Crazy Mama

Chances...

2012-02-10T08:39:00.001-06:00

I've been going over a conversation I had with my dearest Madalyn earlier this week while I washed and conditioned her hair. Here's a little recap...

"Mama, do you remember that time when I was still in kindergarten when I kept saying that bad word and kept getting in trouble. You know, oh my..."

"Oh, yes, I do remember."

"I just kept saying it and saying it." She's doing her little laugh while talking thing that she does in this breathy sort of way as if to tisk~tisk herself.

"Well, it's not a bad word exactly. It's disrespectful toward God. It hurts His feelings when you use His Name that way. And you just shouldn't say it."

"Well I don't want to do that." Her big brown eyes are swimming around in thought as I am rinsing her hair. "I like God. He just keeps on giving us another chance."

"Yes, He does." I was delighted to hear her come to such a realization in her own little head.

"But not bad people. He doesn't give them more chances."

"Yes, Madalyn, He does. Even the bad people get more chances. He forgives us and gives us a chance to do better."

She was floored. "What? Even the bad people? Like robbers?" I nodded. "Well I just love that God..."

Me, too, Madalyn. Me, too. Now more than ever before. And I was so glad to have the chance to share with her at her tender age that God keeps giving us all another chance. This is a concept that makes no sense in the world. Endless chances are unheard of here. If I keep screwing up at work, eventually I will get fired. If I continue to make mistakes in my marriage, my spouse will leave. If I don't make my house payment, if I am not a good friend, if I leave the biscuits in the oven too long... a loss will incur. Our world is tangible and conditional. God's Love is neither.

I want my kids to know that. When you tell that lie, when you drink that first sip of alcohol when you're way too young, when you go too far on a date with someone you think you may love, when you think you've done something unforgivable... think again. He is not finished with you. He has more to give, more love, more mercy, more grace. His supply is unending. He will never leave you.

Because of the LORD's great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. {Lamentations 3:22-23}

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine." {Isaiah 43:1b}

A broken heart...

2012-02-08T07:42:00.000-06:00

When I was little, my grandfather suffered a couple of heart attacks. I have a memory (whether accurate or not) that he had one at the gas station. He had bypass surgery when I was in high school. His ticker is now 93 years old, and it's gotten weary.

Add the death of his wife of almost 76 years, and I'd like to think that his heart has lost its reason to beat. That in more ways than one, it's broken.

Theirs wasn't an easy life, and it was unlike anything you or I could imagine. A life of need and hard effort, where emotion and feelings were dealt with at the end of the day if you had any left over energy. I love yous were few and far between making the ones uttered beyond precious.

My grandfather had always been such a hard man, one of few words or expressions, one of no luxury or excess. To see the edges of his soul crumble to his feet and soften like well worn leather has been surprising. To see the man who never sat still be confined to a wheel chair has been disenchanting. To see him join my grandmother in heaven will be a relief.

My grandfather had a spell last week that the doctors believed to be a mini-stroke. After another episode Monday night, they were able to determine that he's having mild heart attacks. His body is tired and failing, and it probably won't be much longer before we're breaking out the funeral attire again.

I beg anyone reading these words to whisper a prayer for my granddaddy. A tough man he was, hard working and strong, not easily contained or controlled. And now he lies in wait. Confused and basically alone, just waiting on his body to quit the fight.

Say a prayer for all of those in this same predicament. I used to think that you lived and got old and just passed away. What I have learned over the past few years is that passing away has become, in our modern society of medical advances and prescriptions, a slow process of helplessness. And my heart hurts for the many who are dealing with this process in their lives right now. It's not easy for any involved from the dying to the spectators.

Just whisper a prayer...

Baby teeth...

2012-02-02T09:59:00.000-06:00

We've been consulting with an orthodontist for about two years now. I felt a little guilty walking in and out of that beautifully decorated office without ever dropping a dime into their bank account. Until Monday. The nice lady slid the cost sheet with payment options across the desk toward me, and all guilt faded into oblivion.

It's time for intervention. Time for metal and tiny colored rubber bands on brackets. Time for pocketbook breaking mouth work. Before the wires can be out into place, five baby teeth needed to go. According to the orthodontist, they were all loose, so it shouldn't be that massive of an undertaking. We scheduled the extractions for this morning. From the moment that David heard the word extraction, he went to work on the teeth in question. Yesterday he wiggled the fourth one free leaving a lonely and still fairly firm molar for the dentist to take care of today. A $78 molar, mind you, but I am grateful that we were spared the cost of the other four (minus tooth fairy expenditures).

Funny thing walking out of the dentist knowing that your child has no more baby teeth in their mouth. Knowing that you've reached the point in their little life that their brushing skills really do count. All those lectures you've given along the way about these are the teeth you will have for the rest of your life are true now.

I can't help but think about when all the teeth were coming in. There were days of crying. Crying was David's only mechanism for coping when he was a baby... and not just a little boo-hoo. We're talking days of crying, the kind of days that first time moms (like myself back in the day) would fret and finally call the doctor about. Refuse to eat, drink a bottle, or sleep kind of days. Days when every activity that he normally enjoyed, whether playing with blocks, reading a book, or taking a bath, were replaced with crying. But those days soon passed...

I remember my naivety. How I thought things were tough then. It was difficult, indeed, but it was so simple. There was no talking back, no messy room, no fear that I was getting it all wrong and that it could harm him. There were things to worry about then, but they were miles down the road. Now the worries are just around the corner, and the fear that I haven't done enough weighs heavily on my heart all the time.

There are days when I wish I could shrink him back down and hold him like I used to. Not for a long time, but for just long enough to get a good cuddle and tell him how much I love him. To apologize to the baby David for wishing it all away... the crying, the teething, the tantrums, the I-don't-wanna-take-a-nap days. To hold his little baby self in my arms one more time and soak it up, appreciating that he was uniquely himself even at six months old, a perfect creation of God.

The baby teeth are gone. The baby days are gone. Long gone.

2012-01-30T17:42:00.001-06:00

I have opened up my laptop to type more times than can I can count in the past few days. I have so many things to say, so many things running through my mind, but not the words to put them all prettily into focus.

I am not quite sad, but a little bit.
I am stressed out beyond belief, but not over taken by my circumstances.
I am striving, but not quite reaching my mark.
I am battling so many things, but not really winning a single one.

See why I am having difficulty writing these days? I am confusing myself, so I know I would confuse you.

Instead, I will just share a passage with you all here that encompasses who my grandmother was, therefore it has become my legacy. I define legacy by something which is to be inherited. Something that will be left behind for you even when a person is gone. Something for me to take hold of, claim as mine, because of a loved one.

From Proverbs 31...

²⁵ She is clothed with strength and dignity;
   she can laugh at the days to come.
²⁶ She speaks with wisdom,
   and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
²⁷ She watches over the affairs of her household
   and does not eat the bread of idleness.
²⁸ Her children arise and call her blessed;
   her husband also, and he praises her:
²⁹ “Many women do noble things,
   but you surpass them all.”
³⁰ Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
   but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
³¹ Honor her for all that her hands have done,
   and let her works bring her praise at the city.

The kitchen table...

2012-01-25T08:33:00.003-06:00

Some of my greatest memories of her centered around her kitchen table.

There were meals. Lots of home cooked meals. For holidays and common days and Sundays, too. She made her own barbecue sauce in a little pot on the stove top. She put bell peppers and mushrooms in her spaghetti, which I thought was weird as a child. I picked out every single one on my plate before I would take a bite. She made vegetable soup from scratch mixing in whatever she had handy in the big freezer and throwing in a little elbow macaroni for good measure. Her pound cake was divine, and she needed no recipe to pull it off without a hitch.

There were perms. Home perms. I would sit in one of her wooden chairs atop a phone book or two. She would open the box, separate all the contents, and flatten out the directions and go over them like she had never done it before. She had this tall plastic cup she would fill with water to dip her comb in before she pulled a perfect little segment of hair to wrap up in the roller. She combed, rolled, talked as I held the little tissue paper squares and tried not to scratch my scalp. We rinsed in the kitchen sink and held our breath when the process was over hoping the results would be worthy of a smile.

There were patterns. Some small, some big. Thin maize tissue paper and strong shears. Shapes and pieces that looked insane on their own. She would cut, straighten, and pin on the surface of that wooden table. Pieces of fabric would become a dress or a skirt in no time at all. She could make anything out of what looked like nothing to me. Some tissue paper and fabric became an Easter dress or a jumper for school right before my eyes, and I thought it was amazing.

There was talk. Many words. Some I simply absorbed in my early years. Others I equally participated in as I grew into maturity. There were plans discussed, disappointments hashed out, laughter shared. There was seldom an ill word that crossed her lips, but when they did, it was more than well deserved.

The common thread in all that was shared at that simple wooden kitchen table was love. Not a common love, but one so broad and deep that it can't be expressed in words. It reveals itself in home perms, in handmade dresses, in words of wisdom and shared tears of hurt. It weaves itself beautifully into the fabric of who you are in a way that can't be worn down by time.

My sweet grandmother, Mattie Olivia, 92 years old, went to be with Jesus last night. She is at rest. She is restored. I don't have the knowledge of what heaven is like; I only know what I see her doing there. She's got a big table, bigger and grander than any she ever dreamed of here on earth. Spread before her are beautiful fabrics, lovely shears, pins of gold. She's got a bounty of fresh vegetables and not a speck of dirt underneath her nails. She sits at that table with her daughter she lost tragically so many years ago and the mother she lost when she was only six. There are others there, too, others who she's loved and lost along the way. Their souls are reunited, and they are surrounded by the most amazing light of mercy and love we will ever know.

Praise God!

You are loved...

2012-01-20T12:42:00.000-06:00

I don't talk much about my little crafting adventure here, but I just had to share this one with my bloggy friends! This is one of my favorite pieces I have made so far, and it's all about the meaning behind it.

Do you know that you are loved? As in every second of every single day. No matter what. That's something that I missed along the way somehow. I never really understood that God loved me despite of my sin, and I spent years spinning like a top on a slick hard surface. Spinning, spinning, spinning.

So, today, rest in the knowledge that you are loved. Even if your own child just screamed, "I HATE YOU!" in your face. Even if you're fighting with your husband. Even if you've lost a friendship you thought would never fade. Those are all earthly loves. They've got nothing on the real deal.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. {John 3:16}

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. {Romans 5:8}

But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive in Christ even when we were dead in transgressions - it is by grace that you have been saved. {Ephesians 2:4-5}

Thoughts provoked by basketball...

2012-01-19T12:24:00.000-06:00

I had to write a post today. When I open up my Blogger interface, it politely lets me know that I have written six-hundred, sixty plus six posts. I don't like that number, so I am glad to offer a little insight on youth sports in America...

Youth sports provide the largest window into the human psyche ever. It reveals who we really are deep down inside our souls. I will never forget when my competitive nature finally bubbled its way up to the surface as I watched my five year old son smack the heck out of a baseball off a black rubber tee. See, I never excelled at sports, but I was never one who liked anyone being better than me at anything I did. I was the drama girl in high school, and I always wanted to be the best, the brightest, the loudest and easiest to understand on the stage. I poured over scripts for hours in complete solitude to get them just right. I wanted to do my best, and I was willing to do whatever it took to do so.

When my son started playing sports, I naturally shifted that drive onto him since I have no plans of returning to any stage at any point in my life. I wanted him to be the best little five year old second baseman, the best hitter, the best, the best, the best. And he was hungry for it. But I wasn't the mom who just shouted the loudest at the games; I actually threw him grounders and pop flies in the front yard and pulled out the tee anytime he wanted to hit. I knew from my own experience in life that if you want to be the best you must commit the practice.

Last night, we had a basketball game at 7:00. Basketball is not for the faint of heart or those who don't catch on quickly. It's intricate, strategic, and fast paced. Add kids into the mix and it becomes a show of thrown elbows (both intentional or not) and trips and slides across the parquet. It's actually more fun to watch kids you don't know because you don't have a dog in the fight and can enjoy all the hilarious situations that evolve on the court. We walked into the middle of an eight year old game, and the parents were brewing. Apparently the refs weren't calling enough fouls for most of parents, and a few of the moms were making their disapproval quite clear.

Here's the funny thing about basketball... some refs call every little thing, others not so much. Whichever kind of officiating you have, the parents aren't happy. They are either calling too many fouls or not enough, nitpicking every little wrong move the players make or not. Bottom line is that human beings are never satisfied. Never. Give them what they want one day, they will want something else tomorrow.

There's a fine line between satisfaction and settling. Very fine line. And the word settle is not one that the American public smiles upon. To settle means to take something less than what you deserve. Satisfaction depends on accepting what you are given. In terms of the basketball game last night, we had officials who poured grace on the players, giving allowance for lesser fouls and minor mistakes in order to keep the game flowing. One would think that our human race would appreciate grace, but I find more and more as the years tick away that we are not geared that way. We don't want grace or freedom; we don't want strict regulations. What we really want is our way.

It made me think about how God must feel sometimes as He watches me go about my life... how He must look down and think, "There she goes again. Just can't be satisfied with what I have purposed for her. Always wanting more or less. Always wanting things to go her way instead of My way." Listening to the parents rant and rave about the unfairness of the game made me more aware of my true human nature to expect things to go as I want them to flow all the time. When I relinquish my ways and thoughts and desires and submit to God's purpose, the game can move along at the proper pace. With a lot of grace, of course.

Reese's Peanut Butter Cups

2012-01-18T12:21:00.002-06:00

I have this memory...
My parents had gone away to Oklahoma for a long weekend spiritual retreat. My father's favorite minister of the Gospel (I cannot for the life of me remember his name) was scheduled to speak, and he was excited to listen. We were living in Louisiana at the time and had just endured the split of our little church and the birth of another. I was left in the trusted hands of good friends from the church family that I adored. But I have always loved home and missed it when I wasn't there. One of the afternoons of my parents' absence, my guardian and her daughter retrieved me from school, and we headed to the church for some kind of meeting. We stopped in at the grocery store located in the same large shopping center as our church. I purchased a teen magazine, probably Tiger Beat or Bop, and a king size pack of Reese's peanut butter cups. We went to the church, and I sat down at a table to do my homework. I also ate every single peanut butter cup in the pack. When my guardian for the weekend looked down and saw all the candy gone, she asked, "Did you eat all of those?" I was so ashamed, though I am certain that was not her intention, and my chubby little cheeks probably turned every shade between pink and red. At the tender age of twelve, I was already turning to food to comfort me without any conscious knowledge of it.

I've had that memory on my mind for the past several weeks as I've been thinking about my real relationship with food. Not about my efforts to control it, but how I really feel about food and how I use it. Food filled this little awkward place in my soul during some uncomfortable years, and I am just now realizing it. Those early days of comforting myself with peanut butter cups and sweet-tarts and other candies have evolved into habits of the mouth now. All those same emotions ~ insecurity, loneliness, fear, inadequacy ~ that I had at twelve are full grown now. And, at 35, I am trying to evaluate them and put them in their place.

Here's what I am realizing; God wants to fill every single space inside me. He wants me to look to Him, nothing else, for comfort and filling.

Consider this passage from one of my favorite books in the Word:
Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. Give ear and come to me; hear me, that your soul may live. I will make an everlasting covenant with you, my faithful love promised to David... Seek the LORD while he may be found; call on him when he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way and the evil man his thoughts. Let him turn to the LORD, and he will have mercy on him, and to our God, for he will freely pardon. {Isaiah 55:1-3,6-7}

And yet another:
Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty." {John 6:35}

Funny how we see food and drink as key symbols throughout the Bible. My incredibly uneducated opinion as to why is that it's the one thing that unifies humanity; hunger and thirst are common among all men and women from any given country, race, or creed throughout time. We all know what a dry tongue and growling belly feel like. And God uses this analogy to explain our soul's need for Him. Lonely? Turn to God. Anxious? Call out to Jesus. Empty? Turn to His Word. Frustrated? Take a moment to consider His patience with you. Angry? Pray.

Want to eat a king size sleeve of Reese's peanut butter cups?
Think a cocktail is the only thing that can calm your nerves?
Feeling insecure? Lonely? Disappointed? Let down?

Those last three lines are my personal questions. Deeply personal. These are the areas in my life where I need to turn to God instead of a physical solution to an emotion. And the two passages above tell me where to go... the Lord. Only God can fill any void, any hole, any weak spot in my soul. Not chocolate or Cheezits, not an evening cocktail, not a new pair of shoes or new tube of lipstick. Me trying to find a physical way to solve emotional problems is never going to work. I can only soothe my soul with spiritual things.

And one final thought, which is a key thought in the first chapter of this amazing book I am reading, Made to Crave:
"Everything is permissible" - but not everything is beneficial. "Everything is permissible" - but not everything is constructive. {1 Corinthians 10:23}

See, I don't like to be told what to do. Who does, right? Don't put me in a box and tell me I can't have what I want. So to hear that everything is permissible with God is like music to my stubborn ears. BUT... there are so many times when, if I stop to ask myself if the choices I make are beneficial or constructive (to me and everyone else around me), I may have to alter my decisions. If I look a little further down the page from that verse, I see Paul state things a little more precisely. "So whatever you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." (10:31)

Whatever I do. Whether it's eating or drinking or talking on the phone or shopping at Walmart or taking care of my family. Every thing I do should glorify the One who made me. Ouch.

Lord... I thank you for this intricate and miraculous body you have created for me, and for the spiritual side of me that is forever linked to you. Help me to make better choices so that I can better serve and honor you in my life. In your Holy Name, Amen.

2012-01-14T09:17:00.000-06:00

This has just been one of those weeks for me... one in which the total sum of all the little stresses in my life has been teetering atop my head. I've cried more times in the past week than I have in the past month. Do you have these weeks? I can't stand them. I can't stand to feel this raw, this vulnerable.

I opened the pages of Jesus Calling this morning to read these words...

Let Me bless you with my grace and peace. Open your heart and mind to receive all that I have for you. Do not be ashamed of your emptiness. Instead, view as the optimal condition for being filled with My Peace.
It is easy to touch up your outward appearance, to look as though you have it all together. Your attempts to look good can fool most people. But I see straight through you, into the depths of your being. There is no place for pretense in your relationship with Me. Rejoice in the relief of being fully understood. Talk with Me about your struggles and feelings of inadequacy. Little by little, I will transform your weakness into strengths. Remember that your relationship with Me is saturated in grace. Therefore, nothing that you do or don't do can separate you from My Presence.

This reminds me of the many times I touch up my face with makeup after I've been crying. Been there? Sometimes the waterworks turn on, and my face is left looking like a mess. But I am good at touch ups... I can re-conceal, reapply, blush up the cheeks and curl those lashes back into place like no body's business! In just a short 60 seconds, I have a fresh face that doesn't reveal what's going on inside my heart, my head, my soul. I've done this countless times in my years here on earth. Broken and empty on the inside, normal and fine on the out.

That's why I think this devotion was so refreshing to me. There is no place for pretense in your relationship with Me. Praise God!

The world we live in is based off pretense. What you have... your car, house, clothes, handbag. Where you work... your position, amount of power, salary, ego. Who you know... your contacts, friends on Facebook, who you barbecue with on Saturday afternoon, the parties and events where your presence is coveted. Every move we make in society is full of pretense, a little snapshot of what we want people to believe about us and not necessarily who we really are. But Jesus knows the truth. He has the whole picture, not just the parts we want Him to see. How refreshing. To be loved as a whole, not just off pretenses, well, that's refreshing.

I try, or at least I think I try, to live without pretense. What you see with me is what you get. But pretenses are a natural way to protect our self. If you've hurt my feelings and turned the faucet behind my eyes on, I don't want you to know! That makes me vulnerable, weak, and an easy target. So I cover it up with makeup and a smile. But with Jesus, I don't have to cover it up. He will see through it anyway. Save the energy.

Thank you, Lord, for seeing through me. Thank you for knowing every little thing about me... each layer that I try to hide, each struggle that I face, each inward battle that I fight. And for loving me anyway...

A sermon to myself...

2012-01-12T13:15:00.000-06:00

I am a jotter. Meaning I jot things. In notebooks. On scrap sheets of paper. Here on this blog. This morning, I woke with a verse on my mind, so I turned to one of my little notebooks to find the chapter and verse jotted within so I could read it word for word.

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. {1 Thessalonians 5:16-18}

I needed that one today. And every day. Seems I've been faltering on the joyful part as of late. I feel a little blue, a little less than joyful. Life is hard and stressful and disappointing, but God commands that we find our joy through Him and His Son. I do well in this area sometimes, other times notsomuch. And so upon reminding myself of the principles of this verse, I thought I would read the entire book. 1 Thessalonians is not lengthy by any means, and it's a quick little morning read.

Every time I do this... oh let me stop and read this whole chapter or book that surrounds this particular passage I find so timely today... I am pierced at the heart with God's words.

Here's what stabbed me today:

It is God's will that you should be sanctified... For God did not call us to be impure, but to live a holy life. Therefore he who rejects this instruction does not reject man but God, who gives you his Holy Spirit. {4:3a, 7-8}

Yikes. And here's a wee bit more.

May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul, and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it. {5:23-24}

Wow. See, any time I see the word call, I am automatically fascinated. This is a term used loosely among Christians today. Jobs are considered callings, men and women are called into the ministry or to me missionaries, and nearly every Christian feels called to something, somewhere, or someone at some point in their life. Me, being the introspect I am, have always wondered, "How are any of us so certain we've called to do anything? How do I distinguish the difference of the will and voice of God in my head and that of my own sinful and prideful one?" The ears of my soul perk up when I read this word in the Bible, as I am determined to figure out what it all really means, and I am finding more and more that it's not a term of to go here or there or to do this or that but more of a beckoning from our Creator. A drawing toward. A gentle whisper. Come to me. Not to go to Africa, take this or that job, be a preacher, but a pulling in of your soul to God, the Holy One, himself.

I read in my Study Bible about the Thessalonians, how this was addressed to the first church in their area, how they lived amidst persecution. Not a Tim Tebow type persecution (because he is experiencing the modern day version of it in the media for sure) but the real deal... the beating and imprisonment and death kind of persecution. We are so fortunate in our country to know nothing of these types of things; our persecution comes in social terms but not in a my life is in danger for professing what I believe terms. And yet, my profession is weak.

This is something I have been tossing around in my head for a while. I talk it. I write my thoughts here. But am I living it? Am I making a conscious effort each day to live it out? This is where I fail. And what does that demonstrate? A lack of faith on my part. Complete lack of faith.

The one who calls you is faithful and HE WILL DO IT. {Emphasis added.}

Just for grins and giggles and because I am a word nerd, I looked up the word sanctify:
~ to set apart for sacred use; consecrate
~to make holy; purify
~ to make productive of holiness or spiritual blessing

What I see in 1 Thessalonians is a call to be purified through Christ, and a promise that He will do it. The thing that must be sandwiched in between is faith. Faith that He is willing and that He is able to do that with who I am today.

So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be alert and self-controlled. For those who sleep, sleep at night, and those who get drunk, get drunk at night. But since we belong to the day, let us be self-controlled, putting on faith and love as a breastplate, and the hope of salvation as a helmet. For God did not appoint us to suffer wrath but to receive salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. He died for us so that, whether we are awake or asleep, we may live together with him. {5:6-10}

Moments...

2012-01-11T08:45:00.000-06:00

Some moments in life take you by surprise. There are no preparations grand enough to brace your heart. The moment I held my first born fresh and squishy and slimy... I had heard what it would feel like, but there was no way to really know until I experienced it. The moment I first experienced God's love... I had heard people talk about it, but I didn't know how deep it really was until I found myself swimming in it and dripping with its possibility.

Yesterday, I went to see my mom, continuing her recovery at home from a procedure to drain the right pleural space. She went home last Thursday, and I had not seen her since. The kids and I were planning a visit last Saturday, but David's unexpected bout with strep foiled our plans. She is doing well, but she's tired. Surgery takes a lot of the average person, so I can only imagine how tired her body and mind must be. We had hoped to go visit my grandparents at the nursing home, but I don't think she had it in her yesterday. I don't remember how it all went down, but somehow, we ended up at her kitchen table with the contents of her jewelry box spread out.

It was one of those moments.

My mom doesn't have a lot of fancy stuff. She's had the same wedding band and engagement ring since they married in 1966. There are no large diamonds or rare stones. But there are a few things that I remember adoring in my childhood. She has this faux pearl tie necklace; literally, the faux pearls are strung in the shape of a neck tie, and it clasps at the back like a necklace. My aunt gave it to my mom, and she passed away in a car accident when I was only two years old. The piece has always been in my mom's jewelry box, though I have never seen her wear it. But to me, it represents my aunt's sassy style I've heard about my whole life and the relationship between two sisters. And the strange looking item was one of those things I would want once my mom is gone. No one else would understand what it meant, and I am not even sure anyone else would even want it.

There are other things I want. My mother's anniversary band. It's not extravagant and heavy laden with over sized diamonds, but I remember the day I went with my dad to help him pick it out. And there's the opal ring I picked out for him to give her for her birthday one year. And the opal pendant I got her when I traded in my diamond from my first fiasco of a marriage. And there's this enamel pendant with a butterfly on it she wore all the time when I was little. And a gold dipped leaf. And a pearl pendant she got at an arts and crafts festival where you bought an oyster and they shucked right in front of you and made a pendant from the pearl inside.

You see, my moment yesterday was so full of other little moments from my whole life. All these memories came flooding in. All these feelings. All these little tiny pieces of who she was and who she is now. Memories of the days when I never considered what it would feel like to have it all spread before me on a kitchen table with thoughts and wishes for what would go to whom. Moments from the past when cancer was something they talked about on the news. Moments when my mom was invincible and untouchable. The moments when I didn't realize I had something I needed to prepare for.

Sometimes we get lost in these moments. I think I did for a little while yesterday. I got caught up trying to unknot two gold chains, to free them from one another. We talked about the pieces of jewelry in front of us as my fingers worked to undo this tight knot in the fragile chains. Another memory of my mother's hands doing the same thing during the sermon on a random Sunday at church. I can't say why she brought the knotted chain to church, but she did. And I remember sitting atop a kelley green church pew, feet not touching the floor beneath, watching her hands work out the mess of gold. There I sat, working out a mess of my own, patiently, determined. Like a puzzle, I had to work it out.

Sometimes in these moments, I stop and think, How did we get here? How on earth is that I am sitting at a table with my 65 year old mother making decisions about what jewelry I will have once she's gone? How did we get from the arts and crafts festival where she found the pearl in the oyster to this moment at her kitchen table? How can we go back? I wish we could, sometimes... I wish we could.

And yet still, there are more moments to come. More to come. More to do and feel and experience. More life with her still. And I move forward wanting so desperately to stay in the moment of now. Wanting to enjoy what I have instead of trying to figure out how we got to this place. Living in the moment, not in the past or future.

Winter's dawn...

2012-01-07T08:59:00.002-06:00

I had it all planned out, and that's so untypical of how I roll. I thought ahead and ironed Scott a pair of pants to wear to work today yesterday afternoon instead of saving them for the morning. Me and the kids are having a time adjusting to the back to school hours. Scott, however, is not; he's always the same and requires far less beauty sleep than I do.

I woke to the sound at 4:43. Rain. I counted in my mind... 10, 9, 8, 7, 6.... and there she was at the side of the bed wanting to join the safety that exists only under our covers. I got up to get her blanket for her with every intentions of getting back in my warm, cozy spot, but she was out like a light by the time I got back. So, you guessed it... I took my position on the couch. I still had hope for my sleep-in morning. I kept telling myself that when Scott got up to shower, I could take his place in the bed and doze back off. I drifted back to sleep with the patter of rain on the windows.

6:30. David is awake. He went to bed last night with a sore throat and a little low-grade fever. But this morning, his throat hurt so badly he was in tears. This is not like David. He complains very little about pain, so I knew he was feeling pretty bad. I dosed him up with Motrin, wiped his sleepy little eyes and freckles just beneath, and tuck him back in the bed. I still held a little hope for a lazy morning at this point as I lay back down on the couch and tucked the quilts around me.

I stared out the window, the silhouette of the bare trees against a million shades of grey and blue fusing together seamlessly. Winter can be so ugly, but somehow, in this promise of morning light, it was stunning. I watched as a wee bit of pink began to glow sporadically through the blue, and I knew my hopes for sleeping late were doomed. But seeing that little snapshot of the winter's dawn made it okay. Wiping the tears from my little man's face and giving up my warm spot in the bed was worth it, too. They are the immaculate beauty in my life every day. They are the dawn of my winter's day, the start of something fresh and beautiful, every shade of every beautiful color of the rainbow.

I am still holding hope for a little afternoon catnap, however...

Here we go...

2012-01-05T08:39:00.001-06:00

And just like that, it's 2012. Seems like just yesterday I was all glittered up in a bar {yes, I was in a bar... only being honest} wondering if everything would really shut down and stop working when the clock struck midnight and the year ticked up to 2000. Nothing stopped. The power stayed on, and the music still blared. Life moves forward. Thankfully, I don't go to bars anymore. Too loud and smoky and not my thing these days. I digress.

