Thoughts from an Overthinker

Acorns

2012-01-30T07:33:00.000-06:00

Think of the self that God has given us as an acorn. It is a marvelous little thing, a perfect shape, perfectly designed for its purpose, perfectly functional. Think of the grand glory of a oak tree. God's intention when He made the acorn was the oak tree. He intention for us is "...the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ." Many deaths must go into our reaching that measure, many letting-goes. When you look at the oak tree, you don't feel that the "loss" of the acorn is a very great loss. The more you perceive God's purpose in your life, the less terrible the losses seem.

[I] am being asked to trust, to leave the planning to God. God's ultimate plan [is] as far beyond [my] imagination as the oak tree is from the acorn's imaginings. The acorn does what it was made to do, without pestering its Maker with questions about when and how and why. We who have been given an intelligence and a will and a whole range of wants that can be set against the divine Pattern for Good are asked to believe Him. We are given the chance to trust Him when He says to us, "...If any man will let himself be lost for my sake, he will find his true self."

When will we find it? we ask. The answer is, Trust me.

How will we find it? The answer again is, Trust me.

Why must I let myself be lost? we persist. The answer is, Look at the acorn and trust Me.

elisabeth elliot

I read these words early one morning and have thought about them since. I soon found myself in a park, standing beneath a tree on ground littered with acorns. I crouched and gathered them until my hand overflowed. I needed to look at them and remember their willingness to be planted. Planted so they could become what God intended for them to become. Become what He created them to be. To be what He intended all along.

Their willingness.

And then these words to a song that I sing and think of the small acorn that I have come to love so much:

Oh I've been pushed down into the ground

Oh how I've been trampled down

So many feet on top of me

I can't help but sink, sink, sink

Oh I've been pushed down into the ground

Oh how I have been trampled down

Lord I put my trust in thee

You won't turn your back on me

Oh I am a seed

I've been pushed down into the ground

But i will rise up a tree

Oh I can see it won't be long

Till I break free from what I was

Your river of grace flows endlessly

You won't turn your back on me

Oh I am a seed

I've been pushed down into the ground

But i will rise up a tree

I've been burned up in so many fires

From these ashes I will rise

Lord your power has rescued me

For you I'll always sing

Oh I am a seed

I've been pushed down into the ground

But I will rise up a tree

Oh I am a seed

Won't stay long here in this earth

When you rain your love on me

Lord, rain your love on me

david crowder band "i am a seed"

Do you trust Me?

2012-01-27T11:21:00.000-06:00

I like anniversaries.

I had a friend in high school that like to try to drive by looking in his rear view mirror. {we were kids that made some really bad decisions}

I sort of feel that way about my life. I'm rather obsessed with time, but I also feel the need to gain confidence by constantly looking back at where I've been. Where I've come.

It was a search for a church, largely documented here on this blog. It was a church we visited mainly out of curiosity. There was absolutely no desire on my part to join. I simply wanted to see a worship service in action.

That was four years ago today.

I still remember clearly every detail of that first service. Such a shock to all of my senses - senses that felt dull and sleepy were suddenly plunged into icy water.

I was awake.

And I had no desire to be a part of that church.

Funny how God works.

It would be a couple of months later yet, that on the way home from a service at that same church, that the husband said, "Yeah, so I think we're joining."

But still. I remember that first day well.

And with that anniversary date approaching in my head, I have had some time to reflect on all that God has done in my heart and in my life in those four years.

It would fill volumes and volumes.

It's not so much about the church necessarily.

But I will say that how God has blessed us with a fellowship of believers with the same heart for God and His kingdom is enough to bring me to tears in thankfulness to Him. To be a part of a church where the Word is preached unabashedly and where the passions of my heart are felt is a luxury. I know this. I know this to the deepest reaches of my heart.

And I know that I am a flawed part of a flawed body. It's not perfect, and until Christ parts that sky and rescues us from this fallen world, it won't be perfect.

Aside from the actual church, though, this anniversary was a moment, or several, for God to remind me of His faithfulness.

I didn't want to join that church. I had my list of requirements about what I wanted in a church. We found a couple of churches that filled every requirement. We were in the process of choosing from that list when God directed our path.

And I pitched a little fit.

It didn't last long, but I did.

And what would I have missed had I gotten my way?

I don't want to think about that.

The greatest prayer is the one in which we thank God for unanswered prayer.

Or in my case, thanking Him for not giving me my way.

And as I reflected on this, I knew that I was in another place in life where I was asking God for my own way.

No, not really.

I was pushing, pleading, shoving, pulling, crying, screaming, begging, throwing fists and stomping feet in every effort to manipulate the will of God to fit my desires.

That was sort of hard to write. But it's true.

And God continues to ask me

Do you trust me?

And what I show Him with my life and my actions over and over and over again is

No. I don't.

I mean, I've always had trust issues. And not to justify this in my life is hard when I can toss back blame to a dysfunctional childhood. My past is a fact, but I'm not called to trust God in spite of that past. I'm called to trust Him because of that past.

Because I realized somewhere along the line that I thought that God sort of fallen asleep while a large part of my life was happening. Surely He wasn't okay with the way it all went. So if He wasn't trustworthy with the early part of my life, clearly He wasn't to be trusted with the other parts too. Clearly I needed to take control over my life to insure that hurt didn't revisit me over and over again.

I could stop that from happening.

So I tried. I shut out Him and a lot of people and set out to please myself and take care of myself.

That led to the Decade of Debauchery.

So coming back to Him pushed me back into a place where I handed Him my life, cautiously and hesitantly.

It took a while for me to learn that everything in my life did indeed happen perfectly according to His plan. But that didn't help me trust Him any more. In fact, I felt wounded.

All of that really hurt, God. And frankly I don't see You too upset about it.

And I was still trying to trust Him.

But it seems those four years ago was a bit of a turning point for me. A point where I could fling it all to Him or tuck and run.

I wanted to run, but I gave it all to Him instead.

I would love to say the trusting got easier, but it's more of a constant battle.

Especially when I find myself doubting His faithfulness. His plan.

I became determined to trust Him at all costs. If the Bible commands us not to fear 300+ times, surely there are commands to trust Him too, right? If it's a command to trust, than I just will. I willed myself to trust.

"I trust You. Help me trust You more."

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times.

I decided that I was going to trust Him no matter what. I was going to look back on this time of my life and be proud of myself. I was going to serve faithfully, wait well and live in such a way that I wouldn't have any regrets later.

Well. That was a high standard to set in the first place.

And slowly I began to realize that I was denying myself what I really needed.

I needed to wrestle with doubt and distrust and fear and anxiety about God and His plans in order to strengthen that trust.

Appropriately, of course. But honestly. Being real. Bearing my heart to Him. The One who listens with compassion and mercy.

It's not easier. It's a constant struggle for me to trust Him.

And over and over and over and over again, I say, "Really, God? That is so not good. That's not supposed to happen. Don't you want to do it this {my} way?"

Forgetting that the God who is omniscient and operating with the knowledge of the Everlasting to Everlasting knows more about my life and His plans for me than what my finite and selfish mind can even begin to comprehend.

And when the storm rages and the waves roll and I cling to Him with arms that are shaking with the fatigue of clinging for so so long, I repeat with eyes fixed on Him,

I trust You, I trust You, I trust You...

Isaiah 30:15 - ...in repentance and rest you will be saved, in quietness and trust is your strength. "our joy is in proportion to our trust. or trust is in proportion to our knowledge of God." g. campbell morgan "faith is a shift of confidence and trust to One who has always proven faithful." Isaiah 26:3 "the steadfast of mind you will keep in perfect peace, because he trusts in You." Psalm 9:9-10 "...the Lord will also be a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in the times of trouble; and those who know Your name will put their trust in You, for You, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You." "trust God and do the next thing." elisabeth elliot "Lord, all my desire is before Thee now, Lead on, no matter where, not matter how, I trust in Thee." Hebrews 3:13 "I will put my trust in Him" Psalm 91:2 I will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress, My God, in whom I trust!" Psalm 37:3 "Trust in the LORD and do good..." Psalm 37:5 "Commit your way to the LORD; trust in him, and he will act..." Psalm 62:8 "Trust in Him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us." Isaiah 12:2 "Behold, God is my salvation, I will trust and not be afraid; For the LORD GOD is my strength and song, And He has become my salvation." Isaiah 26:4 "Trust in the LORD forever, For in GOD the LORD, we have an everlasting Rock." John 14:1 "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God..." Romans 15:13 "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

"Then Jesus turned to His wind-torn friends. 'Why were you scared? He asked. Did you forget who I Am? Did you believe your fears, instead of Me?' ... Jesus' friends had been so afraid, they had only seen the big waves. They had forgotten that, if Jesus was with them, then they had nothing to be afraid of. No matter how small their boat - or how big the storm."

{The Jesus Storybook Bible}

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.

Elisabeth Elliot

2012-01-14T10:27:00.000-06:00

My friend Elizabeth walked in the door with a bag full of books one night early in October. My eyes grew big as she sat the bag down, and I wondered what collection of books was in that bag. To a book lover, there is no better thought than the chance to read a new book. She sat on the couch and grinned at me.

"Those are all of my Elisabeth Elliot books."

"Oh really?" I was intrigued. I was familiar with Jim Elliot, after hearing him referenced in church and then studying him with the kids in school. Elizabeth had mentioned Elisabeth Elliot to me several times throughout our friendship. Elisabeth has been a hero of hers, so to speak, and she had been reading and loving her books for years.

And now she had brought them to me.

"I can't get to them right now," I said sadly. "I have too much other stuff going on."

I did take 45 seconds to dream about a weekend getaway with just me, a pile of books and a good stock of hot tea. But I had to be honest -I had no idea when I'd get to read just one of those books, much less the whole bag.

"It's okay," she grinned. "No rush."

It felt like she knew a secret.

Our conversation turned to other things, but I kept my eye on that bag of books.

It would be the middle of November before I could even think of that bag of books again. A rough couple of weeks stretched out before me, and for some strange reason, I went to that pile of books. I had a vague idea of what kind of books were in there, based on what Elizabeth had told me, but how I ended up digging a book out of that bag was providential.

I won't soon forget exactly where I was, sitting in the kitchen, stool pushed against the cabinets to create a makeshift desk for me.

I took a moment to savor the weight of the book in my hand. It was a hardback book, my favorite. I smoothed the book open to the first page, and soon the words were blurred by my tears as a coolness filled my body and I found it hard to breathe.

It was the difficulty and the sweetness of seeing my own feelings written by someone else's hand. Then I laughed through the tears in thankfulness to a God to brought this stack of books to my house and let them sit, unattended, until just the moment that He intended for this book to be in my hands. For this time.

I wiped away the tears and read more. Then a thought sent me off my stool in search of my journal, where familiar words had been written months and months before.

Early in the year, I had read a book that changed things for me. In it I had read this quote:

I had repeated this quote to myself a hundred times in the days after reading it.

It was an easy quote to read, but exactly how did one trust God with the "next thing"? The unknown next thing was a large part of my anxiety.

Slowly God and I worked it out. For me, in this stage, the next thing was the tangible thing right in front of me. (Ignoring, of course, the looming and unknown larger next thing) So how did I trust God and do the next thing?

It usually began when my eyes opened in the morning and I thought, "I really don't want to do this day."

I would remember this mantra. God would whisper, "All you have to do is trust Me and get out of bed."

I could do that. Nothing more. But I could physically push back the covers and stand up.

Then He would say, "Trust me and walk down the stairs."

I could do that.

Then I would repeat to myself, "Trust God and make the coffee."

"Trust God and make breakfast"

"Trust God and spend time in His Word"

"Trust God and pour out your heart in trust and faith while you pound the pavement under the sky"
(that was the hardest and yet my favorite)

"Trust God and make lunch..."

"...and pay bills, do laundry, clean the kitchen, go to the bank, do school, return emails, cook..."

"Trust God and breathe..."

and go to bed and trust that He will help you do it all again tomorrow.

That's how I learned to trust Him and do the next thing.

{the big stuff would come when and how He intended. it always does. He's in charge of that. not me, thankfully}

As these memories fell back over me, I turned my attention back to the book face down still opened to that first chapter and knew that Elisabeth Elliot and I were going to spend some precious time together in the near future.

And we really did.

I poured over this book with tears and hope. I scribbled reflection after reflection in my journal. I serendipitously found another copy of that book at the thrift store, just by chance of course, and poured over it with a friend, then another friend and then another.

And then the day came when I read the background to the quote that taught me how to trust God more:

From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the doors the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration: “DOE THE NEXTE THYNGE.”

Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King,
Thrust them with Jesus, doe the nexte thynge.

Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe ‘neath His wing,
Leave all results, doe the nexte thynge

Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, doe the nexte thynge.

--Anonymous

The more I read of Elisabeth's book, and the Word that it pointed me to, the more I felt that calm and peace and reassurance that I knew could only come from Him. That hard period of time I had dreaded faded into the rear view mirror, colored again by all the shades of His faithfulness made tangible by the gift of this book and the ones to follow.

And of course, as things seem to go in my world, things seem to appear in "random" places. Things that made me smile. Things the proved that this amazing woman's walk and subsequent ministry would touch more people than perhaps she ever dared hope:

There was this post and this this one and this one. I read them and smiled, thankful for her love for Christ and dedication to serving Him.

And then I began to read more about her first husband, Jim. My thoughts about him will probably have to wait until another day. Suffice it to say that his passion and dedication to Christ and His mission occupy my thoughts frequently.

I think about them throughout my day, my new friends Jim and "Bet." And now that my world has once again gotten busier, I don't have the chance to read these books daily. I find myself missing this couple. I look longingly again at this stack of books which once again sit, abandoned by other more urgent studies. I'm happy to know that they are there, waiting for me. {and i sneak peeks here and there. I miss them too much to leave them alone for long} I'm thankful for what they have taught me. I'm thankful for how they have strengthened my own faith, my walk, my love for Christ and for His Word. I am thankful that they provide comfort in a world that sometimes, oftentimes, feels completely foreign to me, even though it's my own.

Christmas from their hearts

2011-12-07T08:30:00.001-06:00

There have been a couple of blogs that have posted recently about Christmas that really struck a chord in me. I don't know what to do, if anything, yet. I do know that my heart longs to do things differently. And I have absolutely no idea how to do them.

Christmas Conundrum

and

Whose Birthday is it Really?

The post where I wax nostalgic...

2011-12-03T17:05:00.000-06:00

Because I can.

It's my blog and I can wax nostalgic if I want to.

This post will be long, meandering and sentimental. I'm going to take my time and not worry about being concise and easy to read.

This one is silly and

just for me.

