Reflection of 2011, Outlook of 2012

Reflection of 2011

     Last year, this day at 11:55 I sat at my kitchen table, exhausted, wondering why on earth I wanted to be awake in observance of the new year. I am hopelessly in love with tradition. I wanted my next year to be an offering to the Lord, and yet, the entire day had not consisted of me sitting at His feet. Not even once. And as I lay my head on the kitchen table I cried out to Him, hoping He’d answer me despite my lack of devotion in that day. But I knew He needed to give me a word for the new year. Just so you know, my method of word receiving is not typically opening the Bible at random and letting my face fall in the crease, then looking down my nose to see what the Lord wants to impart. Not usually. But this night, I was tired, and I asked the Lord to bless my effort. And as I fell I let my eyes close, and then I forced them to open. And when I focused I saw Psalm 127:3:

“Children are a gift from the Lord;

they are a reward from him.

Children born to a young man

are like arrows in a warrior's hands.

How joyful is the man whose quiver is full of them!

He will not be put to shame when he confronts his accusers at the city gates.”

     It has reigned supremely true in this year. I walked into it headstrong against the world and my well-meaning conscious. If I was going to believe it, I was going to stop being a pill to my kids. I was going to stop acting like they were burdens on me. I was going to stop preventing the pursuit of more children. That’s right, on top of deciding that my kids were going to be my top priority, I also decided that if God considered them to be blessings, I wasn’t in any place to pick and choose what He had for me. More blessings, please. On top of this, I began to volunteer at the Pregnancy Center, a pro-life organization that educates and empowers women to make wise, well-informed decisions about their bodies, particularly when they are harboring a life. I LOVE that place. That has come to be my life’s calling, shepherding these girls into a place of worth, and calling them to a level of excellence in their mothering. It’s my heart’s desire for the Lord to use me there. Not only that, but I started a purity group at our church for some of the teenagers. It has since fallen through due to busy schedules. Out of that came a position at the Pregnancy Center as an “abstinence advocate,” where I get to promote sexual integrity to the unwed, also requiring me to be quite the expert in Natural Family Planning. It’s amazing how the Lord has woven this all together. The first week of the new year I have my first assignment at Summerville High. Alongside another lady (with far more experience than I), we will get to minister to three different freshman classes about the glorious benefits of marital sex! I am very excited about this. Two weeks later is the Walk For Life in San Francisco and I keep looking ahead, seeing myself in that place, proud of the place that I stand and what I stand for.

     I assumed a lot of things about this last year. For starters, I thought that if the Lord was going to teach me about children being a blessing, that I would immediately have another child. I thought He'd make me prove it.  And that scared me. And He knew that and I love that about Him. Instead, I had time to focus on my current children. I focused on the unborn and spreading the message that resonated in my heart. And I allowed myself, as His child, swell with pride and be overwhelmed by His love for me. If His plan values children, how much more does He value me as His child? The revelation of this has been a journey, some turns exciting, some twists confusing, and there is an entire blog devoted to just this. But I haven’t been ready to share. The time is soon.

 Outlook
     This year, I am pretty much in the same spot as last year. Here we are, several hours from the new year and I haven’t asked the Lord what on earth He is up to in my life for the new year! Paul and I plan on giving each other words tonight after the kids go to sleep, very excited about that! But my resolution is a tad selfish and yet is going to cost me all of my self. It’s selfish, because I don’t care what it takes, this is going to happen. And yet, I dread it because I fear my own failure. But I am tired of living in chaos. My house is clean. Sweet country cabin. But behind cabinets, in closets, underneath couches, underneath beds lurk outrageous messes. I am tired of not knowing where things are. I’m tired of not putting laundry away. I’m tired of not having peace in my home. And sometimes, us moms get overwhelmed. I’ve confirmed with moms more than enough to know that I’m not alone in this. But it doesn’t excuse me from my sloppiness. From my slothness. And I am determined to live by a schedule. Not a demanding, rigid one. But an outline, something to give me structure to my day because for now I envision us as a bunch of spaghetti noodles being flung about. Not sure why that is my vision, but it is. And the truth is, I don’t know what I am doing. So please hold me accountable to this guy here:

     The funniest thing happened when I wrote out my schedule. I actually was running out of things to do in my time blocks. 3 hours of combined playtime with the kids. 2 hours of prayer. 1 hr 45 minutes cleaning time. Plenty of Mommy free time. And still time to spare! Where do my days go? That’s what I’m on a mission to figure out. And since I usually get bored playing with my kids when I’m determined to sit with them for ½ an hour, I’ve made a list of activities to do with them. Since I always seem to get to 11:30 and have no idea what to feed them, I made a list of simple lunches. Same with snacks. I’m tired of foggy Mommy brain, and if I can’t figure out how to think straight, hopefully my lists will help. I’m also taking discipline seriously. I’ve read about 12 books on discipline this last year. I always say that the most important goal in my life is that my children grow up being taught by the Lord, with peace in their hearts (Isaiah 54:13). That is all I care about. And I feel like my attempts have given God little to work with and I am sorry for that. So this year, I am just going to put forth a little more effort than usual. I’m going in with a plan.

So 2012, here we come, full force. And when the Lord gives me a word, I’ll definitely share. His idea of my year is probably way better than mine but here is my start! I am very excited….and praying for a blessing for myself, maybe a baby, or two (…as long as He’d spare my husband a heart attack!). May God bless your year!

Listening to God's opinion...

     My body is in a despondent state here. First of all, I have been sleep training Sonora-Grace which means we all get a bit less sleep than usual with her up at night crying. Then, I have been weaning her from nursing because when she wakes up once I am capable of nursing her, but 3 and 4 times (as she can sometimes be in the habit of doing) I find myself with no milk to offer her and she screams anyway. It’s sort of painful too. Since I’m weaning her (I don’t think any men read my blog…) my body, for the first time in over 2 years, is starting to ovulate again. I cried yesterday when something I had put in my cart on amazon got sold before I purchased it. Hormones are out the roof at this point. Then, I’m sick. Although I have been swallowing vitamins like my life depends on it, and snorting expired Zicam on the off chance that prolonged shelf life isn’t going to poison me and may prevent sickness, I am still sick. And it’s worse than the average cold. My throat hurts, my whole body is shaky, and I’m not hungry. I’m nauseous. I’m tired but I can’t sleep. So last night, although I’d been waiting all day to go to sleep, I couldn’t get my body to doze off so I woke up to read and drink some warm milk and take a couple tablespoons of honey. And some ibuprofen. Then back to bed before Sonora woke up to start her several-times-a-night scream fest where we lay her down every 15-20 minutes while she arches her back so much and locks her body in that position it’s almost impossible TO lay her down. She screams, “No! NO!” at me, and continues to wail like I’m trying to kill her. I don’t remember it being this difficult with the son. I came to the decision to do this after I was crying a couple nights ago, burning from being empty of milk while she was still nursing hard. Throbbing pain from her teeth going into me trying to persuade more milk. I thought, this cannot be God’s will for me. Major ouch. So where was I? Oh yes, now I am pitiful, and sick. Grateful for a small dog to cuddle under my chin because there is nothing better than being cuddled when everything inside you feels like the word “yuck.” But once more, I can’t sleep. We have a big Christmas party to attend tonight and I’ve been looking forward to the occasion for weeks. I plan on getting very drunk tonight. On cold medicine. I’m not letting this sickness get me down!

