Turning into a Man

This pretty much blew me away. 

Putting it here so I can read and reread.

And slightly panicking. My oldest son is 7. I think I might need 5 years to get a plan, much less implement it.

Whew. 

How I Helped My Boys to Become Christian Men

A quick song

 (link: Credit )

I love the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. They are {relatively} clean, fun, fantasy, and have happy memories of sweet girlfriends on rare summer nights away from babies and lives at home.

One of the movies was on television the other night, and I recorded it for those moments when I just want to watch something to turn my brain off before I go to sleep.

Sometimes that works, and sometimes it doesn't. 

I was sunk down in the bed last night, nose and eyes poked out of the covers, rather wishing I could just stay there indefinitely. The air was turned down, the fan on high, the bed and covers were soft. The priviledge of being in such comfort-safe, not hungry, not hurting- is never lost on me. I was as humanly comfortable as one can be, and appreciative of it too. 

But.

The inside of me was a raging storm.

As I poked my head out, I fumbled to find the remote to the television and flip it on to my movie. I picked up where I had previously left off, which just happened during to be an epic battle between two large ship dueling in the midst of an enormous whirlpool {excuse me. It's called a "maelstrom." And no, I could not have spelled that had my life depended on it.}

There were bullets flying, swords swinging, people yelling, rain pouring, men fighting, waves raging and pounding-war between men enveloped within nature's fury.

I thought, "Hey, that looks like what I feel on the inside..."

{And yes, I embrace my dramatic side. It's that flair that keeps me interesting.}

Or so I tell myself.

Anyway, that is still a pretty good representation of all that was battling in my heart and my mind. 

But then, there he was. 

The bad captain. At the wheel of his ship, happily steering the massive vessel to keep it tottering on the brink of destruction. He would occasionally use his sword to defend himself against an attack, one hand on the wheel, all the while grinning away.

And I thought, 

"Why am I not more like that?"

When the storm starts to roll, the wind picks up, the attack starts, I get a sick, panicky feeling in my stomach and I...

well, that depends on the day. I have a list that I go through. Some good things, most are bad. Fleshly. Temporal.

But why not be like him?

Why not sail through fully confident in Christ? 

Oh, there is so much here I could say, but for once, I'm not. 

That image has stayed with me all day, though. The picture of that silly captain in a silly movie showing me so clearly a picture of a part of why Christ came to die. Not only to fulfill His Father's plan and include us in this grand plan of redemption, but to give me hope in the midst of suffering. 

I will not be surprised at what God uses to teach me. And what He will use to remind me of truth.

Then, as I was cleaning the kitchen, God got a hold of my Pandora. {I love it when He does that.} 

I had never heard this song before. It just resonates what I so desperately want to feel and be during the storm. 

{{I do need to start making my own videos though. The cheesiness of some of these videos kills me. But that's not the point...}}

So that's the song I'm singing today with the image of a dirty pirate at the wheel of a ship about to sink into oblivion - grinning from ear to ear.

Lord, You allow me to smile at the storm. Help my courage be in You.

Ode to Being Sick

We had a crazy, insane week last week on top of a crazy, insane summer. 

I was making dinner one night, totally exhausted.

It was a hot, steamy afternoon and the air wasn't working. I was kneeding bread, flour up to my elbows, sweating profusely. I pushed back a strand of hair that escaped from my bun and swatted a fly away from the mound of bread dough I was shaping into a loaf. The kids raced through the kitchen, stirring up the flour off the table, sending it into a swirl into the humid air. There's wasn't enough room in the tiny one bedroom house for the seven of them to play without getting in my way...

Oh wait. That's not me. 

{{I think I've been reading too much Southern fiction here lately.}}

But seriously, I was cooking dinner one night, completely exhausted.

And I felt like that lady with the seven kids.


I remember having the fleeting thought, "Well, if I got sick I bet I'd get some rest."

Ah, do be careful what you wish for.

I did get some rest, thanks to a virus.

Our preacher once said that when you are sick, that's a great time for deep thoughts about the sin that got you there. Sick, I mean. Sin is the cause for illness in the world. Use that time, he urged, to ponder sin. And its effect.

I didn't appreciate that too much. I felt bad enough without deeply thinking about the sin that was the reason I was face planted in my bathroom floor.