My entrance back into the church has been partially documented here, on this blog, somewhere.

After a rather intensive search, we found a rather small church that met in a school. I had gotten a flyer in the mail, and thought, "It's close. Why not?"

We went, like it and joined.

Pretty simple.

I had no idea what to expect from a church. It had been so long since I had been in one, and for the most part, the sort of church I grew up in still existed, but it was rather outdated. We visited a church like the one from my childhood, and it was comforting and familiar. It was also laced with memories, and I craved a fresh start.

This church was good. It fit all of my criteria. The very best part of it were the people. I met, and still have, some of the best friends that I could have ever asked for or want.

This is a blessing that I do not and will not ever take for granted.

The preaching was fine and the worship was fine. I was such a baby Christian again, starting over again after a long absence from the church, and I was just glad to be back in church. I tried to relearn the culture and assimilate back into it.

It was just good to be back.

As time went on a bit, and I got my footing, I began to feel a little uneasy. I couldn't figure out why, exactly. I hadn't been back in church long enough to know what was "good" or "right" in a church or in this unfamiliar church culture.

I began to learn how to read and study the Bible at home, on my own during this time too. I'm terribly embarrassed now at some of the resources I used in my study, but a child isn't embarrassed at how badly he walked when he first learned to walk. I was a baby in the faith, and I made mistakes. That's it. Moving on.

I studied hard. I dug into the Word as best I could. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was desperate for Him. I was guilt laden, struggling to learn how to be a mom to a daughter, trying to make friends - in short, I was exhausted. Shortly after joining our church, I got pregnant.

So now I was all those things and hormonal.

I recall crying through some services at church, just from the overwhelmingness of it all.

Time passed and I settled in. Had the baby boy. Made more friends. Joined a women's Bible study. Grew, learned, fellowshipped and settled into my new way of life.

It was good.

You know.

Good

Safe. Comfortable. Happy.

Weird.

Maybe it was here where it all started. I struggle to pinpoint when it started.

The tiny, barely detectable twinges of something.

Things certainly got weird here.

I wanted another baby. The husband did not.

I thought perhaps the Spirit had given me the desire for another child. When the two kids were in the bath, it felt like someone was missing. When they were playing in the backyard, yelling happily, there was a voice missing. When I made two plates of breakfast, lunch and dinner, there was a plate missing.

Maybe not. I wasn't exactly sure I was hearing correctly. I didn't know whether to fight for the baby or not.

I got pregnant.

I lost the baby.

I didn't know what to do. Maybe I was wrong.

I was definitely sad.

Now this. This was hard.

And this hard brought back all the other hard. I realized I was angry about all that other hard. It wasn't fair. I was hurt again and really tired of being hurt.

As I look back, this is probably where the journey started.

The real journey. The start of where I offered it all to Him.

I did get pregnant. And I studied more. I begged Him for more of Him. I fell in love with Him. I fell in love with His Word.

This complicated things.

This complicated everything.

Those twinges of discontent were growing. Something was wrong. My soul, my heart, my spirit and my brain were thirsting for something but I didn't know what.

I loved my church, my friends and I loved my women's Bible study. I plowed ahead with Him, because everything in me was drawn to Him.

I had the baby. And that day things changed in our church a bit, coincidentally.

Things got harder.

It was after this, the exact time frustratingly escaping me, that I was introduced to a guy named David Crowder.

Now let me pause here to express again my unusual and abnormal love of music. It is more than music. It's like breathing for me. To live a day without music, I would literally have a panic attack. It plays in my head, in my dreams, in my thoughts. I think in song lyrics. I have it playing in my house nearly all the time. I wear earphones and listen that way when it's inconvenient for my family to hear my music. I play it when I'm cleaning, in the shower, in the car, cooking, exercising - all the time.

I'm sure it's annoying. Thankfully the kids also have this abnormal love of music. We enjoy it all together.

The first song I can really remember hearing was a song called, "There is No One Like You." It was on the album "Illuminate," and I devoured it.

Here was what part of my soul had been longing for. I needed to worship this way. My soul longed to praise Him this way. When I heard this music, it was like my spirit was finally allowed to express itself to the Savior the way it had wanted to but didn't know how. It was finally released in this channel, this conduit. This music opened a floodgate of praise from so deep in me.

I know that is weird.

But it healed something in me.

Maybe it was the quirkiness. Maybe it was the mix of modern and the old of the hymns. {I adore hymns} Maybe it was the lyrics. Maybe it was just that this was the perfect fit for me.

I was infinitely thankful.

The stirrings of uneasiness still swirled in me. They had been growing more and more. I tried so hard to figure out what they meant. What they wanted. What they needed. I poured over it with a sweet, patient friend. I felt alone, though. Everyone else seemed content with church and worship. I felt out of joint. Disconnected. It was just me. I wasn't better or worse or more holy or less holy. I didn't know what I was. I was just confused and wanted to be normal and content.

Instead it was growing.

This part of me, the part of me that longed to worship, was set at ease through this discovery of this man and his band's music. Not that he fixed everything, but God showed me through him that they way I longed to worship wasn't all that weird. There was someone else to had longed to worship this way, whatever this way was, and he had the talent and the passion to make a band and do it. I was comforted by that. If that makes sense.

On a side note, it was about this time that I finally relented to the same patient and kind friend's urging to listen to a sermon by another guy, ironically named David, about an issue that we as a church had been struggling with. I resisted for awhile, not even knowing what a podcast was or why you would want to listen to one.

This part is also chronicled here on this blog somewhere, but long story short, I listened to a sermon by this guy named David, and after an initial very judgmental attitude of what is this young guy gonna teach me? I proceeded to scribble page after page of notes during that introductory sermon.

I remember sitting back in my chair when it was over and thinking, "This is how my brain has been longing to be taught."

Not that that makes my brain any better or smarter or larger or holier than anyone else's brain. It was just as my heart and soul had longed for the music I had recently found, my brain and heart and soul had been longing for the Biblical teaching that this man delivered. I needed this sort of teaching about the God I was desperate for and about the Bible that I loved and was struggling to learn from.

I not only learned what a podcast was, I started listening to sermon after sermon after sermon.

I felt not so weird again.

How we ended up at this David's church is another story also told here somewhere else, but that's not the point of this blog post exactly. But it is part of this sweet story about how God used two Davids to not only make me not feel so weird, but to nourish and teach, comfort and encourage, lead, guide and direct me. And to push me on...

And the happy and rather rare occasions that we get to sing a David Crowder song as worship before a sermon is one of my favorite things.

So the years pass and David Crowder's music continued to be an almost daily part of my life.

I got to see him in concert two years ago. It was such a sweet blessing to see this band perform. I got to go to one of my favorite cities to visit and go to the concert with one of my oldest and dearest friends who moved away years ago and spent a childless day (a rarity) with her. Sweet blessing.

Fast forward to a sunny day in May. I was waiting for my mom on the patio of one of our favorite restaurants to meet the kids and me for lunch when I casually checked my emails. There was one from the David Crowder Band.

We're breaking up.

I was sad, but I also completely understood. I was mostly happy for their families...

One last tour.

I wanted to see them one more time. The kids had wanted to see them last time I went to see them. I wanted them to see this band. I wanted them to experience a show.

I chose a date. Again, in one of my favorite cities.

I called my same friend.

Go with me?

She worked out a crazy schedule with her now teenage daughter. Her mother-in-law died a couple of weeks before. I wasn't sure how it was going to work out. I didn't want this to be too much for her or her family. She said, "No. I need this..."

It was the night after a 7 hour special church service our church has. I was going to be tired.

A road trip with just me and the kids.

I didn't care. I just wanted to go and be there.

It was a hard week before. Dark and heavy and hard. Too hard. Too deep. I struggled through it wanting so much to be obedient and pleasing and Christ honoring and glorifying and I failed, over and over and over and over and over again.

By the time our van was hurling itself eastward, I was a mess. Battling inside to hold it together. To be strong and determined. To set my face like a flint. To be rooted and grounded. Undeterred.

We had to stop too many times. We got lost. {yes, even with a GPS} We found the theater and the line was long and I felt vulnerable in this city and lonely and lost and for some completely inexplicable reason, scared.

I was so completely exhausted by and frustrated with myself.

We climbed the stairs to this old and simply gorgeous theater to the very top. I wanted the kids to be able to see. We smashed in our seats and soon my sweet friend got there.

I breathed. It was okay.

Soon they were on stage.

Let this be an offering to You, Lord. I just want to praise you.

The music started and I kid you not, they played song after song that were my favorites. I could not have created a better playlist. They played old, obscure songs that were my favorite. They sampled one of our other favorite artists. Every song they played, I would laugh and thank the Lord.

My favorites

I felt bathed in light. I had been surrounded by darkness and this was a warm bath of light. Of comfort. Of His grace. Of His reassurance.

It won't always be so dark. There is light coming...

This sort of light. The place where He is. The place where beautiful and pure worship of Him illuminates all the sad, dark places of my heart.

And this sort of praise makes me want to see His face. And worship Him forever.

With every song I was convinced that God has made that setlist just for me.

For me.

Why not for me? Never mind all the other people there. It was all for me.

Of course it wasn't, but it felt like it was and in the midst of all this that life is now, I swam in that clear stream of His love.

And we had a blast. I saw the kids' faces. They jumped and praised and sang and laughed and loved it.

It just couldn't have been better.

One of my favorite songs is my John Mark Macmillan, just also happened to open for this band. {His music also means so much to me.}

It's called "How He Loves," and Crowder Band's cover of it is one of my favorites.

During the encore John Mark came out and played it with them.

I thought that it couldn't get any better than that. Really, I did.

I have this friend that has had a really hard four years. I mean Job-like hard, with nearly every possible calamity and hardship you could imagine.

She found a song by David Crowder on a blog and couldn't find it anywhere online. She called to ask if I had it or knew where she could get it. I didn't. It was old. Really old and out of print. It was from an album he had done when he was mainly just a worship band guy at a church.

She was sad. She just needed this song.

I understood. We couldn't find it. Anywhere.

This same friend went with her son and daughter-in-law on a trip where she cared for her granddaughters while her son led worship for a youth camp. She was in her son's car, in the passenger seat, with her daughter-in-law driving when she, my friend, for some reason, reached into the compartment on the door of the car. She pulled out a single cd with nothing written on it.

What is this? she asked her daughter-in-law.

She didn't know.

My friend put it in the cd player and the song she had been searching for filled the car.

She and her daughter-in-law laughed in disbelief. Unbelievable.

A gift

She brought me the cd, and we decided that since it was out of print and we had no way to buy it, I could put it into my computer.

I did. And it became a gift to me. The music more simple than the band they would evolve into, it was heartfelt and precious. Some early versions of songs that I would grow to love later. But one song, the song that had captured her heart initially, also captured mine.

All I Can Say

Lord I'm tired
So tired from walking
And Lord I'm so alone
And Lord the dark
Is creeping in
Creeping up
To swallow me
I think I'll stop
Rest here a while

And didn't You see me cry'n?
And didn't You hear me call Your name?
Wasn't it You I gave my heart to?
I wish You'd remember
Where you sat it down

Chorus:
And this is all that I can say right now
i know it's not much
And this is all that I can give
yeah that's my everything

Bridge:
I didn't notice You were standing here
I didn't know that
That was You holding me
I didn't notice You were cry'n too
I didn't know that
That was You washing my feet

I would play it over and over again. A prayer. In worship.

So thankful for the song, the music and how He brought it to my sweet friend who needed it.

So as this precious concert came to a close, and oh how I didn't want to to end, David Crowder stepped up to the mike and strummed a few notes on his guitar.

I started to shake and tears sprang to my eyes.

It was this song.

Oh, Lord!!!!

The audience responded. They knew it too. We all sang it at the top of our lungs. Tears streamed down my face. So many people there. So many had hurts and hardships and were tired and sad and lonely too. Hands were lifted. Faces to the sky. We were all joined by a sweet song to a God who cares. Our cry together.

It was almost too much.

When it was over, with shaking hands, I texted her:

He played your song.

We were supposed to go see him together in concert another time. I had hoped and prayed he would play it for her then. We had tickets. We were ready and excited.

I ended up in the emergency room with my daughter that night. She went with her daughters, and I was sad but glad she got to go.

And they didn't play it that time. They did play it this time. I hated she missed it, but I was so glad I was there.

I'm thankful for the years this band has given to Him. I'm thankful for the music and how it helps me worship. I'm thankful for their humor and their uniqueness and their love of Christ. I'm so thankful that years ago God blessed me with their music. I'm so thankful I got to see them with my kids.

And they have one more show, in January, back in that city. I don't think it's possible for us to get to that concert... but that's okay. Really.

I'm happy and content with the chance to see this show. This was a wonderful night, and I'm thankful that the gift of the music they have given will last a long, long time.

Here are the pictures from that night...

This is obviously a picture from the stage taken by the band.

And here is the song.

If somehow someone made it to the end of this epic post, then this is the treasure you get. One of my favorite songs ever.

He Came

2011-12-01T13:23:00.000-06:00

The calendar was unapologetic.

December 1

Here we are again.

December.

I knew it was coming. My culture's love for this month begins to spill forth long before the month actually arrives. There are declarations of excitement about shopping to go along with a plenitude of sales, pictures of Christmas trees on social media as they are erected, Christmas music in every conceivable type of store, cars and vans dressed as reindeer, inflatable decorations in yards, yards sparkling with lights, and on and on...

If one wanted to avoid this holiday, it would definitely be impossible.

And I knew that wasn't possible.

It's not that I actually wanted to avoid the month of December, though honestly if given the opportunity, it would slide from my calendar without a single regret. That wasn't possible, so there was only one thing for me to do.

Fix myself.

I do hate that I'm broken here. I hate that it takes me a monumentos effort to put on any sort of holiday spirit. I hate that I don't eagerly anticipate the holidays with the giddiness of a light soul.

As I exercised this morning, I noticed that my favorite tree had shed it's gorgeous wardrobe. It stood bare. I pretended for a moment that it too was mournful that the change of the calendar had brought it to this stark, ugly state.

Silly, of course.

In the frosty cold of the morning, I begged God to hear my heart concerning this season that boasts to be all about Him and his Gift.

It's not fun to be here, the outsider looking in on a warm celebration which one feels no part of.

And I'm not alone. Perhaps if I had to list the reasons that have led me to this place of discontent, near the top of the list would be the hardships that this holiday brings for so many that I love. Not that I'm trying to shoulder their burdens for them, taking them on as my own, but as I think of them, my heart aches for the brokenness they too feel.

The list reaches on for a bit - reasons that I dread this season. They range from the trite to the deeply buried and pushed aside issues of long ago.