Beginning a new year can be challenging. Well, for me, anyway. I have all these ideas and resolves in my mind and soul, yet I feel the same. It may be a new year, but I am not a new me. I still carry into January all the same hang-ups and shortcomings that I had in December. One passage I'd like to focus more on this year and every year of my life hereafter is found in one of my favorite books of the Bible, Lamentations.

Because of the LORD's great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him." {Lam. 3:22-24}

And then look at this other thought in 2 Peter 3:8-9 after the author discusses how we as Christians should turn from our sinful ways after we turn to Jesus.

But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.

I'd like to think, and by no other authority than just my own opinion about what I have read, that God sees the slow evolution of my soul. He can see me in terms of a literal timeline. He knows the day I was born, the circumstance, the intelligence I was given, my soul, ever little intimate detail (even those I have never whispered aloud). He is the only One who knows me better than I know myself. He wants me to know Him. He wants me to make decision based off His voice inside my soul, but He will work with what I choose. He called me a long time ago, and I heard, and He has claimed me and sealed me as His. Even when I screw up big time, He loves me back. It's a beautiful relationship that I will never deserve. And I want this year in my life to live more intentionally to honor Him. Just saying that makes me nervous, because, if I am honest, as I love to be here when I write, I have never thought I was worthy of honoring God. Or, maybe once long, long, long ago I thought it possible, but mistakes and circumstances in my life made me believe there was no way for me to glorify God in my life. But I am finally in a place where I feel like I can start making little decisions that honor Him, that make Him smile. I know exactly what some of these things are, but you won't seem them outlined here. It's between me and Him.

I have other resolves this year other than being more intentional for God. Most of them are incredibly superficial and all about me. Like being better organized, painting my master bath, and cleaning out my kitchen cabinets. One will blend together the spiritual and the physical and I really set out to drop 20 pounds. These extra pounds started with ten and have bounced up and down and all around. I am learning that I not only need to be more intentional about living for God, but I also need to be more intentional about my own health. Truth is, carrying 20 extra pounds around my middle in definitely not heavy. Being sedentary is not healthy. My food choices don't tend to be healthy. So those are all things I need to address. I will be participating in the Made to Crave online Bible study at Melissa Taylor's website. Follow the link to learn more. I am anxious to dive into the book especially after reading the first couple of chapters.

I am really looking forward to this year. Anxious about what God has in store for me, what He wants me to learn, what He will do to pull me closer to Him. Some things will hurt. Some will be exciting. Some will be challenging. But all of them will work for the good in my life. Of that I'm sure {Romans 8:28}.

Contemplating the New Year...

2011-12-30T07:35:00.001-06:00

I've been feeling contemplative the last few days. It happens every year when there are less days left on the calendar than there are fingers on one hand. Thinking on the where I was last year this time and how it compares to who I am today. Thinking about who I want to be a year from now. Thinking on fresh starts, clean calendar pages, new beginnings.

God gave me a passage yesterday. And, yes, I am bold enough in my faith today to say that He put it in my life that very day for me to read. See, I've been thinking about the year ahead, wondering what my faith will look like as enter a new year, knowing what I want from myself, knowing the power I need Jesus to display in my life. This verse summed it all up for me through challenge and conviction in a way only the Living Word of God can.

His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires.

For this very reason, make ever effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love. For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. But if anyone does not have them, he is nearsighted and blind, and has forgotten that he has been cleansed from his past sins.

Therefore, my brothers, be all the more eager to make your calling and election sure. For if you do these things, you will never fall, and you will receive a rich welcome into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. {2 Peter 1:3-11}

Wow. Powerful words on building a spiritual foundation. I can see the progression in my faith, but if we view it in terms of steps, I still have a ways to go.

I think I will always be in the pursuit of knowledge. For me, reading the Word and finding new applicable things each time is something I will never grow tired of. But where I fall short is finding a challenge in the Word, feeling convicted by something I read, but not taking the steps to act it out in my life. Typing those words hurt my own feelings a little, but I am only being honest. Faith is easy; faith through action is where I get a little tripped up.

I keep trying to write about what I want to achieve this year, spiritually speaking, and, truth is, I can't get it out right. I don't have the words to say it or explain myself well. But that Scripture moves me and outlines so many attributes I would like to achieve. Faith. Goodness. Self-control. Perseverance. Godliness. Kindness. Love. But there are also two words I focus in on in the verse (once I remove their prefixes and turn them into positive words): effective and productive. I want to be effective and productive for the Lord. I want to start right here in my own house being more effective and productive for Jesus, showing my kids my faith, where it comes from, and what He looks like, not just in the big moments of life, but in the moments quiet and small as well. I want to be a better advocate for the Lord, and boy have I got my work cut out for me.

Happy New Year, my friends! May we all be more effective and productive this upcoming year!

Christmas Wrap Up

2011-12-26T11:36:00.000-06:00

Another one in the books. Hard to believe.

Each year, I anticipate Christmas in several different ways. There's the financial planning and fretful way as I wonder how on earth we will get it all figured out. This year was perhaps a little more stressful on that front. We had the job change which left us a little short as the car lot Scott worked for skated us out of a nice hunk of his paycheck. This is just a part of the car business, by the way, so be extra nice and patient the next time you make that purchase... you have no idea what these guys go through just to get the money they have earned. Though we're tickled pink with the career change, we've had to get used to a totally different pay schedule, and we we not-so-pleasantly surprised when we learned that our final check of the year would come on the final Friday of the year, leaving us a little strapped in between. Amazing how it has all worked out, though. It always does. Thank you, Lord.

I normally anticipate Christmas Eve with my mom's family at my grandmother's home. But this year, them being in the nursing home and the house having been sold months ago, it wasn't to be as usual. This left my heart a little sad, but it also left room for a new tradition to be born. Me, Scott and the kids went to the Christmas Eve service and were so blessed because of it. A young man played the most moving rendition of Drummer Boy I have ever (and possibly will ever) hear. And I saw the Christmas story in a totally different light. The faith it took. God's calling on certain people like the wise men and the shepherds to be a witness for Him. Can you imagine the faith it took to journey to see a baby? A baby. Unbelievable, isn't it? Makes me think about what lengths I will go to experience my Savior. If I had been sitting on my grandmother's wood floor, I would have missed that lesson. I would have missed watching a man play his heart out for the Lord. Learning to live in the now is tough sometimes, but it is definitely worth it when we choose to think that way.

I am grateful for the thinner Christmas we had this year. Seems like no one on either side of our family had an abundance of money this year, so the gift load was much lighter. We are not bringing in a whole lot of new stuff to the household. Yet the kids had such a great time. What they did get, they really loved. One of David's gifts under the tree from Mama and Daddy was the Action Bible. When he picked up the package to shake and test it once it was wrapped, he immediately said, "It's a book... why did you buy me a book? I bet it's a Bible..." But once he opened it and realized what kind of Bible it was, he was thrilled. I look forward to sitting down with him and reading some of it. I want more than anything for all the people closest to me to love the Word of God even half as much as I do. Madalyn's favorite gift was a bag of school supplies all from the Dollar Tree. I mean, how much simpler can you get? But the hours of joy she will get playing school with $12 worth of stuff is priceless. It's not how much you spend; it's knowing that what you've spent will be far less than the happiness the gift brings.

Perhaps the best gift of all this year was another Christmas with my mom. Back in the summer, when she was doing so poorly and declining quickly, I didn't think we would see the holiday season with her in it. I am so grateful. Beyond words. I saw so many Facebook posts about spending a first Christmas without a loved one, and my heart just ached. I don't know why, nor do I need to understand it, but the Lord saw fit for us to have her with us longer. And I will take every day with her that I can get. Her handwriting on a gift tag... her paper plates atop chargers on the dining room table... her tree with all her ornaments... they were just icing on the cake. Her being here was the most amazing earthly gift this year.

Another one in the books. Hard to believe. Even harder still to believe that at 35, I am still learning what this season is all about. Still taking it all in. Still learning so much about life and trying to appreciate all the little moments all year round.

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-22T14:03:00.000-06:00

We made the trip this morning to see Santa. Every year, once school lets out for the holidays, we make the drive to the big mall nearby to visit him and have our picture made. I used to go to the Galleria in Hoover, but they changed Santas a few years ago, and I nicknamed the new one Butter Teeth. I am not trying to be particular, but if I am going to wait in line and pay for a photo, then I at least want Santa's teeth to be as white or whiter than his beard. So last year, we went to a much smaller mall in Vestavia and waited a shorter amount of time and were grateful that Santa had pretty teeth.

The car ride to the mall was filled with talk about what would be asked for. David reiterated that all he really wanted was an Xbox. Madalyn has had quite the time this year narrowing down her wishes. Number one on her list is a hamster. Well, in all honesty, on the list she made at school, she requested eight hamsters. Why eight, I don't know. I don't think she realizes that we would have close to 100 by next year's end if we had eight stinking hamsters in a cage together. Nor does she realize that Mama doesn't do critters in the house. I have informed her that Santa must have written approval before delivering live animals for Christmas gifts, and that I will not be granting permission for any such thing.

Also on her list is eight puppies, a kitten, a chalkboard, clothes, hang earrings, school supplies, and a few other things that she couldn't remember and couldn't interpret from her own handwriting. Surprisingly, though, those weren't on her mind this morning. She announced that she'd be asking Santa for $20,000 so that she could go to the Dollar Tree and buy everything. In a way, I almost wanted her to ask for the money... maybe we'd have a Miracle on 34th Street type Christmas miracle and get exactly what she asked for. But then the adult in me realized that not even Santa has $20,000 to spare at this point.

When they finally made it to Santa's lap, David completely changed his tune and asked for an Ipod touch. Madalyn asked for Christmas songs. And me... well, I just took it all in. I know these days are fleeting. I know the moment they logically dismiss away the magic is fast approaching. Truth is, I enjoy the magic as much as they do. The wishes. The dreaming. The wonder and delight. It reminds me of a time when life was simple and imagination was big. It's a place I can visit with through my kids where there is no cancer and no bills. And I will miss it when it's gone.

So Merry Christmas to all my friends out there! Wishing you all the happiness and magic the season has to offer, and hoping you will take some time to thank God for the amazing gift of Jesus He has given us!

Strong...

2011-12-16T07:59:00.000-06:00

I should be in the shower. But I am not. A chipper and very awake (as in way more awake than I am in the morning) lady called at 7:00 this morning to tell me that I shouldn't show up to the intermediate school until 9:30 instead of the scheduled 8:00 to assist with the Santa Shop. I will let you in on a secret... I would have never made it by 8:00 anyway, so this works out golden for me!

This week... where can I begin. I filled you in a little the other day, but the ups and downs and all arounds of life don't translate to black and white (or whatever color my words on my blog are... maybe pink?) very well. I can tell you a story about it, but what I can't get across to you is how it really feels.

On Tuesday, we were smacked in the face with news about fluid around my mother's heart. I knew she wasn't well and hadn't been for a several weeks. A skin infection several weeks ago had prompted swelling in her left arm, and even though the infection was gone, the size of her arm never quite went back to normal. The shortness of breath was steadily becoming more noticeable. On Saturday when I saw her, she looked very swollen in her feet and her arms, and she couldn't walk very far without having to stop to catch her breath. Disheartening doesn't describe how it feels to see your mother like this. There's this ugly bitterness that threatens to bubble up within me... Why can't she have just one good day? She's been through so much... just make her feel better!!!

But through it all, my mom has this amazing quiet strength. It's not an in your face strength, flamboyant and showy in nature. It's a calmness and ease about her, one that doesn't want anyone to know how difficult it is for her to carry on her daily tasks, and one that maintains this even-keeled tenacity. I bet you have never strung those two words together in a sentence... even-keeled and tenacity. They typically don't mix, but they do inside my mother. She's a fighter, resilient, strong, but she never lets anyone see her sweat. When I grow up, I want to be just like her.

After tests and doctors and residents and two days in the hospital, she was discharged yesterday only to go sit and wait at the doctor's office to have fluid drained from her lung. No procedure was ever done in the hospital. We went from this is a critical situation to we're discharging you having done nothing. Of course, I am relieved that they determined it wasn't a serious situation, but it would be nice if they could make those determinations without sticking my mom in a hospital bed for two days and worrying us all half to death.

And still, my mom sounds the same. Through it all, she just remains the same. Calm. Patient. Strong.

As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the LORD is flawless. He is a shield for all who take refuge in him. For who is God besides the LORD? And who is the Rock except our God? It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect. Psalm 18:30-32

In no particular order...

2011-12-15T07:45:00.004-06:00

Random thoughts by me, and in no particular order:

Don't mistake my kindness for a weakness. Oh, and don't mistake it for stupidity either. I am neither weak nor stupid; I simply choose (most of the time) to be kind.

Madalyn wishes that school never existed because she is tired and is bored at school. I wish it never existed so I didn't have to get her dressed and out the door five mornings a week. Oh, and make her sit down to read and do spelling. It's just not her thing.

Patience is a virtue, and I hope there's a large tank of it somewhere waiting on me to tap into it. Like a big ole' water tank full of copious amounts of the blessed virtue. Something tells me that I'm gonna need lots of it in the days to come.

Do you know what a batch of brownies looks like after it has baked in the oven for an hour and a half? I do...

Nothing says Merry Christmas like the ginormous, bright red zit on my nose. Think Rudolph.

As of tonight, Madalyn will have finished an entire bottle of the putrid tasting antibiotic, 27 of the capsules swallowed. If you don't think this is an accomplishment, I have no idea why you bother to read my blog.

I wonder when the phrase it is what it is will lose its meaning in my life. Maybe when I am 87. Maybe then I won't have to remind myself that things are simply what they are. Or maybe I really won't care.

Why is it that when I go to the store nearly every day in a week that I forget the same item every single time? The answer is Qtips, folks. I will buy them today. I WILL.

Another thing I am pondering is why some box brownie mixes are for an 8x8 pan, others for 9x9, and still others for 9x13 (aka family size). I happen to think they should all be the latter, because there is nothing better than fudgy brownies for the entire family. I seem to have a lot to say about brownies, don't I?

I broke all the Alabama Child Nutrition guidelines yesterday at the elementary school. What are they gonna do? Fire me from being room mom? I dare them... better yet, I think I am sort of begging them to...

Some days it's easier to keep your sanity in check. Today is one of the harder days. Do you notice that I tend to have these type posts on my difficult days? It helps to get it out. I am sorry you are the victim today. But it's better you than one of my children.

Perfect Peace...

2011-12-14T10:34:00.004-06:00

I woke with it on my heart. Words. Divine and Inspired. Sent from Him, passed through the ages, ringing in my ear.

You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. Trust in the LORD forever, for the LORD, the LORD, is the Rock eternal. Isaiah 26:3-4

Perfect peace.

Nothing about the past week and a half has been peaceful. My very-limited-budget Christmas shopping has begun. My 92 year old grandmother was admitted to the hospital. My mother was admitted just yesterday to the hospital with fluid around her heart. I've had a few moments when the realization that my world, so rapidly changing around me, is so utterly out my control... that the very realization of it has threatened to push me over the edge. I've wanted my grandmother to pass to her permanent home where she could be comfortable and my mother wouldn't have to worry about her anymore. I've wanted my mother to wake up one morning and just be restored to who she was before the cancer took so much away from her. I've wanted money to fall from the sky like fall leaves in an October wind. But I can't wave a magic wand and make any of those things happen, and for some reason unknown to me right now, they aren't in the plan.

Why can't raining money be in the plan? If not a healthy Mama, then why not? {That's the 5 year old within me that rears her ugly head every now and again.}

I am amazed to find that God's plan is so perfect that someone as imperfect as me can't understand it. If my grandmother had been called home, we'd be in a real pickle right now with my mother in hospital in Birmingham. If my mother woke up one day and was miraculously restored to perfect health, I wouldn't have the honor of witnessing her strength and grace in the midst of difficult situations. If money rained from the sky, then I wouldn't have been granted a blessing through someone that so blatantly shouts to me Tamara, I am listening to you! Do you ever have those moments? Moments so beautiful and still in which a need is met and you know it's the hand of God, where there's no doubt whose hand is at work.

And so I woke this morning with this Scripture on my mind. Not in perfect wording, mind you, and not reciting book, chapter and verse. But the first part of it I remembered, and I knew where I had it written down. And I was drawn to the Words, words God penned for you and me, ones He wanted me to focus on today, tomorrow, forever.

Perfect peace. Only the peace that can be found in Him. In knowing that I will have everything in every moment because He is within me. It won't always be easy, but I have Him to hold me through it. And so does my mother. And father. And brothers. And you, too. Do you have it yet? Have you found it? Have you even looked for it?

Spend a moment today looking for the Rock eternal. He will sustain you through whatever twists and turns you life may take. I know because I am feeling it now for the first time in my life. It doesn't mean I don't cry or get angry or scared... it simply means that there's this place inside of me that no one can take away. No one. It's my own little Ark of the Covenant, if you will, where the very Spirit of the Living God, the One who raised Jesus from the tomb, resides. He comforts me. He gives me strength to get up and carry on even when the sinful part of me just wants to curl in a ball and cry. He is the reason I can move on through all this imperfect crap of the world.

To Him be the glory always and forever. Amen.

No words of my own...

2011-12-12T15:36:00.002-06:00

I've got so much to say but not the words to say it. So much on my brain and my heart. Good things, disappointing things, stressful things, sad things. In other words, life.

So, since I am without my own words, I will share with you someone else's. Here are the lyrics to my all time favorite Christmas song, O Holy Night. It's one I heard all my life, but the first time I listened to the words and let them sit on my brain for a little while, I fell in love with it.

O Holy Night

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

It's been a week...

2011-12-03T07:54:00.003-06:00

Boxes and trees. Dropping a large ornament on my foot. Lights that work and others that don't. Strep. Again. Doctor. Again. It's been a week.

I have officially given the pediatrician's office $192 in the past 30 days, and I still owe them $80. You see, in the month of November, we were technically without health insurance. We were eligible for Cobra coverage, but I didn't receive paperwork for that until the latter part of the month. And why pay $785 for coverage when you can just pay your doctor outright for two visits? It's a lot cheaper that way I have discovered. So the new insurance was effective December 1st which corresponded nicely with this statement from Madalyn: "My throat hurts." I let it ride for a couple of days mainly because her fever never climbed above 100.5, until yesterday when I took a peak in her throat with a little flash light. I'm no doctor, but what I saw alarmed my uneducated eyes, and I knew we needed to go in for a throat swab.

It was positive. And since we just had strep in the early days of November, the doctor didn't want to put her on the same antibiotic again. And since Madalyn is allergic to the penicillin family, the only choice was this absolutely awful tasting stuff. There are no words really to describe just how awful it tastes. We were given capsules and told to sprinkle the contents into food... apple sauce, pudding cup, ice cream. She said to do whatever it took to get it in her three times a day for ten days. I may as well have been sentenced to ten days in the pits of hell.

I tried mixing it in with a bowl of grits. I mean, it's just a wee bit of medicine. How bad oculd it be? I took a little taste and nearly died. The only person who would have eaten that bowl of grits would be one of those adventurous souls who set out to hike a mountain by them self and ended up lost for five days in the wild forced to eat leaves off trees and drink water from puddles on the forest floor. And even they might gag a little when they tasted it.

I eventually got it down her throat by mixing it with a spoon full of frozen strawberry daiquiri mix (and for those of you out there that happen to think like my own mother and are posing the question in your mind, let me state that the frozen mix DOES NOT CONTAIN ALCOHOL, thankyouverymuch). My sister in law had used a similar trick with frozen grape juice concentrate, but there was no way I was making another trip to the store, so I used what we had left over from the summer. The windows were open in my house when the event went down, and I am certain the entire neighborhood heard the play by play, but we got the medicine inside her body. One time. And now she claims she is NEVER taking it again. NEVER. It should be a fun ten days for me (three times a day, at that).

The plus side is that just after one dose, Madalyn slept the entire night without getting up with fever or to cuddle with me and take over the king sized bed. I feel like a new person. Hopefully God refilled my patience bucket while I slept. Please, Lord, tell me You refilled it. It's too early to tell at this point as I haven't forced strawberry daiquiri mix laced with putrid antibiotic powder down my daughter's throat yet. Check back with me later...

Other than force feeding medicine to my child, my plans for today include NOT A WHOLE LOT OF ANYTHING. I started reading The Help over Thanksgiving week, and I want to sit down with it for a little while today and immerse myself in another world that does not involve my children, off brand liquid ibuprofen, and washing my hands 2,593 times a day.

Happy Saturday. Hope it's a good one!

Craving something different...

2011-12-01T12:37:00.004-06:00

A couple of months ago, my mom bought me two books, Jesus Calling and Made to Crave. The first I had mentioned that I wanted; the latter my mother apparently thought I needed. I don't say that in an ugly sense at all... she knows me all too well and the long standing battle with food that I have grown weary of fighting.

Truth be told, I am the heaviest I have ever been while not supporting the life of another inside my womb. I am fluffy and frumpy, and, as much as I hate to admit it, my weight and body image effect my self confidence and my relationships.

I have avoided starting to read Made to Crave. I haven't been in the mood. I haven't had the energy. I have just put it off to the side to deal with another day, just like I've done with my issues with food over the past several years. But in the past few days, I've had it on my mind. Satan has been pushing me away from it for the past several weeks, and now I feel like God is urging me to read it and face this issue head on.

He also put it on my heart to ask if there is anyone out there reading these words that want to join me? It wouldn't necessarily be a formal study, but we could read it at a steady pace and talk to one another about how we are doing, have some accountability partners, and blog about what we discover. Follow the link here to see if it's something that sounds like a good fit for you (there's even a sample chapter). If you're interested, leave me a comment with your email address (or email me if you would rather not have your information public). In the meantime, I will be praying over this idea and thinking of a good way to go about this. Maybe a good target date would be the beginning of the new year, giving anyone who wants to participate a chance to get their books.

Give it a thought... I'm tired of craving all the wrong things...

The weight of the season...

2011-11-29T07:54:00.004-06:00

The past 24 hours, I have felt a wee bit overwhelmed. By all the boxes coming down from the attic of festive decorations. By the elf lurking in the closet downstairs... I swear I can hear him cackling every time the kids mention his return. Is it possible for a little stuffed elf to mock me? Overwhelmed by all the secular activities that this holiday season brings upon us whether we choose them or not. So y'all aren't doing your Dirty Santa party this year? Have you got that basket ready for the annual auction at school yet? We need to sit down and discuss the class Christmas party soon. What is Santa bringing your kids this year??????

Throughout the day yesterday, my chest tightened. I couldn't find the extension cords. A strand of lights on the tree for downstairs is out, and I fidgeted with the tiny fuses for 20 minutes only for them to remain dark. The arthritis in my hands is flaring up with the bitter cold outside. I haven't purchased a single Christmas gift yet, and it's almost December. My Christmas Eve tradition at my grandmother's house is over. The bits of pieces of the holiday season began to fall like snowflakes on my soul and were rapidly accumulating. A heavy blanket of fear weighed my heart down. This isn't what this should feel like. I love this time of year.

I woke this morning with Luke on my mind. Read the story, Tamara. Read it again and remind yourself of what was done for you. So I sat down and began with Luke 1:26. I didn't have to get very far before the tears welled up in my eyes and I felt the message the Lord would have me pull from the Scriptures today.

And Mary said, "My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me - holy is his name. His mercy extends to those who fear him, from generation to generation. He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants forever, even as he said to our fathers." Luke 1:46-55

I amazed by Mary's faith each time I read this account. It was no easy road that lie ahead of her, and I am sure she realized it. But she had a direct message from the Lord via Gabriel. Sometimes I wish I had Gabriel to whisk down from heaven and tell me which way to go or what has been laid out for me. But then I wonder... would I have the faith of Mary even under much less stressful situations? Obviously not. That's what led me to her story this morning in the first place.

Dear Lord, Father of my Savior and Father of mine, I praise You this morning for your amazing gift of Jesus to our world so very long ago. I thank You for the divine Word you left for us to read throughout the generations and for the brilliant lessons found within it. Help me, your humble servant, to find ways to glorify You in the midst of this crazy world. Help me to remember that I am not here to serve the world but to serve You. In your Son's Holy Name... Amen.

Truths in nature...

2011-11-28T10:02:00.003-06:00

The LORD reigns, he is robed in majesty; the LORD is robed in majesty and is armed with strength. The world is firmly established; it cannot be moved. Your throne was established long ago; you are from all eternity.

The seas have lifted up, O LORD, the seas have lifted up their voice; the seas have lifted up their pounding waves. Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea - the LORD on high is mighty.

Your statutes stand firm; holiness adorns your house for endless days, O LORD.

~ Psalm 93

There are certain truths in life. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Every day. The waves crash on the shore, and tides correlate with the position of the moon. The rains come and go. The world is firmly established; it cannot be moved.

I find comfort in these truths. I look for them in nature. Do you? Do you examine this amazing creation we stand upon every day and find the little things that are just simply true amidst all the things that can go so very wrong? Maybe it's the want-to-be poet inside of me, or maybe there are more souls out there {other than me} that find comfort in the tiny perfections of God's creation.

My family took a Thanksgiving get away to the beach. My parents rented a house big enough for our entire family to come and go as they pleased during the week. The kids and I left on Tuesday, leaving Scott at home as he had to work. My two brothers came the following night, the oldest with his wife and the younger with his daughter. We all worked together and made a fantastic meal for Thursday, and the kids enjoyed playing on the cooler than what they're used to beach. It was nice to be together, to be somewhere other than home for a change, and to watch the kids enjoy one another.

On Thursday night, I went out on the back deck to make a phone call. After hanging up, I sat in the darkness of the evening listening to the waves and studying the sky. The sun had already tucked its head below the horizon of the water, but its color still radiated from behind the curve of the earth. I was in awe of the beauty, and the longer I stared at it, the more defined all the colors of the night sky became. They were all present... red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. A horizontal spectrum had formed over the distant waves, lines of color blending together perfectly as though painted on a canvas. Another truth. Scientific fact. The order of the spectrum in any way it's ever displayed, whether shining through a prism or a rainbow, is always the same.

Truth is comforting. In this world of disarray and modern chaos, it's nice to know how firm our world really is, or maybe how firmly held it is in the hand of its Creator.

You see, the reason I was there was imperfection. My mother's cancer brought us there, together for a holiday we don't normally gather for in a place which we had never all been together. And there I sat, alone, thinking, in front of this magnificent creation, beautiful and glorious, powerful and overwhelming. Experiencing the truth of the earth. Experiencing Him. Hearing his voice whisper to me, "I am. I love. You are mine." More truths of His that are harder to accept sometimes than the scientific facts.

When I stop and think about it, it's all that really matters. He's in control. He is mightier than anything His very hands created. He is from all eternity. And I am His. I am loved. And so are you.

It's a truth.

Tiny Prints!

2011-11-17T11:20:00.007-06:00

I've been mulling over this post for several weeks now, looking through the multitudes of holiday options on the Tiny Prints website. If you have a blog, I don't think it's too late to get in on their holiday card giveaway. Shoot me an email for details if you want to join in on the fun (see my contact tab).

First I'd like to say that the website is so user friendly. One feature offered is the favorites bar at the bottom of the page which allows you to mark your favorites and go back to them with ease instead of searching back through hundreds of options and confusing yourself. I marked nine favorites, but I promise I could have marked more!!!

One of my favorites, mainly because of its original design, is below. I love the way the photo flips out as you open it, and the color scheme is so unique! I could imagine this one sitting on the mantle during the holidays instead of being stuck in the midst of all the other traditional holiday cards.

There were two others that made my top three, and both of them share a feature that I adore. You can pick from a few different color schemes. I don't know how many times I have found a card online that I loved but wished it had different color options. With the click of your mouse, you can see several different background and accent colors giving you so many choices! I love it! Some of the cards (like the round one shown below) also have the option of choosing what format you want, whether the ornament ball or a flat card.

Now to decide which one is my all time favorite. Oh, and to capture that perfect photo. I don't know which choice will be the toughest! Check out the Holiday line at Tiny Prints for all your holiday needs!

Little Words... Big Lessons

2011-11-17T07:45:00.004-06:00

Hats off to the creator and marketer of the now infamous Pillow Pet. I mean, it's a pillow, it's a pet... what's not to love about that? Ironically, Madalyn had something identical to the Pillow Pet when she was a wee little tot. It was a grey cat head in the shape of a pillow, and, though it was smaller in size than the normal Pillow Pets we see in the stores now, it rolled up and velcroed all the same. She used it in her crib as a pillow when she was a toddler. Couldn't tell you where it is now, but it's long been replaced by a lamb and a lady bug.

Last night, we made a mad dash to Walmart. I only needed snacks for the kids for school. Madalyn had three dollars in her wallet, and she just knew she could purchase something of value with it. She wanted to look at the toys, which we rarely ever do, and I agreed hoping to find some ideas for Christmas but all the while explaining she most certainly would NOT be making a purchase and neither would I.

"Oh, I love this! I want to get this!"

"Madalyn, it's $49.95, and you have $3."

"Well, I could give you my money and you could do the rest..."

"Christmas is only a month away. We are not buying a toy."

