom. And I wondered if Floyd and June Spidle loved me as much as I loved the family now broken and far away. I wondered if every now and then they prayed for me, maybe even still. I wondered if they had prayed for me when I was walking through difficult times in my life. And I remembered that, though we sometimes think of prayer as a last resort, it's really the most powerful thing we can do.

So I prayed.

The Matter of Blessings.

As I was praying this morning, I started thinking of our finances (probably not an unfamiliar story). We were able to pay off a significant chunk of debt last year, and I felt compelled to believe God that our debt levels would be lowered by twice that amount this year. That would truly be an act of God, as just the amount cleared last year was most definitely an act of God.

I started thinking about Abraham. You know, there was really no reason he was so blessed -- other than he belonged to God. I mean, every where he went it seems people were throwing money, sheep, and livestock his way. EVEN WHEN HE LIED TO THEM. Seriously, it was not based upon his perfect behavior. It was based on the fact that God had marked him, and wanted to bless him. And so everyone in his path showered him with gifts.
Isaac was the same way. God had made a covenant with Abraham, and He was going to continue it with Isaac. Even though Isaac lied, too.

So many times we want to make the blessing about us. We did something so great, that we caught God's attention, and it made Him want to bless us. Can we just laugh about that? Um... God just wants to bless us. Just because. For no particular reason. The same way we want to bless our kids.
It's not based on whether we do everything perfectly, because Jesus died for our imperfections, and when God looks at us, He sees us the same way He sees Jesus.
And while it's good to do right, God's not as stuck on that as we are. He just loves us and wants to pour out blessing on us. Do we believe this? Or will we allow our unbelief to stand in the way of the blessings waiting to be poured out?

I, for one, want to stand right under the spicket.

Speaking and Believing.

About two weeks ago, a man in our church told me that he felt like God gave him a word for me. God told him, "Tell her to write the book." I was thrilled. For about 10 minutes.

You see, basically everything I read about getting published is depressing. "It's really hard to get published. You're gonna work at it for a million years before you write anything an agent even wants to flip through. And the way that the book world is going will make it even harder in the future. With the economy the way it is right now, you shouldn't hold your breath. It probably won't happen for you."

Ok, so I've only actually read the first and third sentence, with many hints about the fourth. But that is definitely the feel you extract from these professionals' writings. I want to write a book, but besides this blog, I haven't done any writing. Why write a book when you don't foresee a wind chill blowing through Hades anytime soon?

We had a church conference last weekend. The guest speakers were a couple who have written many books about things like joy, hope, believing and declaring God's promises. More than once I heard him say, "If you want to write books, then start saying it about yourself. 'I write books well.'" He probably only said it twice, but it could have been 20 times the way it reverberated through my head. Speaking it is a big part, but believing is everything.

I remember what I had written here, only about two weeks ago. That God spoke identity over Abraham before the promise came. That God even gave him a new name, so that Abram would be saying "Abraham" over himself even while he waited for his promised child.

Deep Breath.

I write books well.

P.S. They also said if God highlights something to you in a book or in a message to write it, speak it, and use it as a sword in that season of life. So if you hear me walking around muttering, "I am anointed to raise wonderful children in the Lord," don't worry that about me talking to myself. I'm just picking up my sword.

Happy Birthday, Ruth!

Ahem. Well.
This little shout out really should have gone out yesterday, since that is my sister's actual date of birth. But I wasn't quite as on top of it yesterday as Jeremy, who threw my sis a surprise birthday bash. He gets the trophy this time.
But Dear Sister, I do have a few things I would like to say to you on this truly momentous occasion. And while I don't have 30 of them, I would like to list a few of the things I love about you here.

- You always listen to and truly appreciate my stories. I'm sure this is no small feat.

- You are a great worship leader. I love worshiping with you, and watching you interact with Jesus.

- You are wise. So many people (and obviously I'm including myself) have benefited from your practical and spiritual advice.

- You once said to me, "I'm always on your side. He has to EARN his way into the family." I'm glad that you weren't going to give just any boy that special place in our family. And I'm also glad that when he proved himself worthy, you gladly gave him the title "brother." And of course, I'm really glad to know that your always on my side -- ha!

- How many times did you help me with my homework? How many times did you listen to me lament that I wasn't courting Jason yet? How many times did you make me pray for Abigail after we'd fought? (Ok, so I didn't really appreciate that last one at the time. . .)
Thanks for always having my back.

- You make me laugh. Hard.

- You have great kids. Thanks for raising great kids.

- That time you chased Tyler down the street after he called me a nerd, that time you were going to "take" Jeff "outside" for . . . I don't even remember -- thanks for protecting me. Even though I didn't know what a nerd was.

- Once we stayed up way past midnight . . . yeah. Good times.

-You have been a great example to follow. Thanks for being a big sister I could look up to. And thanks for not beating me up during that period in my life when I followed you all around the church building even after you told me to stop.

I love you so much, Sister, and I'm so glad God gave you to me. Happy Birthday!