I felt deeply in me, though, the beginnings of a tiny fire of the longing to worship during this season the God who not only understands the reasons I fear but also gave His Son to remedy the brokenness in me.

"Heal me, Lord..." I pleaded as I looked up at the cloudless sky. "I don't want to stay here."

He is able.

This phrase had found me in the last few weeks in a new way. I had repeated it constantly almost as a mantra.

Today it took on a new ending.

He is able. Now let Him.

It is so easy for me to stay in the hard sometimes. Staying where it's hard because it's easier than receiving His comfort or healing.

I just want to stay here, because the hard is easier.

Being healed means that I have to be honest about how I got here in the first place. I have to say honestly that when I get to this place, I got here because I am most concerned about me.

This is hard for me.

The rational part of my brain said, Get over it.

It's not really that simple, but the Lord so graciously reminded me again that He is able. And though I wanted Him to repair me in one fell swoop, He instead reminded me that I only need to trust Him one step at a time.

I don't know how exactly to have a carefree December, but I do know how to do the things that send me deep into His love.

I found my favorite Christmas sermon and played it loudly, diving into the text:

"And you know that He appeared to take away sins..."

And my hurt and my failures and my shortcomings and my longings and my disappointment and my fears and my sins.

He came.

Everything in me wants to celebrate that.

My love for Him can push past everything in me that would rather be hurt and sad and angry and tired and fearful - that would rather stay here.

My love for Him can allow Him to heal me, through His love for me.

It takes a willing spirit to be healed and comforted. And it didn't happen in me by the time lunch was prepared.

But I feel His peace. And I feel His love and careful provision along with His compassion and His mercy. They flow from Him, inviting me to celebrate His greatest gift.

I can do that.

I can celebrate Him.

Sweetly, quietly, humbly and secure in His loving arms, trusting Him with all that is hard about this season.

"Glory, glory in the highest...

Just a child born in a manager, with the hope of the whole world on His shoulders..."

10 Years Ago...

2011-11-22T06:00:00.000-06:00

I sit here, emotional from looking through ten years of photographs.

I sit, faced with the self-imposed challenge of marking my daughter's tenth birthday with an eloquent tribute to her first decade.

As I sit, I fully appreciate the fact that this is an impossibility.

It is a trite and overused statement, but when I look at this picture, it truly does feels like yesterday.

And then the years started to spin, passing more quickly than I was prepared for.

It was over ten years ago when I set the pregnancy test stick down on the coffee table and looked at it, wide eyed. Married for six years with little desire to have children. Least likely time and place in my life to become pregnant, but I look back now and see God beginning the great rescue that morning.

He set out to rescue me from myself.

His timing is always perfect.

His plans are also. Usually so very contrary to my own.

I decided I wanted a boy.

He gave me a girl.

This girl.

I'll never forget a single detail of her difficult birth.

Thanksgiving Day.

Fourteen family members in a waiting room down the hall for hours and hours.

Complications. People. Nurses. Doctors. For hours on end.

And then, in the quiet hours of the late, late night. It was just me. And her.

I looked at that face and very literally though, "What have I done?"

No more ready to be a mother than I had ever been. Yet here she was.

The journey that she and I embarked on that night as mother and daughter would teach me more than I could have ever imagined.

I had heard the statement about becoming a parent and it was true:

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

As I look back over the last decade, I am flooded with memories. The good, the bad, the hard and the precious. It doesn't seem possible that it has been ten years since she came into my life.

I look forward to the next ten years with complete trepidation. This decade will be so different.

No diapers. No learning to talk and walk. No potty training. No learning to read and write. No rocking all night and no Princess parties.

How is all of that gone already?

This decade sends me to my knees. It's a less physical role for me and more spiritual and emotional guidance.

I feel less ready for this than I did in the dark that first night in the hospital.

So I find myself again hopelessly dependent on the One who can, and will, provide all that I need for this next decade.

He is able.

I've heard this statement several times even today. I'm thankful that He is, because sitting here, I am less sure of my ability as a mother than I have ever been. This keeps me fully dependent on Him and His Word. And that is a good thing.

My prayer for her now is that she will fully and passionately give her heart to the Lord. That to declare His glory will be her one mission in life. I pray that all that she learns will take root in her heart, and as Psalm 1 that she learned so long ago says, I pray that she will be like a tree, planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. I pray that her passion for Him will take root deeply in her heart and never fade.

She is a gift to me, and I will be forever thankful to God for that spring day when I realized that my life was about to change forever. I'm thankful for the daughter that I get to spend each day with. I'm thankful for the way we love and laugh. I'm thankful that at the end of the worst days, she'll still come and curl up in my lap, as best as she can, apologizing and forgiving. I still ask her if she'll always be my best friend. She's kind enough to say yes even though I know now we are moving in new directions.

In some ways I don't want to stop writing this post. I know that when it's done, we will be even nearer to the next decade. I'll be glad, though. Each day I fall more in love with this child. She's a true gift.

A repost for Veteran's Day

2011-11-11T16:21:00.000-06:00

Thank you, Pop.

(clink link)

Adoption

2011-11-04T10:22:00.001-05:00

It was one of my favorite days of the year - Secret Church. A time when a group of believers come together to study God's Word for 6 (okay, 7) hours on a Friday night.

I don't think we did school that day. I'm sure I was too excited to sit still for that long. I'm still such a child in so many ways.

The main thing that needed to happen that day was a nap.

I may act like a child a lot of the time, but this body knows what's up. In order to stay up until 3 am (we eat after) I was going to need a nap.

As I snuggled down ready to rest, I got a text. As I reached for my phone, I squelched down the irritation.

Nap. I wanted a nap.

My irritation melted away when I saw who sent the text. My friend who gets all passes. Everything stops for her.

She said, "Can you meet me at the park? Now?"

All thoughts of a nap flew from my head as I unfolded myself from my cocoon. I gathered the kids and scooped up my keys, pressing down the worry that was welling up in me.

She didn't ask for much. Rarely did she step out of her own self to ask for anything. Frustrating as it was at times, I had grown accustomed to asking what she needed, knowing that she would always be reluctant to ask.

We sat across from each other at a picnic table. The cold November wind whipped around us. I still remember its rub on my face and the chill it sent down my spine. I can still hear the kids laughing and yelling across the playground. I looked across the table at the face I loved and cared about so much. I forced myself to be still and wait.

"I need to tell you something," she started.

"Are you pregnant?" I burst out. I couldn't help it.

She laughed the laugh that I love, but had so seldom heard in the previous 7 months. Her eyes sparkled and I reveled in the beauty of her happiness. She's always beautiful, but I had grown accustomed to seeing sadness coloring the beauty. I studied the absence of the grief, the lightness, the shine, committing it to memory, selfishly to help in the next moment when the grief would return.

It's hard to grieve.

It's also hard to watch someone you love grieve.

Not as hard, but hard still.

She said, still laughing, "No!"

Her laugh quieted and her eyes held mine. I shifted a bit on the hard, cold bench.

"Then what?" I thought. I forced myself to be still.

She's calm. Quiet. Thoughtful. Reserved. Patient. Gentle. Qualities that I feel so deficient in. I forced myself to wait - "Be like her. Wait." I said it to myself. Reminded myself.

Her eyes held mine as she slid something across the table to me. It had been in her hand the entire time, in her hap. She'd been holding it. Clutching it, probably.

I peeled my eyes from her face and dropped my gaze.

Looking back at me was the most beautiful pair of chocolate brown eyes. The breath left me and tears sprang to my eyes. The most adorable girl. She looked so much like her oldest son.

Your daughter.

I don't know if I said it or thought it.

I struggled to breathe and a thousand thoughts flooded my head at the same time. I looked up and just shook my head, blinking back the tears.

There were tears in her eyes too. Never would she ever shed a tear that didn't honor her lost daughter. Ever. But these tears had intermingled with them tears of happiness. Again her beauty flooded me.

A mom, stepping out of her grief to rescue a child from the other side of the world. Pushing away everything within her and everything that the world would say that said, "no."

Because He adopted us. Because she loved Him. Because she had His heart. Because she would do what was right even if the world said no, and even if something in her said no too.

I watched her work harder than I've ever seen anyone work the next months. Raising her children, raising money, grieving her lost daughter, maintaining a house, a marriage, friendships, laughing, crying, determined. Stoic.

They decided to adopt a son too. The precious girl's best friend at the orphanage.

She worked even harder. Pushed herself past the point of exhaustion.

In the midst of a tornado, she was working on a fundraiser.

I was in awe. Inspired. Encouraged. Blessed.

She inspired others to adopt. To take up the cause. To help. To care.

I climbed back in the van that chilly November day to head home. The thought of a nap was far from me now. As I thanked God for all that had happened, I felt it. It whirled up in me and I begged God to suppressed it. I didn't want to feel it. I didn't want to be selfish. I didn't want to ask God why. I didn't want to think again about myself. And the desire I had. Or the desire He had given me. I simply didn't want to go there. I just wanted to feel happiness for my sweet friend.

A constant, selfish battle that rages in me, constantly screaming what about me?

And I hate it.

I looked at the face of another sweet friend as we had a much different conversation. A conversation about longing. Desiring until the physical pain almost overwhelmed the emotional pain.

"Is it like a miscarriage?" she asked. "Is that what this feels like?"

I felt the pain on her face. I carried it with me constantly.

"No," I answered. "That's something God gave and then took away. This is a desire that is constantly unfulfilled. It's like infertility."

She nodded.

What a blessing. That this selfish longing and desire has a community of people that understand far beyond the spoken word.

She gets it.

"It can render you a helpless friend. A bad friend. You have to be careful," I added more for my benefit than hers.

My desire can rob me of joy for my friends. The desire can even lead to jealously. Animosity. Division. Distance.

I battle that too.

I will rejoice in the beauty of adoption. I will thank the Lord for my friends that have and will adopt. I will pray for those traveling the arduous road of getting these children home. I will pray for those who are struggling under the weight of the children they worked so hard to bring home only to realize that was the easy part of the battle. I will step outside of myself and rejoice, celebrate and pray. I will. I will trust Him.

I wil trust Him as I celebrate adoption.

I'll never forget that beautiful November day when I got to witness the beauty of adoption.

Parenting & Grace

2011-11-04T08:01:00.000-05:00

Parenting and Grace

(link)

I have the book mentioned in this article and I started reading it. It sort of messed me up.

And so this is sort of like Galatians and parenting and everything I've been learning and seeing and hearing and feeling all rolled up into one.

Putting this here for later.

An Important Post

2011-11-03T08:08:00.000-05:00

We were headed home from a successful trip to Costco. I do believe it's the first of that kind we've ever had. There is something about Costco that brings out the worst in my kids, but this trip was good.

I chalked it up to the kids being bigger.

I was lost in thought and music, and thankfulness for the simple things, when I realized that the little kid was in what we call the "way back" of the van, trying to tell me something.

I turned down the music and said, "What, Buddy?"

He said something again, but was being shy about it. That kid can be so loud and bold, but he has a definite shy side that springs out frequently.

I tried again and said, "I can't hear you, Buddy. What?"

He repeated himself, but for the life of me over the sound of the road noise on the interstate and his being shy, I couldn't make it out.

The girl kid was in the middle, and had by this time lost some patience.

"HE WANTS TO BE A CHRIST FOLLOWER," she yelled at the top of her lungs with the depth of emotion of a news reporter on the local 6 o'clock news.

Oh.

I was caught completely off guard. A hundred thoughts flooded my head at the same time. I struggled to process what he said and force my head to switch gears all at the same time.

"Um, what did you say, Bud? Can you say it a different way?"

I wanted to make sure I'd heard correctly.

He said something again that I couldn't hear, and before I could ask him to repeat it, Diane Sawyer in the middle row belted, "HE SAID HE WANTS TO BE A CHRISTIAN..."

"Okay, sweetie. I got it. Thanks for your help."

She sat back, glad to have been a valuable contribution to the process.

My heart fluttered and I lost my breath for a second.

I had prayed since these kids were in me that God would save them, and save them while they were young. I prayed humbly, knowing that it wasn't a given that they would be saved. I wanted them to be saved early and cling to it all their days.

Would it be possible that God had saved all of my children? I wasn't sure, but the thought of it filled me with such gratitude and hope.

I turned my attention to the back seat and said, "Sweetie, can you tell me what it means to be a Christ follower?"

He shyly with a smile said, "It means that Jesus died on the cross. He died because I sin. If I believe I get to go to heaven when I die."

It was a 5 year old version of the Gospel, and I appreciated it, but my heart longed for him to know and understand more.

See, I'm studying Galatians with a wonderful group of women, and I'm coming to terms with the way I've treated the Gospel in my own life. I've realized that I don't always believe the miracle of the Gospel. I don't truly appreciate or believe the miracle of justification - the act of God seeing me as blameless and righteous because of how God imputed my sins on His Son. He sees me a holy and right with Him not because of anything I did or could ever do, but because of what happened to Christ on the cross.

Salvation only happens because of sola fide - by faith alone. Through grace alone. In Christ alone. We've said those words in our house over and over again as I remind myself that God's love for me is not rooted in my performance before him as a "good" Christian. No Bible study, no love of theology, no church I go to, no amount of time in prayer, the books I read, nothing I could do or will ever do will make me more or less justified. Not more or less loved by God.

I just am.

The realization of the depths to which I don't believe this have wrecked me over the last few weeks and the reaching implications of how this affects my life have shattered a lot in me.

It hasn't been fun, but it's been necessary.

So as I looked at the precious face in the rear view mirror, I was desperate to tell him that he was saved by the simple fact that he believed that Christ died out of love, and that He did indeed take his place. The how's and the why's could be worked out as he grew in his faith and worked out his salvation for the rest of his life.

But I really think he gets it.

He asked me when we got home, "Do I tell God? Do I pray?"

All on his own.

The next day he reminded me again that he had prayed. "And I told God that I wanted Him to help me obey."

Is it a coincidence that as I struggle through the complexities of how I have switched justification and sanctification in my life and as I trudge through the deep depths of Galatians that I was presented with the Gospel in its most simplest terms?

Believe. And obey. Out of a heart that is overflowing with gratitude and love for what the Son did.

When we shared the news with Daddy, he squinted his eyes at Zane and said, "This does not been that you get the grape juice and crackers on Sunday now..."

My eyes widened and I looked at that kid.

Was this all a ploy to get to do what everyone else did on Sunday? To be able to take communion?

He grinned and said, "I know."

I think he does.

And so I have expressed my thankfulness to God over and over again but also felt a larger burden now. How to disciple him. He belongs to Christ now, and it's my job to teach him how to live as a Christ follower. I won't buckle under that pressure, but I'll take it step by step, trusting Him to guide me as I guide him.