I really, really hated sin all that night. Especially around 4 o'clock when I just wanted tons of cold ice water and sleep.

 But I guess it had the effect he wanted, because as much as I really, really hated sin that night, I realized honestly that I don't hate sin that much when I'm well. As in not sick.

Okay, maybe when someone else's sin stomps all over my life. Or my kids' lives. Or my friends' lives.

But my own sin?

Eh, it's not that bad.

My own pride, snark, fear/anxiety, desire for worldly pleasures, need to gossip, covetousness, vanity, deceitfulness and many many others don't bother me nearly as much as other people's sin bothers me.

Or as much as throwing up does.

See, I hate throwing up more than anything else in the world. It's sort of a joke with some of my friends even. They know. I hate it. 

But why don't I hate my sin that much? Why don't I see it's disastrous effects on my life and on those I love? Why don't I feel and abhor the severity of the separation from Christ that I experience when I harbor sin in my life? Hide it? Nurture it? Excuse it?

Justify it?

These aren't the thoughts you want to have when you're trying to keep from dying on the bathroom floor {no, I'm not being dramatic-fine. I am} but it's actually a pretty good time. There's not much else to do but hate the sin that got you on that floor.

And confess it. And ask Him to wash it away. And beg Him to change the heart that allowed it to be there in the first place.

"A desire to walk in holiness comes from where?
~a proper view of God and his holiness
~a proper view of how devastating sin is"

The law of the Lord is perfect,
reviving the soul;

the testimony of the Lord is sure,
making wise the simple;

the precepts of the Lord are right,
rejoicing the heart;

the commandment of the Lord is pure,
enlightening the eyes;

the fear of the Lord is clean,
enduring forever;

the rules of the Lord are true,
and righteous altogether.

More to be desired are they than gold,
even much fine gold;

sweeter also than honey
and drippings of the honeycomb.

Moreover, by them is your servant warned;
in keeping them there is great reward.

Who can discern his errors?
Declare me innocent from hidden faults.

Keep back your servant also from presumptuous sins;
let them not have dominion over me!

Then I shall be blameless,
and innocent of great transgression.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable in your sight,

O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

Psalm 19 

~Create in me a clean heart, O God. Psalm 51~

Beauty Part 926

Ask me if I'm tired of thinking about this subject.

No, go ahead. Ask.

I am.

It's not completely my fault, really. 

I flipped on the television one night to have something to listen to as I cooked dinner. The show "Toddlers and Tiaras" was on. I had heard about this show and was mildly intrigued. 

Well. Let's just say that I froze, horrified, in the middle of the kitchen with a spatula in mid-air within two minutes of the show starting.

I don't have time or space here to say everything that was wrong with that show and the parents on it.

But here's the thing. There was this dad who was a "pageant dad." And yes, it was as disturbing as it sounds.

But he actually said this: 

"If my wife and my daughter were in a beauty pageant together, my daughter would win, hands down."

I flipped around with my spatula and said out loud, "OH NO HE DIDN'T JUST SAY THAT..."

I was devastated for his wife.

She had spent a few seconds earlier talking about how she had once been a "beautiful girl" but had "let herself go." She said she knew first hand how much easier life was when you were beautiful. She had seen the difference in how people treated others based on outward appearance in each of her life situations.
 

It broke my heart. 

So when her husband, Mr. "I-used-to-be-in-the-Navy-so-now-I'm-using-all-that-I-learned-there-to-help -my-daughter-succeed-in-the-beauty-pageant-world" said that his daughter would win in a beauty contest against his wife, my heart broke for her.

I wanted to grab him by is rather large XL tee shirt collar and yell at his balding head that his wife needed to be the most beautiful thing in the world to him. That she needed to be loved for her beauty no matter how much it had changed over the years. That she needed to be held in high esteem for the way that she looked, whether or not it compared to her daughter's beauty.

I was mad. 

Maybe this is why I can't stop thinking about this issue. It seems that everywhere you look, someone or something is telling you how you could look better or thinner or less old or compete with the teenagers who haven't had time march across their face. Or rear ends.

And apparently I'm not the only one that thinks so. 