Similar conversations went on about various items or differing prices. Since her brother wasn't with us, I was trying to let her look and keep myself patient. Patience is not always my top virtue, especially with Madalyn. We had finally made it through the girl aisles with sanity in tact, and we turned out onto the main aisle to get what we really needed when she saw them...

They aren't your average Pillow Pets. No... they are pets in little houses that unzip and break forth for play! When it's pillow time again, you can zip the little pet back into its home. I remember having something similar to this notion as a child (hello, Puffalumps?!?!) and thinking it was quite nifty, but looking at it as a parent, all I am thinking is, "Why in the world couldn't have I had this idea and the hundreds of thousands of dollars in profits that go along with it?"

We entered a mode of frantic we seldom visit anymore. The six year old just had to have the puppy that zipped into the dog house. Like had to have it. But she had two things going against her... 1) I don't have an extra $20 to spare these days (especially with Christmas literally right around the bend), and 2) she's already got 2 pillow pets at home. It's hard to feel sorry for a child that has as much as my little girl. Granted, she may not have as much as another, but she certainly has an adequate amount of things of things to keep her entertained at home. And I am not typically a mom that purchases toys just because. My kids may get to pick something at the dollar store if we go, but that's about it outside of birthdays or special occasions.

She cried and whined and pleaded and cried some more. All through the store, the whole way home, up the stairs, she carried on. And on. And on. I mainly tried to remain quiet because my voice has a tendency to rise in pitch and volume when she gets like this. But then, she began to say things like, "You're just a meany mama... you never let me get anything... you always buy stuff for you and never for me... I wished I didn't live with a meany mama like you..." It was the latter phrase that dug into my heart. I know that it shouldn't, but it did.

Just the night before, I had awaken to the pitter patter that her slender feet make on the short pile of the carpet when there's no other noise in the house. A little lightening and low rumbling thunder brought her to my side of the bed. I welcomed her in as I slipped out to visit the restroom. When I got back into the bedroom, she was nestled in to my spot in the king size bed, all rolled up like a burrito, and I couldn't bare to bother her. I made my way to the couch and curled up with a couple of blankets for the rest of the night. She doesn't understand that part of being her mama. She has no idea the things I have gone without because her legs and feet continue to grow and I want to to continue being here when they teeter off the school bus in the afternoon. She doesn't understand how her words stung my heart especially after a night of crappy sleep on the couch. The little words from her little mouth just hurt... they hurt more than they should.

I quietly put her in the tub, talking as little as possible. Her tears finally subsided shortly after we turned the water off, and within five minutes, she had called me back in the bathroom.

"Will you bathe me, Mama?"

"Now you need me to do something for you? And why should I do anything for you, Madalyn, after the way you have behaved and treated me tonight?"

"Well, I'm sorry..." {less than convincing, I assure you}

"No, you're not sorry. You're not sorry at all, or you would have called me in here to tell me so, not to get me to do something for you. I will most certainly not bathe you. You can do it yourself tonight."

I made my way down stairs to avoid causing her bodily harm, my blood pressure still rising by the moment. I sat down with my laptop and eased my brain with a little Facebook check. That helps any situation, you know... staring aimlessly at meaningless information on a computer screen. Five minutes or so went by, and there she came, nothing but a towel wrapped around her little self, big brown eyes with a little puddle of tears welling inside them.

"Mama... I am sorry I said you were a meany mama. You're a good mama."

"Thank you, Madalyn. I know you don't mean what you say sometimes, but it does hurt my feelings. You know Mama has feelings too. Let's go get bathed."

As I knelt down beside the tub to wash her hair, I heard this gentle voice... How do you think I feel, Tamara, when you do the same to Me?

Oh, Lord... forgive me when I act like a six year old child that doesn't get her way. Forgive me for the times I don't trust that You will give me everything I need. Give me patience in dealing with my children just as You have been patient with me as I spiritually mature. Thank you, Jesus, for enduring the pain of death so that I can experience the freedom of forgiveness through your Holy Name. Amen.

Made {w}hole

2011-11-16T08:09:00.004-06:00

Let me begin with this statement: I am grateful for my childhood in the church. My fondest memories involve fellowship halls, pot luck dinners, Uno with the youth group, church buses, flipping the light switches on or off. I firmly believe that I would not have the adoration of the Scriptures if I hadn't been born into the very family to which I was given; it's a love that my father, grandmother, and I share. I thank God that He has given me this trait as I know it's the one thing that sustained my soul through the years of doubting.

I've been reading this book... {w}hole by Lisa Whittle. If you've ever had negative experiences with organized religion, I urge you to read it. It's cathartic and reassuring. It's cleansing and hopeful. As I read the pages, processed the thoughts alongside my own memories, I felt as though I had put on a pair of prescription lenses made just for me. See, I, for so many years, looked at the Lord and His people through the lens of my own experience and disappointment. That doesn't work well. Take my word for it.

I've spoken here about Delores before. I don't even hesitate to use her real name, nor do I offer any apologies for doing so. She was Satan's first tool in my life at the tender age of eleven. My father was a dynamic preacher in those days. I have memories of him practicing his sermons at home, pouring over yellow legal pads of notes and his marked up Bible. I adored listening to my father preach, and I loved being churchy. Dresses below the knee, taking notes in my notebook in the pews, and acapella hymns. It was our life. We had packed up all our possessions and moved to a tiny town in Louisiana to follow my father's passion to preach. I don't remember and can't say I ever understood what Delores and my father had not agreed upon, but it was something, and she made her thoughts clear in front of the entire congregation after Sunday evening service. I was devastated. I can still feel the raw emotion in the pit of my stomach that welled up that night, the anger mixed with nervous frustration and disappointment, as I ran out of the building and into the parking lot. My little world was crumbling, and so was our church. My mother and I stayed at home one Sunday morning as my father went alone to formally resign to the congregation from the pulpit. Afterward, a small group of my father's supporters gathered in our home, and we sang together, prayed, and cried. I didn't understand all the details, but my heart knew one thing: even God's people cannot be trusted.

We built a church out of an empty space in a shopping center with a big grocery store, a little boutique filled with clothes my family couldn't afford to buy, and a vet clinic. We painted walls, cleaned things up, bought chairs, and named it. It was our life, and its members were our family. But something shifted, and my adolescent mind didn't understand those details either. My dad said it was time to go, so we packed our things and moved to Florida, out of the pan and into the fire. After a short year in a tiny town in the panhandle, my father decided to leave the ministry altogether.

Looking back through my fresh pair of glasses, I hurt for him so deeply. His passion for the Scriptures and the Truth written in them was undeniable. But the sad reality is that most Christians don't even bother to read the Word for themselves. They simply believe doctrine that's been handed down to them through generations of stiff, suit clad leaders. To those men, my father was a radical, one who believed in such things as the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. The first time I read through the New Testament, I was shocked to think there were people on the earth who would argue against that point. But there were a hand full to argue back then, and we ran into them all.

And so we went home. Back to our place of origin. No more moving. No more preacher's daughter for me. No more trust in Christianity. The picture of a Christian in my mind had become a man who walks several yards away from the church and hides behind a tree to smoke a cigarette, the Sunday school teaching woman who can't control her temper in front of the church on a Sunday night, the elders who straighten their ties as they deny the Inspired Word of God that's in plain black and white before them. I was confused to say the least. Confused about God, about why He would allow all of this to happen, why He would turn His back on us like this.

I had no faith in God. I felt abandoned by Him. I tried to find things to believe in, all the while maintaining my pretty little picture of goodness. By the time I graduated high school, I realized that no one was really who they appeared to be, that no one stood up for what was right. None of the Christian world around me made any sense, so I began to play the game myself.

Satan sent the perfect one to work on me, too. Handsome. Charismatic. Charming. It was as though Satan scripted it all for him perfectly, what to say, what to do, how to get me in the lowest position I had ever been in my life. He took me down. He sent my soul into a pit, and for years, even after I had finally rid myself of the embodiment of that demon, I remained in that deep dark hole.

I'm out now. I finally stopped scratching at the sides of the pit and just let the hand of the Lord Almighty lift me out. He has rested me on the edge of the pit in the soft green grass. I can still see the hole, but I am no longer in it. A part of me wants to get up and run toward the goal I have in my heart. But I am learning that I need rest, this time to learn and ponder, for Jesus to tend to my wounds. See, when you have wounds from every angle, the healing process is all the more complicated. I've got holes in my soul from Christian locusts and from the Devil's advocates as well. I'm trying to reconcile how they can come from both sides and hurt equally the same. One thing I am grateful for is that my Savior has experienced it all and even more than I can fathom. This verse in Hebrews resonated in my soul most of all: Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death - that is, the devil - and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death (2:14-15).

Jesus didn't have to. He chose to. He shared in my humanity. He lived in a body just like mine. He lived alongside the Pharisees, even argued with them. He witnessed the hypocrisy of people, the lies, the pain, the bitterness. But you know what else? He healed the ones who came to him with the worst of the worst. He ministered to those that the Pharisees wouldn't even speak to. He reconciled the law. And He is currently reconciling all those years of disappointment in people that bore His name and the scars left behind from Satan's attacks.

I have a purpose. Just as the suffering of Jesus in His flesh was not in vain, neither is the sufferings of anyone who proudly carries the name Christian. I can't say when or how it will all come about, but I have a clear vision in my mind of what He wants me to do with all I've been through. But for now, I am resting. I am feeding my soul. I am waiting patiently. I am leaning on a fresh faith in my literal Savior who has lifted my soul from the deepest, darkest hole... I am longing for the day when my story is made {w}hole.

Jury Duty...

2011-11-15T09:20:00.002-06:00

I have a confession. I have jury duty envy. I know it's not right, nor is it normal, but I just can't help myself.

I was called to serve in 1997 at the ripe old age of 21. Bright eyed, fresh faced, 30 pounds thinner than I am now, and wearing a marquis solitaire on my left finger that I would learn to hate in less than a year. I was a lawyer's dream. Of course I was selected for a case, and it involved insurance fraud on the part of an Alfa Insurance salesman. I loved the whole process and actually longed to do it again. I've only been summonsed once since then while I was pregnant with my oldest. Though my heart wanted to be there, my pregnant body did not. I asked to speak to the judge, and told him that I would prefer not to sit on a jury at this time as I would be needing frequent restroom breaks.

When the little card arrived in the mailbox a few months ago, I was so disappointed to see my husband's name on the front. So was he. Being a commission only employee and only member of our family that receives a paycheck, he wasn't thrilled with time away from the job to listen to lawyers. And I get that. My bank account gets that, too. So he made a phone call to the number on the card. Unfortunately, the lady he spoke with didn't quite care about the inconvenience it may cause. She was glad to put it off a couple of months for him, so he went with that option.

Yesterday morning, he got ready to go, and I told him he would just fill out some forms and answer a few questions and get a phone number to call. He is a lawyer's worst nightmare, and I felt 100% certain no attorney in their right mind would select him. What I didn't bank on was the computer that randomly selects the grand jury getting a hold of him. Yep. You heard right. The grand jury.

Poor Scott. He just started this new job two weeks ago. He's been working so hard and adjusting to the new swing of things. My husband is certainly not one who likes to sit and listen to anything. And now he's forced to sit through five days of grand jury testimony while his mind wanders to all of the things he needs to be doing at his new job.

And I find myself at home, dreaming of filling in for him. I know it's wrong to think of ways I could dress up in his clothes and fool the legal system, but I must admit that it's crossed my mind. I think I would make a pretty good Scott, but I am not sure I could pull off his mannerisms.

So Scott's civic duty will end up costing us money. Loss of production at work. Having to eat out five days this week instead of coming home for lunch. I am thinking that it may be time to readjust the thinking of our county court system... when it's a burden for some to serve, they shouldn't be required to do it. Especially when their wife could fill in for them and is more than willing to do so.

Inside my brain...

2011-11-09T10:23:00.002-06:00

I've been a little quiet around here as of late. To be honest, I've been what they call busy, which is weird for me. I generally don't like busy. It's a state of life I try to stay away from... not because I am lazy, but because I feel like it's a state in which we lose ourselves if we're not careful. We create too much external work for ourselves that we forget the internal work that needs to be done. Time with God. Time with family. Time with our spouse. We look for outside sources to feed our egos instead of feeding our souls. That's one of the joys of being a stay-at-home mom; I was forced to let go of my concept of earthly value and focus on the things that bring us true joy as women. Not that I don't think women who work can't balance it all... I just think it would be harder for me as a woman to put being a wife and mother first if I had a job that made me feel valued (because I dare say that a job outside the home would leave me feeling more valued than the kids do most days!). Okay... I am losing focus here...

I've been busy with my little crafty business. I got this rather large order a few weeks ago, and it was incredibly intimidating. But, of course, I wasn't going to turn down an order, even if meant that my own hands would have to create 42 zipper pulls and the leather things that hold them to the zippers all by myself. 42. This was right after I had another fairly large order of 19. My CrazyMamaCreations deal is a lot of fun, but what people probably don't realize is how very time intensive it is. I mean, it's just me, after all. And it takes quite a bit of menial effort to make a plain metal washer into something cute! So to say that I am glad to be passing off this big, big order today is an understatement! I enjoyed making them, but it will be a huge load off my shoulders to have it 100% complete.

I've also been getting ready for a craft show this weekend. I have purposefully not done a show yet. Major issue is time. Time to prepare. Time to go and set up and work the show and take down. Not to mention the risk. It's a risk to prepare things specifically for on the spot purchase when you're not certain any of it will sell. I am a made to order kind of outfit on Facebook and Etsy, so there's not much risk involved in that. But to prepare an inventory and not be sure that anyone (except me) will like it, well, it's a little intimidating.

I find myself intimidated by the strangest things. Take, for instance, this morning, when I went to the elementary school to learn how to make copies for Madalyn's teacher. It's been eleven years since I've used a commercial copier. May not seem like a big deal to you, but I was a little intimidated. Not just of the copier but of the whole process. What if I copy the wrong sheets? What if I don't make the right number? What if I can't remember how to make a two-sided copy into two one-sided copies and have them come out into the tray in groups instead of collated and I get fired from being room mom which I really never wanted to be anyway??????

Do you see what I do to myself inside my brain? Why do I do this? It's pure insanity, I tell you...

Also on the agenda lately has been lunch. As in cooking it. Now this is something I have enjoyed doing. Since my husband is working so very close to home now, he's able to come home for lunch. And it's been fun {in a weird way} cooking for him again. He's not one that eats a lot in the evening, so I have long gotten out of the habit of cooking real meals at night. But now, I can cook for lunch, we eat together, and then the kids have dinner ready. It's been a really nice change of pace around here, and a big money saver. I feel really blessed with Scott's job change. Beyond blessed, really. Just hoping that it all works out in the end. I am keeping the faith that it will and not applying my crazy inside the brain questioning to this one part of my life. Seems strange that I am freaking out more about using the copier at the school than I am about my husband's new job. But that's just the way my brain works...

The One

2011-11-05T08:03:00.003-05:00

I read this post yesterday, and it really got me thinking all day long about Jesus. Who He is. What He did. How He lived. How I should live because of who He was, is, will be and because of what He did.

I am just now getting to know Him. Even though I spent the bulk of my childhood in church, I never thought along the way that He was someone with which I could have an intimate bond. Jesus was another character in the Bible to me, and there He remained, in the pages, in the red letters of the New Testament. Not until a few years ago did I realize that the Bible is full of this amazing information, power, encouragement, and counsel. Oddly enough, it was my reading of Isaiah that brought me closer to Him and His Father. There is beauty in the promise of perfection, of sacrifice, of Zion to the people that you know will hand Him over and mock Him. There is beauty in the Father's pursuit of the people of Israel. True beauty.

You see, in many ways, I identify with the people of Israel. I felt like I was one of the chosen people in my youth. My father a minister, I was there every time the doors were open. I helped clean the baptismal and vacuumed in between the pews more times than I can count. I recall the day I stood proudly in front of the small country church my father first preached for and recited all the books of the Bible. I was so pleased with myself for having done so, my faith even in childhood based on my performance. I had a task driven perception of God; if I do good, God will be pleased.

But what happens to that performance driven personality when she begins to fail. To make the wrong decisions. To trust the wrong people. To seek the wrong things. To fall on her face. She unravels, and so does her faith and her pretty little picture of God and Jesus, those characters she had learned all about in Sunday School.

I was missing out on the reality. The grit of the Bible. The Noah that got drunk off his first vineyard once he made it out of the Ark. The Moses that all but argued with God about his calling and doubted himself. The way Paul spent the majority of his life before following Jesus. I focused on the good performances of all the characters and not on the realness of them. There's beauty in the realness, too, as there is a lot of realness in me.

As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a new into the lake, for they were fishermen. "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men." At once they left their nets and followed him. {Mark 1:16-18}

Jesus is The One who can simply say, "Follow me," and people actually do it. Have you noticed that? Have you let it sink in that people literally dropped what they were doing, left it all behind, and followed a man they knew nothing about. Oh how I would love to have seen Him face to face! Can you imagine His magnetism? We experience it to some degree in the Scriptures, but to feel it in person... I just can't imagine.

... Jesus said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners." {Matthew 9:12}

Jesus is The One who can stop the madness. His way is fairly simple, and he came to fulfill the rigorous performance driven law of the Old Testament. Where I fail, He makes up the slack. He pushes me to be better, but He wipes my tears when I fail. He was the sacrifice in the midst of chaos so that I can experience His peace. He loves me anyway.

The Son is the radiance of God's glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word. {Hebrews 1:3a}

Jesus is The One. He sustains all things. He is the reason I haven't completely fallen to satan's tricks. He is the reason I seek, I long to know more, I try to live better, love better, be better. He is the One Sacrifice that trumps all others. He is the only One needed.

I am so thankful to be developing a relationship with Him. What about you? Do you know Him? The One? Want to know the absolute best place to find Him? In His words, in the words His Father has left for us. They are there for us to learn, to know Him, to hear what He has to say. Read them. They are beautiful, challenging, radical words. Soak in the whole story, not just the pretty pictures you may have learned in your childhood.

On a side note, there's a beautiful study of the words in Hebrews going on right now on Wendy Blight's blog... join us if you are interested! Week one has been incredible! And it's all about The One.

Halloween and such...

2011-11-01T09:03:00.006-05:00

I am shooting pretty bad this morning. My sinuses are killing me. And they're full of all kinds of strange stuff. I have ulcers in my mouth (possibly related to this nasty cold I am fighting). Oh, and I stabbed myself in the thumb with a needle while sewing a fuchsia feather boa to Madalyn's vampire cape, so that is inflamed as well. So all that combined makes it a good day to sit in my chair, read, and blog.

We did something different this year than we've done the past several years. We stayed at home. For the past four years, we've gone to a friend's house in another neighborhood. But several weeks ago, David started saying he wanted to stay in our neighborhood this year. I didn't react to it much at first, and I was a little worried about whether both kids would agree about what to do. But ultimately both of them told me they'd like to trick or treat at home this year, so we went with that. They had a lot of fun, and it was fun to be able to pass out candy at our own house again.

Madalyn was a vampire. When she first mentioned her costume choice to me, I was not impressed at all. But then my mind started spinning about how I could make it unique, and

I decided we could make it cute. I ordered a plain black cape from Amazon, and I found a hot pink boa I could sew onto the outside edge. I cut the shape of the collar out of a twenty cent

piece of felt and basted it to the cape over a line of fabric glue. I decided to cut the felt a little smaller than the actual collar just to make it look a little different. The best part about Madalyn's costume was that all the other pieces were just stuff from her closet or that she can wear in normal life. She wore a cute long sleeve tee shirt from Old Navy under her cape to

complete the sassy vampire look. She fought with me about the makeup, but once she saw herself in the mirror, she knew it rounded the costume out perfectly! For an idea I wasn't too keen on, I ended up enjoying putting her together more this year than I ever have.

David, being ten, opted for the weird mask

with jeans thing. He found this sleeve thing that has a nasty wound and a bolt running t

hrough it that he wore on his arm. Total expense for David's get-up... $10. I am liking the older age boy thing, even though I miss the cute costumes.

I cleaned out the buckets this morning. David ate more candy last night than he should ever down in an evening. He has self control issu

es. I also threw stuff away that looked weird. There was a fun size Hershey bar that looked like it was purchased in 2008. I always trow out that weird looking wax paper covered soft candy. Flavored Tootsie Rolls get tossed... I am still trying to find a human being that ingests those things and enjoys the experience. I Tootsie Roll should taste like chocolate not fruit. Bottle Caps are thrown out as well. I found one lone paper wrapped candy named Mary Jane, and I quickly tossed that in the trash pile. I have never heard of such, and I am certainly not going to allow my children to eat anything that has a name which doubles as a nickname for weed. I only found three peppermints this year. And the most nostalgic award goes to the pretty little roll of Royal Rolls in Madalyn's pumpkin... do you remember those? They are the Life Saver knock-offs and they taste awful. I can't wait to see Madalyn's face when she puts one in her mouth!

Hope Halloween was successful for all my friends out there, and that your kids have brought lots of your favorite goodies into your home for you to enjoy!

Radiant Faith

2011-10-31T09:26:00.003-05:00

I am such a word nerd. But not in terms of an over-educated, stuffy, PhD kind of nerdiness (or smartness), but more in this weird way I attach myself to certain words and fall in love with them and giggle with delight when I see them throughout the Scriptures. In fact, the only time I am really a word nerd is with the Bible. I guess the Bible is the only written word that I've ever been in love with all these years.

Take, for instance, the word radiant. The word alone makes me take a deep relaxing breath. I love it, its meaning, and specifically how it's used in the Bible. Here's a couple...

Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame. Psalm 34:5

Then you will look and be radiant, your heart will throb and swell with joy. Isaiah 60:5

The Son is the radiance of God's glory, and the exact representation of his being... Hebrews 1:3

There's just something about that word. Radiant. Glowing. Emitting light and life and warmth. It's what I'd like to be, and I think that's why it's caught my eye and won my heart over. So when I saw it used in the verse in Hebrews this morning, I knew I was headed in the right direction. Today is the first day in an online study on Hebrews on Wendy Blight's blog. If you've never visited her online space, you should. She's an amazing, strong Christian woman that's so full of knowledge and love of the Scriptures. And she's hosting an online study of the book of Hebrews entitled Living a Cross Centered Life. This is the first week, and we're taking it one chapter at a time, so there's still time to join in if you'd like.

Anywho... so I began reading this morning, and I started with the introduction to the book in my Bible, and already I am challenged. The book of Hebrews was written to the Jews back in a time where, as a Jew, you either accepted Christ's life, death, and resurrection, did not accept it and were still waiting on the Messiah to come, or you wavered. When I stop and think about our reality today, not much has changed. There are believers, there are non-believers, and then there are those that believe but struggle to keep it in in play, wavering back and forth from the old way of life to the new. Here's a quote from my study Bible's introduction to Hebrews: "Those who did accept Jesus as the Messiah often found themselves slipping back into familiar routines, trying to live a hybrid faith." That statement pierced right through me, and it also confirmed I am in the right place, the right book of the Bible. And then, only three verses in pops up a variation of my favorite word...

I'd like a radiant faith, not a hybrid one.

All this being said, the book of Hebrews promises to be challenging. So if any of you out there want to join in, it's not too late. Head over to Wendy's blog, and enroll in the sidebar.

Yesterday... the eventful day...

2011-10-28T15:23:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was quite the eventful day.

First on my agenda, other than fretting over my mother's health, was to put my feet in the stirrups for a little annual pleasure. Only mine wasn't exactly an annual thing; it had been three years since my last annual exam (see the irony there?). I know, I know. Gasp in horror and wave that pointy finger in the air... it's not fun, and I just haven't been. I've also not had any problems and never had an abnormal result. But this year marks the point where I should start having mammograms, so there was no putting it off. Trust me when I say that I spent three years' worth of time in the office. I arrived around 9:30 and left about noon, and I literally saw the doctor for a whole eight minutes of that time. This is only the second time I have visited this particular doctor; I never attached myself to the one who delivered Madalyn, so I made a change. I do pity OB/GYNs even though they make good money... I wouldn't want to be the man making small talk about what your children are dressing up as for Halloween while examining hoo-hahs. Just sayin'.

Once Erika and I texted and played Words with Friends for two hours whilst I waited in the waiting room, I went to the grocery store. I had to buy the items to put together a batch of Chex Mix for Madalyn's class activity since I have been bamboozled into taking over as room mother. Yes, you heard right. The other room mom up and moved to California last week. How does one suddenly make that move? I would love to hear the background story, but I am not nosey (or ballsey) enough to ask the teacher for the down-low. Nor am I ballsey enough to refuse to be room mom. I am pretty amazed that I have made it these six years without having to pull the role off at some point. I think I will do alright, but I am still a little apprehensive. Stay tuned for lots of fun stories about the adventures of Crazy Room Mama.

While putting together the Chex Mix, I celebrated the good news from my mom's scans and awaited a call from my husband telling me he had quit his job. Ummmmm, yeah, add that to the list for yesterday. Scott quit his job. Not only did he quit his job, but he is officially leaving the car business.

Please pause for a moment of silence.

When I tell you that I have prayed for years for this day, I mean literally prayers and prayers and prayers for years and years and years. It's all we've ever known... twelve hour days, late nights, nearly every Saturday. A couple of weeks ago, Scott got a call from an RV place within just a few miles from our house that was in need of a finance manager. He went in to interview, and they offered him the job the next day. It's a risk... a large company has just bought this location, and they are expecting big things. But it may take several months to build it up to the level they know it can achieve. But the hours are great, the location is perfect for our family, and it's a chance worth taking. So we're taking it. Scott starts on Tuesday in a totally different environment than he's used to. A slower pace, fewer hours, and hopefully a lot more family time. I have been so humbled at the thought of my petitions being answered by God that I don't even know what to say. The thought of him being so close, of him not having to miss the goodnight kisses, of him being more a part of our day to day makes me so happy!

I must admit that it's been a great week! I hope all my friends out there have had a great week, too...

Praise God!

2011-10-27T16:00:00.003-05:00

We got good news today. Praise the Lord for good news! My mother's scans show a 40% decrease in size of her largest measurable tumor in her liver. There is still minimal fluid in her right pleural lining, but there is no growth there or in her spine.

When I read the text from my dad in my car, Doxology immediately started in my mind, a chorus of angels singing their praise between my ears, and I wanted to pull my car over and lie face down on the green grass and just soak in His glory! I have never in my life felt so appreciative... for anything... I didn't even feel this way when either one of my children was born! It's the hardest emotion to describe, yet one I am so very grateful to have experienced in my lifetime.

So, I Googled Doxology and found out it came from another hymn, Awake My Soul, and with the Sun. And when I read the words, I just thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever read. So I thought I would share it here today for all of you to enjoy. And just as a huge Praise God from me!

Thank you, Lord... words cannot express my gratitude to You, Lord... there are no words! Thank you, Jesus!

Awake, my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily stage of duty run;
Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise,
To pay thy morning sacrifice.
Thy precious time misspent, redeem,
Each present day thy last esteem,
Improve thy talent with due care;
For the great day thyself prepare.
By influence of the Light divine
Let thy own light to others shine.
Reflect all Heaven’s propitious ways
In ardent love, and cheerful praise.
In conversation be sincere;
Keep conscience as the noontide clear;
Think how all seeing God thy ways
And all thy secret thoughts surveys.
Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart,
And with the angels bear thy part,
Who all night long unwearied sing
High praise to the eternal King.
All praise to Thee, who safe has kept
And hast refreshed me while I slept
Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake
I may of endless light partake.
Heav’n is, dear Lord, where’er Thou art,
O never then from me depart;
For to my soul ’tis hell to be
But for one moment void of Thee.
Lord, I my vows to Thee renew;
Disperse my sins as morning dew.
Guard my first springs of thought and will,
And with Thyself my spirit fill.
Direct, control, suggest, this day,
All I design, or do, or say,
That all my powers, with all their might,
In Thy sole glory may unite.
I would not wake nor rise again
And Heaven itself I would disdain,
Wert Thou not there to be enjoyed,
And I in hymns to be employed.
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Birthdays...

2011-10-25T16:52:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was my husband's 40th birthday. And, while that seems as monumental as birthdays come, it doesn't compare to today.

Today is my mom's birthday. And it doesn't even matter what number corresponds with it. The only thing important about this day is that about two and half months ago, I didn't think I would celebrate another birthday with my mom. She was failing. Quickly. I knew, she knew it, my father knew it. I was terrified.

Truth is that I don't know what this world is like without my mother in it. I've never experienced a day without her presence in some way in my life. There are days when she's been unavailable that I test myself and see how many times I want to talk to her about something, and the truth is, it's a lot. She was the first person I ever had a relationship with. The first person to love me, hold me, talk to me, hug me. And who I am without her is incomprehensible. It's never existed before.

I find it so odd that a toxic substance is now what's keeping her here. She's been feeling relatively well but for the last couple of weeks. The fatigue has set in, and she's seeing some skin problems that are side effects of the chemo. Her blood pressure is little out of whack early in the week. On the days she feels well, though, I can almost forget that she has cancer for a brief moment. But just for a very brief moment... the denial of the hard facts never lasts too long.