I'm so deeply grateful for this display of the simplicity of the Gospel during a time where it felt heavy and complex to me.

Thank you, Lord, for saving my son.

Trees

2011-10-30T21:48:00.003-05:00

When Laney was in Kindergarten, we learned Joyce Kilmer's "Trees." I have been driving her crazy reciting what I remember of it. She refuses to play and won't even say it with me.

It really stinks that I forgot that poem. It was a good one.

The first line will stay with me forever:

I think that I shall never see

A poem as lovely as a tree...

I was cleaning the kitchen when I heard a distant, "Mom! Come look!"

I walked out in the back yard to find my middle kid in the tree in the back yard for the first time ever. My first thought was, "Cool!" There were always trees to climb at my grandmother's house and I stayed in them. I almost climbed up there with him.

Then all I could see was him tumbling out of the tree to the hard ground. I saw emergency rooms, casts and doctor bills.

And I hate that.

Thanks to our insurance, the emergency rooms visits we've had took years to pay off. I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the insurance we have, but there is no dread like seeing a never ending stream of envelopes coming in the mail with hospitals' names on the upper left corner with your name on the front.

And then I got mad at myself for letting money affect my son's joy in climbing a tree.

Or maybe it wasn't really anxiety about the money. Was I worried that he'd get hurt and I feared seeing that pain? Was I inconvenienced by his being in the tree because I felt the need to stand under him to make sure he didn't fall out?

Why is this so hard for me?

As I shoved the little kid up the tree so he could be with his brother, I did laugh out loud at my insanity. I try so hard to be a good boy mom. I intentionally try to let them get dirty, be messy, be loud and let them rough and tumble. I see their love for rocks and sticks and motors and balls and running and gross stuff. And tackling. I didn't grow up around boys and never knew much about them, but I am desperate to be a good boy mom.

And I want them to be Godly men, fathers and husbands one day. I'm absolutely desperate for that.

So how does my not freaking out about my son climbing a tree lead him to be a Godly man? I don't know, but way deep inside me I feel a connection somehow.

I want him to know that I trust him to be careful and make wise decisions. I want to trust him to know how high to go or whether a branch is too weak to stand on. I want him to decide with full confidence if he's making good decisions or not. In that tree or out of it.

And I'm simply horrible at this. I stood there yelling up in that tree, "That's far enough. Not that branch. Are you ready to come down?"

The mom I want to be said, "I love that you are in that tree. I wish I could climb it too! How's the view up there?"

I think I said those things. Later. Maybe. I hope I did.

I have to trust my kids. I have to trust the Holy Spirit in them. I have to let them fall. Both out of trees and in life. Everything in me screams against that. But He's teaching me, and I'm so thankful.

I want, long and desire passionately to be a Godly wife and a fantastic boy mom. {And girl mom, but that seems so much easier. At least in this situation. She climbed in the tree for five minutes and decided she'd rather swing or read}

These boys challenge me. And I'm so glad.

Leaves

2011-10-27T11:17:00.001-05:00

Leaves

by Elsie N. Brady

How silently they tumble down

And come to rest upon the ground

To lay a carpet, rich and rare,

Beneath the trees without a care,

Content to sleep, their work well done,

Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times, they wildly fly

Until they nearly reach the sky.

Twisting, turning through the air

Till all the trees stand stark and bare.

Exhausted, drop to earth below

To wait, like children, for the snow.

I love and adore you, fall. You are my favorite.

Pumpkin Patch

2011-10-22T09:41:00.001-05:00

We made our annual visit to the pumpkin patch yesterday, but we almost didn't get to go. I inadvertently scheduled another field trip the same day without realizing it. At the last minute we were able to work it out. I was so glad because this is such a special part of the way we love to celebrate fall.

We were late, rushing to meet our friends, and I yelled for the kids to let me take a picture. They really don't mind doing things like this for their photo-obsessed mother, but they knew they were missing things and were ready to get on with it. I knew that we probably wouldn't remember to do it when we left, so I made them sit quickly for a quick picture.

The picture from this year made me both happy and sad.

It made me think back through the years, and so this morning, I took a few minutes strolling down memory lane and gathered the pictures from pumpkin patches through the years.

I'm not sure who these big kids belong to. Laney, on the cusp of being 10 years old, and the boys, so big. And on a side note, this is the first year it has ever been cool at the farm, even though we go each year. I was very thankful for that.

Last year, we were really, really hot. This is what I think the kids should look like. Perhaps I'm a year behind in their development. I probably need to catch up.

This was the last year Laney would wear a "fall" shirt. The last year they were all little.

This one makes my heart melt. The days were still long and hard, but those faces kill me.

This year we only made it to the tiny church pumpkin patch right around the corner by our house. That kid in the middle is showing you why. To look at the picture makes me so incredibly tired. And thankful that they are big like that first picture now.

And this is why we didn't go to a pumpkin patch this year. I looked at this picture and had a heart attack. I honestly don't remember most of those days, but how adorable is he? I do wish I could kiss those cheeks one more time!

And here were the other two. I love those kids.

As I tried so hard to encourage a sweet new mom this week, I did so gently. I see now, five years out from these last photos, that the time does fly. But I remember all too well those first days with your first born. The unfathomable exhaustion, the worry and stress, the overwhelming sense of twenty-four hour responsibility, the physical demands on a body just having carried a baby for nine months and then gotten the baby out, not to mention swirling hormones and thoughts only of how to go to the bathroom by yourself or take a shower at least every couple of days, again, alone.

I could have cried for her, and given the week that just was, I probably did.

I so wanted to encourage her, yet assure her that she would blink once and these days would be over. Because it's true. But when some well meaning soul would tell me this in Publix as I struggled to make it through that moment, I didn't believe her.

Thankfully I found a sweet blog post that perfectly expressed what I could not. I read it tearfully and sent it to her, hoping the the Holy Spirit would use it to comfort and encourage her.

And I prayed for her a lot. I won't ever forgot how hard those days were, nor will I ever say to a young mom, "Just wait until _____ stage. It's so much harder."

No. It's all hard. Just different kinds of hard.

But the take away for me is the same. That even as I get tired and discouraged in this stage of life, I will remember that it's over all too quickly. And even as I sit now and see a Saturday full of chores and sole responsibilities today for these three ever changing kids, I know that He is strong in me and that soon I'll be sitting in a quiet house, looking back at pictures of Pumpkin Patches from years past, wondering where the years all went.

And that helps me allow Him to be strong in me and do today well.

Eyes on the Sky

2011-10-19T17:46:00.002-05:00

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

The heavens are telling of the glory of God; And their expanse is declaring the work of His hands.

When the mysterious author of Hebrews admonished his readers to run the race"...fixing our eyes on Jesus..." I sort of took that literally.

(and i'm feeling a little cranky about not knowing who wrote hebrews. it seems important today.)

I know that there are lots of ways to do that Scripturally and figuratively, and I've struggled to do those things. Keep your eyes on Him, I mean.

I also stare at the sky a lot.

My mom has always said, "It feels good to let your eyes look as far as they can" and I agree.

Especially since I read about a prisoner that lost a lot of his vision from being in a small cell for years.

But it's more than that. It's seeing God's creation screaming His praises. It's seeing that I am such a small speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. It's reminding myself that if I keep looking here, I'll get discouraged, weary and frustrated.

It's hard to feel those things when you're looking up.

So I set my eyes upward, toward Him. It helps me praise Him, talk to Him, and see that He truly is sovereign over all. Especially my tiny, brief life.

I also have become accustomed to snapping pictures of the sky with my phone. I have no idea why. I like capturing the beauty, I guess.

It's odd, though, just a bit, to be this fixated on the sky. And I'm sure the neighbors that exercise at the same time I do each morning wonder why I stop periodically and take pictures of the sky.

That's okay, though.

I was delighted to hear our pastor mention the other Sunday that while walking across the parking lot to come into the church, he noticed the clouds, and proceeded to exclaim about their beauty and how they shouted God's glory.

"I get that!" I yelled on the inside.

That made me feel not quite so odd.

At the risk of looking like one of those cheesy videos from You Tube, I had to put here some of my favorites. They make me happy. And peaceful.

This was an amazing morning. This was literally what I saw facing one direction:

And when I turned around, this was the opposite direction:

And then in the fall, my favorite season, there's this; a perfectly cloudless sky, so blue you can hardly stop looking at it. That screams His glory too...

Apps for School

2011-10-19T09:47:00.000-05:00

A fabulous and amazing mama recently told a group of us about two apps called "Stack the States" and "Stack the Countries." I put them on my phone and soon the kids were fighting over who got to play. I was skeptical at first, but soon the kids were yelling the names of the states and the capitals and pointing them out on the map.

And guess what I had done?

Nothing.

Well, I mean while they were playing I was doing 1,298,398,529 other things, but I wasn't actually teaching them about states.

Now I'm not advocating that letting your kids play on your phone is the best way to teach them. I am saying that there are fun ways to teach kids things that they enjoy with technology and this can help take some of the pressure off of the homeschooling parent.

I found this the other day, and I'm putting it here for reference:

Helpful apps for school

(link)

I think I'll check some of these out and see what else they can teach themselves. (joke. sort of.)

Come Like You Promised

2011-10-15T09:06:00.000-05:00

COME LORD LIKE YOU PROMISED

JUST LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD

DO NOT DELAY

COME WITH HEALING IN YOUR TOUCH

COME WITH FIRE IN YOUR EYES

JUST LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD

COME WITH GRACE AND MERCY

COME WITH JUDGEMENT AND MIGHT

JUST LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD

COME RIDING ON THE WIND

THROUGH CLOUDS OF GLORY PIERCE THE SKY

JUST LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD

COME AND BRING US BACK AGAIN

LORD COME RESTORE YOUR BRIDE

JUST LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD

Come, Lord, please. Come.

Not because we're weary of death. Not because we're tired of sickness, evil, pain and destruction. Not just because its hard to bear loved ones' pain. Not because we live with the knowledge that so much of our world lives with poverty, hunger, oppression, persecution, thirst and are dying without the knowledge of Him. Not because we wrestle with why we don't. Not because the church is in desperate need of healing. Not because children suffer at the hand of ones provided to protect and care for them. Not because Satan continues to wage war on us all.

Come because we long to see Your face. Come so that we may look upon the One who obeyed to the point of death on a cross. Come so that we may praise You for an eternity.

Come to right all the wrong.

Come so that no more mothers have to bury their babies.

We know you wait, so that more will hear. So that more will come to know. And we want that. Help us to turn from all that distracts us. Help that to be our passion - our drive. Forgive us where we've failed to show You to a lost and dying world.

Help us live here, and wait well. Help us wait for You. Working while we wait. So that more will hear.

A quick thought about money

2011-10-06T10:03:00.000-05:00

Even typing that title made me laugh.

There ain't nothing quick about the concept of money.

I've wrestled with this for years, which makes me nothing other than probably more tired than some other people.

I stumbled across this article a bit ago, and I haven't stopped thinking about it.

It really nails down some of the things I've always wanted to articulate, but never took the time or forced myself to get out.

And honestly really thought, "does it even matter?"

It does matter, but sometimes it seems like attacking a glacier with an ice pick.

And who am I to attack a glacier, me, oh lover of shoes?

Anyway, here is the article. Just read it:

A response...

(link)

Another parenting post

2011-10-06T06:00:00.000-05:00

http://www.rickthomas.net/2011/09/21/incrementally-introducing-your-children-to-the-world/

(link)

There was so much good stuff in here. I keep thinking about it. Nailing it here for the person who can't get into Pininterest...

Good Morning, Glory

2011-10-05T12:24:00.000-05:00

We had a nightshirt at the store where I used to work that said this phrase.

That is a better title than the one I wanted to use, which was "How to Overspiritualize Everything."

We went to an apple orchard last Friday. (And for my mom, pictures are soon to come.)

As we walked up to the apple trees, I was delighted to see that morning glories twined their way through the trees. I sank down to admire their brilliant colors and soft trumpet-like blossoms. They were such a sweet surprise there among the apple trees. I crouched there for a few minutes, taking them in.

As the guide began to tell our group about the trees, she apologized for the weeds.

"Our bush hog is broken, so we weren't able to clear away the weeds" she explained.

I was looking for the weeds when a lady in our group said, "Oh, do you mean the morning glories?"

"Yes," the guide continued. "They are such a nuisance."

The lady in our group said, "But they are so beautiful! You could sell them and people would buy them."

"Well, they are pretty, but they choke out the apples. They steal the nutrients from the tress and render them useless. If we don't kill the flowers, then we don't have any fruit."

Now you take a minute and tell me you don't see where this is going.

See, I don't look to over spiritualize everything. Most of the time these things leap out of my day and smack me right in the chest.

I thought about those stinking flowers all weekend.

And to make matters worse, there is a mail box on my morning exercise route that is covered in them.

They are stunning in the early morning sun.

"Weeds. They are not weeds. They are beautiful..." I think.

And then I hear God.

"What is beautiful in your life that is choking Me out?"

Ugh.

Really?

Tell me that this never ending process of sanctification isn't hard.

It's hard, but I'm glad. Glad it's there. Glad He doesn't give up. Glad He doesn't leave me here. Glad He's faithful to His Word and to His promises.

So I'm thinking about what in my life have I allowed to become a weed. To choke out Him?

Money is beautiful. A gift from God.

~have I let it become my security instead of relying solely on Him?

My kids are amazing.

~is my worth as a mother dependent on their behavior or their willingness to obey me?

I really like food and Facebook and Twitter and reading and my friends and exercising and blogging and researching and shoes and...

Are they beautiful things that alone are simple accessories to my life and day or

are they choking out my Savior?

Diverting my time and my resources and my mind and my affection and my thoughts and my actions and my words and my activities?

There's nothing wrong with email. There's nothing wrong with ministering to friends. There's nothing wrong with church or religious activities or theology and the love thereof.

Until it changes how I act towards God. Until I don't have time to be in the Word. Until I am so caught up in the temporal fleeting reality of this world that He is lost.

And I can justify anything.

"But I am just..."

"But You called me to..."

"But I just need to..."

"But I am just so..."

Until the Spirit demands that I step back and take a breath.

And see how far from Him I got while I was chasing the beautiful.

Which is fine, except that...

2011-09-28T10:13:00.001-05:00

This is a week in which we have been unable to start school before 10am.

Which is fine, except that then we do school past lunch time.

Which is fine, except that then I spend most of my day schooling.

Which is fine, except that when I do that, I don't have enough time to get things done.

Which is fine, except that the people in my house expect and need to have things done.

Which is fine, except that they don't always want to help to get those things done.