I was watching one of my guilty summer pleasures just a day later, although I hate to say it since this particular episode put this show dangerously close to getting marked off my viewing list. I'm putting it on probation, because no matter how much I love a show, if it makes my spirit cringe, I know it's gotta go.

Anyway.

I hate to link this site here, but I'm going to anyway. This was on the now "on probation" show:

Just the Way You Are
 

And fine, I'll admit that I cried, for that sweet lady, because the words of this song expressed to her husband what she wanted and needed to hear from him.

So maybe that's why I can't stop thinking about women and their inability to stop thinking about how they look. It's pervasive. It's everywhere. 

I'll remind myself that whatever I happen to maybe have beauty-wise is hopefully found in my love and passion for Christ. He is my Creator, and He made no mistakes in creating me. {{Despite my new favorite quote, "No one else wanted this laugh, so God gave it to me."}} Hopefully my love for Him shines on me, and our beautiful and intimate relationship reflects in my countenance.  Hopefully I will stand strong against what this world says is beautiful and stay firmly rooted in my devotion for Him. 

That's what important. That's what's real. And that's what's eternal.

Worshiping together?

In our church, the kids are not only allowed to come to "big church" from the time they are born, once they hit kindergarten, they have to come to big church.

I remember when we were visiting, in the midst of all of my complaints about having to attend this church was the fact that my kindergarten and up kids would be joining me in big church. I so very wisely and kindly commented to my friend as we discussed this, "I don't like that..." 

You see, as a round-the-clock homeschool mom, I had dreams of sitting in a seat amongst other adults with my husband, dressed not in sweat shorts and a tee and cute shoes (most important) with hair and makeup done, devoting all my brain cells to the sermon being taught. 

When I heard that the kids came to church, all that came to a mental screeching halt. 

Oh, great...

And even though the baby was only 18 months old at the time, the thought of that one being in big church with us was enough to fill me with waves of fear and trepidation. 

Of course, we joined the church, because that's what happens when I stomp my foot and tell God what I will and won't do. I also began to see that along with all of my other silly notions about why this church wasn't for me, I was wrong about the kids not being in church with us. There were plenty of beneficial reasons why they should be.

But sure. The older two were the easy ones. Well, at lease when it came to church behavior.  

I was still trying not to think about the baby kid. 

The time was now quickly approaching. It was nearly here. He had to come to church with us.

Unfortunately one of the few only other times he had been to big church was Christmas Eve, which is a fraction of our usual hour and a half long service. So imagine his surprise when, two weeks ago, we attended the first real worship service as a family. He wanted to sit on the front row, and so kindly reminded me that when we attended the Easter service, and he had wanted to sit on the front row, I had dismissed him with a, "not this time, but next time..."

It was now the "next time." 

Have I mentioned the kid has a memory like a steel trap?

Hubs and the girl kid kindly refused to join us on the front row, and instead chose to sit a couple of rows back in our usual spot with Mimi.

So there we were. 

He did fine, until about 20 minutes into the sermon. 

"IS IT DONE YET?" he staged whispered to me.

"No. Shhhh," I whispered back. 

He eyed me suspiciously. I knew this was about to all go down hill.

He waited 5 more minutes and stage whispered, "IS HE ALMOST DONE?"

Did I mention we were sitting on the front row?

It wasn't pretty. 

Thankfully we made it through the service (barely) and in midst of my seething fury, the Holy Spirit stage whispered to me, "WELL, YOU REALLY DIDN'T GET HIM READY FOR THIS..."

I crumpled inside, realized I had failed my kid parentally yet again.

Of course I had packed him a Bible, his notebook, a pen and a few markers, but I hadn't taken the time to explain to him anything or tell him anything about the service or the reason we go or what we were doing or what other around us were doing or anything.

Remind me again why we don't need a license to get a kid? 

We came home, and I swam out of my guilt long enough to go search through my bookshelf for a book that our kind children's minister at our last church recommended to me. It was dusty, and as I held it in my hand, I felt such sorrow in how I had failed my kid. I was too busy and too preoccupied with myself and my own worship experience to prepare my kid for worship.

Not to mention I never really prepared the other two. I just always took advantage of their usual good church behavior. 

*sigh*

So I opened this book and was flooded with all that I should have done.

