Happy 9th Birthday, Jude!

I will try not emote too heavily over this post. My middle child is the least dramatic of the three of my children, and he is the one who tolerates my drama least of the three of them. 

He likes things to just be.

So I will honor him in that.

I will say that I just watched an interview with an older actor in which she says one bad thing about getting older is that you feel like you eat breakfast every thirty minutes. I feel that way about this last year. We celebrated Jude's eighth birthday and now, suddenly, it was time to celebrate his ninth, after just a couple of breakfasts.

I would like to slow things down just a bit. 

That bit of emoting done, the documenting of said birthday must commence. He may not like my emoting, but he can't stop my birthday documentation. 

His actual birthday was on a Wednesday. The hubs worked hard to organize his schedule so he could have the early part of the day off. The two of them had a man date and spent some quality time doing man sorts of things.

The other two and I went to get his birthday present. We spoke his love language and bought him a skateboard thing that I was quite sure he was going to break on arm on. I ignored my obsessive worry appropriate motherly concern and purchased what is called a "ripstik." 

He was overjoyed.

Don't let the lack of emotion fool you. I think we've covered already that he's not one to emote.

Or put up with my emoting. 

 

We met for lunch as his favorite restaurant: Moe's. If you ask him where he wants to eat ever, he'll choose Moe's. 

And I must pause to quietly emote over the preciousness of that boy. Goodness.

We had Gigi's cupcakes for desert. And fine, I had a little something to do with this choice of desert. But he was good with that.

After lunch, he wanted to go jump at an inflatable jumping place, or roller skate, but since it was the school year, those places were closed during the weekdays. He agreed that going to the zoo was an acceptable alternative, and that was a really good thing since it suddenly turned the day into a field trip.  Yay for days off that are still school days.

Not that I'm obsessively counting or anything. 

We had a great time at the zoo, and since we had just wrapped a unit study on reptiles, it was great timing for school too. They studied the anaconda for a long while. That thing was huge. 

We then headed to church where he spent the last part of this birthday with friends, and that made him happy.

It was a good birthday.

The following Saturday, he invited family and a few friends to celebrate his day at home. 

When I woke up that Saturday morning, he had decorated the whole downstairs by himself, set out all the table decorations and gotten everything ready by himself. 

It was, as you probably already read, a "red birthday."

He chose all the snacks, which meant we had a plethora of BBQ flavored foods. And pickles. 

It's his birthday party. He can do as he likes.  

He also opted for a cookie cake and a regular small cake too. And two kinds of ice cream. Variety is the name of the game. 

He was blessed with really great gifts. He was so happy.

The baby, of course, nearly stole the show.

I shared her like a good aunt should. 

I mean, how could all of that cuteness not almost steal the show?

I was thrilled to get her at the end of the party. 

I love that kid.

We probably look as tired as we felt. It was a great day, though. 

He promptly spent the rest of the weekend building Legos and playing with his toys.

Which is exactly what a nine year old should do. 

Excuse me while I go quietly emote.

show me my sin

It was early. 

Too early to be brewing coffee, ironically enough.

 Why I can't get it all ready and set the automatic timer the night before is beyond me.

But here I was. Still pitch black out side, sleep still clouding my eyes. Trying to make coffee. 

I fumbled the entire time, got it all ready and turned my back. I knew almost instantly that I had done something wrong. I turned back just in time to see black sludge spreading across the counter. 

I had forgotten to put the lid of the coffee pot.

Thick, black, ground-filled coffee muck was everywhere. Counter, all in the coffee pot and even in the coffee maker itself. 

I considered either going back to bed or getting in the van to go get coffee. After clutching the counter for a moment I decided to do the right thing and clean up the mess. 

As I emptied the coffee pot I glanced down into it and saw that the stainless steel pot was completely brown, caked with coffe residue. I cringed. I call myself a decent housekeeper, but things like this make me wonder. I sprinkled some baking soda in the bottom of the pot and started scrubbing.

Did I mention it was still dark outside? It's still dark outside and I'm scrubbing something. 

As I dumped out the now putrid brown baking soda coffee sludge from the coffe pot, I thought, "Well, I'm sure the coffee will taste better now. Good grief."