Which is fine, except that I need help to do for the people that created the work that I need to get done in the first place.

Which is fine, except the reason I can't get done what I need to get done for the people who created the work for me to do in the first place is that that people that I'm schooling are the one preventing me from getting done what I need to get done.

It's no coincidence that as I read Amy Carmichael quoting an old Indian proverb yesterday, "Children tie the mother's feet" (and hands too?) my heart sang in agreement.

But then Amy was powerfully struck by the image of Christ wrapping himself in a towel and stooping to wash the disciples' feet. The Savior did not view humble service as small or unimportant. So Amy Carmichael willingly let her 'feet be tied' for the love of Him whose feet were pierced.

from "Trial and Triumph: Stories from Church History

So I will humbly spend the day schooling the children that God has entrusted to me. With a thankful and a grateful heart. With a spirit of Eucharisteo, which I am learning to live contentedly in the spirit of. And I'm thankful for this sweet reminder...

Animal Preserve

2011-09-24T16:38:00.001-05:00

Our most recent field trip took us to an animal preserve. I was excited since several of our friends had gone and said such wonderful things about it. This place is a sanctuary for wild life that was rescued from dangerous and harmful situations. Each animal had a story-some were rescued from people who foolishly tried to keep these animals as pets, some rescued from closets where they were left to starve to death, some rescued from the back of semi-trucks where they lived, some rescued from the circus, some just dropped off by former owners.

I can't stop singing this song...
"Like a Lion"

It was easy to feel sorry for these animals, but they cannot easily or possibly be reintroduced to the wild since they were born into captivity. Some were born at this preserve since the owners would state that the animals had been spade or neutered and they actually hadn't been. They are well cared for and fed and loved, as much as you can love a still wild beast. These animals can't be fully domesticated, which the former owners found out, mostly too late, but they did show affection for these people that care for them and obeyed them too. That was reassuring. Slightly...

They day before we went on this field trip, we were reading in this book, which I love, by the way:

We were reading about David Livingstone. As a missionary to Africa, he had a harrowing experience where he was attacked by a lion, and the Lord spared his life, thankfully. But how amazing that we read this story just before we went to stare a lion in the face? I love how God schools us all!

One of the guides walked along behind our group. She and I chatted a good bit, and I was able to ask her questions about the sanctuary, and especially about the animals. I asked her if they ever fought, especially since some weren't in cages by themselves. She said they did, but they were able to yell at them, bang a stick on the fence, spray them with water, or at a last resort, spray a fire extinguisher near them, not on them, which scares them badly. I was glad they had ways of stopping them if they started fighting.

I was absolutely amazed to be this close to these animals. I was mesmerized by them. Just to be this close to them was almost overwhelming. I was struck by God and this majestic creation. To be so close that you could see the individual hairs on their heads, hear them breathing, see the absolutely mammoth size of their paws. I could have stood there all day, just looking... and worshiping God, their Creator.

I was crouched down on the ground, taking pictures of the animals. I was so close to them. I was totally absorbed in watching them and studying them feeling so awed by them.

Suddenly these two tigers started fighting, growling, snapping, rolling against the fence fur flying.

I jumped back, feeling the power of their growls and the strength of their bodies slamming into the fence. The guide that I had been talking to yelled and they reluctantly separated, growling at each other as the parted.

My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to control my breaths. I cannot describe what it was like to be close close to them as they fought. It was indescribable.

I felt a little uneasy as we walked on to the next animal.

If it weren't for those fences, we would be lunch.

Exactly how strong are chain link fences? Super strong, I hoped, seeing how much faith we were putting into them to protect us.

When this not yet fully grown bear stood on his hind legs, he towered nearly 7 feet tall. He'll be almost 9 feet tall when he finished growing.

No camping in the mountains for me any time soon, I'm thinking.

The lion was my favorite. He was so beautiful. And so seemingly docile. He wasn't too interested in us, and pretty much ignored us the whole time. It felt a little hard to reconcile the lion that attacked David Livingstone with this same beast.

His roar can be hear for four miles, if I recall correctly the information the guide gave.

I really wanted to hear that roar.

The verse

The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them..

kept ringing in my head.

It almost seemed like a malformation to see him so peaceful and still.

What about the lions that waited to devour Daniel, but the angel kept their mouths closed? And then, when the men who had accused Daniel were cast into the den, along with their children and wives, the Bible says that "...they had not reached the bottom of the den before the lions overpowered them and crushed all their bones."

I could see that. His paws were enormous. You could hear his weight when he slumped against the fence. Even his head was just huge.

His beauty was incredible. I could have studied him all day.

Gosh, I love that kid. And his hair kills me.

The next animals were cougars. They were almost mocking in the way they looked at us from their houses. The guide called to them, and they literally looked away. I thought, "Wow. They really could not care less about us."

Well, that wasn't exactly true.

As soon as we all walked to the next exhibit, they came out of their houses alright.

The guide next to me looked at me and smiled.

I gulped and asked, "Um, they are stalking the babies, aren't they?"

She nodded "yes."

To say it made me uncomfortable is an understatement.

I wasn't used to being the prey, and not the predator. Not that I am usually the predator, but I do eat animals, so I guess in a way that makes me the predator. But these animals were the predators, and they knew it. Had those fences not been there, we would have been the prey.

It wasn't that I didn't feel safe. I did. But to see humans as the prey was unsettling to me. It was surreal to think that unless we had weapons, we wouldn't have stood a chance against these animals.

And they were stalking the babies. The little kids. The especially defenseless ones.

Not that I would have had any luck against them. Or even the man that was with us. They would have ripped us limb from limb.

Can you tell by this how the baby walked from my right to behind me?

It's chilling.

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

This guy was beautiful also. Want to know what he was looking so intently at?

Yep. He even crouched down at one point, ready to pounce. Thankful for the fences, again.

This creature was stunning.

He also reached out to our guide and missed her by inches. She scolded him and told us that he could have pulled her into the fence. Their strength is mind boggling.

He seems rather disappointed that he didn't get a paw in her.

He didn't feel badly enough to keep from stalking the little kids. Again with the stalking.

I happened to glance up and notice that across a patch of land we were being studied by a rather large wolf. He looked as though he also might like to have us for lunch.

I was getting a little tired of feeling like someone's dinner.

This just made me happy. I love that kid.

This is proof I was there - me and the middle kid.

I really love this kid.

Did I already say that?

I love all of them, actually.

This made me enormously happy. I am going to try to find a way to incorporate it into my blog somehow.

We got home late, and I collapsed on the couch. Zane pulled out his "How to Draw" book and proceeded to draw a lion. We all loved the day. I am still thinking about those animals! I hope to go back again...

Body Blow

2011-09-23T09:03:00.003-05:00

It was a bright, beautiful Sunday. I had gone straight from church to a baby shower and was finally home. My heart was full, and my head was spinning.

I shoved on my running shoes and bolted out of the door. My daughter followed me out the door, struggling to keep up with me, on the way to play in a neighbor's yard.

There were things swirling in my that could only be processed with some serious pavement pounding and deep communion with God.

The day swirled over me - hurtful words, unintended and intended - longing - pain - fatigue - despair.

I had spent the day in that place where all strength seeps out of the bottom of me, twirling like the water leaving the bathtub, taking hope with it too.

Even the smallest thing - teasing at the baby shower - "Amy, don't you want more children? Just one more baby?" and my daughter's words bursting forth, "Yes! We do!" and my uncomfortable shift in my chair under the surprised stream of my in-laws' gaze.

"Oh, well, we... I mean, I... oh she just would love a sister but we..."

Thankfully the conversation had moved on.

Just one thing would be easy to handle.

Pile upon pile, thing upon thing had sent me scrambling for the pavement. For the place where I can find Him most easily. Under the sun, under the clouds, breathing the air, feeling the hardness of the earth and the brush of the breeze.

The place where I can breathe.

I rounded the corner, feeling the sounds of childrens' laughter and the nearby train. Seeing the sun. Watching the pavement slide under my feet.

I heard my name above it all.

My sweet friend waved me over, her smile warm and kind.

We stood in her drive way, chatting. I was hyper aware of everything around me. This, my usual response to being over stimulated and over stressed. Focusing on her words and at the same time, noticing how the hem of her tank top had unraveled, the string was swinging in the breeze. Hearing the kids spinning around us on bikes and scooters. It felt like that globe of death from the circus. One swerve and she and I would topple, victims of a drive by scooter accident.

I focused on her words, feeling thankful for something to focus on outside of myself.

She was describing her son's arm. It had been hurting. The one he had broken earlier. She was afraid it was broken again.

"It can't break in the same place, once it's been broken," she continued, touching absentmindedly her arm in the place where her son had broken his. "The doctor said that once a bone breaks, it heals stronger than before, almost like extra bone forms around the break. It can't ever break again..."

She continued on, but my world slowed. My eyes drifted to the side of the house where the shade of the leaves were dancing in light of the sun. The kids' voices faded and I focused back on her.

"What did you say?"

She paused, and said, "It can't be broken again. You know once it heals. I mean it can in another part bone..."

She continued, but I was lost again.

It can't be broken again.

She noticed that I was thinking, lost from the moment.

I couldn't help it.

"There have to be spiritual implications there, right? I mean, is that the same with God and us?"

Bless her.

She doesn't know me that well. She's not familiar with me and my quick right hand turns. My tendency to spiritualize everything. To overthink at a moment's notice.

She grinned, and I honestly don't remember what her response was. But I felt her kindness with each of my overstimulated senses. It was both cool and refreshing and warm and comforting all at the same time.

"I have to go. I am so sorry..."

I turned and fled the comfort of her driveway, her kindness more than I could bear.

"Get a grip," I chided myself.

I took a deep breath and said to God with a quavering voice, "So once you get through breaking me, I won't break again? Do You promise?"

I spent time in arcades when I was a kid. I was an only child, and it was one place my step dad could take me where we would both have something to do. I loved watching him play "Punch Out." The announcer would yell "Body Blow!" over and over again.

That phrase came to me then, again and again. It made me smile, in spite of the truth of it. I could still see the computer animated boxer hiding behind his gloves, dancing, waiting on the next blow.

And hear the announcer yelling, "Body blow! Body blow!"

As I replayed the day, I heard him yelling it again, with each occurrence "Body blow!"

And me finally yelling, "Enough!"

How silly.

But.

Once You've broken me here, I won't break again.

Right?

Than is it worth it?

To be broken this way?

If the guarantee is that I won't break again?

"The bone can break in other places..."

Am I that fragile? That I can break in other places? Not strong? Not rooted in Him and His Word?

James says that I must "...let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."

I'm sure that "steadfastness" can't be broken.

Or can it?

I felt much like the next passage:

"...for the one that doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind. For that person must not suppose that the will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways."

Tossed by the wind and waves.

I hate that.

I pounded the pavement and poured it all out before Him.

"Fine. I need you. I'm fully dependent on you. I know I can't do this. I know it. I can't. I can't..."

And Paul.

I've been studying him.

His words floated to me on the breeze and settled firmly on me and haven't moved since:

"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.'"

Perfect in brokenness.

Parenting

2011-09-15T12:05:00.000-05:00

This isn't going to be one of those, "Oh, here are my thoughts, and now that I've typed all of that out, I'm done! I've figured it all out!"

Nope.

This is one of those "beauty" categories, where I ponder and process until either I get sick of it and live with what I processed some here and some in my brain or I just say, "Forget the whole thing."

Okay, fine. I never say that last thing. I wish I knew how to. Unfortunately, I plow through something until I have some sort of hold on it.

And trust me, sometimes, or a lot of times, I wish that weren't true.

But this whole parenting thing is different.

I'm not wrestling with a subject like the origin of sin/evil because it's something I need to know, this parenting thing is crucial because of the well-being of my children.

And yes, being in the Word is square one. I realize that, and I continue to learn how to do that more and better in part to become a better parent.

And.

I know that the Lord has provided additional resources to aid in my on-going education of how to be a good parent.

As I grow in the Word, I'll be a better parent.

And I'm thankful for things He brings to be that help me learn in addition to His Word.

Here are two of them.

I'm putting them here for me, mostly, to be able to come back to. (I'm not a fan of that Pininterest thing. Yet. Or maybe ever. I'm happy emailing things to myself and plopping them into folders to locate later. Or never.)

And I hope to continue to process these things, either here or just in my brain. Or with you...

Read this first.

(link)

Now this:

Parenting Blindspots

(link)

I'm resisting the urge to outwardly process. Must. Go. School. Children.

Remembering September 11th (9/11)

2011-09-11T18:59:00.005-05:00

I lay in the bed, reminding myself to breathe.

It was so quiet.

The train that wailed by our house day and night was conspicuously missing, its silence more of a bother than the noise it would typically bring. No planes flew over the neighborhood from the neighboring airport. All planes sat quiet, their engines cold and still. There was no traffic on the street outside the house. No cars on the busy road that framed our neighborhood.

Only quiet and stillness.

I rolled to my side, bringing my knees up as far as I could. I wrapped an arm tightly around my bulging belly, the baby kicking back in protest. As she rolled and kicked, I felt the nausea roll through me again. This time, though, it wasn't her flattening my stomach that made me feel queasy.

I thought back to the night before. To that morning. All was routine, normal, quiet. I had woken early, gotten ready for work, eating at the table watching the Today Show start. I remember Michael Jackson flying through the air toward a goal with a basketball in hand; a preview to what segments they would cover that day.

I headed out into the day, thoughts fixed on what needed to be done at work. Traffic. The baby that continued to kick until I felt that the inside of me must be black and blue.

Eight months pregnant. Nearing the start of my maternity leave. Constant lists running in my head.

Listening to NPR, the announcer casually mentioned that a small plane had flown into one of the World Trade Buildings.

I had long been fascinated with those buildings. I'd watch a particular documentary on the History Channel about them each time it came on. I knew they were built with this scenario in mind, able to withstand the impact of a small plane. I hoped in passing that all was well as I got to work and attacked the mound of work that awaited me.

My friend called, breathless and crying. I could barely understand her but she choked out a description what she was seeing on the television.

"Suzee, no. It was just a small plane. It's no big deal. You're wrong..."

My stomach started to roll and cold fear flowed down my body. I looked at the only other person at work with me so far, and her eyes were wide with fear. Almost immediately the phone lit up. We flew into action, frantically taking calls, making lists and trying to figure out what was going on outside of our four walls.

Corporate called.

"Go home," they said. "Go be with your families."

We finished up with what we had to do, and walked dazed to our cars. Once inside, each radio station was in a panic, voices filled with fear with each flip of the station dial.

I turned off the radio and pointed the car toward home. I was having trouble breathing.

What kind of world was I bringing a child into?