But this morning, I woke with this gratitude that I've never felt in my life. A thankfulness for this day, one I thought I wouldn't have, one I thought we would be robbed of. Another birthday. Another day with her. Another birthday card to sign. A lunch with chit chat. A mom here in the flesh, one I can experience as moms are meant to be. I know it won't continue on as long as I'd like it to, but I will deal with that when the time comes. And, even once she's gone, I still feel like there will be this undeniable presence in my soul of her. This part of her she has handed down to me over these almost 35 years I've had the honor of being her daughter.

Happy birthday, Mama. I love you!

Prayers are coveted, friends, as my mother will have a scan on Thursday to see if the pictures match her improving blood work.

Epiphany...

2011-10-24T12:27:00.005-05:00

I was talking to my dearest friend for life, Erika, today about some things in the works in my life right now. These were my words: "I keep thinking this could be the answer to many, many years of prayer, but I am waiting on something to go wrong..."

How sad. How pitiful of me. I realized how awful it sounded the minute the words tumbled out of my mouth and after my friend made a bold statement to me... "Why don't you just expect the best?"

So, my question to myself is exactly that. Why don't I expect the best in any given situation, especially in one involving a petition to God for a positive life change? Why am I so surprised when God answers a prayer favorably? Why does His unyielding, unrelenting, undeniable love and power still completely blow me away? It's nothing new, but perhaps my acceptance of their existence is still so fresh in my being that I automatically go back to my pessimistic approach to my Creator.

How timely that I am reading a new book entitled {w}hole by Lisa Whittle. When I read the first chapter on her website last week, something bubbled up inside of me. I can't explain it. I identified with what she was saying, and I found it refreshing that she identified with me. I am not alone is a powerful feeling that we all crave to find true throughout the pathways of our life. When it comes to my spiritual walk, I often feel isolated, not only because I have no direct affiliation with an organized church but also because I feel like I've experienced a lot of disappointment from the church that most people don't see in their lives. The only person who knows all the ins and outs of how I feel about organized religion is my Heavenly Father, and it's definitely a subject that I try to stay clear of with most people, including the two people who have been most influential on my faith, my parents.

My book arrived in my mail box on Saturday. I wanted to dive in immediately, to hear another believer's account of their journey in finding closeness to God through Scripture, but Scott's birthday party was that evening, and there was a giant "40" to make out of chocolate chip cookies, icing, and black candles. So I placed the Granny Smith apple green book on my chair for Monday morning. I devoured the first three chapters this morning.

I walked away from the beginning of this book with the awareness (for the first time in my life) that I didn't grow up viewing myself as God's creation. In my little mind, the Church was God's creation, and, if I was good enough along the way, I could be a part of the Church. In other words, the Church was my direct link to God. I can't say where this belief came from; perhaps it was my rule-following, conservative, people-pleasing personality that formulated this mental approach to God. But that doesn't really matter. However this completely explains why Psalm 139 made me weep the first time I read it. It was the first time I viewed myself as being directly created by God, known inside and out by Him, and loved despite my imperfections.

I look back over the past several years, over my journey with the Lord, over the way He has lovingly worked on my heart, my hurts, my misunderstandings about Him. He has revealed Himself in the strangest of stories in the Bible, painting a more accurate picture of who He is, was, always has been, and always will be. This picture is more grand, more encompassing, more overwhelming that I ever dreamed God could be in the days of my ignorance, and I am gratefully placing in all the missing pieces of God's personality one by one.

I'm still not perfect. Never will be. But I do have this enormous zeal for Him. I want to know Him. Not just open Him up and have quiet time with a few pages several times a week and then place Him back on the shelf. I want to know Him on a level I never believed possible until I read Psalm 139 and believed it deep down inside. I want to draw closer to a Jesus that endured torture so that my soul wouldn't have to, and I want to help spread that around so that others will know it, too. I want to be the woman He knew I would be even in the midst of bad choices, hurtful life experiences, and rebellion.

There are just so many things going on behind the scenes these days that I can't openly discuss or can't properly put into words that make any sense. But I love a day full of the beauty of one single realization. Nothing is better than having an internal epiphany, especially when it helps you learn something about your past and pushes you closer to where you want to be. Head on over to Lisa Whittle's website and check it out... she's an amazing writer and magnetic Christian! You will be blessed by her words!

Zombies and such...

2011-10-17T10:29:00.002-05:00

I heard the pitter patter coming across the living room carpet. No... no, no, no... I thought in my semi-conscious state. No way, no how was I sharing my space with her tonight. 3:00 in the AM meant a good three and a half hours left to snooze.

"Mama.."

"What's wrong?"

"I had a bad dream." She normally doesn't talk. She normally just slides in the bed as quiet as she can so as to remain undetected. "It was about zombies."

"Oh, it's okay. Come on in."

I couldn't turn her away with zombies in her head. So, I cuddled up to her until her breath was heavy with sweeter dreams, and I made my way to the couch to sleep. There's no sharing a bed with Madalyn. She may be small, but she uses more space than two adults when sleeping, and it makes for a much longer night than just giving in and sleeping on the couch.

I drifted off to sleep on the couch and dreamed about a guy I dated in high school, my children being my younger brother and sister, living in a house with wall paper over the windows, and going to a high school football game with a boy I didn't know. Maybe I should have stayed in the bed with the zombies...

Reminder...

2011-10-13T15:54:00.005-05:00

My kids get on my nerves. They make messes and don't clean them up. They bring home homework from school that requires my assistance as well as a firm nudge to get it done. They eat the entire bag of Baked Ritz Crisps in ONE AFTERNOON {and then have the nerve to wonder why I won't ever buy that stuff unless it's on sale}. They create mounds and mounds of laundry. They leave wet towels on the floor. And they talk. A lot.

But..... I love them dearly.

Today, I ran through the aisles at Publix quickly picking up a few necessities: chicken for dinner, sugar free French Vanilla coffee creamer (praise the Lord they were back in stock... I've been using the regular stuff all week), and beer. I picked up TWO bags of the Baked Ritz Crisps {gotta love the BOGO stuff at Publix!} and a bag of the iced oatmeal cookies, knowing that would make me mom of the universe for this afternoon.

As I made my way through the store, a man and woman caught my eye. I could tell that they were mother and son, and I didn't think too much unusual about the pair until I got close enough to hear their conversation. His voice sounded younger than my own ten year old boy's, and I could tell that she was sending him about to pick up things along the aisle, giving him a task. He would go and retrieve an item and bring it back to his mother, and then she'd send him to get another. She shopped at the same time, and her buggy was near capacity. He sang to himself as he hunted through the apples. He mumbled something beneath his breath in the dairy aisle.

I got into the lane to the left of them to check out, and I overheard her send him to get a bag of ice. She wanted the small bag. He returned with the larger of the two sizes. Her eyes were clearly perturbed, but her voice never showed it. And my heart sank down inside of me in shame. I am so blessed. So very blessed beyond belief to have these two beautifully healthy children. And though their messiness and weird sense of humor drive me nuts sometimes, they are but fleeting seasons in their lives. This mother's child will never fully mentally mature; she is perpetually stuck in this one phase of life with him. Watching how she handled him so patiently and thinking of what her daily life must be like humbled me. And I needed it.

Being a mom is hard. Yes, it's incredibly rewarding, but sometimes the rewards are few and far between. I find myself in a state of wanting the good to always outweigh the bad, and that's just not realistic. If they would clean up after themselves more... if they would be more organized... if they would do this or that or whatever, then life would be easier. What an awful way to think.

Dear Lord... thank you for your gentle reminder today to be thankful for my children. They are Your creations, and I should marvel in them every day. Thank you for keeping them so healthy and safe all these years. I pray for that sweet mother in the grocery store today... may You grant her every ounce of patience and energy she needs for this day and all her days after.

Amen.

Bullet points by me...

2011-10-12T12:16:00.002-05:00

I really have not a whole lot to say. But I feel this compulsion to blog, though I can't get out a complete post, so I will revert to the stinking bullet points.

~ I am doing Weight Watchers again. I did it three or four years ago, and I was successful, so I thought I would give it a whirl. I have such an issue with portions, you know, and eating when my body is not literally hungry. The points idea helps me look at food differently and focus on what I can have instead of what I can't. I am down four pounds which I am pretty certain is mainly water and just plain extra garbage I would normally be toting around in my intestines. But it's four pounds off the scale, so I will take it. Twenty more to go. Yippee.

~ Sunday, Scott and I celebrated 12 years of marriage. I am pretty proud of us. I know when we got married there were a lot of people that thought we probably wouldn't make it. Heck, there have been times when I thought we wouldn't make it. But we have. When I think about all the couples we've known over the years and I realize how many are divorced now, I know what a rare and special thing we have. Even when things get tough, even when I am cursing him beneath my breath as I turn every single one of his socks right-side out while dealing with the laundry, we are both committed to making this marriage work. And I am so proud to have made it twelve years.

~ I have a bruise on my shoulder. I have no idea how I got it. To be honest, I can't think up a scenario in my mind that would leave me with a bruise on my shoulder. But whatever.

~ I am about to conquer my fear of the thrift store. We're doing a Halloween/Birthday party for Scott's 40th birthday next weekend, and I need to put together our ensemble. Scott and I will be the unlikely couple... the private school girl and the redneck boy. If you know us, you already realize it's incredibly fitting. I don't want to look risque or spend too much, so I am not interested in ordering a real costume, so I thought I could search the thrift store and piece one together myself. I go into panic mode in thrift stores, so I am hoping I can get passed that and find what I need.

~The sun really needs to shine here. I am feeling the lack of sunshine.

~ I wonder if that Total Transformation program really works. The infomercial says it's free if it's not successful in your home. Hmmmmmm.

Okay. That's all I've got today.

A Life Fading...

2011-10-05T16:38:00.004-05:00

"Let's play hooky from the old people..."

That's what I said to my mother today in the car as we were driving in Montgomery on our way to make one stop and then hit the nursing home. I just wasn't in the mood for the old people. Now, please don't feel that I'm being disrespectful when I call them that... it's just something my mother and I have said for years. I would ask, "How are they?" after she had been to see them, and her answer was always, "They're old." So we started referring to them as the old people, and it just sort of stuck. Even in their old age, they both have a gleaming sense of humor, and I would actually say it in front of them and have no doubt they would chuckle.

Anywho... wasn't in the mood for old people today. For about the past week, I've been feeling the urge to go shopping, plundering through stuff, look around. I don't know why. Maybe it's the change of season, maybe it's this really cool blog I recently found which leaves me wanting to get over my anxiety of thrift stores, or maybe a combination of a bunch of things. But visiting the nursing home just didn't sound like fun today, and I was hinting that we skip the visit and do something fun.

Mom didn't bite, and I'm very glad she didn't.

My grandfather has always been a man of few words and rare emotion. But in the past few visits, he just seems so sentimental, so eager to say I love you, so open to a hug. He muses about the meaning of life. He talks about how he misses when the whole family got together at the house. He misses home, the life he used to have, the one I'm pretty certain he took for granted and didn't realize would change as much as it has. For the first time ever, I see my grandfather as a person, not just my grandfather, and I feel this empathy welling up inside of me for where he is in life. He's trapped in this weird place, one in which he really has no freedom or home, in the biggest waiting room of all, waiting for the end to come.

My grandfather never sat still. Well not unless he had a bowl of ice cream or cut up cantaloupe. He had a garden in the backyard when I was little with beans, radishes, tomatoes, peppers, and muscadine vines. He piddled in his shed. He worked for a rent-a-car place picking up cars in different cities and driving them back to Montgomery. He went somewhere to play bingo, and all I understood about it as a child was that it wasn't somewhere ladies should go. He had this pillow thing that stayed on the ground in the back den of their house, and late in the afternoon, he'd lie down there on the beige carpet and get still enough to drift off to sleep. He took me and my little cousin for walks around the block, pushing her in a little umbrella stroller while I totted along on the side. He loved deeply but silently. He worked hard and slept hard. He never stilled his body unless he had to.

Today, I looked across the glass top table at this old man, deep wrinkles lining his face, eyes watering at the thoughts of times gone by and not to come again, and I realized that he is a man. Not just Grandaddy Norris. He is a man who has lived a full life, worked hard for the little bit he got, produced four off spring, lost one tragically too soon, watched his baby daughter fight cancer, watched his grandkids have kids of their own, watched the world change and grown and move too rapidly. And now he's forced to stop. And I really felt that in my bones today... really let it sink in. All those old people, the ones I try to smile at and speak kindly to when I visit, are people who have lived these once vivid lives quickly fading away.

Dear Lord... I thank you so much for my grandparents, the three I still have with me. I ask of you today that you ease their weary and confused minds, that you bring back up for them memories of the joy they've had, and peace for each day. Numb their longing to go back to their earthly home, and replace it with the promise of their home to come with You. In Jesus' precious and powerful name... Amen.

Sliding Doors...

2011-10-04T09:16:00.003-05:00

Does anyone out there remember a movie from the late 90's entitled Sliding Doors? I do... it starred Gwyneth Paltrow who happens to be one of my favorite actresses. It's been a long while since my only viewing of the movie, but its premise is one that has stuck with me and something I have contemplated over and over again throughout my life. The movie takes the main character (played by Gwyneth) and shows the viewer two different ways her life plays out in light of catching or missing her subway train. In one scenario, she catches her live-in boyfriend in bed with another woman prompting a break-up and romance with another man. In the other scenario, she misses the other woman completely and ends up pregnant with a cheating man's baby that she will lose through a miscarriage down the line. In both scenarios, she ends up with the same love interest. And that's what makes it all so fascinating... from totally opposite paths, the end result is the same.

It's the whole predestination theory taken to another (and specifically box-office, romantic) level. Am I predestined to be something specific, and does God get me there no matter what choices I make in life? Am I placed on earth to do specific things? What lengths will God use to put me where He wants me? It's a fascinating thought to me, and I am finding things in the Old Testament that intrigue me more about this subject. {Side note... I am still reading the Old Testament. Just finished the book of Genesis last week, and started on the book of Exodus this morning. It's a slow process at this point.}

Last week, I thought about it as I read the story of Joseph, as in the coat-of-many-colors Joseph who was sold into Egyptian slavery by his brothers because of their jealousy. Many will recall the way the brothers were reunited later in life when Joseph has become a person of honor in Egyptian society through interpreting Pharaoh's dream and therefore launching a plan that will save the Egyptians from a seven year famine. Joseph is reunited with his family, and he forgives. Several years later, after the death of their father, the brothers are afraid that Joseph's kindness will end. They sent a message to Joseph asking for forgiveness, and part of Joseph's response was this: "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." (Ex. 50:20)

Thinking back over Joseph's story, I realize this ~ his brothers wanted to kill him, but one brother, Reuben, convinced the others to just throw him into a cistern, and he planned to come back and to rescue Joseph and take him back to their father (Gen. 37:21-22). Reuben made a choice that saved Joseph's life and set about the chain of events that led him to Egypt to interpret the dream for Pharaoh. I am really amazed, however, to see the way Joseph puts it all together in the latter years of his life. He is fully aware that God has used his life circumstances to help others, to save lives, and he seems content with that.

This morning I read over the story of the birth of Moses. I remember the pretty illustrations of the baby in the basket, bisque porcelain skin swaddled in cloths and floating in the river. But this morning, I was reminded of the why. The Egyptian Pharaoh had ordered all male Hebrew babies born to be killed out of fear that the Hebrew nation would rise up against the Egyptians and take over with their rising population. Can you imagine what it must have felt like to be pregnant during that time as a Hebrew woman? I can't imagine a more helpless feeling than giving birth to a baby boy in those days. So, this woman gives birth to a boy, and she just can't bring herself to obey the Pharaoh's declaration, so she hides the infant for three months. When she couldn't hide him any longer, she fashions a reed basket and floats him in the Nile river, and sets her daughter on the bank to see what happens to him.

We know what happens next... the Pharaoh's daughter finds him, the sister steps in to suggest she find a Hebrew woman to nurse the baby, and the rest is literally history, or the story of Moses. Through this awful situation, the ordering of the slaughter of male babies, comes forth Moses. By way of an evil situation comes the deliverer of the people of Israel out of Egyptian slavery.

It shows me this about God... when doors are shut, whether sliding or not, He will find a way to bring forth what He purposes for us. My God can pull something good out of any situation in life. Look at Joseph. Look a Moses. And I am only in the first chapter of Exodus! Think of how many of these circumstances I will uncover throughout the reading of the Old Testament...

I am just amazed at God's power, His ability to weave people and circumstance together to work out His divine plan. And it makes me realize that when I am doubtful of decisions, when I am feeling like life's circumstances are unfair or too difficult to bear, all I need is faith in my God who can work all things together for His good. All things, no matter what's behind that sliding door.

Strange human phenomenons....

2011-10-03T09:54:00.002-05:00

There are a few strange human phenomenons...

~ The contagious yawn... happens when one person in a room yawns, and then, like the wave in crowded football stadium, the yawns domino through all the people.

~ The contagious itch... happens when you're around someone who is itching, and suddenly you find yourself scratching too.

~ The contagious nausea... happens when someone near or around you is throwing up and you catch yourself feeling a little putrid.

In all of these circumstances, you find yourself feeling the feelings of those around you. Why is that? What tells our brain to feel and act out what another person is feeling? I guess I could google and spend several wasted hours reading the explanation of the action. Instead, I will spend time entertaining a ten year old boy who's home from school today, feeling a little nauseous, cleaning up a rather large vomit spot on the carpet, and hoping that the yuk-up bug doesn't run through the entire household.

Almighty...

2011-09-26T08:31:00.003-05:00

Consistency... it's the rarity of life. Take, for instance, my exercise attempts; they are rarely consistent. Last Monday, I woke with a vigor to work my muscles. Tuesday morning, I was so sore I could barely move. My vigor turned sour in 24 hours time... I had over done, and that led me to under do. I find it difficult to maintain a steady pace in most everything I do in life, from exercise to Bible reading. But that's my humanity shining through.

When I think about consistency, I think God. He's right as rain all the time. He simply is, but His being a far greater than simple. The depths of God's existence are beyond comprehension, but they are steady. He was, He is, and He will continue to be. Before I was, He was. While I am, He is. And after I am gone, He will still be. There's joy in that for me, especially in this crazy modern world. We use a cup or a plate once and throw it away, so longevity has become something that can only be understood through God.

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. {Genesis 1:1-2}

This is what the LORD says - Israel's King and Redeemer, the LORD Almighty: I am the first and I am the last; apart from me there is no God. Isaiah 44:6

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End. Revelation 22:13

There's comfort in consistency. There's comfort in knowing that a being far greater than my comprehension was there in the beginning and will be there in the end. In fact, He was there before the beginning and will carry on past the end. Before there was structure, God was. He created the structure. He has overseen the advances of culture and society. He will call it all to an end one day. He will continue past His designated end of days. He will reign forever more. In that belief lies hope. Just to believe it, accept it as Truth, bubbles up a feeling of joy within me.

And maybe that's what we need a little more if these days in our world. Simple belief in God's magnificence. In His existence. To believe that He is who He says He is. That He can do anything. That He is alive. Many of us say that we believe, but do we really? Do we really stop each day and consider how He is in control of this big rock we are spinning on? That in one millionth of a second He could call it all to stop? Do we really soak up the power and glory that is God? I don't... but I can only speak for myself.

This week, I really want to pause and think about God. Not about reading my Bible and praying for all the sick and struggling people I know of. I want to see Him in all that's around me. I want to think about His power and strength and majesty. I want to consider Him as the Almighty. What a beautiful term... almighty. It's defined as having absolute power over all. Absolute. I don't know of any absolutes on this crazy earth other than God. Do you?

Lord... I want to know you as Almighty. I want to feel it in my imperfect self and put it to work. I want You to work your absolute power within me so that I can be closer to the person You want me to be. Amen.

Perspective

2011-09-23T10:34:00.002-05:00

I have a long list of errands to run today. My house is a mess. The washer and dryer are both spinning right now. My face is broken out. My hair looks unkept. I am twenty pounds heavier than I should be. I am less than what I want to be.

But I am trying to keep the right perspective.

Yesterday gave me all the perspective I needed. I sat in a crowded waiting room observing those around me, taking in the many faces of sickness. There was one young man, looked to be in his 30's, bald head, red around the eyes, mask covering his mouth and nose. He and his wife passed an Ipad back and forth taking turns amusing themselves with the most modern toy. He had a thick book from a library as well, choosing to read it when his healthy looking wife monopolized the gadget. Cancer.

There was an old woman, thin and frail in stature but for a distended abdomen. She was alone and confused about her appointment time when my mother and I entered the lab for blood work. I noticed her again when she came into the large waiting room and sat beside me, still alone. Alone. Cancer.

There was a middle-aged man wheeled into the waiting room by one of the friendly red-shirted escorts seen all over the hospital granting rides to patients across the floor or to the parking deck. He was weak and stood with the assistance of a cane to get close enough to the chair to sit down. His wife carried a sick pan, rose colored plastic, the staple of every hospital room across America. She handed the pan to him, and he placed it on the floor in between his black Under Armor athletic shoes, resting his head on his knee and covering his face with the hood on his fleece jacket. Every so often, the man would spit into the pan. He raised up to relax, and I caught a glimpse of him resting his head on his wife's shoulder, eyes closed and appearing almost at peace for a minute. Cancer.

A woman sat with her back to me. Her hair caught my eye, and from my shopping excursion the other day with my mother, I could tell it was a wig. It just sat too perfectly, and the color didn't look quite right even for a salon color job. It was pretty, but it wasn't natural. Cancer.

If there's anything that will put the laundry pile and to-do list in perspective, it's sitting in that waiting room taking it all in. Taking in each face, each family, each loved one touched by this wretched disease. Cancer knows no boundaries and shows no favoritism. It doesn't care how much or how little you have, how old or how young. When it attacks, it goes at its victim in full force, no holding back. Cancer doesn't care if you've got a laundry basket full of dirty unmentionables or a backseat full of children or a life ahead of you. Cancer has no feelings, no mercy.

Cancer has made me realize what is important in life, and it has nothing to do with how many errands I can run in two hour's time, how clean my kitchen floor is, or how perfectly coordinated my wardrobe looks. It's about the laughter with loved ones, the shoulders I have to rest my head on when I'm weary, and the people I want to lean on me when they need a break. It's about people, relationships, and the miraculous love of God that's inside us all. It's about spreading that love, that hope, to as many as we can in every opportunity available to us.

So let's all try to keep it in perspective today.

A whole new kind of shopping...

2011-09-21T10:25:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, my mom and I took a little shopping excursion.

Several days ago, she told me that it was coming out in hands full. Her hair, that is. She knew that it would all be gone in not much time, so she wanted to go ahead and find a wig. I told her I could take her, so off we went.

I didn't know until yesterday that cancer patients can visit their local chapter of the American Cancer Society to pick up a wig for free. My mother purchased her last wig for several hundred dollars, but it was never very comfortable. So she decided to take the one she had and trade it in for another.

We were led to a little room with a lighted mirror and several different styles and colors displayed. The lady that helped us pulled out bins full of options organized by color and length and style. After trying on several different wigs, my mother settled on one, a style and color a little more spunky than what she's been sporting. It's more red and the style is a little sassier, and her whole face lit up when she saw herself in it, so I knew it was the one.

I remember when I went bridal gown shopping (the first wasted time around) and I walked out of the dressing room in the gown I would eventually choose... her face lit up at the sight of me in the gown, and that's really what led me to choose it. I liked the way she thought I looked in it. I liked her reaction to me in it. It's how I wanted to be seen on that day, and so it's the one I picked. When I saw that same look on her face in the wig she selected, I knew it was the one for her. It's how she wants to be seen... a little spunkier, sassier and more red than what she was losing. She looks beautiful in it.

I had the pleasure to see a gorgeous human hair wig as well. I had never seen one, but boy are they different! It's like a real head of hair that you can run your fingers through and style with curling irons or other heated tools. I have been growing my hair out to donate, but until yesterday, was uncertain of which company I would be sending my locks. Pantene Beautiful Lengths takes donated hair and turns them into FREE human hair wigs for women fighting cancer! FREE! The Montgomery chapter of the American Cancer Society only had one wig while we were there yesterday, but she said that a lady had just walked out with the other one they had a few days before. She told us that they never really know what they'll have or which styles or colors will come in, and the patients that happen upon the right color, length, and style of human hair wig are incredibly blessed. It certainly reignited my passion to donate my healthy head of hair and keep it growing!

So, is anyone else out there interested in donating? Click here to read the details... watch the video. It's several minutes long, but it's more than worth your time. And grow, grow, grow that hair to make some one's recovery and battle against cancer a tiny bit better.

Miss Merry

2011-09-17T07:54:00.002-05:00

I just deleted another email in my spam folder. This one was different, and I almost opened it just to see what it was all about because of one thing... it was from Miss Merry.

I could use a little Miss Merry in my life.

Things are settling down in my life for a little while. My mother got a good report on Thursday at her oncologist's office. The chemo is working, and my dad said that the oncologist actually smiled when he said the words significant improvement to my mother about her liver functions. I think that's the first time we've heard the word improvement at all in our second journey through the cancer battle field. She will have another treatment this coming Thursday, and we can rest a little easy in knowing that they have found a medicine to keep her cancer in check for a little while. That means more time with my sweet Mama, and that is precious news.

But I still find my emotions in overdrive. In the midst of the obvious issue of my life ~ my mother's illness ~ also comes a job change for my husband, battling through fifth grade homework and attitude, and fibromyalgia overload. My brain cells are whirling and twirling at various speeds in my mind, and I honestly feel like I am going nuts. I am not spending enough time with God, and it shows.

I know all the verses about not worrying and not being anxious and prayer and petition to God, but when you try to play it out in real time, sometimes things don't go as planned. When you carry the weight in your heart instead of on your shoulders, things feel different. Try as we may, there are times in life when letting go and letting God is more difficult than we anticipate. My level of anxiety has reached an all time high in the last few weeks, and rightfully so. And in the wake of good news, it's taking some time for my insides to slow down, for the imaginary propeller to slow itself down after the motor has been turned off.

What I have learned in the past few weeks is this... no matter what I am doing in life, I need my time with God. When I skip out on that quiet time with Him, I suffer. And then everyone in my household suffers. I bubble and boil over, and it's not pretty.

So this morning I am pondering this verse in a different light...

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." Psalm 139:23-24

See if there is any offensive way in me... that's the part I am pondering this morning. Slow me down, Lord, and lead me. Maybe I will find Miss Merry.

Well, here goes...

2011-09-13T07:48:00.002-05:00

I'm not much of a blogger lately. Every time I sit down to write a post, I just can't finish it. But here's my attempt to catch up all of those on the edge of their seat for an update on my life!

My mother had an impromptu appointment with her oncologist last Thursday. She was scheduled for her second round of chemo, but with all the problems she had been having, he wanted to see her. In fact, he made a special trip to the office to do so (she was scheduled for lab work at 9:00, and he doesn't see patients until 1:00 in the afternoon). He's a pretty amazing doctor. Her liver functions had improved, and the doctor decided to put the treatment off a week to give her a chance to rest a little and in hopes that some of her negative side effects would diminish. As of yesterday, she is still in a lot of pain. She's experiencing sores in her mouth, under her tongue, and some in the upper part of her throat. Please continue to pray for her... even if the chemo is doing its job, if she's in as much pain an discomfort as she is, it makes every day difficult for her. She will have her 2nd round this Thursday, and prayers are greatly appreciated.

We took Madalyn to her first Auburn game this past Saturday. We scored eight free tickets from a friend of ours, so our family and Scott's brother and his little boy made the trip. That left us two extra seats and plenty of room to breathe. On the way to the game, Madalyn seemed to be most excited to see Aubie, which surprised me a little. I figured she'd be most interested in the cheerleaders. We sat pretty high... perhaps the highest I have ever sat at a game. But we were able to see everything, and don't forget the word FREE. Madalyn had a great time and didn't really complain until the end of the 3rd quarter, at which time a trip to the concession stand for a $5.50 funnel cake and a sit down in the shade to eat it calmed her spirits and put her back in the mood to cheer her Auburn Tigers on to a nail-biting victory.

Yesterday afternoon, I went and picked up my mom and brought her back up to Alabaster to watch Madalyn cheer. I was so glad that she felt up to doing it. The weather was perfect, which is rare in Alabama ever, much less this time of year. It was warm, but not hot or humid, and the air cooled off nicely as the sun went down. Madalyn was so excited to have her Gammie there, and I was able to get her a chair in just the right spot to see her well. It really ended up being the perfect experience, and Scott was able to tend to the kids while I picked up and dropped off my mother. Seeing both my mother and my daughter smiling because of one another made me smile on the inside. There really are no words for that...

I'm working away on my necklaces, and coming up with some new ideas. I've been tossing one idea around in my head for a very long time, and I think I have finally come up with a way of bringing it to fruition. We'll see. The ideas aren't the hard part... putting it all together is. But that's also the fun... I really enjoy using my creative spirit and my hands to make something beautiful, and I am so grateful to have it as a diversion right now. Beyond grateful.