The pot gleamed. I scrubbed out the coffee maker, cleaned up the counter, refilled everything and make the coffee again, this time with the lid firmly screwed in place.

I stood back a minute and admired my work.

Would you have cleaned that pot this morning had there not been a coffee disaster?

I felt the gentle whisper of the Spirit in my heart. 

Of course I wouldn't have cleaned the coffee pot. I would have gone on drinking coffee out of that stained pot, too busy to notice it was dirty. 

Oh...

I really don't think God should teach me anything before I've had coffee.

See, it had been a hard week. After a hard weekend. And I was still tired from all of that but the days kept coming so I was trying to keep up.

And my daughter had an... issue. 

Now I know that my kids are getting bigger. I know that their lives aren't fully mine to share as much now that they are getting older. I don't want to tell something that's not mine to tell. So I'll just say there was in issue. 

We had been praying over this issue for a little while, and it sort of suddenly came to a head one morning. 

We talked and talked and then she went off to start school while I cleaned the kitchen from breakfast. 

She came back in the kitchen, twirling her hair the way she does when she's nervous.

"Mom? I am going to fast from lunch today and ask God to show me my sin."

Um. 

I mean I played it cool. I was all like, "Oh wow, okay sweetie. That's good. Great idea..."

She went back to the table and I grabbled the edge of the counter for the second time that morning and in my head said, "WHAT JUST HAPPENED?"

Oh, Lord. What do I do?

I called her and she came back in the kitchen. I pulled her in my arms and just held her for awhile. I whispered into her hair, "I am so proud of you."

She pulled back and I looked her full in her face, "I'm going to do it too, okay?"

She smiled. "You don't have to, Mom. I know it's what I'm supposed to do."

"I need to do it too," I responded.

We nodded in solidarity.

And we started school. 

It was Wednesday, so we had piano and church. We have a pretty tight schedule to keep, and then my sweet neighbor who recently had surgery texted me to ask if I happened to be going to the grocery store that afternoon. She needed some things and I responded that we would be happy to make a run for her. And I was happy to go. I was also wondering where I was going to find some time with my kid to help her sort this all out.

We plowed through school and soon it was lunchtime. I eyed my daughter and I could tell she was struggling. The boys brought their lunches to the table so they could eat, and I could hear them asking why she wasn't eating. I just listened from the kitchen where I was cleaning it from the lunch rush. She just shrugged and said, "I'm fasting."

The not so gentle baby kid said, "Why are you fasting?" I think he even then waved part of his lunch in front of her face. 

We have a ways to go with him.

I came back to the table and she leaned over and said, "He tempted me with his lunch, but I thought about Jesus in the desert and Satan tempting Him with food and He said 'no' and I decided to do the same thing."

Well okay then.

We finished school and dashed out into the rain to get things for our friends. 

In the grocery store.

Where there's lots of food.

And we were hungry.

I heard her groan a time or two.

We hurried.

We dropped off the food and got home and bless her heart, she had to practice for her piano lesson. 

"I'm hungry," she said simply.

"Okay, listen. Here's where we say, 'Lord, more than I want food, I want you to show me my sin.'" I almost hated to tell her this, but it was necessary. I wanted to tell her it was okay, that she'd worked hard and it was a good effort and go have some lunch. 

But I was not going to waste this fast. 

She practiced her allotted time and came back to where I was folding laundry. 

"Okay. Now. Go get with God. Get in your room. No music. Nothing. You and God. Get your journal out. Ask God to show you your sin. Again. Ask and be still. And wait. And write." I was trembling inside.

She nodded and walked upstairs. I got out my beloved journal. I needed to pray the same prayer, but I couldn't yet. 

"Lord, show yourself to my daughter. Lord, you have to show yourself here. This is important. Move here. Do a work. Please make this mean something to her. Please..." I cried and prayed. I prayed and cried some more. I was desperate for Him to show Himself faithful to her. 

I started to write myself and ask God the same for me...

Show me my sin...

My pen began to form letters and soon I was writing some things that I knew I needed to address in my own life. Not fun. But necessary.