     So anyway, onto other things. Like why I actually decided to leave my sleepless nap and pick up the laptop. I was thinking about something this morning. I’m not going to lie. The epiphany was derived from Francine Rivers not really anything I came up with on my own. My Mom sent me Francine’s novella on Mary called “Unafraid.” Oh, so good. I’m not finished yet but she really brings the story to life. One of the portions that stood out to me was the actual birth. I never really stopped to consider that there were more than angels frequenting the blessed occasion, but satan himself. Of course, Jesus was his worst nightmare! So anyway, this is veering off a bit from where I wanted to go with this. Francine (yes, we are on a first name basis now) talks about Mary a lot, developing her character. She was an average kind-a-girl, who loved God. She wanted to please Him. That was her redeeming quality, among others. But when the angel came to visit her and tell her of God’s plan, immediately she heard from darkness. “Why would God choose you? You really think you are so worthy?”

     After reading a good portion of the book, I was thinking about that nasty enemy. How he wants us to admit to ourselves who we really are. When the darkness whispers to us, it may mention its opinion of us, but ultimately it asks who we think we are. What do you think of yourself? The devil can make a lot of leeway with a statement like that because it’s easy to agree with something negative or his evil plans for our circumstance. Something degrading about ourselves, it’s probably something the devil planted himself anyway. Often times God's truth can appear contradictory to where we are at.  Especially when it comes to His opinion of us, we may find ourselves thinking, "Why does God love me?"  But nothing in the world can change the fact that He does. 

So that got me thinking about God and how He speaks. When it pertains to our identity I think He’s more concerned with telling us who we are, not asking.
Maybe conviction will come in the form of a question, like God asked Adam and Eve, “who told you that you were naked?” (I’m sure God knew the answer to that one)

That’s the other thing, God doesn’t have to ask questions. He already knows everything. God tells us who we are. Oh, such sweet things He has to say.

Anyway, maybe my theology is off on this one. Maybe I can do research when I’m not seeing spots, and dozing off. Just wanted to share my epiphany. And I can assure you the cold medicine had worn off by this point so I do not think it was induced by an altered perception. If that helps.

My point: next time the enemy comes up and asks you who you are, don’t tell him what you think, or how you feel, or even what he thinks about you…tap into what God has to say, and sit in that place, and don’t turn away.

Bad guys, good guys, in between guys, and the Hero...

So it happened, Comcast officially came through Tuolumne City and after 2 ½ years of being starved of the outside world we raced, no, desperately dashed to Xfinity to sign up. I’m not sure if that makes me totally awesome; I survived nearly 3 years with no internet access at home!  Or maybe I’m just incredibly taken over by technology that yes, we all did happy dances when the Comcast guy showed up. So one of the things that I greatly looked forward to was listening to IHOP live stream. I’ve been so blessed by this ministry and yet I rarely get to partake! But now, that all changes.

Yesterday I had been listening and praying along. I learn a lot by process of imitation, I hope it’s ok if I admit that. But I was loving it, loving the time with God and the heart of the intercessors in KC. “It’s a good time to be young.” Maybe it was me, maybe it was God but the message resonated in my heart. The worship leader was so young. He was hard after the heart of God, crying out to Him for salvation for the lost, redemption for his city, justice for our world, and encounter with the living God. I am excited about the future. I get to be a part of what God is doing and that is very cool.

So in walks Jake. My kids napped 1 hour each today, so not cool. As I am writing this, Sonora Grace is startling my lap, and Jake is tucked underneath my elbow, glued to my side. I love these guys. When they are napping, I try to seize the moment with the Lord. So yesterday was such a day (today was a nap day..). Jake curled up on my lap and asked his favorite question, “What are you doing?” So I explained to him that I was praying. The prayer room was interceding for sex traffickers in Kansas City, praying for their salvation. Very cool, again, and so I joined them for my own city. But I didn’t know how to explain what that meant, not to a 3 year old. Not to someone so pure of heart, so innocent. I didn’t think that was a discussion we needed to have. So birthed, “good guys, and bad guys.” Ok, so that birthed months ago when we talked about the enemy of our souls.

**I am going to stop right here and tell you that if you are young and without kids, study your keyboard now, before you have their adorable, snotty faces engulfing the front of your screen and keyboard and you cannot see what you are doing. I am simply amazed at my skills J

Moving on. So I told Jake that we were praying for bad guys. He already knows a million analogies about Jesus. “Our hearts are dirty, Jesus came to clean them,” “Our hearts are broken, Jesus will fix them,” among others. We were praying for bad guys, that actually have the potential to be good guys if they can meet Jesus. So lets pray for their hearts. Jake said, “that Jesus will take the yuckies out?” Sure, why not. He did pretty good, considering his .2 second attention span.

So this morning, I turned on IHOP and hid in the hallway so that my kids would not delay my encounter. Toy Story 3 on volume 30 totally kills my prayer life. If Toy Story 3 is not on, blubbery, high-pitched wails of the injustice of Mommy’s movie ban kills my prayer life. So hallway is the only win. But Jake found me. He got on his hands and knees and crawled towards me. When he saw the screen he sat up and gave a sly grin, he whispered, “Are those the good guys?” Uh, yeah, they are the good guys. Good job, good memory buddy. “Where are the bad guys go?” he whispered, (like we were undercover agents or something). So I told him that Jesus was working on the bad guys. Working on the yuckies in them.

Whenever Jake starts beating up on his sister, I always see something in his eyes. Something really dangerous and distant, like he’s not rolling around in my clean laundry strangling her with a dog leash (just kidding…or am I?). And it’s not rebellion. If you have boys, you probably understand this look. I don’t even know how to describe it. He grits his teeth, poses tall, and prepares for the final blow…and then Mom stops him, Thank God…

Anyway, that look. It’s valiant. It’s courageous. It’s unbelievably unnerving for a mom to see. But I know from all of my readings that it’s something that I don’t want to suppress or snuff out. I just need to shape it a bit. I’ve been sitting him down after these moments. I take a deep breath first because I’m a girl, raised by a single mom for the early part of my life and I only have a sister. Do you know how much I can relate to battles, bloodshed, bravery, and the like? Not very much. This second Paul is giving Jake the “You can’t throw pets off of 20 foot decks, you might send them to Heaven” speech.

So in these moments I sit him down and I tell him, “You are so strong, you are tough, you are a fighter and that’s good because we have a mighty fight in front of us.” I want to acknowledge his heart in all of this because I know there has to be a reason that he feels like attacking his sister. That’s kind of the cool thing about being a Christian, I have found, is that if you’re bored with simply attending church, there is probably a reason.