Okay... not my typical post. But I am not my typical self right now. I can't explain the things going on within me, and I wish I could wax poetic on some random topic, but it's just not in me right now... hoping it returns soon. I miss me. Well, you know what I mean...

Crazy kind of lovely...

2011-09-07T07:52:00.003-05:00

I have a love hate relationship with leaves. Yes... leaves. Seems strange, I know, but if you lived my life, you'd share the passion for the leaves that hovers over the invisible line between love and hate. I promise.

Tropical Storm Lee breezed through on Sunday. It rained, and rained, and then rained some more. And the wind ~ my word, the wind gusts were amazing! The weather man said our gusts topped out at 35 miles per hour, but I think they were a little stronger than that. Street signs were blown off their posts and healthy branches knocked from their trees. And there were approximately five billion leaves in the pool. No exaggeration... five billion. A lot. In the top, in the bottom, in the skimmers. They were all over the pool deck, stuck to the side of the house, and covering the grass. It's not even officially fall, and I would guesstimate that between 10 and 15 % of the leaves are already down.

Here's where the hate part of the relationship with the leaves comes in; it's all about the pool. I love the leaves when they are turning colors on the trees or when they are blowing in the breeze an making that pretty sound that only leaves can. But when there are 5 billion of them in the pool that have to come out, I am not so fond of them. Their beauty and purpose takes a back burner to my aggravation with them.

Yesterday afternoon, I arrived home around 2:40 from a day at my mom's house. She's not well. That's the best way I can phrase it... she's just not well anymore. I did a few things there, and we had lunch together, and I came home and sat in my chair in complete silence until my kids walked in the door from school. When they went to play with friends, I got out the blower and set to work, bad attitude about the stinking leaves in tow. Step one of the removal process was to blow all the leaves off the pool deck and the patio areas. As I blew, the sound of the gas motor lulled my mind into this weird state of consciousness, thinking about everything but nothing at all. I began to notice little flickers of color here and there. Gold. Bright orange. Deep red. Stunning greens. And then I heard this little voice say to me...

There is beauty in everything.

Amidst a sea of annoying leaves were these bursts of vivid colors. They stood out so much though they were infinitely smaller in number from the brownish dying ones. And so I thought about my mom, about her hurting, her struggling for air, her fighting this horrific fight that no one should have to battle through. And I realized that I can find little specks of beauty throughout it all. They are small... minute in comparison to all the ugly she's dealing with... but they are there. Bits of color. Bits of crazy beauty. Bits of brightness and boldness.

I can't explain this feeling, this mourning and pain that comes along with watching a loved one suffer. There is no word in the English language to encompass it. But one piece of beauty that streams forth from it is letting go of my own selfishness. Learning to be of service to someone you love. Learning to pray differently. Learning to let go of my will and truly seek out His. Learning to literally set out blindly in faith that He will take care of her needs, my needs, my father's needs , and my brothers as He has promised so many times in the Word. Learning that the depth of my pain is equal to the worth my mother has brought to my life. Amidst all these ugly bits of brown and fading green pop forth the little specks of brightness. My battle is to hold on to those somehow... to keep my focus on the beautiful and not the ugliness. By no means is this an easy task.

And, so, this will be my prayer...

... See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If this is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, "What shall we eat?" or "What shall we drink?" or "What shall we wear?" For the pagans run after all these things, and your Heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Matthew 6:28-34

I used to think this Scripture applied more to worrying about financial needs, but now I see it in a different light. It's worrying about earthly needs, which is much broader than just clothing and food. I long to let go of my earthly needs and lean more on the Father. He has everything under his control, right down to the minute wildflowers that burst forth in bright color amidst the grasses and weeds of the field. And if that's not a crazy kind of lovely, then I don't know what is.

The Saturday Song

2011-09-02T07:40:00.005-05:00

I have this memory.

My tiny body fit perfectly in her lap, feet dangling over her knees. One hand reached for the warmth of her coffee cup, the contents smelling better than they tasted. I had tasted Daddy's coffee one morning in the kitchen when no one was looking, and it made no sense to me why anyone drank it.

No one else was awake. My two brothers were still asleep in the second bedroom on the left down the hall. A wall separated our color schemes... mine all girly yellow gingham bedding, one wall of tiny yellow flowered wall paper, complete with green and white shag carpet, theirs red, white and blue with bunk beds and dirty clothes on the floor. My daddy was probably asleep, too; he worked a paper route and would often crawl back in bed after throwing countless numbers of rolled papers out the window before the sun came up.

In that moment, it was just me and her, the girls of the house, with our matching brown hair and brown eyes. We probably talked about what we'd do that day. It was Saturday, a day different from any other in the week. A day of nothingness with no work or school or hustle or bustle. A day to spend any way we saw fit. And she had a song about it... we called it the Saturday Song. So she sang it for me as I sat in her lap, and we relished in the promise of the beautiful Saturday ahead of us.

Today is not Saturday at all. It's Friday. But I woke with the Saturday Song on my mind. I woke with my mother on my mind. I woke thinking of her, who she is, who she has been for me, who she makes me want to be.

I'll have the Saturday song stuck in my head all day long.

Blogger's Block

2011-08-29T11:22:00.002-05:00

I have a roaring case of Blogger's block.

I can't say that I've ever been this blocked before.

Even as I try to write about not being able to write, I don't know what to write.

Why is that?

I always have something to say about everything, even when you'd rather not hear what I have to say.

Maybe tomorrow, lightening will strike the top of my head, and I'll have words in my brain to share.

Maybe not.

Until then...

A little on Leah...

2011-08-25T07:51:00.004-05:00

In my quest to read the Old Testament, I am building my personal outline of who God is. I've always had a curious soul, one that has questioned things in my mind from a very early age. In my very young youth, I thought it was weird that we had to get dressed up to go to church; I didn't think God would care what we wore as long as we were there. This was back in the day when most women were frowned upon for wearing pants to church, and my daddy seldom crossed the threshold without a tie. I remember thinking at an early age that the days discussed in the creation story in Genesis were probably not days like we now experience at all. I felt like God wouldn't himself to any human-bred concept such as the 24 hour day. Basically, I found myself in a cycle of questioning things in my mind, not in a doubtful manner, but rather in a isn't there more sort of way. And that's how I approach the Scriptures...

Isn't there more? Isn't there a better way to look at things than how someone else has told me to look at them? Can't I find it for myself... form my own opinions, find my own relationship with my Maker, discover who He is in terms of how He wants to speak to me through His divine Word?

My son, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding, and if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as silver and search for it as hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God. For the LORD gives wisdom, and from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. Proverbs 2:1-6

And so, as it's promised in Proverbs, God will give us what we need when we seek Him. He will help us understand when we approach the Scriptures. I'll admit that I don't get a lot of things I read, especially the first time, and that's why I read things again. And again. And sometimes again. Each time I read, something else is revealed. It's like a puzzle, yet more intricate than that of a three dimensional cardboard cutout. It's multidimensional, playing off my life and experiences, ministering to my need at the very moment I read a passage. That's why I adore reading my Bible so much, and my sincerest wish is that it would mean that much to anyone reading these words right now.

So that's why little phrases and words stick out to me. Like my reading yesterday, I saw this little obscure statement: When the LORD saw that Leah was not loved, he opened her womb. (Gen.29:31)

I had this one little brain cell in the back of my mind that recalled the names Rachel and Leah, but I as I read the story through adult eyes, I realized, yet again, that I had been given the edited version (and for incredibly obvious reasons). The short version is that Jacob wanted to marry Rachel, Laban (Rachel's father) tricks Jacob by giving his eldest daughter, Leah, to him instead. When Jacob discovers the substitution, he works out a deal to have Rachel as well. Yep... married sisters. You can't make this stuff up, folks. In verse 30, the Scriptures say that "he loved Rachel more than Leah."

How sad. I think back to my high school years when I was jilted for another girl. That happened a lot in my dating experiences, so bringing those feelings back up is no problem. I would feel so less than, so unappealing, so unloved and unworthy. I can't imagine having to share my husband with another woman. I mean, sure, it would be nice to divvy up the household chores with another chick, but at the end of the day, I would not want to compete with another for my husband's attention. Now imagine it's your sister who has been the more beautiful of the two girls in the house (verse 17). It breaks my heart. So that's why when I read that God saw that Leah was not loved, it just really spoke to me.

God saw it. Then He did something for her. Wow.

So, here's my question, and maybe what I am trying to find out as I search the Scripture: does God do this today? Does He see our hurt, pain, trials, injustice and then touch our lives in some way? In a tangible way? For Leah, He opened her womb and she conceived Jacob's first child. It didn't make Jacob love her, and it really led to a strange baby-making competition between the two sisters that I won't get into, but God saw a hurt and did something to make Leah feel better. Does He do that for us today?

I think He does. I've always felt that way, but I am seeing now in these crazy, uncivilized stories with unspeakable characters that He's always done it, even to the undeserving. I would like to think of it as God's way of drawing us near in our state of feeling unloved (as with Leah) or unworthy. In the darkest parts of our life, perhaps God brings a tiny little speck of joy to show us He's still there. Like yesterday, my speck of joy was that one sentence that God saw Leah... my heart literally turned over when I read it. If He saw Leah, then He sees me.

He sees me. You are the God that sees me.

The past week or two have been tough for me. I can't tell you how many posts I've sat down to write and then deleted. How many times my husband has asked me, "Are you okay?" How many days I've just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep the day away. God sees me. He's aware of my feelings, my battles, my worries. He cares about me as much as He cared for Leah. And I found that as comforting as a warm blanket fresh from the tumbling dryer.

Wrap yourself up in it, too, why don't you...

Just not morning people...

2011-08-23T08:02:00.002-05:00

I am not a morning person. At all. I don't like to wake up, and when I finally do, I don't really like to talk to anyone for at least a solid hour or two. I can't say how old I was when I started disliking mornings, but I remember in high school carefully calculating how late I could sleep and still make it to school on time with my hair fixed. I was never late but was a master of the snooze button. It's an art, you know.

Fast forward twenty years and I have my own snoozer. She doesn't like mornings, and she's only SIX. God help me when her hormone levels teeter back and forth, up and down, and she stays up too late talking on the phone to some dreamy eyed teenage boy. I will need an IV drip of all sorts of medication. I am pretty sure that she'll be tardy for school once she's old enough to drive herself. I am pretty sure that our mornings will continue to grow more difficult by the year. And I am not looking forward to it.

This morning, she was tired. Then she was cold. Stomach hurt. Foot hurt when we put shoes on. Ear hurt when I accidentally bumped it with the comb during the detangling process. Dear me. There were tears and pleas to stay home, to go back to bed, to hold Piggie, her beloved sleep companion. Mornings like these rip my heart out, test my patience, make me want to scream and do a shot of whiskey before 8 AM...

It's tough, being a mom. Finding the balance of tenderness and firmness. Madalyn is one of those children that makes the line of balance even more blurred. I want to hug her and tell her that all will be fine, but then she just cries in my ear, which makes me want to pull my hair out. So, I softly reassure her that she will feel better once she gets to school and moves around a bit, and I dress her, tie her shoes, comb her hair, wipe the tears from her little face, and physically carry her to the car, wishing all the while that she wouldn't do this EVER.

What can I say? We're just not morning people, me and her. Though I've never done my mornings with alligator tears...

Scriptural Affirmations

2011-08-20T08:31:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, I spent much of my morning searching the pages of both my Bibles. Looking. Reading. Finding the places I had highlighted or underlined. Gasping for encouragement as though it were oxygen.

I am a little sad right now. It's the weirdest kind of sad, though. One I've never quite felt before. Over the past year and a half, I have done a good job putting my mother's illness in its own box, labeling it, and keeping it contained. But now my mother's cancer doesn't fit in the box I originally placed it in, and I find myself searching, searching, searching for one big enough to put it in. What I am finding out is that it just doesn't fit in anything.

If you don't know my mother very well, then you don't know the full situation. Over the past several weeks, her overall quality of life has declined quite drastically. The shortness of breath, once blamed by the build up of fluid around her lungs, has gotten worse. Now that procedures have been done on both sides and the fluid is practically gone, there's not much of a medical reason for the shortness of breath she experiences now other than scar tissue from the two previous drain procedures. During her past two trips to the Kirklin Clinic, she's used a borrowed wheel chair to get around. She's stayed home for a solid week because of the shortness of breath. On top of that, her pain level has increased. She's not feeling well, and it hurts to see that.

So, that's what drags me down a little these days. Before, I knew my mom had cancer, but she still looked the same, acted the same, was able to do most everything she wanted to do. Now she struggles for a full breath of air and, though she very seldom complains about anything, I can sense her frustration.

So, I searched yesterday for some Scriptural affirmations. I needed them. I longed for them. I want so desperately to bathe myself in them... to feel their effects on my soul... to believe and experience them fully...

You, O LORD, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light. With your help I can advance against a troop; with my God I can scale a wall. Psalm 18:28-29

The LORD sits enthroned over the flood; the LORD is enthroned as King forever. The LORD gives strength to his people; the LORD blesses his people with peace. Psalm 29:10-11

O LORD, be gracious to us; we long for you. Be our strength every morning, our salvation in times of distress. Isaiah 33:2

You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. Trust in the LORD forever, for the LORD, the LORD, is the Rock eternal. Isaiah 26:3-4

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. {Jesus} John 14:27

Yes. I want to bathe in these today. I want to feel them in my bones.

2011-08-18T16:03:00.002-05:00

Sadness has hovered over me today the way moisture sticks to air molecules here in the south. You can't see the humidity, but you can feel it, and it's thick.

Today was my mom's first round of chemo, and I have determined myself to be a part of her treatment. The last time she battled through chemo, Madalyn was still a tiny tot, David was in pre-school, and I was just plain unable to be there. This time, the situation is quite different. I have from 8 until 3 everyday, and if I can make a treatment to sit and visit with both my mom and dad, that's what I'll do. I had my own appointment to attend at 10:30, and then I headed straight over to the Kirklin Clinic, the eighth wonder of the world.

I found my mama in a room amidst dozens of patients all covered in the same beige hospital blankets. Some were sleeping, some snacking, some reading or listening to music. Some were alone. Maybe some had loved ones outside waiting on them, but I knew that not all of them did. Some were literally all alone. Some had hair. Some did not. There were men and women, all variations of skin color, and all shapes and sizes and ages. Cancer shows no favoritism.

The smile on my mom's face when she saw me made the battle through the traffic of crazy downtown Birmingham worth every second and muttered foul word. I will be there next time and each time after that. I guess I want to share the experience with her as much as I can. Since I can't take the cancer away from her, I'll sit beside her. We'll talk and laugh. We'll visit as though we're sitting in her living room on her comfy couch. Today, we shared a cookie. That, my friends, is about as normal as it gets for me and mom... enjoying chocolate.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband shared with me the story of a little girl, my daughter's age, battling cancer. It's the daughter of a women he knew through his old job, and he reminded me that we had met at a car function when we were both pregnant. I remembered the mom, and I found the support group on Facebook a few days later and began following her Caring Bridge site.

Little Lindsey met Jesus this afternoon. How sweet for her; how immensely painful for her parents and family. I can't wrap my brain around losing my precious Madalyn. I can't imagine not seeing her big brown eyes every morning, sleepy still stuck in the corners. I can't imagine not fighting with her over what she'll wear (or not wear) to school. I can't imagine not seeing her grow up, become a woman, and have a couple of kids of her own. Do you see why the sadness is the sticky air around me today...

I am asking anyone reading this post, where ever you may be, to pray for this family that just lost their Lindsey today. Let's just cover them in prayer. I don't really know them, but I feel so compelled to ask for prayers on their behalf.

You know, cancer really sucks, in case you haven't already figured that out.

One of those mornings...

2011-08-17T09:11:00.002-05:00

It's Wednesday. I've gotten up three straight mornings this week at 6:25. I'm tired. And I am having a morning. One of those mornings. And I know you know what I mean, so don't even pretend you don't have those mornings, too.

David has been looking for his MP3 player for the past two days. Mind you this is the MP3 player we purchased about three months ago to replace the one that fell out of his pocket onto the street in front of our house and was subsequently ridden over by an innumerable amount of cars. Needless to say, that one went kaput. Mom and Dad felt a little sorry for the boy as music is one of his most favoritist things in the whole wide world. I think David had about half of the amount for a snazzy new one, so we funded the rest.

So last night, when David told me that he thought he had it in his pocket on Saturday, you'll understand why my head began spinning and my eyes popped out of my head.

"Oh, so you put it in your pocket? Cause we've never done that before, huh David? We haven't learned that lesson yet..."

Crazy Mama favors the tone of sarcasm, if you haven't figured that out yet.

In my mind, the shiny new black Sony MP3 was in the gutter down the street in a million pieces. Boy was I wrong. This morning, I opened the washer to transfer the wet clothes into the dryer, and pulled out a long wire with little ear buds on the end. Please tell me NO. There it was, still black and definitely shiny {and clean}, but, as one might guess, not in working order.

Dear me.

I know this stuff is not the necessary stuff of life, but rather the marshmallow fluff on top, but it doesn't make the demise of the Sony Walkman any easier to swallow.

To add insult to injury, as I put the spoon to my mouth to taste my homemade healthy breakfast of brown sugar cinnamon oatmeal, I hit my front tooth just right and chipped it a bit. Not awfully, but just enough that I can feel it and know that it's there. Luckily, it's on the same tooth that already had a little chip on it from the nasty {not to mention incredibly intoxicated} old guy that was trying to dance with me waaaaaaaaaaay back in the day to some cover band in a disgusting bar and knocked my beer bottle into my tooth as I was trying to take a swig. See, those were the days that I had those kind of nights.

Anywho. That's my morning. Nothing to write a press release about, but things that require me to take long deep breaths and exhale with fervor.

Stains on the felt board...

2011-08-16T07:54:00.005-05:00

In Sunday school as a child, we had a felt board. Please tell me I am not the only one who remembers such a remarkable invention as the felt board...

As the teacher recounted a story from the Bible that had been carefully edited to suit the age of the children listening, he or she would add little felt people and articles onto the board. Watching the story unfold in little felt pieces sort of illustrated the story in front of you in place of a movie or people acting it out. It was just a way to visually reinforce the lesson in a cost and time efficient manner.

I think I might enjoy playing with the felt board even now. I digress, though.

Anywho... in reading through Genesis the past week, I've noticed a few stories and characters we didn't cover on the felt board. Like, for instance, I don't remember the times Abraham lied about the identity of his wife. He told the folks in Egypt she was his sister, and the Pharaoh took Sarah in as his wife. It wasn't until the Lord inflicted disease upon Pharaoh's household that the lie was discovered (Gen. 12:10-20). Then Abraham did it again in another place, Gerar, telling everyone that Sarah was his sister, and Abimelech took her in. But in this account we learn that it was only a partial lie... how is it that that in all the times I sat through Sunday school I never learned that Sarah was Abraham's half sister? Abraham and Sarah shared the same father but not the same mother (Gen. 20:12).

How about this one...I never heard the story of Lot and his daughters after they fled the city of Sodom. Did you realize that once their mother turned to a pillar of salt, they got their father drunk and both had sex with him so that they could carry on their family name (Gen. 20:30-37)?

Did you realize that once Noah finally got out of that ark, the one he meticulously built with his own hands per precise instruction from God, he planted a vineyard, got drunk off its wine, and passed out naked in his tent (Gen. 9:20-27)?

I don't even want to get into the men of Sodom and what Lot said he'd do to appease them (Gen. 19:1-9)... did you realize he offered up his two virgin daughters to a mob of angry men? Did you see that one on the felt board? I certainly didn't.

Y'all... this is not righteous, holy stuff. This is dirty, barbaric, uncivilized behavior. And, to be honest, I don't understand it. I don't know why it stands out to me this time around in reading, but it does. The ugliness, the unspeakable sins that some of these characters were guilty of, just jumps out from the page at me during this trip through Genesis as though I have never read it before.

There must be something we can learn from these mistakes in the Old Testament. I think of all the weird things I have read, it was Abraham's lies that surprised me the most, especially considering they led to the turning over of his own wife to another man, not once, but twice. Yet the Lord found favor in him, making a covenant with him (Gen 17) and listening to his plea to find innocent men in Sodom before destroying the entire city (Gen 18:16-33). What this says to me is that the felt board character of Abraham, white beard flowing down to his chest, was not altogether accurate. He wasn't this stand-up guy of reverence and perfection. He lied. He gave into impatience and slept with his wife's maidservant to rush the plan of the Lord for an heir (Gen. 16:1-4). He doubted and even laughed at the Lord's promise of a son through Sarah (Gen 17:17). I am amazed at his imperfection and unrighteousness. But through his mistakes, he learned faith. Through his wrongs, he drew closer to this Lord who fulfilled His promises and maintained His covenant despite Abraham's screw ups.

Remember God's request for Abraham to sacrifice his promised son through Sarah? Remember the journey to the mountains, the binding of his son, Isaac, in preparation for sacrifice? As I read the familiar story this morning, it took on a different meaning in my heart. Because of what Abraham had been through with the Lord, the promises fulfilled despite his mistakes, he was able to live boldly through faith (Gen. 22:12).

Now I see the adult version of the felt board, the one with all the stains of sin. Aren't we all guilty of a few unmentionables ourselves? Don't we all have bits and pieces of our lives that aren't meant fit for children's story time? I do... and what the rest of the story will tell you is that for some crazy reason, the Lord has found favor in me, and He has spared me, saw me through it all. And now, as I read through His amazing Word, I find that through these trials comes strength of faith, appreciation, realization of His unending love. With all that comes this desire to do better, to follow in obedience, to learn the way He would have me go.

Oh the beauty of the Word...

The moments...

2011-08-12T07:36:00.002-05:00

Certain moments in life freeze in time like an image captured to film. As the years flow on, my collection of still frames are tucked away and organized in my mind. Some are joyous, some hysterically funny, some precious, some sad.

I will never forget the day I got the phone call. It was late afternoon, and I stood at the dryer, large metal mouth open, heat still pouring out from the mound of fresh clothing inside, pulling out the items one by one and hanging them on sturdy white plastic hangers. I heard the ring, saw that it was my father's cell phone, not one that calls my house very often. I continued my chore as I answered a call that would change my life forever.

"Hello..."

"Tamara..."

"Hey, Daddy... what's going on?"

Pause. I could feel it over the phone. How that's possible, I will never understand, but my heart, it fell down to the floor, and he hadn't even uttered a single word yet.

"It's your mom... she..."

"Dad, what's going on?"

"She has cancer..."

That moment is frozen solid as an ice cube in my mind. I don't remember much after those few words. The 24 hours to follow was a time-warped blur of packing up my kids, driving to my mother's house, and taking her to an appointment the following day. The months that followed encompassed chemo, surgery, radiation. Watching someone suffer is one of the most helpless feelings I have ever experienced. If am suffering, I can compartmentalize it, make sense of it in my own way, and deal with it on my terms. But watching someone you love so dearly suffer... well, it's almost unbearable.

The moments. The call that it had returned. The call that it was spreading. The call that the treatment wasn't working. The call that chemo would start next week. The calls... there have been many. Many moments. More snapshots of my life to tuck away, to store in the midst of the normal everyday stuff. The conversations with my mother, the laughs, the visits eating Blizzards and shopping for shoes. It's so hard to reconcile between the two... they don't seem like they belong together.

Next week, my mother will begin a different phase of treatment, one her doctor has worked so hard to delay. Chemo. Her spirits are good. She is incredibly strong. We really weren't surprised. Over the last several weeks, she hadn't been feeling her normal self, and, as her doctor says, the way she feels says a lot. The scan yesterday revealed there had been some growth in her liver. How significant, I am not really sure. And, in all honesty, when fighting her type of cancer, hot spots in different areas of the body, I think it's almost irrelevant. One thing I've learned through this experience is patience. Oncologists have to be among the most intelligent people in the world, and they couple that with the amazing virtue of patience. They know what to try first, and then have the patience to give that treatment an opportunity to work. And that's what we'll do again. Try something new. Wait back and see. Pray and wait. Enjoy her and wait. Keep living and wait. The hard part's in the waiting.

I will close with my cancer verse. I've called it my cancer verse in my mind for quite some time now. There's so much talk among the media and the world about hope for the cure. My hope, however, doesn't lie in a cure, in a doctor, in a medicine, in this world or anything of it.

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. Romans 15:13

Amen.

First Day

2011-08-11T15:45:00.002-05:00

Dear Lord...

Thank you for these precious gifts, the ones that drive me to the brink of insanity some days and keep me from it on others. I look in their eyes and see the purity of life I once enjoyed. They make me long for a betterness of self. They bring me closer to You in ways nothing else on this strange earth can.

Protect them. Keep them safe from those that don't have the best of intentions. Circle them in Your presence.

My son, Lord, help him keep his mind focused. Help him believe in himself, that he knows simple math, that he can multiple and add and subtract without using his little fingers. Just help him learn that he can call on You for help even in his classroom, even for attention on a test or completing an assignment.

My daughter, Lord, help her shed her nervousness. Help her grow in her school activities, in writing and reading and math. Help her learn to never short change what she can do.

Their teachers, Lord, I thank You so much for them. Their jobs are so difficult. Give them the patience and the energy. Give them adequate words. Give them loving arms when they are needed. Give them peace.

In You Son's holy name, I pray...

Amen.

The God who sees me...

2011-08-11T12:03:00.002-05:00

Oh, I've had a million blog posts running through my head at lightening speed over the past couple of days. Maybe I can begin to better collect my thoughts since the kids are BACK IN SCHOOL!!!! {Cue angelic music, choir singing Hallelujah!}

As I have posted about before, I am reading through the Old Testament. Most of it is a re-read. But this go-around, I am starting at the beginning and reading through all the way. No excuses. If I find myself getting confused or bored between the long lists of names and places I cannot pronounce, I will pray for divine intervention.

This morning, my reading picked up with Abram. I remember learning about Abram in Sunday school, his white beard down to his chest, and his poor plumpy wife, Sarai, who was barren. Here's a funny... when you're a kid, and you don't quite understand what certain words (like barren) mean anyway, you immediately equate them to something you do know. My grandparents had a dog named Barron, different spelling, of course, but in 2nd grade, I can't say that I knew that. I knew hearing the word and the story that barren was negative, and it meant she couldn't have children, which was so sad. To this day, I think about that dog when I see the term in the Bible, because we all know it's not a term used anymore. Anywho... that was completely off the subject, but I felt the need to share what I was thinking about in Sunday school when the teachers were adding Sarai to the felt board. I was thinking about that dog at my grandparent's lake cabin.

So I got to the point in the story when Sarai became anxious and impatient. I assume that's what she was... the Lord had promised Abram that he would be the father of many nations, that his descendants would be like the number of stars in the sky. Yet Sarai still had no baby to hold. Wow... how many women today feel like that as well. They pray and wait and pray and wait, and yet still no baby. So, Sarai went to her husband and said she'd give her maidservant, Hagar, over to him in hopes of yielding a descendant.

See... here's where I think the Old Testament is hard to take sometimes. These folks lived a wee bit differently than this Crazy Mama. I won't be handing over any women of any kind to my husband! But I know that in Old Testament Times, it was not uncommon for men to have multiple wives. So I just have to weed through all the uncivilized, barbaric types of behavior of gleam from it any tidbit of wisdom that I can. And in the midst of this odd tale of wife handing over another woman to sleep with her husband in order to rush the fulfillment of God's promise comes one of the most beautiful descriptions of God I have ever read in my life.

She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: "You are the God who sees me," for she said, "I have now seen the One who sees me." Genesis 16:13

Wow. Here's what happened to make her say that, though. So Hagar became pregnant, and when it was known that she carried Abram's child, it created hostility between the two women. In fact, Sarai was so ugly to Hagar that she ran away. The angel of the Lord found Hagar, questioned her, and told her to go back to her mistress and submit to her. The angel also promised that her descendants would be too numerous to count. The angel's proclamation brings about Hagar's description of God.

The One who sees me. Don't we all want to be seen? And really seen, for who we are, for what we are inside. For how far we've come, not where we've been. For our heart, not for our mistakes. For our promise and identity in the Lord, not for the lies of Evil One of which we've fallen prey. God is the One who sees me. And that, my friends, is one of the most beautiful names of the Lord I've heard.

Thinking on Noah...

2011-08-09T09:20:00.003-05:00

The LORD saw how great man's wickedness on the earth had become, and that every inclination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil all the time. The LORD was grieved that he had made man on the earth, and his heart was filled with pain. Genesis 6:5-6

I know how it feels when my children say wretched things to me. Just a couple of weeks ago, my dearest daughter informed me that she didn't like me or even love me. Cognitively, I know she doesn't mean it. But the mom in my heart thinks, "how can she say that to me after all I have done for her?"

Does God think anything less when we sin, rebel, or make just plain stupid choices? I think not. He knows our heart, but it doesn't make our shortcomings any less painful to the Father. As I read the above verse, I tried to push the age-old story into modern times. I often do that with the Scriptures. Maybe some consider it blasphemous, but I need to bring it forward to rationalize it and make it applicable to my life. I ask myself, "What can I compare this to in our society? How can I make this relevant to my life?" Sometimes, the little side notes in my Bible are helpful. I do seek the advice of a good concordance (a gift from my dad when he realized I had a love of reading the Bible similar to his). But many times, as I am reading and thinking, thoughts are streaming, ideas and symbolism and parallels. The only explanation I have is that the Spirit is truly interceding for me and helping me understand.