A scant nine months ago, I didn't even want kids, filled with fear that I didn't know how to be a good mother, and sure that the world would be just fine without any offspring of mine.

I didn't decide to get pregnant. It just happened. And now, this?

"Another reason I didn't want to have children..." I muttered aloud. "I didn't want to bring them into a world like this. A world where things like this could happen."

I got home, and sat, waiting on my husband to get home from work. Each television station was playing nonstop news coverage. The eyes of the reporters were wide and scared. Their voices shook, along with some of their hands. I felt my panic soaring higher and higher.

My phone rang. It was my granddad. Had I heard from my cousin? She lived in New York.

"No," I answered.

He sighed deeply. "How's Squirt?" His nickname for the baby.

I started to cry. He knew.

"It's okay," he said. "Call me if you hear from her, and I'll call you when we hear something."

I didn't want to talk to my grandmother. I didn't want to upset her with my tears. I knew she was already worried and upset.

I curled up on the sofa and found the only channel showing normal programing. The Cartoon Network. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw the plane crashing into the building.

My husband got home, and I followed him around the house. I was terrified of being alone. I don't remember much else about that day, but when I wearily climbed the stairs to bed, I asked him to come too. Since he is a night owl, we never go to bed at the time time. This night though, I didn't want to be alone. He flipped on the television and I lay beside him, curled into a ball, forcing myself to breathe in and out the light of the television.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The silence only amplified the panic and fear that I felt. We weren't safe. Nothing was safe. I felt raw, exposed and vulnerable.

I was a believer then, but not walking with Christ. I don't remember finding my Bible. I don't remember wanting to go to church. I don't remember finding solace in Him.

I mourn a lot about that day. I mourn the lives that were lost. I mourn the innocence that we as a nation lost. I think about the families still. I think about the police men and fire fighters and the first responders. I think about the people on the planes, in the Pentagon. I think about the people that jumped from the buildings. I think about those faces on the posters that papered the city. I think about the people who were so radical about their faith that they gave their lives without a single thought of sparing it.

I mourn so much about that day.

I mourn that I was so far from Christ. I mourn that as I watched the buildings fall over and over again that I didn't cry out to him to forgive me of my sins and wash me clean. I'm sad that staring such evil in the face didn't bring me to my knees. I'm mourn the ten years prior to that day and the time even after where I lived in flagrant rebellion of a Holy God. I mourn that disaster of epic proportions didn't send me running back to the God of the universe, begging Him to receive and restore me.

That wouldn't come until later, in the wake of a much small disaster that impacted only me and a handful of others close to me.

There is a lot to mourn today, ten years later. I today mourn the evil that was caused when we first sinned against God and introduced the sin that would eventually lead to that fateful day. I mourn the years that I lost that should have been spent in devotion to Him. I think about the families who live each day with their losses as we as individuals and as a nation moved on. And because it's what I do, I feel guilty that I could turn off the television and move on with my life. Go on to have that baby girl. And more. Live in a lot of ways as though it never happened.

I think a lot more about sin these days, and the people who don't know Him. Or are willing to attack in the name of a god who would sanction such action. I stay thankful that He snatched me from my blatantly sinful life and graced me with a passion for Him. I don't look at the images from ten years ago and feel anger or despair. I see sin. The same sin I engaged in for so long. My sin didn't kill nearly 3,000 people, but it was just as destructive, even if there was little evidence of it.

I'm not equating my life with the horrific destruction so many endured that day and still to this day endure. Those first responders are dealing with not only the emotional and physical scars, they now have debilitating health issues. Those that haven't died already. The families still don't have their loved ones. Or closure. The live in the midst of a world that moved on, for the most part, except for one day a year where we remember.

So I want to do more. I want to continue to remember. I want to continue to pray. I want to see that image of the buildings falling as the visual of what sin. looks. like. When I dabble in it. Dance close to it. Taunt it with my actions. With my rebellion.

I want to remember the pain and destruction not only to pray for those still living in the wake of that day without the comfort of ten years removed, but also to stay aware of and mindful to the true nature of sin and it's ability to destroy.

And not to make this all about me, but I'm thankful for this place where I can nail a reminder to myself. Sin and evil destroy. And they caused Jesus to offer Himself as a sacrifice to provide us a way to escape their eternal damnation. And one day, He'll come back in part to end sin and evil forever. I am thankful for that day too.

These are ways that I remember this holiday each year. I watch the first two links below:

Non graphic 9/11 video

(link)

Documentary

(like)

Then, just this year, some pastors I respect and pray for traveled to the Middle East, and this is a word from them.

Loving...

(link)

(i didn't want to read this again and again. so i'm sure there are errors, but please forgive those. i just wanted to get it out and let it be...)

Helen Keller's Birthplace

2011-09-08T16:22:00.001-05:00

We've been studying Helen Keller, and I realized that visiting her birthplace was a doable field trip. It was a beautiful drive - so much so that I wish we had taken the trip in the fall when the leaves were changing. That would have been really beautiful.

It was a great trip to take though, although the tour didn't take very long. I could have stayed for much longer than we did, but the boys weren't quite as interested as Laney and I were.

I'm glad we went, though. It was a great field trip to take.

I love these lace curtains. It's probably weird that I took this picture because them!

The dining room where Helen went around the table, eating off of her family's plates. I pictured it being so much bigger than it is.

There was tons of memorabilia to look at.

This may have been my favorite part of the house. Seeing this written in her hand was so precious to me.

The pump...

The famous water pump where Helen first realized what Annie was trying to teach her.

Looking out the back of the house to the kitchen. It was apart from the house to prevent fires accidental from burning down the house and to keep the heat from cooking away from the house in the warmer months.

I cannot fathom sleeping by the kitchen in the heat. I realized how spoiled rotten I am...

The fireplace, since I guess it would be bitterly cold to sleep out here in the winter. I am spoiled in this area too...

It was a hot day, and I was already sweating. Imagine cooking in this kitchen with that hot, heavy cast iron cookware over an open flame. Oh my stars. Thinking about it made me sweat even more.

The little house where Annie and Helen lived while Annie worked intensely with her.

This is one of version of my dream house. Old. Lots of property. Preferably with a kitchen in the house, but I love old houses.

This guy is studying the Wright Brothers, and one of his books taught him how to make paper airplanes and gliders. He is making paper airplanes out of everything. And I do mean everything... (that's his informational guide for the property)

He wanted me to take a picture of his airplane in flight, and there it is. Up at the top and a little to the right...

Back view of the kitchen and house.

New addition to the family

2011-09-06T10:06:00.001-05:00

Nope. Not a child.

It's a ~~gerbil~~ ~~hamster~~. Wait, it's a guinea pig.

I get my rodents confused.

The kids have been begging for one for the longest time.

I sort of put it off, thinking they'd forget, get over it or lose interest.

Nope. They didn't.

We ~~guinea pig gerbil~~ hamster sat for a friend a few weeks ago, and the kids loved it.

But I still hadn't managed to get around to purchasing our own.

I've been a little busy...

You know, not purchasing a rodent.

I'm more of a reptile person, if I had to pick an unusual pet to have.

Anyway.

A sweet friend called one night to say that they had a ~~gerbil~~ ~~hamster~~ guinea pig that needed a new home, and wanted to know if I was interested.

I knew it couldn't put it off any longer and since it was free of charge, how could I pass it up?

So now we have Max.

I cannot tell you how happy my middle kid was. We call him the "animal whisperer" because he loves animals so much and has a way with them. We walked in the garage, and he didn't leave the cage until we got him out. He couldn't stop smiling.

I, on the other hand, was a little trepidatious. Did I mention that I'm not really a rodent person?

Wait, is a ~~gerbil~~ ~~hamster~~ guinea pig a rodent?

I'm just going to say it is.

But look how happy my kid is.

And look how happy the girl kid is. She's really happy. There is a lot of happiness going on here...

Well, I'm not really happy, but that's because the ~~gerbil~~ ~~hamster~~ guinea pig kept biting me.

Repeatedly.

But did I mention how happy the kids are?

That cancels out my... um... well, I'll be just fine.

I mean, how can you look at this pic and not be just fine?

And why does he keep biting me?

~~He'll~~ I'll be fine. We just need to get used to each other.

Did I mention how happy my kids are?

Week two in the bag...

2011-08-28T19:46:00.003-05:00

...and things that helped get me through it well.

I am not going to recap every week of school, but since we made it through the dreaded second week, I feel the need to celebrate.

Yee Hoo!

We did it.

And I didn't nap once.

There were firsts. The middle kid helped the little kid. Granted, I had to tell him to. He's an amazing kid, but nurturing doesn't come naturally to him. We've worked on that a lot. It did my heart good to see him helping his brother.

(You may also notice the big kid sticking her tongue out at the camera. We may have another thing or two to work on with that kid.)

It took a full twelve days of school until the little kid said he didn't want to do school because it was "boring."

I really thought it would be more like on day three.

He did draw this picture with his first and last name on it all by himself. And this is him and me, and we both have smiles on our faces, so it must not be all that bad.

And even though I never ~~bothered to~~ had the time to teach him to read before now, he's doing pretty well.

Fluffy doesn't think school is fun. People do terrible things to her ears while listening to Family Worship.

(I mean, does her face not scream, "Help me here, please!"?)

They played school one morning waiting for the real school to start. I don't get that, but hey, they were happy.

Doing math first thing has been a great improvement to our year. It never gets pushed to the next day, and they are fresh and semi-bushy tailed.

Whew.

And we laugh. Jude continues to forget to put cent marks after his numbers when working with adding and subtracting money. So me, being the smart aleck that I am, would say things like "Twenty-eight what? Cowboys, houses, watermelons?"

He'd deadpan, "No, cents."

Then one day, I looked down and the apple that didn't fall too far from the tree was drawing watermelons after all his numbers instead of the cent marks.

So I couldn't say, "How many what? Watermelons?"

I really don't know where he gets it.

Sunday Planning

(link)

I stumbled on this page when a friend posted it on another friend's page on Facebook. (Thank you, friends!) I chose one from the meal planning section and printed it off grayscale. It really helped to plan out my week's worth of meals and made shopping a lot easier.

Thanks to doing laundry through out the week, I was only left with two loads of laundry to do on Saturday. And that's because I didn't do laundry on Wednesday or Friday. That is huge.

I also used Abe Books to order some books from school. Their prices were amazing. I got four books for $16 shipped. And several of these were big books, and they were expensive on Amazon. I am not buying a lot of books for school, but there were ones that would get used for several weeks. And for those prices, I don't mind. I am actually about to go through my Amazon wish list and order some of them from this site.

I am also loving a show that we found called "The Kratt Brothers." I DVR it, and they get to watch a show in the afternoons. They love this show. They take turns following me around telling me facts about whatever animal was featured that day.

Drives me crazy, but I'm glad they like it, and that they're learning stuff.

Two of our textbooks this year are paper back. They were dog-eared after just a week of school, and they are going to need to last us for years. A genius friend of mine told me to go to Staples, and they would break the bind for two dollars each. They have an industrial three hole punch, and I punched them in about ten minutes. I then bypassed their $7.50 binders and hopped over to the thrift-o-rama and grabbed some binders for 59 cents (watermelons). I will put the first and last five or so pages in page protectors to keep them in good condition. This makes photocopying pages easier also. (One book allows it. A dear friend of mine is married to a a copyright attorney, so I have to make these disclaimers, though I'd never ever copy something I wasn't supposed to, right? No home schooler ever does that.)

We are adding geography this week, and I love love love this geography cd. We used it with Sonlight, and made it through half of it. Another friend of mine used it, and we would laugh about how we'd sing the Middle East song in our heads over and over again. (I'm singing it right now.)

And may I humbly say that God used it to prompt my prayers for the Middle East, because I actually knew all the countries that were there. Good stuff. We need to work on the rest of the world, and by the end of this cd, we will know nearly every country in the world.

Amazing.

I also like this Map Skills for Today book. There are several on the market from different publishers, but this one is my favorite. It's from Weekly Reader Publishing. It's kid friendly, yet challenging enough to teach them well. I'm excited about it.

I'm trying to decide whether to do geography one day a week or a little each day. We'll have to play with that to see which is better.

I'm praying that this week is even better as we add geography and then the next week history. We've been doing some history in that we're reading about Helen Keller and the Wright Brothers. (I found "The Miracle Worker" at the library, and the kids actually watched it. I am a little worried, though, because one kid, who shall remain nameless, asked me if we were going to get another baby ever. I shrugged and said, "I'd like that." They then sighed and said, "I'd like that too, but I hope it's not blind and deaf like Helen Keller..." Maybe I need to go back and talk about how God makes us in His image and being blind and deaf is not a bad thing, and there's a story in the Bible about a blind man and the disciples asked if he was blind because someone sinned and... But I'm a little tired to think about that now.)

Full on history will come next week! (And I said that without a panic attack. Yay! Go me!)

I also started a grown up class, and I have homework. I'm excited and terrified. I think all my brain gets sucked out during the day. What if nothing's left for a grown up class at night? I'd better just be very, very quiet.

My kitchen floor still isn't mopped, and we're headed for gas station bathrooms if I don't intervene this week at some point. But overall we are all working together, and the kids' help has been an invaluable contribution to our keeping the house neat. And somewhat clean. Scratch that. Just neat.

Sort of.

Mostly.

Well, we tried. Really, we did.

And that was week two.

***I would also like to add that doing school on Monday afternoons is a huge and wonderful thing. We get our chores done (ie cleaning up from the whirlwind weekend) and ease into the school week. It allows the kids to sleep in a bit, and I get to get our school stuff organized and ready for the new school week. And we aren't rushing. It makes Monday bearable. And dare I say we try to make it joyful. try...

I'm supposed to teach WHAT?

2011-08-23T06:00:00.006-05:00

Back when God first told me to home school, I said, "Yeah, okay, God, thank you for the suggestion. I'll research that and get back with you."

It's no coincidence that our memory verse from last week was 1 Timothy 1:15 : "The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of who I am the foremost."

Yep. That's me.

I mean who says that to the Creator of the universe?

I'll think about Your suggestion and get back with you...

Good grief.

Thank you, Lord, for your abundant patience, your slowness to anger and your grace in always forgiving me of my sins.

But I did go research. I read every book I could get my hands on about home schooling.

I did this, of course, to delay the inevitable.

Silly me.

God did redeem all of that reluctance and delayed obedience, which of course is disobedience, which He does every time I mess up.

I learned stuff I still use.

I'll never forget this one book, and I hate that I can't remember which one is was since I read all of them... But this lady was pretty confident in how she was schooling her kids, everything was going along just fine and she felt like she was on top of things. Her kids were a little older, and maybe that's why she felt like things were going along okay.