The story of good guys and bad guys is not so far removed from where we sit, in the darkest of places, in safe places like church, and in my own home. I don’t want my kids to underestimate their enemy, nor the role they have to play in all of this, and especially not our great victor, Jesus. Sometimes it sounds boring. No, we can’t stick a great steel sword into the “bad guys,” after all, they are far more redeemable without being punctured with sharp war objects. Instead, let’s pray. But let’s think about what is happening in heavenly places, the victories being fought. Let’s sow our hard earned money into others and watch the mystery of reaping. I don’t understand it, do you? But it’s incredible, and it’s part of the great adventure God has fused us into. We can change history.

So my “bad guy, good guy” theology doesn’t always measure up. Because we are all “bad guys” without Christ. Every single one of us could use some of Christ’s redemptive power…some more than others. So, there are good guys and bad guys in this story. And my goal here is not for Jake to see himself as the good guy, but the bad guy who desperately needs some goodness in his life. Once we side with the good guys, we come out of hiding. No more secrets, no more shame, no more running from the haunting of our past. Finally, freedom. And then the part I want Jake to resonate with the most, your strength is needed. Your courage is needed. You can practice on your sister (a little bit), but in the end, this good side will need you to take up your sword and fight. Not against people, but the strongholds over them. And Jacob, do not fear. Be strong and Courageous. The battle is the Lords. He will be with you wherever you go.

So yes, Jacob, these mighty prayer warriors are the good guys, but were not always so. They agreed with redemption, they accepted the price paid for them, and are desperately trying to pull others in. You don’t have to live like this, you can be free. And so my theory needs some working on (too bad theology to my three year old has been reduced to ‘good guys vs. bad guys’ already…) because it’s not like I think that non-Christians are “bad people,” far from it. They are my favorite kind of people because I can sometimes look at them and see the shift that would happen in their lives if they pursued Jesus. It would shake them to the floor. It would rearrange everything. So much promise is hard to not be reckoned with. So I think I clarified what needs to be addressed here in our young kids.

We are working for the bad guys (and they are hard-at-work on us) before we are redeemed. The message of the bad guys is this: You’ll never get ahead. You are worthless. You are weak. You are pathetic. You will never be somebody! But don’t give up, keep trying, keep working for something more. And don’t forget about all of the crummy things you’ve done with your life.

Oh, to work for the good guys though, the hero of this great story. It’s almost more than I can take, than I can fathom. The message of the good guys is this: I love you. You are precious. My thoughts of you are more than the grains of sand in the ocean, in all the world. You are strong in me. You are my beloved child. If you never change, I will still love you as much as I will ever love you. You can start over, anytime. I will make old, lifeless places in your heart be reborn, and flourish with abundant life.

You can work for the good guys, you know? I just felt like someone needed to hear that, other than my 3 year old who is trying to seriously wound his sister because this story, this epic battle was written on his heart long before I fluffed a goofy analogy. Somewhere deep down we all understand that we are meant for greatness. Share this destiny with me, friend.

Whenever I get crazy, these guys seems to get me back on track:

I love them. I love the sticky kisses, the silly jokes, and the mountains of can't-be-contained energy.  Because of these things, sometimes the only way I can get anything done is to announce a movie night and plop everyone on the couch with popcorn, juice cups and a movie.  "Hurray, movie night, everyone take your seat! Oh, so much fun!" 

. 

(When Daddy realizes we are watching Toy Story for the 37489373897th time, he's like "I thought this was going to be fun?") Well, fun for some of us.

Today, Sonora was reaching for me over and over and over. Sometimes I hold her so much that my back starts to ache in places I didn't know that it could.  OUCH.  But she reaches up and looks into my eyes, and says "uh, uh, uh" and then the one word that tips the scale, "Peas, Meemee" (Yes, she calls me Meemee).  Anyway, I get so desperate for a break, I resort to a lot of this kind of stuff:

     

I call this "nonchalant parenting." I might write a book.  How to accomplish housework: A) Seat child in a seat with some sort of restraining device, B) Give child a jar of peanut butter you think to be empty, and C) Remember that peace exists more in your heart than in your circumstance!

     Today I was trying to worship and get into God’s presence. I needed it, and quick.  But I couldn’t like I wanted to. Sonora refused to go into the nursery, so I was stuck chasing her around during the service. But, oh how she loved me. She took me by the hand and lead me every where she wanted to go. She wrapped her arms around me countless times and left sloppiness on my neck as she nuzzled. When she was scared she held me closer. She wandered off a time or two, but never lost sight of where I was. Her gaze met mine and I knew and she knew that everything was just fine.

      In my frustration, I almost heard the Lord laugh at me. God, this is serious!  But this is His plan for me: Motherhood. It’s my great gift, the blessing I count most valuable in my life. And in that moment I realized that the Lord was more than willing to meet me where I was at. And as I watched Sonora’s face light up when she saw me, I realized that she had something I very much wanted, a safe place to run, a happy face beaming at her all the way, a stern boundary, a loving touch, welcomed guidance, and glorious freedom. And I asked God to give that to me, to have with Him. It’s the greatest desire of my life. To know Him completely, and to be known. So blessed this holiday season, by my great God, my Daddy.  Oh, and I'm so blessed by these precious little sheep He gave me to shepherd, humbled and blessed to have the most wonderful job in the world. 

                  

My Christmas Blog

         All of my friends have written super cute Christmas blogs as of late. I guess I haven’t jumped on board because I am not yet ready for Christmas. Of course, I love this season. I love the sights, and the smells, the music and how excited my kids are for all of the presents that are to come. Yes, that is fun. I try not to get too legalistic. I rolled over about 10 seconds before Paul and I had dozed off the other night to remind him that we have no Christmas ornaments. Our last house was fully stocked with Christmas décor and we took that for granted as we moved into a house where we’d have to supply most of our own things. I have to say, I’m grateful for the thrift stores in this area, Red Church thrift in particular. It was a one-stop-shop kinda deal. The best part was all of the handmade things that we found. Sure, there is little to no sentimental value but I am what you would call a sucker for things that have been crafted by hand. I didn’t make the ornaments (who has time for that?), but I imagine some precious old lady rocking in front of a fireplace knitting a miniature stocking thinking, “if only I had grandchildren…I guess I could donate it?” 
     Or better yet, a family that enjoyed Grandma’s knick knacks for many years, but just couldn’t fit it on the tree anymore, what, with all of the handmade ornaments they make with their children? 

         I tried to paint with my kids the other day and we just ended up covered in red and green. Along with my table. I didn’t have newspapers so we spread out a bunch of those cream colored folders that continuously build up in my junk drawers. It wasn’t enough to keep Jake from dying my table. Yes, welcome to my life. I could probably hover over the various spots and scratch them off with a butter knife, but once again, who has time for that? No, I’m tackling the spots one by one with my fingernail while I eat dinner. Multi-tasking at it’s best. I have a friend who can make dinner, talk on the phone, and breastfeed at the same time so I really don’t deserve a trophy or anything. 