As I read the story of Noah this morning, a story we have all no doubt heard numerous times whether raised in a church or not, I began to see a lesson in it for people of all times. A command, if you will, for generations until the end of time. Build an ark.

I am quite envious of Noah's relationship with God. Aren't you? He's singled out of all the humans on the earth as the only man who deserved to live. He is described in Genesis as being a righteous man, blameless among the people of his time, and he walked with God (6:9). I don't take this to mean that he was perfect, rather that he made wise choices, that he held honorable relationships with his fellow man, and that he had a solid relationship with God. Noah stood out in a land full of selfish men with evil intentions, and God hand picks Noah and subsequently his family to continue life on earth after the flood, to be the single bloodline for generations to come.

One other point I am quite envious of is the way God directly reveals to Noah exact directions of what he's supposed to do in building his ark. He gives him measurements and specific type of wood. As I read, I found myself wishing God would talk directly to me, giving me specific instructions for my life... but wait. He already has, and I was in the midst of it at that very moment. His Holy Word.

So make yourself an ark... (6:14)

Build an ark. A structure of protection for yourself and your family. Build it to the specifications of God's Word. Build a faith strong enough to keep you afloat in the rainiest of seasons, as the waters rise over the solid earthly mountains. Do it despite the conditions of the world around you. Build your ark. By your own hands and work will it be prepared. The energy and tools will be provided. And because of your solid work and faith, you will be protected and shielded from the rain and flood waters.

In our modern times, more than ever probably, the rain falls around our souls and the waters rise. We must have something to keep us afloat, right? The story of Noah has me thinking about what I am building my ark with, what kinds of materials, what widths and lengths and heights. Will it sustain me? But this is the conclusion I have drawn about Noah's ark... it couldn't have been perfect. There had never been such a thing built before as there had never been a use for such a structure. But the Lord made a covenant of protection with him, and the Lord never backs out of any promise. I love that. Because of Noah's righteousness, firm walk with God, and direct obedience in building a crazy wooden structure, he was saved along with his family.

Reminds me of a verse in Isaiah. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. (43:2)

One final thought that will haunt me about Noah for the weeks to come... I ask myself, if God were to examine the world today, would he find me favorable? If he were to pick one person to carry out the bloodline of the entire human race, would it be me? Yikes.

Showcase!

2011-08-06T08:03:00.002-05:00

My little one. My daughter. Miss Personality, Independent, Live Out Loud. She's a tough one, and I don't always mean that in a negative way.

She's that wrapped box, beautiful vivid paper on the outside. And just when you get it unwrapped and opened, you find another one, just as skillfully and beautifully wrapped, perfectly placed to fit down inside. The older she gets, the more pieces of her I discover. It's like watching one of those time sped transformations on TV where your eyes get to catch every little change and bit of growth in a project right before your eyes. That's my Madalyn.

She's complex. And that's the part of her that I totally get. She's this wide open, vivacious girl UNTIL... until she has a crowd. One would think within her comfort zones that she seeks a crowd, but that's not the case at all. She likes comfort, small circles, a few eyes. She doesn't feel the need to steal the show ~ she'd rather BE the show within her little life. That, my friends, she gets from her mother. And that was something I have only recently discovered.

This year, she's a cheerleader for our local PeeWee football. Practice began this week with a five day cheer "camp" at the high school. All the high school cheerleaders ~ freshman, JV, and varsity squads ~ taught the girls two chants, two cheers, and a dance. Madalyn had a ball, especially considering we knew one of the cheerleaders helping her group. She came home each night all abuzz. But Friday loomed... Showcase Night for parents and family to come and see what the girls had learned all week.

"But I wanna skip it... I'm too tired."

"Madalyn... this is part of being a cheerleader. You are a part of a team now..."

"I don't wanna go back to that place..."

"You'll do fine. We are NOT skipping it."

"I just don't wanna do it in front of the moms and dads."

"Then how do you think you're gonna be a cheerleader, Madalyn? That's what you do ~ you cheer. In front of people."

"But my tummy hurts."

"Oh, so now your tummy hurts. You're tired, tummy hurts, and you don't wanna go back to that place. And you are NOT skipping it."

"I'm scared."

She was terrified. Absolutely anxiety ridden about cheering in front of people. She pulled out every stop in her arsenal, and I had a comeback for each one. I explained it was perfectly normal to be a little nervous, but that I was certain she would do just fine. One of her sponsors had just told me the night before that she was doing really well and knew all the cheers. But there was no rationalizing with the looming nervousness brewing in her blood, and I finally ended it with, "You will get out there and do it, and once you're done, you will be so proud of yourself. I promise."

When her group took center of the gym floor, my heart just ached for her. She was on the back row on the very end, and her big brown eyes were all I could see on her face as she stood playing with her fingers. That's what she does when she's nervous... fidgets with her fingers. When she's at home, she still reaches for her blankie, a soft cotton receiving blanket she got when she was born. She runs her fingers along the edge until she finds the good spot, and then her heart settles a bit. Why a certain spot rubbing against her tiny little fingers brings her peace, I will never understand. But it does. When the blanket is absent, she fiddles with her fingers searching that same sense of contentment that the soft tee shirt fabric brings her. I can't say if she ever found it last night; the first cheer was called, and she did all the motions. In fact, she did pretty good, I would say, especially considering she made every excuse her little brain could think of to get out of going.

I hope she learns that if she faces these anxieties head on, it will make her stronger. It's something I struggled with as a child and on into adulthood. It's paralyzing at times. And that is the absolute last feeling I ever want either one of my kids to feel is paralyzed. By anything.

By the way... I totally have a cheerleader in my house now. Go Warriors!

In the beginning...

2011-08-04T08:55:00.002-05:00

In the beginning... that's exactly where I've decided to go. Back to the beginning of it all. Chapter one, verse one.

God created the heavens and the earth.

As anyone who visits this blog on a regular basis may know, I am a bit all over the place. Lamentations, Romans, Ephesians, Psalms. God bless me, I have very little direction in my search of understanding in the Scriptures. On a whim I will decide to read or reread this book or that one. When I was pregnant with Madalyn, I set out to read the Old Testament from start to finish. I chickened out round about at Deuteronomy. Then I went into my hunt and peck mode... picking and choosing according to length of book and number of crazy names I can't pronounce on a page. Now that I have a few years of age on me, I think I can handle the challenge. So I am staring it again at the beginning.

There's this one thing I noticed about a year ago when reading through the story of creation and the fall of man for some now un-remembered purpose. I got through the familiar tale... all the days of creation, the man, the woman from the rib, the tree they shouldn't touch, that darned serpent, and then the sin, the very first sin of mankind. I realized that the outline of the battle is the same throughout time...

~ Satan lies, and his one desire is to make us doubt God and His plan for our life.

~ We, therefore, question ourselves and God.

~ We screw up. It's called sin.

~ The sin separates us from God; we run, we hide, we are ashamed.

In my mind, this is where the outline of the fall ended after every sin. But it's not, and I wished I had realized that a long time ago. In chapter 3, verse 9 of Genesis, it says, "But the LORD God called to man..." God still calls out to us even after our sin. God still draws us near. Even though we've messed things up, He wants to commune with us. I love that thought. And I wish I had read that part of the story in my childhood.

But it doesn't stop there. My favorite verse in Genesis 3 is verse 21.

The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them.

In case your brain has forgotten, God has just rendered His punishment to Adam and Eve; they will have to leave the Garden of Eden and work the land for their food. But God doesn't just push them out of the gate wearing nothing but their fig leaves. He made them clothing. He helped them. He covered their bodies in a more fitting and appropriate way for their new life outside the Garden. The first time I saw this verse, my heart swelled. Even after our sin, God longs to take care of us. This God of the Old Testament, the one that killed people and sent plagues on entire groups of people, the God of anger and revenge that I remember... well, I didn't have the whole picture back then of God, so now I find myself filling in the missing pieces.

As I read the story of Cain this morning, I was amazed to find the same protecting nature of God. We all know that Cain killed his own brother out of jealousy. I remembered that he was sent out to another land as punishment for his sin. But what was revealed to me this morning was that Cain expressed his fear that he would be killed to God. In response, God placed a mark on him so that no one would kill him. In other words, God listened to Cain's fear, and He responded with a method of protection. God placed a mark of protection on a man who just killed his own brother.

I am really looking forward to my reading through the Old Testament this time. I am approaching it in terms of getting to know God. Not the God I was taught in Sunday School. Not the felt board version, snippets of stories along the way. I want to know it all. The envy, the battle for His people that He fought throughout the books. The love and protection. The depth, the omnipotence, the Deity that was from the very beginning. I look forward to drawing closer.

You'll be along for the ride. So prepare yourselves for posts about these little details that mean something to me. They may or may not speak to you, and that's okay. But maybe we can all learn more about our Creator together from the very beginning.

The grass is greener...

2011-08-03T10:08:00.003-05:00

The grass is greener in every one else's yard these days. Like literally. My front yard looks awful! We have some areas that have odd inclines, and I have noticed quite a bit of soil erosion over the past couple of years. But I think the condition right now is from something more than that.

I have noticed these weird little shells all over the bare areas of the yard:

I see them hind side (the open prongy little side) sticking up from the soil, and they are empty. So it tells me that some equally nasty little wormy thing probably hatches from it. But I don't see any wormy things in the grass or on the ground.

I've googled all possible combinations of words, including nasty little wormy things, and the only satisfactory answer I have is that they may possibly house some sort of beetle larvae. But I am not 100% sure. So... anyone out there have a clue what this odd looking thing is? Just wondering if anyone in the blogosphere could help me out here!

Just when you think...

2011-08-02T15:43:00.002-05:00

Just when you think your kids are on your last nerve, one of them spills a huge cup of water right where your cell phone that's not up for upgrade until the 22nd of this very month.

Yep. In three short weeks, I can get a new phone at a discounted price, but not tomorrow. Good news is that the phone still works. Only problem is that when I text certain letters, it types in a cryptic code with the letter at the end of it. For example, an "e" may look more like j3hu81e. That may be a wee bit confusing even to the sharpest tool in the shed, so it completely disrupts my ability to communicate quickly and effectively via text.

The other child has driven me completely nuts for the past 36 hours with his obsession of building a tree fort. When I think tree fort, I think something in which one could climb up into a tree and find refuge. David's notion of a tree fort is anything built onto the trunk of a tree with scrap material and twigs. Yesterday's architectural feat included the use of duct tape ~ literally, the shiny silver tape used on air conditioning duct work. Today's involved the use of black and red spray paint. I have no words about it really other than to say that he spends more time fulfilling these ridiculous notions than in making sure his room is clean.

I am a frustrated mama right now. It's hot. I am tired of the neighborhood children. I am tired of my own children. I am tired of every single moment of every day revolving solely around what all the children want to do. Like today, for instance... it's almost 4 and I haven't had a chance to have my shower yet. With David in and out, his friends in and out, Madalyn in and out, I can't have a shower. And they don't have a clue, don't care the inconvenience it puts me in and are actually perturbed with me when I dare ask them to send their friends home so I can have my daily cleansing time.

Did I mention that I was ready for school to start back?

Good news is this... in the midst of writing this brilliant dissertation on my aggravation, I turned off my phone, took out the battery, placed it back in, powered up, and it appears to be working just fine. Silver linings. Maybe I will actually like the children by sundown. Maybe.

Summer Frustration... in a single-serving size

2011-08-01T13:25:00.003-05:00

There are no Caprisuns in my refrigerator. You will not find any canned Cokes, Sprites, or even Publix brand sodas that I ordinarily keep on hand for the kids. This summer has been the season of less around here... keeping on hand bare minimum items needed for daily function.

The reason is two fold. On one hand, we haven't had the money to buy all the extra things that my kids enjoy as treats. Between baseball and the down market, we haven't been swimming in extra money around here! And that has left the pantry a little more bare than usual ~ not empty, just not over-flowing like my children have grown so accustomed to in their home! The other reason is a simple law that proves itself true: if it's there, they will eat/drink it ALL. When your house becomes a bubbly place of social activity (for instance, swimming hole of the neighborhood), whatever is there will be devoured no matter where you try to hide things.

It's not that I don't want to spread the love around or share with others, but it's difficult to watch this generation of overly sugared, prepackaged children. They don't understand the notion of, "Gee, I'm thirsty... let me grab a cup, put some ice in the bottom if it, and turn on the faucet." They believe everything good (including water) must come in a package, whether that be in a bottle, pouch, or aluminum can. I can remember the day when a Coke was special, not expected. Water almost always came out of the faucet in the kitchen; when it didn't, it came form the hose in the yard. We ate at meal times. If I were really hungry, a real treat was a peanut butter spoon, maybe even a few crackers to go along with it. We didn't just stick our noses in the pantry or fridge at all hours of the day.

I know I can't change the way the world operates now, but I find myself so frustrated with the general lack of appreciation of my very own kids. How they'll open a box of cereal and walk around with it. How I bought a box of Nilla Wafers on Friday, and they were gone by early afternoon yesterday. It's tough right now, and making it even tougher on me is this perception that I should feed (literally and figuratively) their need for convenience.

I feel like I am ranting a little here, but I have no doubt it will be understood by many.

So what's a Crazy Mama to do? I don't know... I honestly don't know. I am trying to make wiser purchases at the grocery store, tell my kids no sometimes on snacks, and generally just reduce their consumption. But it's tough, incredibly difficult, to change the way I discipline them and to reshape their own thoughts about what they are entitled to around here. I guess I'll be in constant prayerful consideration on the matter... add another thing to pray about. It's an ever-growing list!

School Supplies and What Not

2011-07-28T17:16:00.003-05:00

I've been in my daughter's room for most of this afternoon. Cleaning. {Deep breath in... and out with the bad...} My children are disgusting, and though I totally understand that it's mainly my fault for not requiring more of them around the house, I am still bitter about it. Shouldn't each human being breathe their first breath with a general appreciation for cleanliness? I am not seeking perfection here, but throwing things in the trash can and not hoarding random objects would be a great start.

Anywho...

The clean-up comes after a beloved morning shopping trip for school supplies. Trust me, the cleaning becomes the icing on the cake when you've been to Walmart, McDonald's, JC Penny, and TJ Maxx with both your children. Funny how everything I purchased (minus the can of shave gel I bought myself) is all for them, and they still aren't satisfied. I want this notebook... I need a new back pack... I want a jacket even though I won't need it for three more months... you are not spending enough money on me, me, ME!!!!!

All together, I think we made out okay. Got everything on our lists except for two things and came in under $80. Not too bad for two kids. Mind you, I'll have two more lists of things to buy once we meet the teacher, but we are ready to start. And I am ready for my first full day of peace and quiet since the last day of school back in May..... just sayin'.

Ephesians: My Life Book

2011-07-27T14:50:00.002-05:00

Some folks talk about their life verse, or a specific scripture that they personally identify with that facilitates change in their life. I am going out on a major limb and proclaiming the entire book of Ephesians as my life book. Why stop at the verse, you know?

Since the dream I talked about a few weeks ago, Ephesians is really all I want to read. If I sit down to anything else, I find myself distracted, which is not all together unusual, so maybe I should say more distracted than normal.

I've read the book many times before. It's short ~ only 6 chapters. Back before I flunked out of the scripture memory thing over on Beth Moore's blog, I picked a verse from the book as my second scripture to put to memory. If memory serves me correct, I picked it because my first verse (what I had considered my life verse until a couple of days ago) is referenced in chapter five of Ephesians. I think I am beginning to confuse myself, so I'll just say that I love the whole book, and it really tells me everything I ever needed to know all compiled into six easy to read chapters.

You name it, Paul discusses it. Family life. Unity with friends and fellow Christians. The Holy Spirit. Grace. How husbands and wives should treat one another. How to arm yourself for battle with the evils of the world.

Ironically, one of my most stand out memories of when my father was a preacher was a series he did on the Armor of God. I think he made props of some of the different things, and if he did, I am pretty sure I helped him. I don't remember a whole lot of what he had to say, I just remember it being a series of several Sunday night (I think!) sermons. Funny how certain things stand out in your mind for life. Even more strange how one of the verses from that series found itself written on a flip chart in my dream 25 years later.

I could pick a multitude of scriptures to put to memory from that one little book. Here's a doozy...

Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. (4:2)

If I started work on that one, I'd be perfect at it round or about the day after I die. That's the kind of challenges Ephesians is filled with. Hit straight to the heart, this is how you should be not the rules you should follow, kind of good stuff. And it's mine. Well, it's all of ours, but you know what I mean. So, if you haven't read the book of Ephesians, well you should. And when you do, let me know if it speaks to you much the same.

Morning Routine

2011-07-24T10:44:00.002-05:00

Wake up. Plug in iron. Select a pair of wrinkled pants. Turn on TV ~ NBC, Today Show. Pour water into the tiny hole at top of iron. Some mornings, I miss, depending on how sleepy I am, and then have to clean up the water that has spilled. Mull over my crazy dream from the night (inevitably there's one to rehash) as I press over Scott's pants for the day ahead. Place pants on the back of the sofa, pour coffee, sit in my chair, open laptop.

That's pretty much what I do every morning. Most people, my husband included, think I am crazy for ironing in the morning. But, it's just what I do. Over the years, it's become a morning ritual to me... a chance to slowly come partially back to life from my deep sleep. I don't have to talk or move around much, just press over a few wrinkles. But it's how I first fill my mind that I am not so happy with. Facebook. Email. Blogger. Etsy. Some for obvious reasons, but others just for the let me see what's going on today reasons.

The latest chapter from Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner talks about developing your quiet time. Anyone who stops in here often knows I love the Scriptures, and I do try to take time out to read them throughout the week. But I have never developed an appointed time or place to do so and make it a routine. My morning routine was already full. When my kids were of napping age, their nap time was my quiet time. I would turn the TV off and open my Bible. But as they have gotten older, those times are more haphazard now. I have developed an I'll get to it when I can approach to the Lord, and it's time for a change.

So, starting tomorrow, I am changing my morning routine. I will still iron first thing; I don't think I can ever change that! But instead of filling my mind with useless things like Facebook and Blogger, I will open the cover of my Bible instead.

I mean, it seems like a no-brainer. But I think I find myself more interested in so-and-so's pictures from the beach last weekend than in what God wants me to hear for the day. And I don't think I am alone in this predicament. It's easier to digest the goings-on of Facebook than the challenges and convictions the Scriptures may put upon my heart for the day. But I am feeling a tug on my heart that I need God to be the first one to put information into my brain... not Facebook, not Matt Lauer, or Gmail.

What about my friends out there? Do any of you have daily routines with God? I am interested... let me know what you do to ensure you get the charge from the Lord you need every day. Tips and advice are always welcome!

Tooth Fairy

2011-07-22T10:07:00.003-05:00

I shot up in bed around 1:30 this a.m. We forgot the tooth fairy.

I got out of bed, turned off the alarm, and made my way out to Scott's truck in search of the $5 bill he said he had. I looked in his wallet, in the console, and in that cubby thing in the door of his truck. No luck. Buddy, who was sleeping in the garage last night, just looked at me in complete confusion. He wanted to be by my side, but he was still in dreamland.

I hated to do it, but I had to wake Scott up to locate the cash. It's only Madalyn's second tooth, and we had just had a lengthy discussion in the car about the tooth fairy.

"Well, some people don't believe in the tooth fairy. They think your parents put the money under your pillow," says David, holding the pillow pet he just HAD to have at Old Time Pottery. Big ten year old, I tell ya.

"David, you should know Mama and Daddy never just give you money for no reason..."

"Yeah... Kyla says she don't believe in the tooth fairy." Madalyn chimes in. Sad, I think, that a kindergartner didn't believe in the tooth fairy. But pretty smart angle for the parents.

"Why would you get money for teeth anyway. That's weird." David is still trying to make sense of it all in his brain.

"I don't know, buddy. I always did, though." I try to keep a low profile about it all. I don't want to outright make up falsehoods, but I want my kids to enjoy the same mythical, magical parts of childhood that I did. It's a slippery slope.

But that's what keeps me going. Keeping the magic of childhood alive. Where Santa is real, some weirdo is paying kids for a collection of tiny teeth, and a giant bunny brings chocolate on Easter Sunday.

I'm just so glad I woke myself up and remembered. I don't think we could bounce back from forgetting. Tooth fairy would be dunnso in our house. And I also got a break from the weird dream I was having about my car behind stolen and being at the hospital with the perpetrator and his pregnant girlfriend whose blood sugar was above 700 and trust me the dream gets weirder and weirder by the second. I need to see a doctor about my dreams. It's getting really old. I have totally gone off topic here, but I am recovering from a two-week crazy dream marathon.

At least I remembered the tooth fairy.

Strongholds...

2011-07-20T11:24:00.003-05:00

Just behind our house lies a line of tall trees, mostly oaks, but there are one or two pines scattered within along with the stray dogwood here and there. As you can imagine, within those trees bustles a little woodland world of its own. Squirrels and birds makes their homes there. Bats do as well, and at night, they swoop down over the pool diving down to take a drink. In the fall, we sometimes catch sight of an owl. Only in the seven years since I have lived in this house have I become cognisant of the life in nature.

My favorite spot to watch TV, read, blog, or catch up on Facebook is my little chair. It faces the back door leading out onto our deck giving me the perfect visual of the trees outside. I watch the squirrels play, the mockingbirds fight, and the leaves rain down in the fall. Just a few minutes ago, I watched a red bird hopping from branch to branch. Not the usual motion for a bird. He'd hop up one, rest a minute, and repeat the motion. One branch at a time. I wondered about the little bird... is one of his wings hurt or is he otherwise wounded? Why would a bird who could take off from one point and fly to another with ease be hopping up a tree? Must be a reason behind it.

It made me think about my spiritual life. My grandmother, my dad's mom, always tells me, "Little steps, Tamara." Little steps indeed. Most of us don't want to take little steps; we want to fly first, soar above the trees, forgetting the steps altogether. But I watched that little bird, clearly not working at his full capabilities, and I thought about the wounded steps I have taken on my spiritual journey thus far.

In the book I've been reading this summer, Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner, an entire chapter is devoted to strongholds. This is a term I've never quite understood. I don't recall ever hearing much about spiritual strongholds in my early years, and the use of the word is a bit confusing to me. I've often thought about a stronghold as being a place of safety as in war times. But in religious terms, we use the term to mean something the has a strong hold on us, that holds us back in our spiritual journey. Like the little bird that I saw hopping from branch to branch, there's something in our life keeping us from running at full spiritual capacity. Those looking at us watching our movement may not know what it is, but it's there all the same, working against our upward motion.

When I first started trying to identify my stronghold, I thought in terms of my actions. It must be that I drink. Or maybe my stronghold is not going to church regularly. Or it could be that I don't pray enough or that I curse too much. But the more I thought about the true spiritual definition of stronghold, I realized that it was nothing tangible, no one action I do or don't do, no conscious choice. If it were conscious, it wouldn't be a pitfall or stronghold. The tangibles are given another name, and I believe we call them sins.

My stronghold would have to be something that I couldn't touch, something specific to me and my life's experience. I immediately knew what it was. Guilt. And not guilt of any one particular thing, just guilt in general. I shouldn't have done that, said that, thought that. I'm not worthy. I am not loved because of this or that or the other. My sins are too big, too ugly, too much. And throughout that {crazy} thought process permeates this one huge problem ~ the focus on me and my actions. How selfish. How ridiculous to limit the capability of God to look past my humanness. He created me; He knew before I was born that I would make poor choices. It's up to me to step into His grace and forgiveness (which happen to be the antithesis of my stronghold) and subtract myself from the equation.

I think the story of the Israelites first brought me to that realization. I've grown so attached to the Old Testament, and though my memory is not the best and I can't recount when they went here or left from there or all the plagues and battles and stages of captivity, within the history of the Israelites lies this beautiful story of undeserved love. They were simply God's chosen people. Makes not a lick of sense to me because they had a tendency to disobey and make poor choices. Yet God never left them or took His Covenant from them. He drew them back in, He protected them in times of famine, drought or captivity, and He sent special people and messages directly to them.

When I think about God's chosen people, the Israelites, I can't help but think about me. I have a tendency to mess up and disobey. I stray off the path from time to time. There have been times of famine and captivity in my life as well (spiritually speaking). But God has always been faithful to me, and He has sent divine words to me through His Scriptures to affirm in my heart that I am His. It makes zero sense to me, but I know it to be true. I am God's, and He is mine, and there's nothing that I've done ~ no poor decision, no gallivant way off the path ~ that can separate us.

Guilt is about me. What I've done. What I should be doing that I am not. Where I have failed. What I could have done better. Grace is simply about the Father and His Son. When I eliminate the selfish nature of my thoughts along with its earthly limits, it becomes about what God has done for me despite the things about which I carry guilt.

I can't say that this will make a whole lot of sense to anyone reading it. But it's a thought process that has taken me YEARS to understand, so I simply wanted to document it. Just like that little red bird, I'm still hopping up, one branch at a time.

Little steps, Tamara.

Well Check Up

2011-07-15T13:47:00.002-05:00

David just turned ten. He hasn't had a well check up since he turned eight. Oops.

Today was the appointed day. I had boo-koodles of things to talk to the pediatrician about, the same one I chose when we moved here a little over seven years ago. The first time we saw her, David had just turned three. He had no fear then of ordinary things. Only things that made loud noises terrified him back then. The "cuttin' the grass thing" (better known as the lawnmower) brought him to tears every time it was cranked. The weed-eater and blower did likewise. And he had this strange fascination with vacuum cleaners. He was drawn to them ~ had to find them in any store we were in and look at them all ~ but the fear was apparent when you actually turned one on. My mom bought him his very own toy shop-vac for Christmas our last year in Montgomery, and it took him a good two days before he would even touch it. Bless him.

Like I said, David didn't fear the ordinary things that cause anxiety in a child. He loved the doctor's office. Thought it was an interesting place. If they pricked his finger, he watched the blood fill the tiny tube and turn clear to deep red. Shots were no sweat. At the age of two, the nurse flushed his ears out in the little room, and she was amazed that he never cried or squirmed. Not so much the case today.

One would have thought David was going in for amputation today instead of a check up. He fretted and toiled all the way there about one burning question: "Are they gonna prick my finger?" Now, I don't know a person that enjoys having their finger pricked, but it's not the most dreaded thing on my visit the doctor list. If he only knew about the stirrups he'd be grateful for the pinch of a fingertip. I watched David in full-on panic mode, and I tried to tell him that in the grand scheme of his day (hours-long of a day) that the few seconds of pain he'd feel from the prick was so minuscule. That he shouldn't allow himself to be that wound up about something so very minute. David wasn't buying it. Not at all.

When we made it into the tiny room to wait, the nurse had instructed David to remove all his clothing except his underoos and put on the paper gown. David did as told, griping and fretting simultaneously. When he sat on the examining table to wait on immanent doom, I noticed there were tears collecting underneath his eyes.

"David, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" I pulled a tissue from the box and blotted his hazel eyes.

"I don't wanna get my finger pricked..." (There are no words for the tone he uses in these type instances. It's beyond a whine... he's had ten years of practice, you know.)

Little sister couldn't help but chime in. "Are you a big ole' sissy, David? Hahaha... you're a sissy."

"STOP IT!!!"

Yeah... that went on for a while. I told David we'd ask the doctor if it was necessary this visit as soon as she walked in so that he could get it over with first thing. I sat and watched him fidget and fret and obsess in his mind, and I couldn't help but think about the many visits before that he had put on the paper gown. The first time, it nearly came down to his ankles. Now it's up to his knees. He's past 70 pounds now, and over 50 inches tall. He's no baby, but he's not a man either. He's sort of trapped in this middle world trying to find his little way out. He's getting bigger, but he still has these little fears that are ridiculous.

The time came for the finger prick. It was dramatic. There was snot involved. He would DIE if he knew I was putting this out there for the entire world to see. But he lived through it, as his wise ole' mama told him he would.

It's weird to think that the same little boy that was scared of that "cuttin' the grass thing" cuts the grass now. How does that happen so quickly? I'm a little glad he's afraid of the finger prick... makes him seem a little smaller to me than he really is. And I got to hold his hand for a minute, too.

Dreams

2011-07-14T08:00:00.004-05:00

I think I have shared with y'all before that I have these incredibly vivid dreams. Not sure why, but I do. Are certain people more prone to dreaming? Or are some just more likely to remember them? I don't know, but I have always been fascinated by my dreams, and I believe that they want to communicate something to me. Is it my subconscious teaching me... is it my soul speaking to the rational brain... not quite sure, but they are there for a reason.