Until one day a friend of hers mentioned that her child was struggling with learning cursive writing.

This lady smacked her forehead and said, "Cursive handwriting? Cursive handwriting? I FORGOT TO TEACH CURSIVE HANDWRITING?????"

I think of that story a lot. She got her brain together, taught her kid cursive handwriting and it all turned out fine. Her point was, you're going to make mistakes, and when you do, you fix the mistakes, forgive yourself and move on.

So the other day I was reading all the legal information that our brave and fearless cover school coordinator had compiled for us (aren't you proud I read it all, Jennifer? Every last word!) and there is was in black and white:

"Alabama Code 16-35-5 requires the instruction of reading, spelling, writing, arithmetic, English, geography, science, health, physical education, and U.S. and Alabama history..."

"Alabama history? Alabama history? I FORGOT TO TEACH ALABAMA HISTORY????"

I also smacked my forehead.

Then I had a fit:

"I am putting these kids in public school where a teacher who doesn't forget stuff is responsible for teaching them. I am getting a full time job where I get to wear cute shoes every day, not each lunch over the sink in between school and the one thousand other things I have to do, have real health insurance and talk to other adults. I am going to have extra money to spend and give to people in need and I'll travel with my job and be important again... I may even play Bunco and be in the PTA and lunch with the ladies and..."

It sort of spun out of control.

Then I took a deep breath and texted my home school guru. She promised to text me back with the books she used. She didn't sound flustered at all, about having to teach Alabama history, but then again, she never does.

I want to be like her when I grow up.

Then I thought, "Well fine, I'll just order a curriculum."

Then I breathed a little more. I talked myself off of the ledge: "No. You have a brain. Just use it. You can figure this out. You don't need a curriculum. And remember what you just learned? You don't have to start this tomorrow. Just breathe and do some calm research and get a plan..."

So that's what I did. I did what I do best: I Googled.

And I needed a place to put the links that I found. So here they are:

http://www.archives.state.al.us/kidspage/kids.html

http://www.archives.state.al.us/kids_emblems/index.html

http://www.sos.state.al.us/kids/history.htm

http://www.atozkidsstuff.com/alabama.html

http://www.kidskonnect.com/subject-index/33-states/165-alabama.html

http://www.carrenjoye.com/books/38-alabama-state-history-curriculum/55-excerpt-of-alabama-state-history-curriculum

(This is an actual curriculum that you can order. That may not be a bad idea, and I like that this option is out there. I also liked this list as sort of a "Scope and Sequence" for what they teach. It gives me an idea of what I need to aim for.)

http://www.apples4theteacher.com/usa-states/alabama/

http://www.history-timelines.org.uk/american-timelines/01-alabama-history-timeline.htm

http://www.infoplease.com/ipa/A0108176.html

http://www.enchantedlearning.com/usa/states/alabama/

I think these links, coupled with books checked out from the library, will be sufficient to teach from.

I also recall seeing Alabama History textbooks at the thrift store. That would be a cheap and easy source.

I am never going to be on top of things completely. I am never going to be the amazing home school mom with a super clean and organized household who has her kids in lots of activities yet schools them with out forgetting major things like Alabama history. But God called me to this, and I trust Him. He'll hopefully keep showing me ways that I'm deficient and things I'm missing, through the people in my life and through His divine intervention.

I'm really counting on Him to do that.

The first week and every week...

2011-08-22T09:48:00.003-05:00

The first full week of school is over.

And I'm still standing.

barely

I asked myself this week a least a hundred times, "What is wrong with you? You only have three kids. You are only schooling three kids..."

I felt like it was a hundred.

at least

It takes us two weeks to adjust to school. I know that. One more week, and we'll be better.

So here are some things that have really helped this week.

Number one is my morning quiet time and exercise time. I'm not going to lie. Getting up at 5 am has been the hardest part of school starting back. (Did you know it's PITCH BLACK at 5am? I didn't.) But that time spent in the Word and the time spent pounding the pavement as I ponder, worship and pray are the ONLY way I am able and ready to pour into my kids. The only way.

And it's during this time that I'm being taught. And grown. And challenged. And changed.

Never mind that I PASSED OUT every day at 3:30 in the afternoon. The kids loved it because they got to watch an episode of "Phineas and Ferb." I felt horribly guilty about napping, especially after Laney finally asked me if I was getting sick. I am NOT a nap taker, but all this took its toll on me. I'm hoping that this week I can be nap free.

That said, it is worth it. Two things I won't compromise on.

Number two is home management. This picture shows the lack of home management. I had to sort and organize four years worth of curriculum to see what I wanted to keep or sale. And find homes for it all.

I nearly had a nervous breakdown.

It's all better now.

I did realize that my kids are old enough to really help out, though. So boy, are they "helping."

For instance, the boys are in charge of emptying the dishwasher in the morning. Never mind that they are climbing on stools, dangling from the counter, and generally scaring me to death. (It's better for me to just leave the room.)

Laney is in charge of gathering up the laundry and starting a load of wash first thing. She then transfers it to the dryer, and I hang out of the dryer what I can. (I don't dry a lot of our clothes) Then while the kids are in the bath at night, I fold up what did go through the dryer. Then they put away their things, and we're done with laundry. It never piles up that way. (I either ask hubs to hang up his hanging things or I hang them up on the way upstairs at night.)

They also are in charge of cleaning the downstairs at night after dinner, along with their rooms.

The deep cleaning I help them with once a week or so.

I also gave Jude a bottle of wipes and told him to clean the bathroom one day, just to see what would happen. He did a pretty good job. I think they may be capable of more than I think they are.

Which is unfortunate for them...

Number three of things that helped this week was just spending time relaxing a bit each day. Whether it was a walk after school or a walk after dinner or just a little bit of time in the front yard. Yes, there are a hundred things that I could be doing at any given second, but I don't want to stress my kids out. I need to relax. And breathe. And enjoy them. And let them enjoy me. And let them see me not stressing out every second.

Number four is meal planning. The days that I can get dinner in the CrockPot in the mornings make our entire days so much easier. This lady has done all the work for me. I am sticking to the "only run errands on the weekends" rule again this year, which means planning a week's worth of meals and having those ingredients on hand. And even if it's not in the CrockPot, I can still know that Monday is Sloppy Joes and Tuesday is Chicken Piccata, etc.

I found this which is just about everything on our dinner rotation. It's older, and I need to modify it a bit, but meal planning from this list will simplify so much. I need to get back to "meatless Monday" and a fish night too.

This picture doesn't go with the next point, but after the guy "fell through the grass into the hot lava and see his head is all that's left after he sunk down..." I just had to put this here. I'm not sure what motivated the 5 year to artistically express this, but it made me happy. Especially the look on the guy's face. I felt like that a good bit last week...

Number five was joining the large counties' library system just north of us. It was $50, but it really opened up the number of books available to us. (I balked on the price, but then realized that it worked out to 96 cents a week to get a plethora of books.) I can search their database, order books from any library and go pick them up on Saturday. I'm not buying books much this year, except a few that were used for several weeks. I don't know if this site is good or not since I haven't received any of the books I ordered yet, but these prices are crazy good. I mean crazy good even with shipping.

Anyway, the library also has books on cd and even these i-pod type things that are books that you can check out. The kids went nuts. I love to get books for them to listen to while they clean their rooms. Good stuff.

Number six is using Google Calendar to schedule our school days. I didn't think of this on my own. This amazing lady, appropriately dubbed "The Internet Princess," presented this info to our home school support group, and it really has changed my life. I can schedule everything with one click, making it all repeat each day, Monday through Friday, and then just go back and edit in with what we actually did. Or, when I get my brain this year, schedule it all a head of time. I can list the times we did school, notes for myself for the next day or week, books I need to pick up and it's accessible from my phone. And it never goes away. I can print it out if I need to at any point. Everything is documented and planned out.

I nearly cried with relief. SO good. Whew.

Number seven. This is one of the biggest reason I home school. Being near my kids. As tired as I was this week, as much as I missed seeing my friends, as overwhelmed and stressed as I felt, every time Zane crawled in my lap to hear me read, everything time Jude asked me a question that had eternal ramifications, and yes, even when my daughter said, "When are you going to tell me about, you know, that..." I was thankful that I was there. I got to be the one to answer those questions, get those hugs, feel the kisses, lead, guide and teach.

I don't need to lose sight of that as a privilege.

I don't have to do this. I get to do this.

Feel free to remind me of this when I'm a weepy, exhausted, frustrated and hopeless mess.

Number eight. The main reason I didn't lose it this week is because of some very sage advice from a sweet friend with six kids. She said, "Don't start everything at one time. Start and then add subjects week by week." We were standing in her front yard at the time, and it was like a light from heaven shone down on her and angels started singing.

It felt like that, really.

So that's what we did. We started with most subjects, and over the next couple of weeks, we'll gently add to our load.

Genius.

It saved my sanity.

I am so thankful for the wise and kind women in my life who are along on this journey with me. Women who get how hard this is, but also the blessings that come with it. I'm just weak with thankfulness.

And this says it all - I let two of the kids have a "sleep over" this weekend, and we ended the first week tired but happy.

New school year, new... everything.

2011-08-21T14:58:00.001-05:00

"The only constant in life is change" is how the old quote goes.

I tend to agree.

Just when you think you have a handle on something, it's very likely to change.

Or be changed for you.

So it goes with homeschooling.

I faced this year with another first: three kids in school.

I needed a new plan.

So I got one.

First I need to say that Sonlight served us well for these four years I used it. I actually mourned the passing of Sonlight through our lives, and it made me feel better that Laney was sad too. The upside is that I was able to keep so much of what we had used to use again, and I will continue to use their books for years to come. I still recommend that curriculum highly. I doubt that I would have had the success with homeschooling thus far if not for them.

Great. Now I'm sad again.

Here's where we push forward.

The curriculum I've chosen for us now is "Tapestry of Grace."

You can learn more here:

Tapesty of Grace

This curriculum follows the Classical mode of educating. This method of teaching is outlined and explained fully in The Well Trained Mind by Jesse Wise and Susan Bauer Wise.

I always wondered why people called it their "homeschool bible," and now I know. I very nearly carry it around with me now.

To make a long story short, this year we are studying "Year 4" which is the Modern Period of history. And with this curriculum, I'll teach the Modern Age to all the kids with appropriate books and information for each.

This is almost the opposite of what I was doing, which was teaching two separate curriculums with Sonlight to two different kids. I knew that I couldn't do that with three kids. It is possible to teach one Sonlight year to mulitple kids, and they provide plenty of help for people who choose to go this route had I chosen to do that. Or been able to choose that.

God just had other plans for us.

I've decided that Him keeping me in over my head is His way of keeping me desperately depending on Him.

So that's one reason why after four years, we had to change everything.

I'm not bitter.

okay maybe a little

It will all be fine. Better in fact that anything I could do on my own. One day I'll realize that God's Plan B is so much better than my Plan A was.

So for kindergarten Zane, we are working through the "Bob Books." It's my fault that the kid can't read yet. Both of the other ones were reading at least "One Fish Two Fish" by the time they were in kindergarten. I'll make myself feel better by reminding my self that not only was he the third kid, and I was busy teaching the other two kids, most of the time I was trying to keep Zane from doing me in.

That and he's almost a year younger than Laney was when she started K, almost six months younger than Jude was.

Eh, I'll get over it, and he'll learn to read, and we'll all be just fine.

He's also using "Explode the Code," which worked so well for my other two. In fact, Jude still does the harder books and loves them.

Last year, in third grade, we added Latin for Laney. This is also a recommendation of the Classical method.

We didn't completely get through with the first book last year since we didn't start until the second semester. I found Levels 1 and 2 at a garage sale, and that was pretty much why I chose this particular curriculum, but it has been wonderful and amazing. There is a DVD of a nice lady who teaches the lessons, an audio cd for review, a student workbook and a teacher book also. Laney is learning it so quickly, and that's in large part due to how well laid out this curriculum is.

Yeah, I haven't used the teacher book, but she hasn't needed me too. I really wanted to learn Latin with her, but that was not feasible. Or possible, probably. I have an old brain.

Spelling for the big kids this year is Spelling Workout. There is a level for each grade, and the kids are really enjoying this so far. I'm pleased with it.

Language Arts is coming from First Language Lessons. I am using Level 1/2 for Jude, who is in second grade, and Level 3 for Laney, who is in fourth grade. They were weak in Language Arts, and so I bumped them back a year. I am really pleased with this curriculum. They both like it, and I find it easy to use and easy to understand, but challenging enough for them also.

For vocabulary, we are using "Wordly Wise." This is certainly not necessary, but my kids love workbook type exercises, and this curriculum is challenging yet they like doing it. I also like to have them doing constructive things while I work with Zane.

Bible was one of the areas that I really missed Sonlight. I did decide to get the book that Laney would have used for fourth grade in Sonlight and let her use it in her morning devotional time. I am trying to get the big kids used to having a private morning devotional time by establishing this as part of our morning routine.

For Bible, I am using our church's Family Worship guide, for several reasons. It reiterates and expounds on the sermon from the Sunday before. It's also amazing how much work our church has put into making what ends up being a perfect part of our Bible part of school. There is a song, Scripture reading and discussion, and a prayer guide for praying for our church, local needs and global needs.

You can check it out here:

Family Worship

{{{I am so incredibly thankful for our church. I can't say that enough.}}}

Along with Family Worship, we are continuing to use the Harrow Family's scripture memory song cd's. Laney is about to finish year 3, which means that she has now memorized approximately eighty scriptures, which include passages like Psalm 1, 42, and 8 among others.

I would like to add that my old brain has also memorized these along with her. It's amazing how the verses we memorize come to mind when they are needed. Or how I can pull them up when I need to.

The one downside to memorizing with music is that I do have to think in order to say the verses instead of singing them, and at times have resorted to singing them. Yep.

That is one disadvantage with this, and so I have tried to also start encouraging memorization without music. Not excelling there yet, but we are working on it.

I also have found other books on my bookshelf and in the local library that tie in with what we are learning at church. This book on Paul is an example. I just now have to use my (old) brain to plan instead of just going by a checklist, which is what I used to do.

I have also found that if my kids are coloring on the coloring sheets that come with family worship, they listen much better when I am reading longer passages of Scripture or from books. I have started finding coloring sheets that correspond with what we are learning. Even the big kids like that.

We are also reading the "Jesus Storybook Bible." I don't have words to describe how much I love love love this book. Love it. We may just read it over and over again.