Aren’t you grateful for my Christmas post? I’ve done nothing to prepare for my favorite season. Just last night Paul asked for cookies. “Don’t you want to make some for me?” Ugh. No, I don’t feel like baking. You see, the power being out for the first 3 days of December didn’t help. The power being out kind of feels like 3 Saturdays in a row.

The first Saturday is like, “HURRAY! I don’t have to do anything and I’m not being lazy!”

The second Saturday is like, “There is a lot to do today…but I really don’t want to do anything.”

The Third Saturday is like, “I am so incredibly, annoyingly unproductive. I’ve done nothing in three days. If I do not accomplish something I will explode. Who wants to go to Wal-mart?”

Yes, annoyingly.

I’m stuck in lazy world. Thanks to the power outage the dishes piled up, laundry piled up, and all of the homemade Christmas presents I’ve lined up for myself to complete piled up as well. Not to mention, I’ve decided I want to paint something for a certain family member and my goal is something like what Thomas Kinkade creates. I now own canvases, paintbrushes, and various acrylics and that makes me an artist. Apparently. I realize I am much too ambitious for my self-esteem to handle, but I want to do this. And I want to finish my homemade Christmas projects even though when I actually did the math I realized I could buy someone two of what I’m making for them for what it is costing to buy the materials. Hey, and that’s not including the hundreds of years it is going to take me to complete this. But at least I’ll have Christmas presents for everyone when I’m 124 years old and do not feel like sewing.

But that’s ok. I think it is ok that the consumer in me hates this holiday. Because this holiday has been corrupted by consumerism and I want to keep that part of me suppressed.  I do happen to be making my own Christmas list, full of parenting books, prayer books, rubber stamps, a cutting board, and cardstock (Ok ladies, you didn't tell me that card making is the most expensive hobby in the world!), and other things to fill up the little time I get to do what I want to do. But that's the fun part about about Christmas, it's a time of the year set aside to do things for others.  Especially creative things. That's the real reason that I love this season!  So bring on the Christmas music, the ghost stories (I’m just kidding, who does that?), and an extra dose of Jesus. That is all I want for myself and my family. And for goodness sakes, some heavenly peace. That will do just fine.

Needing some Grace!

I recently went through a good season! It was one that the Lord defined a lot for me. First of all: lingering places of insecurity. Those are always fun. Not to shame me, but to bring me into a place of deeper healing. I went through some inner healing and definitely found breakthrough. So thanks for that, God!

The next place He brought me was to a place of passion, somewhere I’d never dared to tread. I would certainly consider myself a passionate person but I’d never known anything to be passionate about. Now in college, I quickly hopped upon the environmental movement full steam ahead. Today I crumpled a Starbucks bag up and crammed it into the garbage because I was annoyed that it said the word “recycle” on it more than once (Don’t tell me what to do, grrr!). Ok, I still care for the environment and for animal welfare (don’t get me started on sea turtles and whales!). You get it. But after volunteering at the pregnancy center downtown I would say that I am head over heels in love with the pro-life movement, with empowering women to be who God created them to be, and leading them out of shame and condemnation into absolute freedom in Christ. I love debunking lies from the enemy, and from this world. Because I believed them once and no one bothered to take me aside and tell me the deeper things. What a divine privilege to work in a place like the pregnancy center. There is a fire in my heart for this issue like never before and I will not stop interceding, crying out, and believing for the abolition of it until it has been done.

This leads me to the next discovery: my giftings. The Lord supernaturally lead me into a place where I could understand intercessory prayer. When I would take spiritual gifts tests they would ask, “Have you found yourself praying for hours at a time?” Umm, no? “Then you are not an intercessor!!” But I am a Mom of two young children, my husband, now currently unemployed, is home everyday and the compilation of insanities is more than I can take. Good insanity of course, family insanity. Intercession kind of became an option because when mercy started showing up I didn’t know what to do. Except cry. I actually learned through studying that crying is a form of intercession! Ah, I’m not crazy! I recently read through “The Happy Intercessor,” (a worthy pursuit for me), and realized that because I don’t lay in bed all day beseeching God for His presence, or walk 10 miles a day asking for favor….well, those are worthy goals but I just can’t do it! But I love to pray, the right way. And there is a right way, for just me. I had been trying to kind of “summon” the Lord until one day I was in the middle of one of my quiet times (the actual quiet ones are few and far between!) and with my spiritual eyes, I saw Him, right there next to me. Why am I so “religious?” Anyway, all that to say, I like to pray. One day the Lord told me just to go for it, and I rolled down the windows in my car and yelled as loud as I could. It was crazy. And awesome. And in that moment I realized I had finally discovered and walked in my gifting. Hurray!

So for the last three weeks I have felt kind of high off of the energy. I woke up every morning and opened the Bible, “Lord give me my daily manna!” I read like ten books on spiritual stuff, real meat! When the kids would act up, “Oh, God, I need some grace!” When a friend was in trouble, I cried out to God in powerful intercession! When I needed a word, there it was! Lots of exclamation points in this part of it J . It was a time of exclaiming God’s goodness, and truth, and his LOVE for ME, ME, ME!

But the last couple of days have been a time of coming down. I went from thinking I understood everything about life, and God to realizing once more, I know very little. I went back to playing defense, proclaiming victory but living in defeat. I am tired. I spent sweet time in the Word today, like the first time in five days that I’ve had time to just sit at the feet of Jesus. Someone gave me the cold shoulder, and someone else the silent treatment, and someone else inferred that I was asking too much from them and the guilt of it all, even things I shouldn’t feel guilty about came crashing down like a mighty waterfall and the tears wouldn’t stop. I feel like I must be the most annoying person in the entire world, the most needy, and it’s frustrating to be in that place.

So yes, I feel like I’m back to square one on some things. I miss where I was, but I’m grateful for where I’m at now because I can put some of these things I’ve been learning to good use against devastating odds, like tiredness, and wild children, and bored husbands and a bank account that goes up, and down, and up, and down again, and a million phone calls from all the wrong people. So I do need a parenting strategy. Paul needs a job. And I need Grace for today. 

"A hope and a future"

What does it mean to say “this has been the longest day of my life"?  I think I can answer this question. Today was a LONG day. And it was all of my fault and Jake had to pay the highest price of all.