My first memory of vivid dreaming was around the age of six. The setting was a 7/11 gas station in Montgomery, Alabama on the Atlanta Highway where we visited regularly. In my dream, I walked away from our family car for some reason. There was a Pepsi delivery truck in the parking lot parked facing the highway, not unusual from how they park when they are unloading a shipment. I walked past and the driver grabbed me. I could see his face, every detail of it, in my mind's eye. And it stuck with me for days. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to let my mom out of my sight for fear of being kidnapped. The dream was so vivid that it had become real to me.

I still dream like that. When I am asleep, I am living in this alternate world that seems so real. About a week and a half ago, shortly after we left for our trip, I had a strange dream in the wee hours after I woke up and went back to sleep. I dreamed of some classroom or lecture scenario. I sat in a desk with a notebook taking notes down. The lecturer was a man at some times and then would change into a woman. They taught from one of those old school, over-sized spiral bound flip charts with key points written on them in bold marker. I don't remember any of the subject matter or key points except for one. The male teacher said we were about to talk about Ephesians 6:13, and it was written in black marker as he flipped to the next page of the chart. And then I woke up.

I thought about it as I went about my morning duties. I wasn't even sure how many chapters Ephesians had. So as soon as I had a minute to myself, I sat down to look it up.

Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

When I read it, I got the chills. I felt like it was some sort of message. Would I be so bold as to believe the Holy Spirit that I know lives inside of me was delivering a message, a passage directly to me, through a dream? I don't know... I don't know how any of you feel about this, but I can't make any sense of it any other way. Because of the dream, I feel compelled to spend some time with Ephesians, especially that final section that talks about the armor of God. Get to know it. Prepare myself. I am getting the chills all over again.

I guess that's the part of life that remains uncertain throughout. The next day. What lies ahead is a mystery. But to feel like there is a day of evil ahead is a little scary. But I guess evil could be any number of things. I am going to stop focusing on the evil part and draw my attention to the armor part. I think that's the message that needed to shine through.

What do you think? Do you believe that God talks to us through dreams sometimes? Do you think it's a time that the Holy Spirit uses to plant things in our minds? If you feel comfortable, share your thoughts with me! I'd love to hear what you think...

Beach Trip ~ in bullet points

2011-07-13T14:43:00.004-05:00

It's summer. My brain is not operating at maximum speed, and I haven't had a third of the carbs today that I normally have. So we're going with bullet points for the key parts of the trip. Bear with me.

~ On Wednesday, our first day in Orange Beach, Madalyn and I stayed behind to walk the beach while Scott drove David and a couple of others to the opening ceremonies. Madalyn is obsessed with shells, and she kept picking up little pieces along the way. I finally spotted a whole one, small but still intact, and I picked it up to wash it off in the water. The underside of the shell was full of sludgy thick oil. Very sad. They've cleaned it up and got it back to pretty, but it's still there. And it made me a little sad.

~ We thought we lost one of the boys. Seriously. Couldn't locate him for a solid seven or eight minutes. I don't know if you've ever been through that experience, but I can say that I have never known fear like that before. And it wasn't even my own flesh and blood. One of the dads found him a ways down the beach looking for the boogie board. A total stranger ran a good distance to find me and the boy's mom back up at the condo to let us know he had been found. The three of us took the most ginormous breath of relief, the mom cried, and the stranger offered us prescription drugs. I can't make this stuff up, y'all, even if I tried. A perfect stranger tells us he has whatever we need. Thank you for the good deed, no thanks on the illegal drug purchase on the beach however. Good day.

~ Scott hit me in the ear with a Frisbee. Not on purpose (I don't think...). It was quite a blustery day on Monday, cloudy and sprinkling at times, but we decided that we weren't going to let a little wind and grey get the better of our last day on the beach. Scott was playing Frisbee with some of the dads and boys, and I was in conversation with the moms. Next thing I knew, I took a Frisbee to the ear. I don't know if anyone reading this has ever taken a Frisbee to the ear, but it's not enjoyable. It was one of those moments where everyone froze, and I could tell that those that had seen it wanted so desperately to laugh but knew they better wait for my reaction. It wasn't laughter. I tried so hard not to cry, but it hurt so bad, and my ear immediately felt like it had swollen and was bleeding a little. Scott felt like an ass. It was a total freak accident, and I think the wind aided in its perfect placement to my ear as well as me not being able to hear Scott's warnings. Oh well. It's another bullet point to share.

~ We had the best hamburger ever. I don't know why it was the best I had ever had, but it was. We pattied them up with no seasoning at all. Scott sprinkled a little salt and pepper over them as he grilled them. One bite, and I was in love. With the burger. We love some seasoning around here. The more the merrier. But there's something to be said about some good ole' ground beef with salt and pepper that I had forgotten about. Back to basics, I think, says it all.

~ There's got to be more. Got to be. But that's all the time I have. My house is trashed, I have laundry to do, and I have got to exercise today. Blah. But if I want to fit back into my jeans in the fall, it's time to get busy.

Hot, hotter, hottest

2011-07-12T15:55:00.003-05:00

Hot. That's what the beach was. But the thing about the beach that happens to be beyond fantastic is that God provided a big and beautiful ocean full of water to immerse ourselves in when we got hot. This year's world series was in Orange Beach again, and play began on Thursday morning with a double header. We were done for the rest of the day and spent it on the beach. The weather may have been hot, but it was equally as gorgeous. Saturday we lucked out with plenty of time on the beach as well. Hot is hot; I can deal with hot when I'm at the beach.

The ball park was hotter than the beach. In fact, I am officially deeming it the hottest ball park I've ever been in my entire life. I can deal with a hot ball park when we're winning, but it's tougher to take the heat when you lose two games that should have been won with no problem. But that's seemed to be an issue this season. The pitcher may be on, but defense can't catch the flu. Maybe defense is on fire but the bats are dead. We've even had some games this season where all three parts are flat. The way the series was set up left no room for a bad game from anyone. You needed to play your best ball out of the gate or you'd have no chance at first place. We seeded in the silver bracket, something that we're just not accustomed to, and played that bracket on through taking first place there. First place in the silver bracket equals ninth place in the entire tourney, a far cry from where we've finished the two years prior. It is what it is. And it's done. So there you go.

Today, we arrived home, tons of dirty laundry and sand filled towels in tow, to the hottest temperature I have ever experienced indoors. 92. We normally keep ours set on 72 or 73, so you can imagine how we felt. Not quite the welcome home we wanted, but I guess you just have to learn to run with it. Not a whole lot you can do except call someone. The man has run to get a part, and I sure do hope to be somewhat cooler tonight when I lay my head down on my own bed for a good night's sleep.

I don't want to go to hell, either. This is what this experience is reiterating for me.

600th post

2011-07-01T08:30:00.003-05:00

Seriously? 600 posts?

Do y'all remember that little show Seinfield? What was it termed... the show about nothing? Well, that's precisely what I have considered my blog ~ the obscure little blog about nothing in particular. I write about my kids, how they're driving me to the edge of insanity. I write about baseball, the ten pounds I'd like to lose, my favorite scripture in the Bible. I mean, the list of topics are so random and inconsistent that I gave up tagging them (a little feature offered by blogger in which you can categorize your posts) a looooonnnnnggg time ago.

So, I thought for my 600th post, I would share something that makes me giggle out loud to myself. Maybe you'll find it funny, too. Maybe not.

So on the dashboard of Blogger (for those of you that don't blog, it's like a homepage) there's a little tab for stats. I only found this about six months ago, and I quickly became neurotic about it. It tells you how many hits you've had in a day, how many people have read specific posts, and where your internet traffic comes from. It doesn't narrow it down to locations, but more or less whether they access you from another website, from another blog, or from a Google search.

The stats page gives me the searches that have been preformed that rendered my blog as a response. These are always fascinating to read, and some are crazy. Below is a list of those that appear right now...

lighthearted mama

i would like tidbits of information

2 dead headless squirrels on my property

meaning of dead headless squirrel

peanut butter jelly spicy doritos

I love the fact that someone Googled lighthearted mama and Crazy Mama popped up. That's beyond fantastic. I also quite enjoy that my blog appears under a search that someone does for tidbits of information. I think what amuses me the most about the tidbits search is that someone actually typed that into the Google box as though they want little segments of random information served to them in buffet style.

The two headless squirrel searches do bother me a bit... I don't like being linked to such horrific acts, but it's the price I pay for having a dog named Buddy Love. And I am really hoping that the two related squirrel searches were performed by the same person and there's not really some cult running around killing squirrels, decapitating them, and framing dogs for the act.

But I think my all time favorite search that pulls up my blog involves Doritos. Because nothing says Crazy Mama like a bag of Doritos. Any flavor, well, maybe except Cool Ranch. I much prefer the original or any of the spicy flavors. And then to add in the staple of my diet ~ peanut butter and jelly ~ just makes it all complete.

So, have you officially arrived when your blog pops up in a Google search? Probably not. But it's entertaining to see what other people are Googling. I am just hoping there's not an app out there that shows people what I Google...

Pruning

2011-06-30T08:32:00.004-05:00

I spent several hours ~ long, hot, humid, sweaty hours ~ with my little juniper bush yesterday. Well, it wasn't little; the tallest branch was taller than me, and its width was wider than I am tall. My plan of attack was to begin pruning away the infested areas, removing as many of the bagworms as I physically could, and then spray what remained with this specific insecticide recommended by Dr. Google himself (yes... Dr. Google has PhD in everything).

My tool was this $10 set of trimming shears I bought at Sears nearly 10 years ago. I've used them to trim the shrubs in front of both the homes we've lived in since we were married. They are now rusted, dull, and a little ill suited for mature shrubs. But it's all I had, so I set out to work. I'm not a girl who enjoys bugs, worms, or critters of any kind, so the first hour involved me clipping and then dodging what fell to the ground. I finally decided to get out my step stool for the taller branches to avoid any of the creepy crawlers falling on me. As I clipped away, I realized the problem was much deeper than I thought.

My mind was spinning. The English major in me began picking apart the symbolism of the stupid bagworms and the contents of my soul.

From what Dr. Google told me about the bagworm, they feed off evergreen plants and trees, and they specifically like those with fine needles on them as they are easier to digest. In other words, they prey on the weaker evergreens. The bagworm lives in, essentially, a little bag (hence the name... how clever) or cocoon, and sticks his (or her ~ gotta be fair) head out to feed, laying eggs in the bag to hatch the following year. Dr. Google informed me that each bag could incubate 200 - 300 eggs. That's why you are encouraged to remove each visible bag and then spray; it's the only effective way to attack the problem.

When I say there were hundreds of these little bags all over my juniper bush, it's no exaggeration. There may have been well over a thousand. And what I found was that they had eaten from the inside out... toward the base of the trunk was clear of all needles. They had eaten it clean, and then moved outward. Right there I stood, rusted clippers in hand, feeling like I had worms crawling all over me, sweat pouring from every pore in my body, and the brick landed on top of my head.

This is exactly what Satan does to you, Tamara. This is your guilt, your shame, that has robbed you of the closeness you long to feel to Jesus, the joy that you deserve. Get rid of it. Just get rid of it.

In that moment, I got angry. I was mad at the stupid worms that had eaten up my lush, green shrub. I was mad at Satan for what he had eaten up in my life all those years. And I began to work, not out of fear, but out of purpose. The worms would have no more dinner at my expense.

In chapter five of the book I am reading, Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner, the author, Wendy Blight, talks about getting off your mat, a reference to one of Jesus' many healings in the New Testament. She shares that her "mat" was fear. My "mat" (or the thing that has kept me paralyzed) is guilt and shame. I kept what happened to me, what changed my soul forever, a secret from those who love me most because I was ashamed of my actions and felt that I was to blame for someone else's poor decision. What a way to live... for years... processing a grave injustice and punishing myself for it at the same time.

So... here's the deal. When I was 19 years old, I was raped by someone I trusted. I was drunk, and that's just what he wanted me to be. I was no professional drinker at the time as I had only had my first drink a couple of months before that. He completely took advantage of me, manipulated me, and wouldn't stop when I asked him. I was so ashamed, and so I went home, went to bed, and acted like it never happened. For years. Years. Here's the thing about covering something up... it eats its way to the surface, just like those damned bagworms.

I'll share a passage from Isaiah that meant so much to me for so many reasons when I first read it a year ago. For those of you who know me personally, you will understand. It's lengthy, but so fitting, and I feel the need to type it all out for myself, so allow me to be selfish for a minute.

"Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated. You will forget the shame of your youth and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood. For your Maker is your husband - the LORD Almighty is his name - the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; he is called the God of all the earth. The LORD will call you back as if you were a wife deserted and distressed in spirit - a wife who married young, only to be rejected," says your God. "For a brief moment, I abandoned you, but with deep compassion I bring you back. In a surge of anger I hid my face from you for a moment, but with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you," says the LORD you Redeemer.

He calls us all back from the shame of our youth. He calls us all close to Him, the Redeemer of our soul. In Him, there is no shame. There is compassion and everlasting kindness. No Satan or bagworms allowed.

Away with the guilt and shame.

Good Times in Suburbia

2011-06-29T08:24:00.002-05:00

Just when you think life has lost a little luster, enter bagworms.

We have these juniper-ish, spruce-like shrubs in our front flower bed by the driveway. I have never particularly cared for them, but they've been fascinating to watch grow. Well, it's been interesting to watch all the shrubs grow from what they were to what they are now. When we moved in, the house was brand new, and so were the plantings. I have no experience with landscaping and have basically done nothing to the beds since we moved in besides replacing dead things with a living plant and cutting back when necessary. I've often commented that I'd like different things in the beds, but I don't have the brain or bank account for such a project.

About a week ago, I noticed that the shrubs I call junipers were looking a little brown in one area. I attributed it to the dryness of the past couple of months. I decided in my mind that the next time I cut the front yard, I would trim back some of the dying areas in hopes it would give it a boost. In the past week, we've received a ton of rain at our house, so I had hoped that would help as well. But yesterday, I moved in for a closer look and was quite disturbed.

The little berries that form on the shrub cover the ground below it. Dead needles from the branches are stuck to hundreds of little cone looking things on nearly all the branches. I stood there studying the shrubs I had watched grow over the past seven years, and I thought I saw the shrub move. I tell you that the little cone-looking things hanging on the shrub were moving, slowly swaying from side to side. I stilled myself and slowed my breathing to ensure I wasn't losing it... yep, definitely moving.

Of course, then, I had to figure out what the culprit was. I went and found the clippers, and as I gently pulled one of the cones off, the dark brown head of a wormy looking thing popped out. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. So, I did what every red-blooded, 30 something with a question would do... I Googled it.

Bagworms. I am talking hundreds of the things are feeding on the shrubs I never really liked but surely don't want to lose. It's not like the worms are killing the plant... just eating all the needles off it. I guess, over time, that would kill it, but I am not certain. Google informed me that I need to pull each and every one of those cone-looking things off the shrub and follow up with an insecticide. I am thinking, since there are so very many of them, I will have to remove the shrub and then spray all the other evergreens in the flower bed.

Just what I wanted to do today, too. Cut down a prickly shrub, bigger in size than me, covered in the creepiest, nastiest looking worms I've ever seen.

A day in the life in quaint suburbia. Good times... with worms.

Still alive...

2011-06-28T19:17:00.003-05:00

I'm still alive. I promise.

It's summer, y'all. My kids are home. We've got baseball nearly every day. And then there's the pool in the backyard. And the grass around the pool. And friends to play with. Rooms to clean. Groceries to buy. And then cook or assemble into something to eat.

Why do I feel like I am 5,000 times more busy in the summer?

All that being rambled out, I am finding it difficult to blog. There are so many things I want to blog about, especially things involving my study of the Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner book, but I don't want to be too personal or revealing here. So I struggle as of late to organize my thoughts in a transparent way but not be too revealing. I'll sit down, begin typing, and find myself at a loss.

I hate that. I really do. I love to blog. Some people may find it crazy ridiculous, but there's something so completely therapeutic about putting something out there, you know? It's different from a journal because it's interactive.

Anywho... maybe by the end of this week, I can sort out what's swimming around my head about this week's chapter in the book I am reading. I tell you it's therapy with a paperback cover on it. And, yes... I've been to therapy. Books are much cheaper.

The Word

2011-06-23T09:30:00.002-05:00

I've never been a big reader. My best friend can devour a novel in a weekend, while my mind wanders off the page and into the great blue beyond only to come back to reality and have to reread an entire page. There have been a few books I found hard to put down... Redeeming Love, The Atonement Child, Walking on Broken Glass, gods in Alabama, Backseat Saints (if you Google any of these, I warn you they are vastly different from one another, and the latter two contain quite a bit of language). For me to latch onto a book, I have to find myself in it somehow ~ to be able to place myself in the middle of the stage, per say, as though I were a character observing it all first hand. The voice of the writer is part of that, but identifying with one of the personalities on the page is the main thing for me.

After the horrific events of September 11, 2001, I turned to my Bible for reassurance. I decided to read the book of Revelation. Crazy, I know, but I wanted to see if the buzz was true... was the world really coming to an end? It certainly felt like it to me and most everyone else of the Christian faith. I couldn't imagine our world getting any worse, and I had a newborn at home that I had chosen to being into this messed up world. So I read Revelation and discerned for myself that it didn't really matter if the world was ending, when the end would be, but rather what mattered to me was that I had no idea where I'd end up when the trumpet sounded. I felt no security in my soul, no faith, no clue as to who Jesus really was or what I meant to Him or our Father. Though I had grown up unlocking the doors of the building every Sunday morning and evening and Wednesday night, I was clueless. After reading Revelation, I decided to start at Matthew and read through the New Testament and see what it said for myself. I was amazed.

Though still confused about the Trinity and how I fit into the equation and about my salvation, I forged on, reading through the New Testament in just a few months, highlighting and underlining things that stood out to me. I remember, even in the freshness of my pursuit of the Truth, feeling that God was speaking to me ~ directly to me ~ as I turned the pages of my Bible. Was that possible? That God cared enough for me to infuse Himself in the words and thoughts of mere humans and have it carry through generations so that one day I would be able to sit on my couch and feel His presence by reading a book? Absolutely.

My Bible took a different meaning that year, and thankfully so. 2001 proved to be the most difficult one I had experienced in my life thus far. The year my son was born, the adjustment on my marriage that having a little one entailed, financial insecurity in the shadows of the World Trade Center tragedy. That's where the process began for me, the development of a relationship with Jesus and our Father, on the couch during nap time, reading as much as I could at a time. Sometimes it was only a chapter or two. Other times an entire book. Though I read and felt convicted of certain things, I still struggled inwardly with my salvation, still feeling I had to get it all right before He would save me.

You see, just recently I have accepted that it doesn't happen in the blink of an eye ~ the change of heart, the full completion of faith and strength in Him. I used to think it was that simple. One day I would wake up and be completely changed... a pretty little Christian lady that never cursed or drank or had an ugly thought. But as I read the Scriptures, I saw very little prettiness, perfection, or all-together-ness. I saw Jesus healing the sick, performing miracles for sinners, talking to people the Jews had shunned. I saw Jesus meeting the imperfect in the midst of their imperfection. I saw Him loving and teaching. And over the years of reading, I have learned that God loves and demonstrates mercy where ever you find yourself, offering forgiveness to all who are seeking Him. The only pretty Christians I see are the ones who pretend to be pretty on Sunday mornings, and I have discovered that behind a perfectly matte face with no blemishes, matching high heels and lovely dress, tends to be a whole lot of brokenness and insecurity. When we're honest with ourselves, we find that all of us are sinners, spotted and scarred, but through Jesus we are made pure.

I feel like I am rambling a bit here, but I am saying all of this to offer this solid point: The absolute only way to have a relationship with anyone is through communication. Communication is a two way deal ~ I talk, you listen; you talk, I listen. So it is by prayer that I speak to my Creator, and through His written word, He speaks to me. Like some of my other relationships in life, I probably talk too much. There are times in my life where I am more fervent in listening to God's Word, but I admit that it falls to the wayside during busy, stressful, or challenging times. But I make an honest effort to stop and take a minute in His Word several times a week, even if it's just reading over a chapter or passage that I particularly cherish.

I challenge any who are reading this... are you listening to Him? Are you reading what He has left for you through the centuries? Are you meeting Him, learning about Him, paying attention to His teachings and miracles and love for all man, and developing a real relationship with Him through His Word? The glory of the Bible is that it's always there, never changes, is full of Truth and Wisdom, and readily available. I am not perfect, may not always make the right decisions in life, make bookoodles of mistakes and do my fair share of sinning, but I am totally in love with the Scriptures and want everyone to feel the same thing I feel when I sit down to read them.

So, there's my sermon for the week... can I get an AMEN?

We now resume our normal broadcasting...

Ten Things: A Completely Random But Loaded Post

2011-06-22T10:23:00.002-05:00

1. Yesterday was David's 10th birthday, hence the whole ten things thing. Ten years of being a Mama. Ten years ago, the craziness began. In so many ways, it seems like just yesterday. And then, in other ways, I am millions of miles away from who I was back then. I try to wrap my mind around the fact that both of my little chicks are growing up, but it drives me closer to insanity, so I simply stop and enjoy the moment. Ten whole years.

2. The past ten days have been insane. Busy. Full to the brim with so many things that when I have stopped to write a blog post, I just didn't know where to begin. VBS. A close friend dealing with the death of her sister. Good news for my mother. A broad spectrum of feelings that change a multitude of times a day. I guess that's life. Crazy.

3. Life is short. I am learning this more and more as the years tick away. As humans, we try to hold onto time as though it is something that can be poured into a cup and carried around with us to divvy out as we desire or see fit. Unfortunately, time is in God's hand alone. He knows how much of it we have, and we don't, so we better busy ourselves with making the most of what's in front of us.

4. I wish that I had been raised Baptist. I thought this last week as I watched those precious children rock out to the music, singing and dancing in pure joy and delight, and as the head of children's ministry spoke about God and Jesus. She broke it down like this: God loved, we sinned, Jesus died, we accept, He forgives. I wanted to cry right there amidst the little ones who could barely understand the simple statement she had made. But I understood, and I remember all the time in my life I wasted beating myself up before I understood how incredibly simple Jesus makes salvation for all of us. Thank you, Lord!

5. Both of my children prayed the prayer at VBS. For those of you raised in the Baptist Church, you know what I'm talking about. For those of you (like me) that were raised something else, it may be as confusing to you as it is to me. Though I just consider myself a Christian, I rather enjoy the Baptist philosophy of accepting Jesus into your heart. The beautiful beginning of a relationship with Him starts with one simple notion ~ believing in Him. It's not wrapped up in one day or event of your life, but rather a journey of an innumerable amount of little steps along the way. My children believe. Step one. We've all got a lot of learning to do. I find out at every phase along the way that the learning never stops until we've taken our last breath.

6. Life hits you right in the head sometimes. As we sat enjoying a breakfast yesterday morning at Cracker Barrel in honor of David's birthday, I eaves dropped on our waitress' conversation with the table behind us. She talked of structural damage and total loss. I knew. When she disappeared back toward the kitchen, I whispered to Scott that I thought she had lost her home. He agreed and added that he heard she had no insurance. Just when you think life is hard for this reason or that one, you see someone who has it worse. I can see her face, her rugged hands. She's waited on us before, and we don't go that often, so she's been working there for quite sometime. I jotted her a note and left it with her tip. I will never forget her.

7. My mother had a scan last week of her chest cavity. Finally we have some positive news! The good thing is that there is no growth to report... in fact, there may even be minimal decrease in size! But the positive news is that her current treatment appears to be slowing down the cancer, and that is the ultimate goal! Praise God!

8. I have lost all control of my home. The laundry is piling up. The floors need sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, CLEANING!!!! I am behind, and I know it's driving my husband more crazy than me. So today I am hoping to do some catching up on the household chores.

9. I am also behind on my Bible study, Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner. Good news is that there are no scheduled events this week. None. No baseball tournaments. Nowhere to be other than practice. No big events. And, for that, I am truly grateful.

10. I promise to blog more this week... and hopefully I'll have something to say and it won't be in bullet points.

VBS

2011-06-15T14:52:00.002-05:00

If any of you out there are wondering, "Why is she so quiet???" ~ let me tell you why. VBS.

Last year was the first year I helped with VBS at the church where we attend when we go. It's such a large church that even if I were a true member, I don't think I would know any more people there than I already do. Seriously. I helped in the drama department last year which really was a ton of fun. I saw a ton of different kids but didn't really have that one on one thing with any of them. So this year I signed up to be a crew leader, which basically entails corralling 14 kids ranging in age from 6 to 10 for three hours.

I know that VBS is for the kids, but, man, they are teaching me a couple of things, too.

Today, I looked around at the 500+ kids in the morning session. They were singing, dancing, raising their precious little hands, jumping, praising, and having a big time. I realized in the moment that joy is God's desire for us all. Christianity is not supposed to be a life of dullness, sitting on our hands in the pews, yawning as we watch the time tick away. We should be full of life, full of God's love, full of excitement if but for no other reason than what's been done for us.

So that's what I'm doing right now. I am acting an utter fool... looking like a nut... dancing through the motions of all the songs for Pandamania VBS! And loving every minute of it!

Where is He?

2011-06-08T13:03:00.003-05:00

Where is He? God... where is He when all the bad stuff happens, when the hurt is so deep you can't even put it into words? When your mom has cancer ~ where is God during that? Where is He when your kid is in the hospital? When the check bounces? When the money is not there to pay the power bill? Where is He when you lose your virginity at the hands of a master manipulator that tells you he won't stop? Where was He on that cold, dark night fifteen years ago?

I guess this is a question I've asked myself internally for years now. Where was He? Why did He let it happen? Why didn't He stop it all... give me the sense and physical power to stop it myself... prevent me from being there where I shouldn't have been? Why? And throughout my life, the whys continue. Anything negative that happens, I constantly question the reasons, while the good stuff I just absorb and don't question at all. Why don't I question the good stuff? There's another why...

So, I am in the midst of this study, Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner, and it's making me question even more deeply. Why? Where was He? What does it all mean? And in reading chapter two, I have put together my own answer for this burning life question...

Where is God when all the bad stuff happens? He's in the same place He's always been, the very same place He was the day He watched His Son being tortured, humiliated, mocked, and murdered.

Why does He let bad stuff happen? Because He sees the picture we can't see, the good that will come from even the most horrific, tragic event, in due time. Look at what came out of the murder of His only Son.

This is the first time in my life when I realize that God knows pain, tragedy, loss. He knows it; He's felt it. I read in Luke 23:44-45 that as Jesus hung on the cross, "It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two." Did you hear that? Darkness for three hours? The sun stopped shining. Stopped. Can you feel that in you soul? I've felt it... I've felt my light go dim. I've felt it for years at a time. And now, that fire, zeal, that light within is building, building... growing.

I guess yesterday was the first time I put two and two together that God was there that night. He was there. He felt it. He mourned beside me as I vomited the contents of my stomach in the darkness of a cold bathroom. He was there as I cried myself to sleep alone. He was there the all the days and weeks and months and years to follow, holding me up when I needed it, walking beside me when I couldn't even feel His presence, rejoicing in me when I reached out to Him seeking wisdom from His Holy Word. He was there, and is there still, and always will be.

He is with my mother. He is there when she is doubtful, fearful, unsure. He was with her as they drained the cancerous fluid from her body yesterday. He was there the day she sat alone in an office as a doctor said he felt certain it was cancer without even looking at a biopsy report. He was there during all those chemo treatments, radiation sessions, and every scan she had along the way. He was there when she learned it was back and that she'd fight it the rest of her life. He knows her pain. He knows mine, too, and my father and brothers' pain as well. He knows it all, and He knows the ending and what beautiful works will come about because of it. He was there, and still is, and will always be.

So where is He to you? Is He there and you just can't see Him yet? Are you holding His hand? Reaching out to Him? Seeking His wisdom and never-failing advice from His Word? I hope so... I am trying. I am trying to hold on tight right now and waller (sorry ~ I am so southern!) in the fact that He is never going to leave me, give up on me, walk away from me, or turn His back on me. And that He understands the pain of my past, why I made all those stupid choices, why I continue to struggle and always will. He also knows how dark loss and pain feel; it's chronicled in that passage in Luke.

So where is He? Well, He just is... and is everywhere for all time. Amen.

The Headless Squirrel

2011-06-06T12:59:00.004-05:00

My life gets more and more interesting by the minute...

I've discussed my issues with squirrels before. They aren't to be trusted. The move too quickly and jerk about in crazy motions. They can climb fences and trees and dig holes, so I am sure they have sharp claws. They just freak me out, especially when I pass a tree and see one hanging vertically onto the jagged bark watching my every move in perfect stillness.

This morning, I went outside to bid my precious dog, Buddy Love, a good day and to fold up my mattress cover that had been hung to dry over the rail of the deck. As I pulled the cover up, I looked down to the concrete below and saw a gruesome sight ~ a headless, very dead squirrel. Very dead. Stiff as the boards on the fence he used to climb with his little sharp squirrelly claws. And did you catch the headless part?

I don't want to be too grotesque, but I must stress that the entire head of the squirrel was gone. No beady eyes. No tiny ears. No mouth. No cheeks. No neck. Gone. All that remained of the head was a nub of the bone protruding from where the neck once was.

I nearly lost my breakfast. Well, maybe just my coffee... I don't think I'd eaten breakfast yet.