I soon heard her footsteps. I looked up and she was standing, clutching her notebook.

I think my heart literally broke just a little. 

She smiled sadly and said, "I want to read you this, and I'm warning you that I might cry."

I could only bite my lip and nod.

She read the most amazingly beautiful and painfully honest thing I could have ever imagined. When she was done, I stood and pulled her in my arms again. I just couldn't even speak. I choked back my own tears and said, "I'm so proud of you. Now can I make you something to eat before we go?" She nodded. It was after 4 o'clock and she had not eaten since breakfast. She bounced off to gather her things for piano and church. There was a lightness in her step that comes from the true confession of sin, and the beautiful receiving of forgiveness.

While I made her sandwich I considered later finding that thing she wrote and stealing it. I wanted to keep it to bookmark this day. I didn't but I still might. 

She came back into the kitchen chattering away. "Do you know how I knew to fast?" she asked.

I said I didn't. I had been wondering about that all day, really. I could't remember if I had ever really talked to her about fasting, regrettably. 

"Pastor David taught us about it, remember? He taught us how to do it. I remembered what he said and I knew that was what I needed to do."

This is just one of the things I love about families worshipping together. 

We took those moments as she ate her peanut butter and jelly sandwich to talk about how Jesus taught about fasting. About what Scripture says about it. About how it works and what it does. She dusted the sandwich crumbs off her hands and bounced to the van. Her step was still light. 

I watched her in rec time that night at church, and tears spilled again. How do you ever thank God enough for working in your child's life?

I came home that night exhausted. The day wasn't over yet. My husband and I had some long, deep and hard conversations about some heavy issues. It wasn't pretty and it was not easy. As I drug my now past exhausted body to bed that night, I heard myself say, "Well, you asked God to show you your sin..."

Yes. Yes, I did.

As I cleaned up those coffee grounds off my white countertop that still dark morning, I saw the connection. Had my daughter not had a "disaster" she would not have fasted and asked God to show her her sin. 

Had I not had my spousal "disaster" (or "incident" we can now call it) that one night, I would not have been shown my sin.

But as a result of some disasters, we were able to allow God to point out some black places in us. 

To see it so plainly, all over my kitchen counter in the form of coffee sludge, was humbling. And for this analogy queen, it was the perfect way to cement this in my heart and mind what will hopefully be forever.

Disaster brings about sanctification

Whether it's doing Friday school here or learning to run or messing up the checkbook or offending a friend or something bigger...

Or huge. Whatever it is. I doubt I would let God clean out the dark, dank recesses of my heart if I weren't forced to. 

And that's something the girl kid said. I mean she really said it. 

"If that terrible thing hadn't have happened, I wouldn't have done all of that."

I want to learn how to "do all of that" even when disaster doesn't come. I want to be brave enough to ask it more often. And even now as I struggle to walk in obedience to what God is telling me to do to eradicate the sin He showed me, I still want to be brave enough to follow through. Because some times it's just easier to stay right where you are. 

And I want to be brave enough to ask Him to do it again. 

But I want to be a polished and sparkling conduit for Him. So if the Lord has to get His scrub brush after me whether it be after a disaster or not, so be it.

All for His glory. 

The web I would have woven

I was talking to someone recently about my quest to learn to run. I have finally, after literally months and months of trying, starting making progress.

I mean like miles and timing myself and everything.

My sister suggested I run a 5K. I went to the website, thought about registering and freaked out.

She suggested that I run a different race in February.

I agreed.

I'm now signed up to run a race in March.

I'm procrastinating.

Part of the problem is that I really do try to "train" in the mornings, but my main goal for being out there every morning isn't actually to exercise. It's more of a prayer closet for me to go into by myself.

Alone time is hard to come by in this house of early risers.

They can't exercise with me, so this became my place to pray and process and talk and argue and learn and cry and worship and wrestle. I wish I knew how many miles I have logged over the years doing this each morning.

I do know I have grown a lot. Praise the Father for that.

In trying to explain all of this to a friend recently, I told her that I do try to run well in the mornings, but I am just as apt to stop to study a bird, take a picture of some clouds or a dandelion, study a bug or random creeping creature or just stop to feel the sun on my face.