      The Lord has been especially good to me as of late, I mean, He is always good but I don’t always perceive it this way. This last week was a good week. First of all, the Waelty’s gifted us with a dog. We were in need of one (in my opinion, maybe Paul wouldn’t use the word "need"…) and they had one to give. We were totally, completely blessed. We have had our great big yellow lab for the last two years and he has filled my heart to the brim with joy. Still, in the winter months I longed for someone to snuggle against my feet and 120 pound Rush would crush me. My parents have 5 rat terriers and I craved something like that, something small and bouncy that would fit in my bed. We’ve been praying for months that maybe God would open a door for a dog, a very casual prayer. And here she is! We call her Reagan, just to kind of continue the trend of “R” named dogs (Rush is our yellow lab)…and coincidentally we have two very conservative dogs, I guess. But Reagan was a kiss on the cheek from the Father! I love her little smushy face (she’s a Shitzu) and how she bounds to see me when I wake up in the morning. I love her. I look at her and think, “God loves me,” radically, intimately, personally- incredible! And even though Paul has nicknamed her “floor pooper” (not funny or original) once she figures out where our door is it should get a lot easier!

Anyway, I wanted to blog because I had a devotional kind of floating around in my head. A favorite verse of some is Jeremiah 29:11:

" For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope."

Is there a Christian that cannot quote this verbatim? Probably not. I love this verse but tend to forget it when things get rocky. That is mostly because I fail to consider the future. But let me tell you that the future is worth waiting for, and this promise is true. I’ve seen it, I’m a living testimony to this.

Today was a long, difficult day for our family because we had to take Jake for oral surgery. Jake stayed on bottles until he was 2. Now, in my defense, which trust me I don’t think I deserve one, my rationale was that we moved across the country in the time that Jake needed to be weaned and so we put it off. And then we moved in with Paul’s parents, and then two months later we moved into our own house. It just never seemed like the right time. And he fought it so hard so we backed down. Wrong move. And now cavities. And then when I saw a cavity with my own eyes I put off calling the dentist until Jake got a toothache and an abscess and then we ended up at a surgery center. I hate myself for letting it get this far. My poor boy had to suffer because of a million mistakes that I’ve made. Not fair. So after watching my son get knocked out with tranquilizer so that he falls asleep with his eyes open (terrifying!), he then gets a shiny silver tooth where the cavity once was (grateful it was a back tooth!), and after the surgery as the anesthesia is wearing off he’s crying because he wants to wake up and he can’t. They told us that Jake would be sleeping all day, except Jake loves life. He loves to be awake, and talking, and playing and watching trucks and cars drive by. So he fought the anesthesia for quite some time and it was so hard to watch. Then came the nausea, and puking. Did I mention it was a long day? My kids are from now on adhering to strict teeth brushing regiments!

     Ok, my point of all of this. I love Jake. I love him. Today when he was all wiped out from the drugs I was thinking “I miss his voice! I miss all of the joy that he brings to my life, to a simple car ride he adds so much! I miss our game of watching every car that drives by and deciding who we know that has a vehicle just like it. I miss his smile. I miss his silliness (“YOU STANK MOMMY!”…we are trying to put an end to this), and how he loves sprite, and how simply seeing cows in a field will prompt him to Old Mcdonald…Oh how I miss when he sings with me...I miss looking behind me and seeing that GIANT smile, and hearing his giggles fill the car...” When he is sick, my heart just aches. Jake is so much fun. Seriously, he is fun to be around. You cannot be around Jake very long without either A) laughing, or B) staring at him in bewilderment because he has the silliest ideas and themes for little stories he tells. He is so brave, I cannot think of anything Jake is afraid of. He is my joy, that is all I can think to describe him, pure joy.

So I think of Jeremiah 29:11. I think about how Jake came into the world and who I was at that time and the things that I assumed God thought about me. God wants to give me a future? Maybe He should have thought about that before He “blessed” me with an illegitimate child!

But I love that boy. Tonight I was rocking my sassy princess to sleep (whom I also adore) and thinking about my day with Jake. The words of Jeremiah 29:11 were kind of playing in my mind creating a movie and I saw myself as a young pregnant girl certain that the only hope I would have was in case of a miscarriage! But I see now. Standing just 3 years into the future, I have a taste of it: raising Jake. I couldn’t help but raise my hands in surrender and praise to God, my God who knew the plans that He had for me. For peace, for hope, and for a future. I do not want anything but what I have now, I wish nothing different for my life than what it is now. That is Jeremiah 29:11 to me. Jake is the fulfillment of this to me, “more than I could ask or imagine” is my happy son.

So I’m praising God for his faithfulness. For His promises fulfilled! I love you, Jake. By the way, he’s feeling better, happy and healthy- that’s my boy!

Sew much fun!

      I love my sewing machine. It’s true, hands down the best gift ever. The worst part about the sewing machine is that it was just another attempt to maybe be normal. It’s an endless quest, I’ve found. I never have anything in common with anyone. But sewing was something that every one seemed to be doing. So I tried it and surprisingly, I fell in love.

      Unfortunately, like most girly things that I do, I’m not talented at it. I have talents, ok, I’m not totally putting myself down here. I just don’t seem to have typical talents and I don’t always enjoy my talents. I was MVP long distance in track in high school, but I hated it. I rode horses for years and certainly enjoyed the competition and I love horses, but I was never going to be the girl to major in equine management and go on to run a barn. Sorry to all of the barn moms that saw this in my future. When I was in high school, I opted out of running cross country my senior year so that I could play tennis. I never got to play outside of exhibition. I literally wasted my time going to practice after practice to never play, and I won’t even mention how many points I was away from earning a letter for my jacket. In fact, I would have been MVP of the women’s cross country team had a I run, but instead I played tennis.

I have regrets about it sometimes. All I know is that I loved tennis. All I know is that I love sewing. When I wake up to this…

And finish my day with this…

I feel so accomplished.

     Sewing is teaching me a lot right now about who I am, and the way I operate, and the kinds of things that are holding me back. In sewing, you don’t really have to be intuitively creative. Or I wouldn’t sew. There are enough online ideas that think for me. You don’t have to be smart to sew, the instructions are pretty clear (although I won’t even share my initial threading error when I began to sew…let’s just say that for the first three months I wasn’t even sewing). I've been convinced for a long time that being creative and smart will make me a good person, a good mom.
     What I am getting at is that the one thing that separates a good sewing project from a bad one is neatness. For me, neatness is determined by time. I am not naturally neat. I am a fast paced project completer, ergo sloppy. I hate taking my time and it shows in every hem that veers off more and more until I’m sure you get the picture. Each time I rush a project, skip ironing and pinning and the like I realize that I wasted fabric and worst of all, time. I wrote in my last blog that the Lord has really been speaking to me about adding peace to my life. I need some peace. A lot of times I bypass peace because I refuse to slow down. And it’s funny because the more I sew the more I want to sew…difficult things. I want to quilt. I want to sit down with a needle and thread and create. And I can’t expect it to happen in an hour. I can’t expect to be talented at all of this in a couple of months. And maybe that’s the thing about sewing that has so impacted me.  I won't even finish a board game if I think I'm going to lose halfway through. I don’t like losing and I especially do not like to be "bad" at something. It’s probably the vulnerability of it all and pride. But I like to sew and I don’t want to stop.