I had to compose myself, and I had to do it fast so I could clean up the carcass before the kids saw it. The last thing I need is two kids in the bed with me due to nightmares about a headless squirrel. I will probably be up all night myself thinking not necessarily about the headless squirrel but about the fact that it was my precious Buddy Love that decapitated him. The biggest question swimming laps in my head was where is the head? Surely I'd find it in the yard... in the grass somewhere.

First things first ~ squirrel disposal. I don't how many of you have had to scoop a dead squirrel up with a shovel, but I promise you, it's no easy feat. Whether still floppy or completely rigamortis, getting it in the shovel and keeping it there proves itself incredibly difficult. I tried not to look at Mr. Headless any more than I had to, and I prayed silently, over and over, "Please don't let me drop him... please don't let me drop him..." as I carried him through the back gate and laid him to rest in the brush under the line of trees behind our house.

Step two ~ find missing head. A huge part of me didn't want to find the squirrel head, but this other part of me (like the one who loves my dog, pets his sweet head, hugs him and gives him kisses and calls him my darlin') wanted to find it and along with a tiny guillotine built by the colony of squirrels to embark punishment for some little squirrelly crime. I wanted to know that the squirrel head was not Buddy's desert last night. So I searched the yard over like crazy, picking up dog poo-poo as I went along. Though I successfully found and conquered several piles of doody, I found no random squirrel parts in the yard.

Though I am not an overly educated woman, I can safely deduce that I will be scooping up very odd looking piles of body waste in the days to come. It's nothing new... I've seen weird piles in the yard before. I try not to study the piles too closely. Scoop them up and toss them over the fence to become one with the earth.

Buddy was lying by the door on top of the deck this morning; it's his most favorite place for napping. I heard an awful howl... like one of those women on TLC with a birthing tub, a doola, and no epidural. I noticed it was Buddy, and he was deep asleep. So deep that I startled him when I opened the door to check on him. He jumped up and immediately started wagging his tail, so I figured he must have been chasing a squirrel in his dream. I had to tell him, as I pet his sweet little darlin' head, that if he chose to eat squirrel heads, he'd have bad dreams. Kinda like eating pork or Mexican food too late at night. One has to decide for them self whether it's worth the risk or not...

I hope we won't be adding squirrel head to our weekly menu.

Which corner?

2011-06-02T17:16:00.002-05:00

It hit me today that I'm in a different dark corner than I thought...

I am fascinated with the use of the word light in the Bible. When I did a quick Google search, I found that it's used an average of a little over 200 times in the Bible between several different translations. So, to me, it ranks on up there with hope and peace in importance. What I like most about the word itself is that it can act as a noun or a verb. You can turn on a light, or you could light a candle. I think that words with dual functions like that are pretty cool. But I tend to be a bit of a word nerd....

When I think about light and dark, I want to call them opposites. But dark is so dependent upon the light to be called dark. Dark, after all, is nothing more than the absence of light. So without light, there would be no darkness. If one never knew of light, they wouldn't realize they were in the dark.

The title to the book I have just begun studying is Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner. I really thought I'd be addressing one particular corner of my soul. Instead, I find myself stuck in a different corner, nose pressed to the wall, darkness threatening to envelope me. I figured I'd be once and for all delving into every single minute and grand emotion surrounding an incident in my late teens. Today I am thinking that God led me to the book to help me deal with what's right in front of me.

My mom's cancer has rattled me. Just when I think I have come to terms with one thing, another shows up. Just when I believe we're on the right path, we forced to make a detour. It's the most out of control I've felt in all my life. There's literally nothing I can do... no words I can type, none I can say, no prayer to pray, no knife large enough to cut it all out, nothing, zilch, nada. Nothing I can do to make it better. That feeling of helplessness is the same feeling I had at nineteen years old when I was violated. It's this chill that sweeps through your soul, frigid wind at your back, that makes you want to curl into a ball and go to sleep and wake up when it's all over. It's a dark corner.

When you're stuck in a corner, nose to the wall, it's all you can see, all you can think about. When the darkness surrounds us, we can't see past our own nose. There's no light. Light is completely absent and therefore unable to shine down on what we need, the people who are there to help, the words of God that we need to read and pull into our heart.

I'm more in the cancer corner than I am the 19 year old date rape corner. And I didn't realize it until today. That 19 year old girl will always live inside of me, but her voice is so much tinier that the 34 year old woman who doesn't want to lose her mom, that can't bear to see her hurt, that can't see past her own nose right now for thinking about her mom's illness. Am I letting Satan win? I guess he gets the partial victory here... he has me afraid and a little down. But here's why I have hope...

This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. 1 John 1:5

That first Him... that's Jesus. I don't know why they don't capitalize it in the Scriptures; I always want to do so. See, before this verse, John is telling us that he and the other disciples actually saw Jesus, heard Him speak, and this is what he wants us to know. So, in my mind, this is a direct message from Jesus. And it's fairly simple ~ God is light.

Okay, so in God, there is no darkness. At all. Because He is light. He is the noun and the verb at the same time, I am willing to bet my life on it. Because only God could pull that off. And here I am, in the stupid corner with no light, and all I need to do is quit looking at the darn wall. Turn around and see the light. Turn to see what God shining down upon wanting to reveal to me. See, that's where I get hung up... what is He trying to reveal to me? I guess that's where the patience and faith comes in to play.

So I will keep both my corners in mind as I read this new book hoping it will shed light on both issues... no pun intended. And, as always, please keep my mother in your prayers.

Rolley Polley

2011-06-01T08:22:00.005-05:00

My daughter has a fascination with rolley polleys. I am more fascinated with the several different ways one can choose to spell roly poly/rollie pollie/rolley pollies. And yet there is no official Wikipedia for the common bug that rolls itself up into a little ball when picked up. Anywho...

I have this memory. I was about six, right around the same age as Madalyn. I collected a cup of rolley polleys, grass clippings, and a little dirt, and sat down on the den floor in front of the television to teach them tricks. I was convinced that I could do so with a popsicle stick, that I could persuade them to walk across the balance beam I had created from one cup to another with the little sliver of wood.

At that point in time, I was caught in that in between place ~ right in the middle of being afraid of bugs and not being afraid at all. At six, I still had classifications. Rolley polleys were not really bugs, and neither were lady bugs or butterflies. But at some point in most girls' lives, all moving insects become bugs, whether they are harmless or not, and therefore gross. That's where Madalyn is right now... still fascinated with most bugs, not completely afraid of them but not altogether welcoming of the creatures either. Her favorites are the rolley polley and the lady bug.

It's funny to watch my daughter do something that I once did at her age. Funny and scary. How firmly will she travel my footsteps? Will she be better at all of this than me? Make better decisions? Be smarter and more savvy? Cry less and laugh more? Will she realize before I did that you can't teach a rolley polley tricks? That try as you may, a sweet little girl can't talk a rolley polley into crossing a popsicle stick...

I hope she figures out a lot of things in a more efficient way than I did. I pray...

New Study

2011-05-31T08:56:00.003-05:00

I can tell it's summer. Can you? Everything is slowing down... fewer emails, fewer posts on Facebook, fewer hits on my blog. I like summer and the slowing down of the machine it brings. Gives me the feeling that what few words I decide to share here matter more.

I am beginning a new online study over on Melissa Taylor's blog. As I've shared before, I found Melissa through the Proverbs 31 devotions in my inbox when I was drawn to one in particular she wrote entitled Stained and Ruined. When I read the short devotional describing how she was sexually abused by a neighbor as an innocent child, I was amazed that I felt incredibly similar feelings about my acquaintance rape at the age of nineteen. Shame. Guilt. The sense that I was damaged and unworthy. Reading her devotion that day opened a door for me to examine my beliefs about myself and how they differed form God's opinion of me, and I have been on that journey now for almost two years, trying to let go of some of those unfounded feelings I've been carrying around in my soul for so long now.

So, that's what the new study is all about. In this online community that Melissa Taylor has orchestrated, we will read through Hidden Joy in a Dark Corner by Wendy Blight. Just this morning, I read through the first chapter which describes her attack and the emotions surrounding it in the days that followed. The courage she has shown in telling her story is amazing, and perhaps that is the whole point of her book. We don't like to talk about the darkness... no one really does. We always answer "fine" when asked how we're doing or feeling. We smile and laugh at jokes when inside we're so weary inside we feel like we could sleep for days. We shy away from the conversations that will expose our weaknesses and flaws. We like the light, but it tends to be of the fluorescent nature ~ bright, man-made, and perfectly positioned to reveal only what we want to show and not that dark corner of our mind where Satan hides and whispers his little lies to our hearts.

I've been guilty of this myself. There are people all around me that have no idea what I went through at the age of nineteen. It's not something I like to discuss for so many reasons. I don't ever want to be labeled a victim of any kind, and the circumstances around my experience are embarrassing. No one wants to open them self up for embarrassment on purpose, do they? Of course not. So, for years, I allowed the fear of embarrassment, of persecution and judgement of others to back my soul into hiding in that dark corner, afraid of what people would think or say about me, the decisions I made on that night so very long ago, the decisions I made in the days, weeks and months afterward.

As I mature, I realize that God has an amazing plan for me, and that in time it will all be revealed. I just have to be patient, seek God, let Him work on my heart, and allow it all to unfold. I know that there is a community of women who live with the same covered up story as mine in their hearts, and that it effects them deeper than they care to admit. Maybe that's the meaning to my story... maybe one day, I can write about the night that changed my life forever openly, share the whole story, and perhaps help someone suffering silently in guilt as I did for so many years. Only God knows how this story ends.

I look forward to seeing what God has in store for me during this study, to experiencing freedom in a way I've never known and turning on the light in that dark corner of my soul. What about you? Do you have a dark corner? I think we all have a dark corner of our own. Join me in the study... it's never too late!

2011-05-27T09:40:00.001-05:00

My day at the spa was amazing. As a matter of fact, it would have been perfectly fine with me to have stayed there. I have never in my life been pampered the way I was in that 24 hour period, and quite possibly may never be again! I was greeted with a gift bag at the spa, complete with Vera Bradley cosmetic bag and three travel sized True Blue Spa lotions. When we checked into our room, we were given a beach bag with a few goodies inside. I enjoyed two spa treatments, a massage and a facial, both free, gratuity already paid. We had a lovely buffet dinner out on the patio with an open bar. It was as though someone had opened up the gates of the land of free...

But one thing ran through my mind all day ~ my mother. She called her doctor that morning to talk about the increasing shortness of breath, and he scheduled the drainage to be done the following morning. Truth is it doesn't matter where I am or what I am doing or how many free spa treatments are being thrown my way, I always go back to the thought of my mom. While at Ross Bridge, I kept thinking, "I wish my mom could be here... I wish she could do this or that..." I don't know if this feeling is normal for a child of a parent dealing with a chronic illness, but it's my reality. Everything I experience I find myself wanting to share with her. Wanting her to be there.

The doctor drained a liter of fluid from the pleural lining of her right lung, the opposite side from last time. I don't think any one of us realized that it was building up on the other side now, and I was completely shocked to hear it. I mean, technically, I guess it's not bad news, but it was surprising.

I really wish they could insert a drain that would drain all her body of the cancer. Wouldn't that be nice? And then we could celebrate with a day at the spa at Ross Bridge. And we'd all live happily ever after...

I think that's the toughest part of life right now. Being fully aware that there simply isn't a happily ever after here on earth. If there's ever been a time I've been made fully aware, it's been recently.

Continued prayers for my mom are appreciated. She will return to the doctor on Thursday to follow up on the drainage procedure. I have no idea if her oncologist would choose to see her on that day or not, but it wouldn't surprise me. Just continue your prayers... thanks in advance.

Jealous much????

2011-05-24T15:26:00.002-05:00

My husband texted me last Friday while I was frantically preparing to make a trip out of town to a baseball tourney that we really couldn't afford to take. It's difficult to pack and purchase food and drinks for a tourney when you know you need to be placing that money in different hands. Much more stressful than the ordinary preparations. Anywho...

The text read basically the following: What do you think about a free night at Ross Bridge, free round of golf for me, and a free spa treatment for you? I literally burst into tears, as embarrassing as it is to admit it. Sounded too good to be true, but it was for real. Scott plays golf at 11:00 in the morning, I am receiving a facial at 2:00 in the afternoon, the rest of our time can be spent relaxing by the pool, and we will enjoy a lovely dinner that evening. For free.

One of the finance companies has organized the event as a thank you to some special managers. Usually these type of things involve golf or nice dinners, but they have never in my experience in the business involved the wives. I thought it was an extra special touch, and the timing couldn't be more timely. We are both stressed to say the least, and we haven't enjoyed a dinner together alone in months. We seldom have the opportunity or the extra funds to do so, and I am so excited to have some breathing time together.

I honestly felt like it was sent from God Himself. I have been a little too fretful lately, I'm ashamed to admit. It's easy when things are tight to forget that I am still blessed beyond measure. Even easier to forget that my Heavenly Father longs to take care of me. The thought is humbling and joyful that he'd want anything to do with this messed up girl. But it's so much more than that... He truly wants me to rest in His hand, and I need it now more than ever. And so does my hard working husband. Seems like we keep on saying, "At some point, things will get better... they have to get better..." We juggle and shift and scrimp and grind our teeth, and it's nice to know that tomorrow we can put it all on the back burner and let someone else pick up the check. Literally. And for things we wouldn't ordinarily get to do.

I've only had one facial in my life, and I remember how relaxing it was. Jealous much? Don't be... I still have to come home afterward...

Tired

2011-05-23T12:21:00.002-05:00

What do you get when you cross a Crazy Mama with three days at the ball park in 90 degree heat? Fatigue.

I'm pooped.

We traveled to Opelika, Alabama to play in a big tournament this weekend. We started Friday evening with an 8:15 game which actually began sometime right after 9 pm. Yes... 9 in the evening. As in when my kids are normally in the bed. But the boys did fabulously and pulled through a merciless 20-something to nothing score. Saturday, we all had lunch together as a team and made our way to the ball park for two afternoon games. The word for Saturday was HOT. Temperatures were soaring, the sun was high, and the Bandits' bats were on fire. The boys were hitting so well, and their defense was amazing. When I lay my little head on the pillow Saturday evening, I really thought we were on our way to winning a huge tourney.

Not so much.

The fire went cold sometime between 9:00 on Saturday evening and 9:00 am on Sunday morning. When the boys arrived to play game four of the tournament, they had completely wiped their brains clean of all previous baseball training. They weren't sure what to do with the bats; they could certainly swing them but didn't have the whole make contact with the ball part. Most were having trouble keeping a good hold on the baseball, which left me wanting to run out there with a little bottle of Elmer's. It was a tough loss.

I don't mind losing as much when I feel that the team that takes the victory is better. But this one wasn't, and all the adults walked away from the field scratching their heads and thinking, "What just happened?" Thing about kid sports is that you learn that your expectations may be consistently met but will never always be met. Just don't happen. Then you'll have that rare occasion in which none of your expectations will be met (as in the total nightmare that was yesterday's game).

It's tough as an adult knowing cognitively what a group of nine year old boys are capable of and then not seeing it play out. When I break it down internally, it's all about expectations. This season, the stakes are even higher. We feel it when we walk in the park... you can hear them whispering, "That's that team that won the World Series twice." You can see it the looks on their face as they stand back at a distance and watch you lose. That's tougher to swallow than the loss itself. Because that's what hurts the most ~ knowing what's come to be expected of our Bandits, and seeing them fall short. And in front of lots of people.

But I guess that's part of life, too. It's not all championship games, trophies, and fantastic double plays. It's slipping down in the dewy grass of the infield and missing that ground ball. It's getting too far off the bag and getting picked off. It's swinging at the curve ball, watching the one right down the pipe, or popping out to left field. It's not all perfect. Lots of mistakes. Lots of accidents. Lots of bad choices. And just like in life when sometimes we seem to be overwhelmed at one time with a ton of the repercussions of our poor choices or bad circumstances, our field was full of mishaps yesterday.

But what I know about our little team is this: they will be back at it tomorrow. They will lift their chins up, dust off their cleats, and get back to work on their skills. And they will pull it back together. I have no doubt in them.

What I do doubt is getting my normal energy level back by the end of this week...

The fight continues...

2011-05-20T08:03:00.002-05:00

Late yesterday afternoon, I got the call. Every time the phone rings on appointment days, my heart stops a little. I want to hear my dad's voice, I want to know the results, but there's this tiny part in me that longs to climb out of my body and avoid it all. I am learning more and more about my propensity to avoid. I can't say where it started, but it's there.

The appointment went better than any of us had thought. I think my mom, dad, and I had all noticed that the shortness of breath was much worse, and therefore expected that things must not be working. Her scan did show an increase in the fluid around her left lung, but the doctor doesn't feel it medically necessary to drain it off at this point. Instead, he wants to leave that up to my mother; when she feels it's time to drain, he will schedule it to be done. The doctor also added an additional drug to her treatment, one that she had in conjunction with her chemo years ago, in hopes that it will be an effective partner in starving the cancer.

That's a question that many have asked. They don't understand how you can have cancer and not be on chemo. I'll admit, I felt the same way at first, and kept questioning my dad about it. But when you are dealing with a chronic form of cancer that is slow growing, I believe the approach is more of withholding what feeds it instead of attacking it. Perhaps this is the most challenging part of the treatment plan... the wait and see what works, the be patient part, the seemingly non-confrontational approach to the cancer cells.

I'd like to attack it. Let's go in there commando style with oozies and heavy artillery and blast each and every cancer cell inside her body! Let's do it up right and rid her of all of it! But that is nearly impossible... even in real life war situations, we deal with innocent casualties of war. But the last thing you want to do is kill more good than bad. We wouldn't sacrifice 500 innocent people to kill one bad guy, so why would we do the same to our body?

So that's where we are. Withholding as much of the hormone that feeds my mother's cancer as possible. By withholding the food, we hope the cancer starves to death. And when I stop and think about it in more depth, the slightly passive-aggressive side of me kind of enjoys this process a little. I like the thought of the evil cancer inside her calling out for food, for water, for anything, and being denied. Maybe that sounds a little twisted to some, but it's easier for me to think about it in those terms.

I've been a little down lately. Not depressed, not losing faith, just weary at heart. So I have started praying the same verses every day to my Lord, calling out to Him, trying to rest inside His hand. I will share it with you all in hopes that it will lift you up in some small way...

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts, see if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. Psalm 139: 23-24

Lead me, Lord. Read every word on my heart. Pour over my thoughts as only You can. Lead me. Though I am barely able to walk right now, I am trying so desperately to follow...

And thank you all, my precious friends, for your prayers. Please continue lifting my sweet Mama's name up to her Creator...

Tests...

2011-05-18T07:38:00.005-05:00

Last Friday, I opened Madalyn's Bee Book (fancy name for a handy little metal ring binder that houses all our vital info for school) to find a reading assessment. The names of the children in the class were greyed out, but Madalyn's scores were highlighted for me so I could compare hers to the others in the class and the averages. Comparisons can sometimes be informative but most often end in unsettling emotions.

The first test {ahem... excuse me, I should say assessment} was titled LETTER NAMING FLUENCY and described as an assessment that checks to see how automatic a student is with letter naming. Now I knew for a fact that Madalyn can recognize and name all her letters as we just sat down and did that last week. Her teacher had jotted me a little note saying that Madalyn was still confusing a few letters (F, Q, and K, I think). We sat down with a puzzle which matches letters with words, and I had her name the letter on each one. She did them all, though I admit she had to stop and think about the trouble letters her teacher had written me about, and I certainly did not time her. But she knew them all the same. In the first assessment, the benchmark is to name 40 letters within a minute. Madalyn was able to name 25, well below the class average of 46.8 and the listed benchmark. I was disturbed, so I looked forward to the next test.

The second assessment, titled PHONEME SEGMENTATION FLUENCY, measures a student's ability to segment each individual sound in words. The benchmark for each student is to correctly segment 35 sounds in one minute. Madalyn scored a 62, well above the benchmark, and slightly higher than the class average of 55.8. At this point, I felt a little better.

The final assessment was titled NONSENSE WORD FLUENCY, and this explanation followed: This is a true assessment that measures a student's understanding of the alphabetic principle. Okay. I wasn't aware that there even was such a thing as an alphabetic principle, but apparently I've been missing out all this time. This particular test presents nonsense words (or words that really aren't words at all) to see if the student can sound them out appropriately. Benchmark is 25, class average was 30.7, and my daughter scored 28.

When I absorbed all the test scores, I thought, "She's behind... she's not measuring up... but she reads the little books and sounds out the little words... we're failing somehow..." But the more I processed and examined the different tests and what they really meant, I felt better. The second test told me the most important thing I needed to know ~ that she is able to sound out real words on her own fluently. Then I started looking at the other students... some of the kids who named more letters in the first test didn't do well at all on the phonics. Some didn't do well on any of them. Some are obviously very intelligent and excelled on all three.

Bottom line is this: I have to take each assessment on it's own value, and the value of each one will be different in every circumstance.

Why do they put these kids through these assessments? Well, to measure them against what has been deemed normal or average. To see who is ahead and who is lagging behind. To find out what works and what does not. We face these tests throughout our life, but at some point, we have to make the decision to stand in our own results, accept both the areas where we excel and ones in which we need improvement.

Tomorrow, my mother faces new tests. Blood will be drawn, and comparisons will be made against the norm. Scans will be ordered, films made, and eyes will pour over them measuring the fluid collecting outside her left lung. Conclusions will be drawn based on measurements and tests, comparisons of what goes on inside my mother's body as it compares to normal healthy one. Granted, she won't meet the benchmark of normal. She has cancer. Nothing average about that.

Here's what I pray about those tests... that the doctors have all the wisdom and understanding in their minds and hearts to determine the best possible way to continue her treatment. That My Lord literally hovers around them, permeates their brain as they make their conclusions. That we all ~ my mother, father, brothers and their families ~ have the ability to take in the results for what they are in the moment, knowing that they won't be perfect, average, or right on the benchmark. Truth is, there's no benchmark with cancer. There's no ideal. There's no perfect unless it's simply disappeared, miraculously gone. And I would graciously take that option if presented to me...

No matter what the results say tomorrow, the fact of the matter remains that my life has been so blessed by her being in it. She has made me who I am (the good parts, anyway) and just watching her live makes me want to be a better person. She's been my strength and supporter and advisor and friend. When I look at her, I don't see the cancer. I see strength, resilience, grace, and dignity. I would take my mom with cancer over any of the mothers out there with no illness at all. That's just how magnificent she is.

And I take my daughter, phoneme segmentation fluent but lacking in timed letter recognition, over a child who can quickly tell you all the letters, big and small, but can't read a complete sentence. But that's just me. I am working on working with what I've got, appreciating the reality, not the longing for more.

As usual, prayers are coveted.

Old Metal Bowl

2011-05-16T08:13:00.004-05:00

Every summer, we shelled peas. My grandmother got out this ginormous bowl, not real deep but broad across. It was metal, covered in white enamel or paint, probably highly leaded. We'd pull the peas still encased in their protective green shell out of a basket on the concrete porch and split each one open with our thumbnail. I'd run my nail along the length of the shell, separating and pulling the two hemispheres apart. Pretty little peas inside, purple hulls.

We'd shell out on the back porch, Mama and Grandmother talking, breeze blowing gently on the wind chimes creating unique harmonies in the thick summer air, until our thumbs were both green and sore.

Grandmother carefully washed the peas running her fingers through the contents of the metal bowl, pulling the bad ones out. I can smell them now as I type the words ~ the raw purple hull peas. I can smell them; I see her standing at the stove, blanching, cooling, packaging, and putting away for the future. That was the way she did things. How I wish I could go if but for one day and watch it all again.

I found that old metal bowl Saturday and brought it home. There was so much more I wanted to bring home with me. If I could, I'd pick the whole stinking house up and put it in my backyard. In all my 34 years, it's the only thing that has been the same since I was born. We moved a lot, my dad's parents moved a few times, my parents have moved since I moved north. So much change, and yet that house was my constant. Every Christmas Eve I was in that house. I can't recall a single year that I wasn't. Must have been a few when we lived in other states, but the majority were spent there.

No matter what, I knew I could go there and things would be the way they should be. There'd be ice cream and waffles in the kitchen freezer, chocolate syrup in the cabinet, the Braves or Alabama football (depending on the season) on the TV, and my grandmother in her chair. There were pins every where. My grandmother was a seamstress, and various people were in constant motion in and out of her front door needing their skirts and pants hemmed or dresses taken up or let out a little, so pins were common. And thread. Little strands of color all over the sofa and chairs.

Grandaddy piddled a lot outside, and when he stilled his tall frame for longer than ten minutes, you'd catch him napping. He had this pillow thing on the floor in the back den, which was really the master bedroom of the tiny house they called home. He'd lay down on his side in front of the TV in the den, one of those big wooden encased old sets, and prop his head on that pillow and be out in no time. His long legs nearly stretched from one side of the tiny room to the other.

All the life has left the house now. The areas in the back yard that once grew tomatoes and muscadine vines are nothing but grass. There's no TV. Grandma and Grandaddy aren't there anymore. Their hearts are still beating, lungs taking in air, but they are long gone. The people they once were have left, and their minds are back in places like 1952 living in homes that have since been condemned and playing out memories in their head.

Funny... I find myself doing the same thing. Playing out the memories in my head. Standing on that wooden bench for Grandmother to pin a hem in my hand made Easter dress. Watching my Grandaddy slice a watermelon on the back porch or crank the ice cream maker. Smelling those raw purple hulls. Wanting to go back, to take it in one last time, to appreciate it more, to tell them in their sound mind, "Thank you... thanks for all these beautiful memories."

Instead, I'll hang on to that old metal bowl. I don't think I'll ever part with it.

Scripture Memory Challenge Verse 10

2011-05-15T18:59:00.002-05:00

This morning, after sleeping in, I flipped open my laptop to take a little look at Blogger. I was shocked to discover that today's date is the 15th, and it was time to pick another verse. I am a little shameful about not truly memorizing the verses at this point, but the Lord keeps telling me to continue the focus. I may not can recite them all verbatim, but I have a little spiral full of verses that mean so much to me right now. The other day, I sat down and read them all and spent some time in prayer about some things on my heart. Amazing how time like that eases your mind about things.

Seems lately, there's a lot of easing necessary. The world is tough right now. So much tragedy around me, literally. So much loss and damage and heart break. And then there's days like yesterday that totally drain the energy from my body. Going into that home that has been so full of life as long as I can remember and seeing everything strewn about and not hearing my grandparents' voices or the Braves game on the TV... well, it's just weird. And then working side by side with my mom, listening to her labored breathing, and knowing what's behind it... well, it wears me out emotionally.

To be honest, I feel weary right now. A little beyond tired and on into weary. I'd like to check out for a day or two, lie on the beach in pretty perfect beams of sunshine, with no one in sight. Doesn't that sound lovely? It also sounds impossible. So, instead, I perused the other Siesta's verses for the next two weeks. Funny how the very first one was the perfect verse for me right now.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. James 1:2-3

Hmmmm. Testing of faith. Wonder if that's applicable to my life right now???? Ya think????

I think any time you have an issue in your life that is utterly beyond your control, it calls your faith into question. Mine has certainly been tested over the last year and a half. The test continues every day. But one thing I have decided in my heart is that whatever is going on in this crazy mixed up world, I will not allow it to pull me away from God. In fact, I want it to do right the opposite... I want it to draw me nearer to Him, to His love, to His Word. So, here I am, in the midst of a memory challenge, not exactly memorizing, but drawing nearer to His Word all the same.

And I guess I'll just keep on moving forward. I know He knows how weary I am at times. I know He knows all the reasons why. I know He looks at me and knows the outcome of any situation that weighs on my heart. I'd like to imagine Him looking down at me and whispering, "Just trust me... just know that I am here, where I've always been and will continue to be. Lean on me. I can handle the load." I can hear it, but boy is it hard to follow through on sometimes.

Welcome back. Blogger!

2011-05-14T09:11:00.002-05:00

I wasn't able to log into Blogger for the better part of two days. On top of that, my Gmail was acting up, so I wasn't even able to email someone and tell them how badly I was missing blogging. This little space of the world I claimed four years ago has become a little haven of mine, and perhaps I don't realize it until for some reason outside my control I can't get in it.

I enjoy writing here, but I also enjoy connecting. I love reading what other people are thinking, doing, and feeling. I love getting feedback and hearing that I've made someone else think about something differently. I love to get my wheels spinning in a different direction because of what someone else has said. I just absolutely adore this whole blogosphere. I am totally addicted.

Here's a promise ~ I'll be writing an incredibly emotional piece on Monday, no doubt. I am about to head down tho my grandparents' home this morning to help my mom do some cleaning out. Since both of them are in the nursing home now, they are getting ready for a yard sale and subsequent sign in the front yard. There are over forty years worth of life to clean out. I am excited to go there and see what is stored away, but it will be the first time I have been inside the home since they were both put in the nursing home a few months ago. It will be an emotional day.

On the other hand, I get to spend a day with my mom working side-by-side with no children around. So that's a definite plus.

Good Saturday to all!