It's hard to be serious about timing yourself when all of this is going on.

I recently found these verses in Proverbs 24 and they reminded me of my mornings out in nature:

I passed by the field of the sluggard

  And by the vineyard of the man lacking sense,

And behold, it was completely overgrown with thistles;
  Its surface was covered with nettles,
  And its stone wall was broken down.

When I saw, I reflected upon it;
  I looked, and received instruction.

“A little sleep, a little slumber,
  A little folding of the hands to rest,”

Then your poverty will come as a robber
  And your want like an armed man.

First of all, I'm not out judging my neighbors' yards or calling them "sluggards." But I do so often see something on my "run" and literally learn something right there on the spot. And I am very thankful for this.

One morning I was really wrestling with God's apparent plan for my life at the moment. I was trying to hard to accept this path that He has me on and trust Him.

And I was failing miserably.

We've been here before. God in His infinite patience has walked this road with me more times that I can recount in the recent years. As hard as I try to rest in Him and accept and trust, I usually end up stomping my foot and demanding my way.

This particular morning, I ran past a huge spider web. I kept going but the Lord called me back.

Look at it. Look at the web. Study it...

I did. In wonder and amazement. The morning light reflected off each tiny silk thread and perfectly showed the intricacies and complexity of the design. I ran off and thought a lot about that web. It was a marvelous miracle.

"Now, Lord. Back to my whining..."

The very next day I was running again and lo and behold, I ran past another web. I stopped again and the Lord again pressed upon my heart the urge to study it. I did and even took a few pictures. As I ran off, I uneasily waited for God to show me why I had stopped and studied webs two days in a row in the great classroom of God called nature.

I didn't have to wait long. Out of a swirling presence that reminded me of Job 40, the Lord began asking me one question after another:

Amy, how does that spider know how to spin that web?

Does he pause before he spins each one and ponder whether there might be a better pattern to spin than the one that he instinctively knows how to spin?

Does he try to spin his own version of a web?

Or better yet has he decided after all this time of catching food this way that there is probably a better way to find his dinner?

Does he doubt the One who created the web? Or does he just spin the way he was created to spin?

Does he ever tell Me that his webs aren't good enough and he would rather have some different webs?

Does that spider do what I created him to do?

With each strike of my foot against the pavement and with each question ringing in my heart, I knew that what I was really telling God was that He didn't know what He was doing. I was much more able to plan out my life than He was and as a matter of fact, He had been doing a really terrible job of it all. I could do much better.

Yes, Proverbs, this is called receiving instruction. 



 

I thought again of these things I learned as I drove home today.

There was a time when I carefully constructed every thread of my own life. I controlled and planned and structured everything that was in my control and fretted and worried about what was out of my control.

This was true even as we as a family started out to find a new church, years ago. I had my list and set out to find a church that fit that list.

There was one church in particular that I wanted to visit and I told my husband repeatedly that I didn't want to join, I just wanted to visit. Emphatically, "Not join, just visit. Once." So we did.

Visit.

And that was five years ago tomorrow.

I sat in the floor of a living room today eating lunch with friends that I met at this church. As I reflected on all that God has done in my life these last five years, all the friends He has blessed me with, the way He has grown me, the love and faithfulness and the care He has shown me, I heard the inevitable question...

What if you had gotten your way?

My way would have been a different church.

That was sort of hard to imagine, sitting in the floor of that living room today.

As I ponder the path that God seems to have for me at the moment, I know that He only makes good decisions. I know that He makes no mistakes. No matter how I feel or what I want or how I'd do things, all that matters is that I'm okay with how He's doing things.

My choice of church would have me in a completely different world now. I wiped away tears today as I thought of the people both near and far that I would have missed out on knowing had I had my way. I think of all the blessings I would have missed out on.

This can only serve to reassure me that He does indeed know what He's doing. As He knows the best web for that spider to spin, He knows the best plan for my life. Today looked just exactly has He had always planned it would. Same for tomorrow and the day after that and all the days that will follow.

We do in fact gain trust in His faithfulness when we look back and see all that He has done. I work hard to trust Him as I look forward. This is my challenge. Trust.