     I feel like I keep telling the Lord, “I can’t do this, I’m just not neat enough,” (Jesus knows all of my sewing woes!), and I just hear Him telling me to slow down, and to wait, and to pay attention to what I’m doing. I am fighting condemnation in my head, “You are so terrible at this, why do you even bother to sew when you are so awful? Go to Etsy.com so you can see how talented all of these other moms are. What a waste of time!” Stupid enemy.

     I sew because I love to sew. And even if I’m never any good, I’m learning to slow down, and anything that holds that kind of power over ME deserves to stick around.

Date Night

         Tonight I had the privilege of spending time with my husband, on a date, with no echoes of “MOMMY, DOWN!” and “GIMME SPRITE, I NEED IT!”  We weren’t quite sure what to do with ourselves.  We did enjoy our meal though, but not near as much as one another’s company.  I think a question that frequents our days, weeks, and months is “Are you happy with me?”  I ask it more than I care to admit, and Paul asked me today.  It never catches me off guard, and Paul even less.  I can’t give Paul the answer he’s looking for just because it’s the answer he’s looking for.  I always take my time and think about it.  It seems fair that way, and honest.
                Yes, I am 100%, completely, and utterly thrilled to be his wife.  Grateful.  Content.  Paul wasn’t exactly excited that I wanted to spend the first hour of our date night shopping for fabric, but he’s a good guy and allowed it (Thank you, Paul!), and then we ate dinner at a burrito bar restaurant.   Paul asked what was on my mind, and that’s not a question he asks a lot because he knows mostly what I’ll go on and on about.

             I HAVE GOT TO GET THAT BROWN WALL IN OUR ROOM PAINTED WHITE.  I have to paint those shelves downstairs white.  I have to get the kids room done, I’d like to have our yard sale sometimes soon. ......

                “I know, but what place does the Lord have you in?”

                That is my favorite thing to talk about with Paul.  I’m not sure why it doesn’t come up more often. If you have a relationship with the Lord than you know that He never changes, but the seasons He moves his children through often do.  At least this is the case with me.  Paul and I are both prone to legalism in a sense, mostly because it seems to make sense.  We say ‘God is love,” and by all means believe it, but I don’t think either of us have begun to understand what that love means.  And we’re desperate.  That’s the only way to put it.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good place to be.  Talking with Paul, my precious husband, about his hunger for the Holy Spirit in His life is pretty cool. 
                We seem caught in the middle all too often of living in God’s will, or living amongst the world and its expectations.   We are starting to see that just because God calls one person to something, that doesn’t necessarily mean that He calls us to the same thing, just because we admire that person and their walk.  It’s not always what God has called us to.  Ok, finicky revelations here.  More than anything, we are starting to understand the depth at which God loves us, and enjoys us.  I think what gets us is that it’s not about how we love, it’s about how He loves.  We really aren’t blown away yet, and not confused either.  We are just eagerly seeking, and He’s responding.  I think Paul especially is really putting himself out there to be met by God in a way like never before. This is indeed an exciting season for us. 

                As for me, the Lord has been speaking “PEACE” to me for weeks now.  Why? For what?  I don’t know, I guess because I NEED peace so badly in my life, and I thought that was probably all there was to it.  Until the Lord told me that I was called to be a peacemaker.  Not just to have peace in my life, but to impart it to others.  I thought it was strange because I don’t feel like I emanate peace, in fact most of the time I’m chanting in rhythm with my footsteps up and down the hall in my house, “There is going to be peace in this house, There is going to be peace in this house, There is going to be peace in this house.”  Can’t say my chanting brings about any real progress, but it reaffirms my goal.   I just love peace, I have fallen in love with it and I need it.  And my peace comes from the Lord. 

                Ever since I was a child I dreamed of the day that I would be married.  It really is everything I thought it would be and more.  Our children are precious and we are so grateful to be their parents!  We love our family, our friends, and I just cannot imagine life outside the way it is now.  And I love date night talks with my precious, wonderful husband!

No excuses!

Maybe I should have two blogs: one for family talk, and one for all of my religion rantings. Those interested in the former could possibly avoid the latter if I had such commitment. But I don’t. But I have been kind of learning something lately concerning my faith and I wanted to share. I think it is a message for the church, and truthfully, it convicts me to a point of humility in my own walk. I’m not going to lie though, it emanated as a result of judging someone else (…just like a woman, I am!) and I’ve held up the mirror to myself and felt that pit in my stomach indicating one thing: conviction.


I will start with this word: accountability. That is how this entire thought process started, I wanted to hold someone else accountable to their actions as a believer. Then I realized that they were a believer and were perfectly capable of seeing their sin on their own. In fact, they relish in it, and search the world for answers. Empty, meaningless answers. One after another and it leaves this certain someone grasping for anything, except Grace, the only thing that any of us can hope for.

Now in my own walk I have been trying to study holiness. I want to live a righteous life, and thanks to my flesh, the unworthiness is too much to bear. God never makes me feel like this, He is so good. He beckons me to come into his courts and talk with him and I get there and I feel so undeserving. It’s all on me, not Him and we both know that. A lot of this unworthiness stems from how I behave as a parent. I can play church really well, but when the going gets tough, I become angry. But I have a lot on my plate. I’m busy. I’ve never been around little kids, all day, every day until this season in my life began. I have to work really hard at my marriage because everything in me aches for a father to affirm me, and wants my husband to fill a void that I can’t seem to stuff close with a couple of scriptures calling God my father. I am trying to be transparent here because the excuses pile one upon the other. THIS ISN’T FAIR, I want to scream. I’m expected to behave, live, and serve in a manner that is contrary to what I know, and who I am. And when I do, I feel like I’m two steps behind where I need to be, and when I don’t, I am frantically searching for my Jesus to come alongside me again, there is nothing in me that craves the world. But it is easier to be depressed and hope someone notices me. It is easier to sit on the couch and not care for my home. It is easier to spend $20 on something that I don’t need because spending money makes me feel better.

But, it’s not an excuse. God doesn’t care about excuses. Let me say that more tactfully: God expects us to be accountable Christians. He expects us to hold ourselves accountable to our sin, because guess what, He does! I racked my brain trying to think of parable that Jesus told that portrayed someone being accountable for their actions. I could not find one that put it just right. But God reminded me of Heaven, and the verse that says we will be held accountable for everything we’ve ever said, everything we’ve ever done. It doesn’t matter if in the moment we were influenced by others, or having a bad day. We will be held accountable for that moment of weakness. I am not doing God any favors by not accessing the grace He has FREELY given to me to walk through whatever I am going through. We, as a body of believers, are not doing God any favors by defending the sin in our lives.

Heaven is not the only example. Adam and Eve were not willing to hold themselves accountable in the garden. When Adam was questioned, he blamed God and Eve! He said, “it was this woman that you gave me, she gave it to me.” When Eve was questioned, she blamed Satan: “but the serpent deceived me.” God didn’t pat them on the back and say, “it’s all going to be ok.” He hates sin because it separates Him from His beloved children. God still kicked them out of the garden. Come on, don’t you just want to speak up for Eve: “That’s not fair, Satan tricked me!” But it isn’t an excuse. I think “excuse” is an ugly word in our faith.