Science was another place where I really missed Sonlight. On the recommendation from a friend, I ordered from the "Christian Kids Explore" series. In the Classical method, you rotate sciences every four years also. This year is Physics for us, which is laughable since I never took physics. But elementary physics is completely doable, and I'm really excited about this. I also got Janice VanCleave's Physics for Every Kid free from PaperBack Swap and we will use it also.

So far handwriting has included copying the Bible memory verse for the week for the big kids. This is a great way to make your own copy work sheets. Zane is of course working on his name, letters and numbers.

Math is the one thing that stayed the same. I am using Saxon Math again this year. It has worked well for us, and although Jude is way ahead and Laney is behind, we still all enjoy the layout of this curriculum, and I was happy to stay with it. A sweet friend blessed us with the next year's anyway, so when something is free, we are probably going to stick with it!

I do have a Spanish curriculum for the computer that I need to start using. I also had a head-smack moment this morning that I needed to add yet another thing to our day, which I am working on a blog post about. That will be soon...

I think that's it for now. I do keep adding and rearranging things, but for this week, this is what we are using!

First Day of School

2011-08-11T16:57:00.001-05:00

It was a very exciting day.

It was Zane's first day of kindergarten.

And Jude's first day of second grade.

And Laney's first day of fourth grade.

And ~~Mom's~~ Mrs. Teacher's first day of a new curriculum and no teacher's guide to follow. (I make my own now.)

So...

Here we go!

I am completely unorganized, don't have all the books we need, and need about two more weeks to prepare. (The summer wasn't long enough. Apparently I was in denial about school actually starting.)

Despite all of that, it was a good day. Zane's memory verse, Romans 3:23 "All have since and fall short of the glory of God..." sparked a discussion about the concept of original sin and whether or not the "age of accountability" is actually found in Scripture, both of which I wasn't anticipating.

They keep me on my toes.

And on the way home from errands, the five year old yells from the backseat, "MOM! What's redemption?"

He keeps quizzing me on Jesus returning and the new heaven and the new earth too.

So.

I'm a little tired.

I'm struggling to get my footing with this new curriculum, but after doing this for a couple of years, there is a laidbackness that I have managed to lasso after a lot of past time spent stressing out.

It's all good. We'll settle in.

After school and errands, we popped popcorn and put in a new movie. (Someone ate my popcorn, which was fine. I had chocolate instead. It was, after all, the first day of school. I deserved chocolate.)

The kids choose a special treat of Phineas and Ferb macaroni and cheese at the store yesterday, and swallowing my food-snobbiness, I am going to happily cook it for them for dinner.

And I'm really, really glad tomorrow is Friday.

The Last Day of Summer

2011-08-11T16:18:00.001-05:00

I was mourning the passing of summer. Officially we still had weeks still to go on the calendar, and even longer as far as the weather goes, but school was starting, and that meant no more longs days of fun and sun.

I was sad.

My baby kid was starting kindergarten. For the next 13 years, school would be in session.

If I think on that too long, I'll be really, really sad.

Instead of being sad, we decided to send summer off at one of our favorite places. This was the first summer that all the kids could swim well, and we spent a lot of time at the pool. It seemed the perfect place to kiss the summer good-bye.

Consolation

2011-08-08T10:47:00.002-05:00

She looked at me appraisingly with bright blue eyes - young, bright and carefree.

"Do you work?" she asked, studying me well.

I was caught off guard. It had been a while since I had heard that question.

"Oh, no. I stay home with them..." I nodded to my kids who were bouncing nearby.

"Oh," she said.

She paused a moment.

"Well, that's a full time job..."

Her words trailed off (I heard the unspoken "sort of" in there) and I turned my gaze full on her as I decided how to respond.

How could she know?

I chose kindness.

"Yeah, it is. But it's good, and I'm thankful I get to stay home with them."

That's all she wanted to hear. Actually I'm not sure she made it through the entire sentence, but though no fault of her own. Her sweet youthfulness prevented her from even pondering for a moment what it might be like to "stay at home with kids."

And who can blame her?

Later in the day I reflected on the emotions that the conversation had stirred in me.

What I really wanted to say was, "No, actually this is like having four full time jobs (you know, since most jobs are 40 hours and there are 168 hours in a week.) And there is no clock out time, no sick days, no personal days, no lunch breaks and no monetary benefit. Oh, and no vacation days, and no weekends."

I am so glad I didn't say that.

(Thankfully I can't do math that quickly, so even if I had wanted to say all that I couldn't have. There you go. My lack of quick math skills actually worked to my benefit. I'm waiting for the benefit of the lack of spelling skills to kick in any day now.)

So why did I feel the need to go there?

Even to myself?

Was it because it had been a hard week? Was it because I was staring down another school year fully aware of all of my inadequacies as a teacher, much less as a mother? Was it because I was tired? Worried? Stressed? Wondering how my kids were going to turn out in the grand scheme of life?

Probably.

And maybe I was tired of staying at home with my kids being viewed as a second hand occupation. Sort of a consolation prize.

My second favorite question is, "What will you do after they are gone? Will you work then?"

You know, stop sucking up resources and actually start contributing to society again? Pulling your weight? Do something worthwhile?

That's my other favorite.

Oh, I already said that.

Usually I tell people (on a good day) that when my youngest has graduated from high school I will be 52 years old. (You don't want to know how long it took me to figure that number out or what that number did to my... everything.)

So at 52 I will have been out of the workplace for a grand total of 23 years. My degree will be obsolete, as will any job, resume or experience I may have had before I had kids.

I'm sure employers will be knocking down my door.

And I thought of all the 50 somethings that were in college with me. They messed up all the grading curves since they were actually motivated to be there and weren't messing around. (I was too, for that matter, but dang, those ladies knew how to study. They blew us away every single time.)

I guess that's why they were there. Their children had sauntered off into the sunset, leaving behind a mother who had cleaned, nursed, chauffeured, cooked, and cared for them for more than 18 years and left behind an exhausted and used up woman who then had to figure out what they were good for now.

Or at least that's what it looks like from this vantage point.

You know, looking ahead.

All this doesn't change anything, really. I know with out a shred of doubt that I can where I am supposed to be. I know that no matter how bad at this job I am, no matter how many horrific days we have, no matter how much I ask God, "Are you SURE about this?" and no matter how many times the Accuser tells me that I'm messing my kids up irreparably, I will keep on.

And no matter how many times people look at me sympathetically when I say I am a stay at home mom, (and boy the sympathetic looks my kids get when I tell them we homeschool) I will stand strong in this calling.

And you know why? Mostly because I know the work God is doing in me because I stay home.

That's the secret that they don't know or probably even care about.

And He's training up an army in this house. He's going to use it for His glory, and we are simply getting ready for that, working hard while we're waiting, being used all the while, but knowing that our efforts are not in vain. We are creating a foundation in Him that will never be shaken. We are forming bonds as a family that will never be broken. We are seeking him as a family. We are learning about Him and all His ways. We are devoted to Him in thought, word, action and deed. And though it's hard and there are days I want to give up, run and hide, I keep on. I persevere because I know that I am not operating in the temporal. I'm building eternal things in this house. Things that will live on for an eternity. All for His glory.

So that makes it a little easier to smile when asked this disheartening question.

To say,

"Yeah, I get to stay at home with my kids. And I'm glad..."

And really mean it.

Ouch

2011-08-05T12:51:00.004-05:00

First let me preface my "ouch" with this paragraph:

"...We don't like people who seem to be enamored with their own intelligence or strength or skill or good looks or wealth. We don't like scholars who try to show off their specialized knowledge or recite for all all of us their recent publications. We don't like businessmen who talk about how shrewdly they have invested their money and how they stayed right on top of the market to get in low and out high. We don't like children to play one-upmanship (Mine's bigger! Mine's faster! Mine's prettier!). And unless we are one of them, we disapprove of men and women who dress not functionally and simply, but to attract attention with the latest styles..."

I already had my toes, which were encased in my most recent favorite pair of new cute shoes, stepped on.

Maybe I'd better think on this for a minute.

But there was no time.

It went right on, this book.

"Why don't we all like that? I think at root it's because such people are inauthentic. They are what Ayn Rand calls "second-handers." They don't live from the joy that comes through achieving what they value for its own sake. Instead, they live secondhand from the compliments of others. They have one eye on their action and one on their audience. We simply do not admire second-handers. We admire people who are secure and composed enough that they don't need to shore up their weaknesses and compensate for their deficiencies by trying to get compliments."

So I cocked an eyebrow at myself and asked myself the question,

"Is this you, Amy?"

And what does my love of social media say to this?

I'm still thinking...

Say what?

2011-08-04T10:44:00.001-05:00

100 Most Mispronounced Words

Just bookmarking this here for future reference.

(I hope I pronounced all of those words correctly. Now I'm second guessing everything!)

Gossip

2011-08-02T17:57:00.002-05:00

Just putting this here for me to find again later. But it's a good read. Or a necessary read. So read it. And now you know where to find it again!

Gossip (link)

Oddity is genetic

2011-07-28T13:16:00.001-05:00

I didn't know my great-grandmother very well.

She was my paternal grandfather's mother. She wasn't a warm, fuzzy person. I don't recall ever spending time alone with her, and never really got to know her well.

I do remember her obsessions with cleanliness. Plastic coverings on the furniture, plastic runners on the floor. Everything spotless. It's actually how my house might be if I relented for one moment beating back the type A villain that so wants to rear its ugly head in me.

She loved fashion, and she could whip up masterful creations on her sewing machine. She loved rhinestones, sparkle and bling of all sorts.

Maybe we are more alike than I realized.

But there is that distance that characterizes her in my mind. She was rather disinterested in the grand kids, yet I remember my precious grandmother stirring furiously a pot on the stove after an encounter with her. I didn't understand that then, but now I can slightly imagine what she endured in a difficult relationship with her mother in law.

Now that I'm older I wonder what in my great-grandmother's past led her to be that way - I so hope she knew Christ, and hopefully my recollections are from that child-like mind that didn't fully understand the adult world I saw at a distance before me. Maybe it's not all as I remembered.

The last memory I have of her is her clutching me to her chest on her deathbed just hours before she died. She whispered furiously in my ear, "You know I love you?"

Those words encouraged forgiveness in my heart, and regret replaced whatever irritating thoughts that I had about her previously.

I should have spent time with her. Gotten to know her. Heard her story.

And I think we were alike in more ways than I thought.

My beloved great-grandfather called her "Baby," and we all did the same.

She was simply "Baby."

In the years before my aunt Ann tragically died, Ann would comment on something I was wearing and say, "That is so Baby." She would grin at me, trying to convince me that this female legacy I inherited was not a completely unfortunate one.

I came to appreciate the comparisons to this enigma of a woman I was quick to judge, perhaps too harshly.

When she died, my grandfather was gracious to share with me sweet sentimental mementos from their home.

In some of the precious mementos was a picture that my great-grandmother had drawn.

I loved it, and as I studied it, my aunt turned the picture over to show me a small photograph that was taped to the back of the frame.

I looked at my aunt quizzically, and I'll never forget the sparkle in her eyes.

The writing in the bottom right hand corner of the picture is this:

Ann Harbin

Loulie Compton Seminary

May 22, 1923

Thanks to the joy of Google, I was able to see this school, which was billed as the best preparatory school in the South. I even found a year book on Amazon, and had they not wanted over $300 for it, I probably would have bought it.

It was here that Baby had penned this picture as a 17 year old girl. The odd thing was that she said at the time that it was her husband.

I don't know what led her to draw this, or declare that this was her husband, but she did. Knowing what I do of her, she did it with great panache and conviction.

I do wish I knew what led her to do this, though. I hate that this part of the story is missing.

And what was taped to the back of the framed sketch?

Why this picture, of course. Dated 1926.

Three years after her sketch.

What makes me teary eyed about this picture is not just that she was right about what her husband would look like, but seeing here the apparent love my great-grandfather had for her.

It's true. This picture illustrates the love he lavished on her for all of their lives together. He was a gentle giant - we called him "Big Daddy" and he was! Towered nearly 6 feet 5 inches but the kindest most gentle man. I adored him.

But nevermind all of that.

She was right! Look at him!

I just love it. How did she know?

Maybe she had had a vision or something...

Regardless of that, Baby loved to create. That I got from her definitively. Her passion to create was not limited by talent or ability.

I can relate there also.

This hangs in my dining room, and I do ponder nearly everyday her choice to create blue trees. Never did my aunt pass this painting that she wouldn't pause, with her hands on her hips, and say, "Only Baby would insist that trees should be blue..."

So it hangs there-a tribute to a family that loved me in spite of all of my flaws and a ringing endorsement to my odd creative side.

Ann and Baby

Ann, my sweet aunt.

Another beauty post? STOP IT!

2011-07-27T06:00:00.047-05:00

I can't help it. I wanted to reference this comment in one of my other posts, but I got tired of the whole thing and said, "Forget it."

I kept thinking about what this sweet man had written, but couldn't remember how to get back to where it was.

And lo and behold, here it is! A whole post about this sweet man whose words have echoed in my head.

Yay!!!!

My Wife is Beautiful

I have also thought over and over about this beautiful yet oh so vulnerable poem written by Ruth Bell Graham.

She always possessed such beauty to me. Poise and grace. I admired and appreciated her love of the written word. Her creative side. Her love of the Lord and His Word are evident in simply everything about her. Her deep devotion to missions is an inspiration to me. Her apparent adoration of her husband and her acceptance of and devotion to his ministry brings tears to my eyes. Truly. The way her children speak of her inspires me to be a better mother.

I adore this woman.

To say it was a surprise to read her tender and heart felt words is to say the least. She was a humble woman, never wanting attention for herself, but to hear this view of herself gave me pause:

Your eyes
look down at me...
What do they see?
The plainness of me--
plainly built,
not small,
nor calmly poised,
nor quaint,
and, worst of all,
a nose upturned
and hands
that I have known
for years to be
too long,
too overgrown;
plain hazel eyes,
a face too pale,
not fair,
a mouth too large
and ordinary hair?
And all of me
tucked in
this homemade dress;
oh, if you look at me
so thoughtfully
will you love me
the less?

Oh, my heart broke when I read this! I wanted her to know how much I adored her! I wanted her to feel beautiful. Each time I see pictures of her, or video of her, her beauty just shines from her face and her countenance. I wanted her to feel about herself the way I feel about her!

And then I heard the Lord whisper, "And I too..."

Yes, I hear you, Lord. The way Your beauty shines from me is all that matters.

One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple. Psalm 27:4

I hope this is the last of the beauty posts for a bit. I know that charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. {Proverbs 31:20} I know that what I do for Christ is all that will last. I pray that I will continue to seek Him, be conformed to the image of His Son and lay these other things at His feet where they belong.

Poem from "Never Let it End" by Ruth Graham Bell