Trust for tomorrow.

And the days after that.

And stop spinning my own webs. They never turn out as good as His. 

Time looms large...

 I was running today, trying to sort out my heart.

Not an easy job.

The running or the sorting.

It seems harder today. Here lately. Most recently. Harder than it ever has been. 

Sorting out my heart. Not the running. 

The new year. Full of time. Unknown and unsorted time. 

Time looms large...

As I was cooling down, I walked under one of my favorite trees. I looked up a lot at the sky today, for a lot of reasons I'm sure. One reason was the absence of my beloved clouds. After what seems like a dark and gloomy winter so far, it felt good to see the nearly cloudless blue sky. 

But my poor tree. 

It looks like this in the spring:

I felt so encouraged this past spring. So hopeful. I quickly made this picture into a screen saver.

{I do love me some cheese}

But I believed it. I felt it. It was spring and everything was new and happy and so...

promising

This is my beloved tree today: 

I mean, it's just sad. It looks prettier here than it really is. It's... 

dead

Or it looks dead.

I feel like that tree.

Sort of dead inside. The hope is dead. The fire is dead. I feel like a hibernating animal, burrowed deeply in the snow, tucked in, waiting for spring. 

And I love winter. This isn't about the season. It's about me.

Hope has flickered out.

And I spent my run trying to figure out why. 

I have way too much in my life to be thankful for to be morose about anything. 

I know that. 

I think this really is about death. Not real, physical death. The other kind.

I learned a lot about this from Elisabeth Elliot. And she learned a lot about this from Lilias Trotter. 

In nature, so much of the beauty and growth depends on dying. The dying and falling off of the bloom. The dying and falling of the fruit. Nature is full of this dying and blooming and dying and blooming.

You can even look at a branch on a tree and see how many cycles of this kind that the branch has cycled through. 

There is a knot at each place where it died and grew again.

I feel that deeply in my soul. Each time the Lord has pruned me, something in me has died. Thankfully it's most always something that needed to go: a deeper grasp on pride or judgement of others, a level of fear and anxiety, a removal of something temporal I cling to instead of Him, my instance of getting my way... The list could go on and on. 

These things, and more, need to go. And I see that He works all things in my life together to bring about this sanctification. The knots stay and I remember. I remember each time the Lord wrestled from my childish, selfish grasp; something that needed to go. And I'm thankful. 

And that's good.

But sometimes I also lose something valuable. Something precious. I lose hope. I lose trust. I lose my way just a little. I feel a tiny bit like Job, 

Though you slay me...

(Lilias Trotter says, "“Do not be dismayed if the first answer to some of your prayers is a revelation, not of the power of God to make alive, but of his might to slay every hope outside himself.”)

And that's what I feel today. I feel a little lost. And definitely without hope. I feel a little slayed. 

So I made a new cheesy screensaver:

Because it's true. No matter whether I can see what He's doing or feel correctly about anything He's doing or whether or not I can actively trust Him, He's still faithful. And I know that there is much more to this verse and much more to do and think and feel, but...

I know all the right things to think and say. But for now when I feel a little lost and a little alone and a little scared about how He keeps pushing me forward when I'm really tired and just want to rest for awhile, it's good to know that He's still faithful. 

I guess my tree and I are both getting ready for spring. 

Thanksgiving 2012

Thanksgiving this year was special, since it was also Laney's birthday. I wanted the day to be special for her but also be a meaningful Thanksgiving.

We started by cooking on Wednesday. She loves to cook and wanted to cook her own birthday cake. 

Can I say that I adore having big kids?

And this is what our kitchen looks like when we cook. We are messy, messy cooks!

Thanksgiving morning dawned beautifully, and I went for a run. Partially to wake up enough so I could start cooking and partially because I'm sort of beginning to (gasp) enjoy running. 

Or what I probably still need to call "running." 

But gosh the trees. I am already beginning to mourn the passing of autumn. My favorite. 

I came home from the run to find the two musical members of our family having a voice/guitar lesson/practice session.

Daddy was home for four solid days, except for one quick gig one night. The kids were beside themselves with excitement. 