An easy search of “excuse” turned up this:

Rom 1:18-21

“For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because what may be known of God is manifest in them, for God has shown it to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse, because, although they knew God, they did not glorify Him as God, nor were thankful, but became futile in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened.”

NKJV

Paul wrote it, and he was actually quoting Jesus when he said this:

John 15:22-23

“If I had not come and spoken to them, they would have no sin, but now they have no excuse for their sin. NKJV

I had this message on my heart because I clearly heard the Lord tell me that we need to be a body accountable to ourselves, and if we have the Holy Spirit in us, we know the difference between right and wrong. I say this as someone who has begged my husband to let me try out anti-depressants, if only for a season. I am someone who complains of my calling, regrets missed opportunities, and sits in ill-health at times refusing to take the spiritual steps necessary to change it. I have lived in disobedience, and fear almost kept me there! But what if I had let it? I am nothing without God’s grace. Nothing. And nothing I have is mine. I just wanted to add that because the first step in holding oneself accountable is surrender. Surrender to God, to His word, and to His will. Only then can we know what He asks of us. But no excuses, we have everything we need to move from “glory to glory,” and nothing should hold us back, especially pride as to not admit when we are in the wrong.

If you walk into a College Psychology class, you will hear that “nurture triumphs over nature,” that who you are is indicative of how you were raised, and your environment. But there is no room for grace in this portrayal. We are who we are because of the decisions we make, whether they build us up or tear us down. It has been a LONG, hard road for me to admit this. I used to hate when people would say to me, “you chose to have a baby when you chose to have sex.” What a load of crap, I used to think! Until my own husband said it to me, he above all people should understand that statistically everything was against me! It’s not fair. But it’s the truth. I made a bad decision, and I suffered the consequences (like a million of them!). And God used it for good. We all go through seasons where we are tested, where the enemy is upon us, and where we just cannot seem to get ahead, but God is there. His Truth stands. His Grace is sufficient.

                                      May we be a people that hold ourselves accountable.

metaphorically speaking, again.

I think that if I try really hard, I can write a succinct blog. This is me trying hard:

     I shoved Paul’s arm today when he predicted that Sonora Grace will marry a man that is afraid of her. He said this because we are afraid of her and that temper she’s acquired. It is unlike anything I have ever seen, and yet, we still do not want to speak this rage over her. Sometimes you can’t do anything but call it like you see it. I am tired of nursing her. She is getting to be a clever little one! Today she went to the baby gate that blocks the staircase that leads to our room. She shook the gate violently saying “night night.” It was close to nap time and so I obliged, especially since we had quite the long day prior, and I was a walking zombie. So I took her upstairs and nursed her and then lay her in the crib. She stood straight up and indicated that she wanted to go downstairs. She tricked me into nursing her. But I’m no fool, even if I am the victim of one-year-old manipulation. I made her take a nap…a measly, one hour nap.

     Then there is Jake. I was sleeping on the couch today trying to rest away this cold trying to set in and Jake walked up to me and began to open my eyelids with his sticky fingers. “You can wake up, Mommy.” Toddlers, they just can’t understand why anyone in their right mind would want to sleep. Poke Mommy’s eyeballs out, that will set her straight! It did set me straight up and I glared at him. “But Mommy, don’t you want to play trucks with me?” Sweet innocence or ignorance, I just can’t decide. If you know me, you know better than to wake me up with pokes (especially in my eyes!). In fact, if you ask my husband, he’d say that you’d know better than to wake me up at all. But someone has to do it! Actually, I disagree with that statement.

     I wonder how anyone puts a house together. I am not even 50% finished with my vision of where I am going with this new place. In fact, I’ve made some classy moves and feel like I’m seconds away from ripping it down, painting it over, and giving myself a blue kitchen. It was Paul’s idea, and it is growing on me. I love light blue, and yellow, and red. I know those things don’t go together.

     God’s upside down economy is just amazing. All I can say is on paper we look like a chicken trying to gather her eggs into one basket, scrounging for seed in a barren chicken coop, and knee high in you-know-what. But if you were to actually see us, in chicken terms, we are totally strutting about in that you-know-what. God has provided everything we need, particularly through the blessings poured out by our church family. Oh Chapel in the Pines, we love you!

Ok Children...just let me post this blog!

     My darling Sonora just reached up into my squash plant, pulled off a small bloom and began munching on it! All with a mischievous grin plastered on her face. When I laughed at her expression she turned to the plant and attempted to reattach her half eaten squash. It was very cute. I’m not sure how grateful I am to have a daughter who eats only vegetables, and seems to despise meat and beans altogether. Especially since she nurses so often and I wonder about her iron intake. She seems happy, healthy, and aside from getting those back molars in, she’s a joy to have. I am watching her pull a thorn out of her finger that she got while ripping my leaves off my squash plant, apparently God made them this way to deter children as well as animals! Sonora keeps me busy, hating baths, loving popsicles, resenting any time she might have to play alone, and loving just sitting on Momma’s hip, while Momma stands, sitting just will not do! She is walking pretty regularly and climbing up our front stairs as we speak. When she reaches the top, I predict she’ll fall onto our sleeping dog and squeeze his ears, “Hi daaah,” she’ll say. What a look of accomplishment! I love that face!



     Jake has been semi-difficult to parent lately, compared to his usual pleasant self. He’s been saying “No,” a lot. I’ve had to dig out my “creative correction” book to help. My exaggerated whine pleading, “Jake, please listen to me…” just isn’t getting the job done! He is talking more than ever, and we just love hearing his little voice. I think he’s happy to hear his voice as well, at least be able to express himself. I recently heard tell of statistics for families in ministry, how many turn out with wayward children. It’s humbling, and incredibly discouraging. Especially knowing that my influence will either help or hinder their decision.


     The truth is, I have been struggling with a discontentment of being at home. I take my eye off the prize for one second and the world lashes out for my throat and pulls me under. Dramatic, yes, but incredibly realistic if you ask me! I have been feeling like a user, but not in the drug sense. More or less, I use people. I call them up, “Can I borrow this?,” “Can you help me with this?,” “ Can you watch my kids?,” “Can I ask you a question?,” Gosh, can I do anything myself? I told the Lord in a moment of self-contempt, “God, I don’t want to be a user, I want to be a giver!,” and he reminded me what I was doing that very second: sitting at home with my kids. Sometimes staying at home does so little for me, but I think about the gift I’m giving my children, an ever present Mommy who is sometimes kind of ornery, but sometimes we dance around the house and tell Jesus at the top of our lungs what a wonderful friend He is, and we read scripture together and if only 1/3 of my time spent at home is ministering to them, it’s better than nothing, right? Well, anyway, I feel like that is what the Lord reminded me. Sometimes I feel like I give so much to my kids there is very little leftover for anyone else but I’m determined to learn how to mix the two, ministry with motherhood, a healthy mix, of course. Too many families have fallen prey to the call of ministry and have forgotten that their first ministry is at home. How prudent I must sound saying this but I’ve seen it too often. It’s so alluring to go fix other people’s problems, it just seems to takes focus off of our own. For me anyway.