Ah, but there is parenting grace. Tons of it. Thankfully. Thank you, Lord.

As I dove into the book, I was thankful that at least I picked it up at this point instead of like... never. 

So here it is:

Parenting in the Pew - Guiding Your Children to Worship

I really think this book should be required reading for all parents who take their kids to church. It's really blowing me away. I have laughed, cried, been hugely convicted and thanked the Lord for it. 

Then today, lo and behold, I was doing some quick reading before starting dinner, and this popped up:

Worship Together

Big Church for Small Kids 

The blog posts and the book don't line up perfectly, but they do make a lot of the same points.

And of course I geek out when something I'm doing on my own gets reinforced with something online. It's just sweet confirmation from a kind God who never ceases to show me that He wants to be involved with everything we struggle with. I forget to take seemingly small things to Him, but I feel the tug of Him saying, "Bring it all to me. Nothing is too small. Nothing..."

And quite honestly how huge is how I lead my children in WORSHIP before a living, Holy, wild, untamed, yet compassionate and tender God?

Why did I let this be an issue of behavior and not see it for what it really is?

Oh me. I'm so very thankful for these kids the Lord has entrusted me with. Their patience with me is an inspiration.

I'm begging the Lord to stage whisper to me before I make a huge blunder like this next time. He'll do that, you know...

Beauty - Part 2

That was certainly the longest interlude between two related posts I've ever had.

{{I've been busy}}

So here is the article that I read right on the heels of my previously reported magazine encounter:

Letting Herself Go

Be sure and ready Rachel Held Evan's post that triggered Tim Challis' post: Thou Shalt Not Let Thyself Go

(have a headache yet?)

And here are two other posts by Rachel Held Evans:

Better Conversations about Bible Womanhood 

Better Conversations about Biblical Womanhood Part 2

So.

Yep.

I tried and tried to write my feelings out about all of this, and I just can't. Maybe because I've just had too much going on and need a lot of quiet time (haha) to sort this out in a way that I can write out my thoughts. Or maybe I don't even want to figure it all out. This may be one of those "suck it up" issues where too much thought is not a good thing. 

I do need to note the following comment. Maybe it's not all about physical beauty. Maybe it's about a beautiful relationship. I don't know. 

I really don't have time to think about it.

"You are correct that a husband's love for his wife should not be predicated on any standard of outward beauty.  A wife's desire to please her husband comes in the context of his need to love her unconditionally and serve her sacrificially, and it enables him to do that more and better.

One of the beauties of how God has designed men and women in a complementary fashion is that the better job a husband does of being a Biblical husband, the more he inspires his wife to be a Biblical wife, and vice versa - it's synergistic."

I'm Painting Again...

Good news and bad news:

Good news: It's only trim.

Bad news: There's a lot of freaking trim in this house.

Good news: I like painting trim.

Bad news: The paint fumes made me nauseous this go around.

Good news: There is absolutely no way that I am pregnant. So don't even think it.

Bad news: I have to get this done before we start school.

Good news: I only have to paint about an hour or so a day.

Bad news: At that rate, it will only take me 79 days to paint all the trim.

Good news: We aren't starting school the first of July, so I have more time to paint.

Bad news: I really wanted to start school the beginning of July.

Good news: When you paint your trim, suddenly your house looks 10 years newer.

Bad news: I will now have "Elegant White" speckled hands, hair, arms, legs and feet until this job is done.

Good news: I'm pretty good at painting trim.

Bad news: The last person that painted trim was not so good at it. Therefore, as my dad the real painter says, "You are actually only as good a painter as the last person that painted was." 

Good news: Unless someone who visits our house gets down on their knees to look and see how well the quarter round in the kitchen is painted, it should be an okay job.

Bad news: My house smells like paint. Again.

Good news: I don't have a 2 year old this time! Or was Zane 3? I don't remember. I blocked it all out.

Bad news: Now that the boys are 4 and 7, all I heard was, "Can I help? Can I help? Can I help now? Can I paint? Can I paint now?"

Good news: I can say "no" repeatedly in a kind manner until I finally crack and have to send people to their rooms.

Bad news: I am just now remembering that blogging while under the influence of paint fumes is a bad idea...