I had gotten a brilliant idea for my cupcake holder, and I sent the boys out in their pajamas to collect pine cones. 

We've been studying birds in school, and we used some of the pine cones to make bird feeders to place around the yard in hopes of attracting some birds we could study.

Here's hoping we attract birds and not squirrels. 

Now I just love the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. When I was in labor, on Thanksgiving Day, we had the parade on. My regular doctor was snow skiing in Colorado for the Thanksgiving holiday, but thankfully I really loved the doctor that was on call. At one point he paused in front of the television with his arms crossed on his chest, and after watching for a few minutes he said, "Does anyone really watch this stuff?"

Allen cleared his throat nervously and nodded in my direction. Thankfully I was mid-contraction and unable to speak at that moment. The doc's eyes got wide and he scooted out the door before I recovered enough to respond.

Soon after, in a fit of labor-induced emotion, I nearly sobbed, "I love the parade. Can we name the baby 'Macy'?"

Allen laughed and said, "Well, yes, if you want to..." 

I sniffed and cried, "Okay. I think I want to."

When she arrived, I decided to go with our original plan of naming her Elane Sue (after my grandmother) and calling her "Laney."

I have to tell her this story every year though.

Our family tradition is to have a big breakfast and watch part of the parade. 

After quickly eating, I head back to the kitchen to watch it in there while I cook. I annoy everyone by yelling periodically, "Look! It's Sesame Street! You guys used to love this part! Look! It's Dora! Remember when you loved Dora, Laney? Look! It's a marching band! My favorite!..."

This goes on until it's over. 

My sweet, patient family.

This year, since it was Laney's birthday, the boys wanted to interrupt our usual traditions to give Laney their presents. They had chosen, and wrapped them, themselves. And they just could't wait. to give them to her. 

Zane knew she wanted a doorbell for her room. 

She loved it. 

Jude chose her art supplies. 

He really knows her love language. Her face says it all. 

Then I got back down to business. 

We alternate Thanksgiving between my in-laws and my family. This year was my family's turn, and since my mom had to work until the late afternoon, we decided to have Thanksgiving dinner this year. I was really excited about this. 

It worked out really well, and I like it better than having Thanksgiving lunch. I had more time to get everything ready, we had time to relax some and I actually had time to do some fun table decorating, which is my favorite. Well, after the cooking and the eating anyway...

We had to take some birthday portraits. (We thought we were funny too.)

Then the family arrived!

The sisters. The wine is called "Middle Sister" and it had a cute picture of "us" on it. 

We were amused by it...

Insert us eating a really good dinner here. It was fabulous. Everyone contributed to the dinner, and it was all just wonderful.

Then it was birthday cake time!

Okay, my mom is in here too, but evidently I can't sing and take pictures very well and you can't see her, unfortunately.

Since it was Laney's birthday, we thought it would be fun to go see a movie after dinner. She chose "Brave" which just happened to be at the dollar theater. 

My sweet mama's girl. That made me very happy!!! 

We ended the day exhausted but happy. 

The next day, Friday, was my recovery day. We ate leftovers and watched movies and snuggled and were just big lazy bums. 

Oh, and my sister came over and the hubs and I had a date to the thrift store. That was pretty much awesome. 

Saturday was college football day. After a day of rest I was in cooking mode again, and I cooked up a storm. We ate and watched football and hung out all day. 

It was wonderful.

And it was finally cold enough for another of my favorite things:

The boys liked being near the fire, but it "burned their eyes." Thankfully they had their safety goggles to put on. 

This helped tremendously, they said.

Thank goodness for that. 

One last leftovers dinner. 

I adore leftovers. 

Now there's nothing left and the kitchen is all clean. 

I'm sort of sad about that. 

Sunday was a sweet day of fellowship with our faith family which I am so profoundly thankful for. I then had a two hour nap. The day ended with another fire and time for me to document all of this loveliness here. 

None of us are ready to get back to the real world. I love Thanksgiving so much. It's one of my favorite holidays. I keep the table decorated through this last week of November and keep celebrating this month I love so much. I'm not ready for December yet. Thankfully we have another week of celebrating November!

It was a wonderful Thanksgiving. The Lord is always faithful.