     But for now, one day at a time. I love those kiddos. No matter how clingy the baby, how snooty the toddler, how rotten the overweight yellow lab (do diets just not work on dogs?), or how football season looms over my life like a not so distant storm that will sweep my husband away for a time (just kidding, Paul), I love all of those guys so much. And I’m looking forward to the reinstating of my mother’s groups, and yes, fantasy football.

Seashells on the seashore.

    It is a rarity that I get to post directly to my blog.  I am determined to become a much more "succinct" writer, as even I grow tired of rereading old posts, undoubtedly the result of pent up material!   I am on the infamous beach trip with my family in North Carolina, which means that I survived the flight here, praise Jesus!  I have in fact survived all fifty flights I've had the privilege of traveling on, my logic concerning fear is no logic at all.

      So tonight I decided that Jake and I would go search for seashells on the shore, a favorite pastime of mine that I'd like to pass on.  During almost every activity I am busy in my mind thinking of some great life metaphor that will go along with any given moment, most concerning God's love for me, and really mankind in general.  I'm a thinker, not intelligent by any means, at least not by my standards with are whatever Paul's highest test score has been, but I like to ponder.  Whether or not I am talented at writing, I still enjoy the art as a means to reflect, and here is my seashell spiel.

              Here recently I spent an evening with an old friend whom I would say knows me well.  I will add that I have changed much in the last couple of years and these alterations to mostly my morality are just now being understood by old friends and colleagues.  I prayed that God would help me to be "the new creation" that His word promises, I want to be different.  It seems though that as Jacob's name is still deceiver in the books, no matter how many times I am washed clean one word clings to me like a lonely sock: judgmental.  I'm not sure how that ugly word always comes up.  My friend repeated it to me again as she introduced me to a friend, "I already told him about you and mentioned that you were judgmental."
                          Thanks?
       When I returned home the idea of me being this way was like a knife in my heart.  I want to be different. I told my Mom about the situation and she responded, "I thought your entire demeanor was judgmental before you left."
                     Because I prayed for myself to be different?
      "Sure, it just had a 'holier than thou' appearance to it."

      So here is where the seashells come in.  As much as I want to make this a lengthy memoir of my two minute escapade on the shore, I will try to make my point quickly (not exactly a strong suit of mine).  It could be, I will admit, even an attempt to defend myself against this harsh judgment continuously resting on my shoulders (isn't it judgmental to call me judgmental, pot calling kettle black to all of you!).  I was looking for shells to be put into a vase to be displayed in my house so I'd have a little piece of the beach trip, a touch of mommy and son teamwork, and a dash of good memories, Paul and I had our honeymoon at this beach.  Of course I always imagine that I'll stumble across a perfectly formed shell-shaped diamond in the rough that will be the heart of my display.  It never happens. Instead I see one completely chipped on the side, the shape of a deformed triangle which is actually no shape at all, but the thing that gets me is the brown and white striped pattern that I've never seen on a seashell before.  How interesting. I drop it in the bucket.  Hoping for a round shell I stumble across one with minimal imperfections.  Too bad it's the size of my littlest fingernail.  But I toss it in so I can have a good shell.  I remember that the girls came to the beach earlier and found about five of the curly shells that wrap around and are smooth as silk to the touch. How come I never find those?  I see a broken one and I pick it up.  I put it back down.  I turn around and pick it back up because I forgot to feel the texture, and once I do I know I have to take it home.  Again and again, I can't seem to stop picking up broken shells.  It's one of my greatest gifts, and certainly a quality I resent: I can find a redeeming quality in about every shell on the beach.  It's a gift because I pick them up and take them home.  I resent it because the darn bucket gets heavy and I realize I'm going to need a bigger vase, or maybe just two small ones.

        ........And yes, sometimes I can be what friends and family refer to as "picky," judgmental,  but I have never passed by a broken shell without inspecting it trying to find out if there is some kind of beauty that I can pull from it, something that no one else may ever notice but I do and I want it at the forefront of my vase placed on the center of my mantle.  I have expectations of what I take home with me, of anything that I make myself vulnerable to.  The more broken the shell the more effort required to find the uniqueness, to find the one angle that will "fix it."  If I can't, I do put it back down.  I manipulate it, and if it doesn't work, I put it back down.

       I think these expectations of mine get me into trouble. Who am I to hold a standard to you, or to anyone else?  But I do care. And not having expectations of people, not having standards for others has turned our country upside down, made the church into one big party, and the word tolerance is the banner for most, but not me.  So yes, I have moved over into full blown defense of myself.  I am sure there are plenty that may write me off as someone religious, someone 'holier than thou' but I have a bucket full of broken shells that prove you wrong.

 You show me a shell that's not been warped by the waters and rocks, and I'll say you can just keep it to yourself.  But I'll keep the broken shells, there is no such thing as a perfect one anyway.

Sonora Grace is one!

The day I learned that I would birth a baby girl into the world was a glorious one. Daddy and Mommy cried on that day. I remember speaking out verses over her, as well as clichés that I hoped she would hear and understand, “You are a gentle sweat heart,” I would say. “Like a Lily among thorns is my darling…Sonora Grace,” I painted in script on a picture frame waiting for her angelic face to fill it. She was an angel that we were waiting to cuddle, kiss, and coax into a life of being Mommy’s princess and Daddy’s little girl. But Sonora Grace has exceeded our expectations as a precious angel, and continues to throw us a curve ball every day.


I sometimes feel guilty when I talk about her to others, and I do want to explain myself. Much of the time I say things out of frustration because Sonora Grace is not a “gentle sweetheart,” she is a fighter. Whenever the Fort Hood attacks in Texas happened, I remember sitting on the couch staring into the TV and weeping. I rested my hand on my pregnant belly and stroked, what am I going to do? I wondered how on earth I was going to bring a precious, sensitive young lady into a world full of evil. I thought about how selfish I was to want a little girl in a world made for men, made for people much stronger than I. I could barely survive the news of the attacks, how was I going to raise a baby in the midst of chaos? My greatest hope was that Jesus would come soon. That is still my greatest hope. I found myself crying out to God for an answer and felt the Lord gently reassuring me that Sonora Grace could be part of the answer, would be part of the fight to shine truth into radical hate. Then I was really scared. “No, no, no, not my lily, not my princess!” But I could see that God had made up His mind, and the kicking started. No flutters as I had once described Jake’s legs brushing my sides. Wham! All of the time. “She is so gentle,” I lied. Her due date was May 15th. My family, God bless them, are very superstitious and the rule went, “she can come on any day but the 13th! The 13th, a day with more than superstitious reasoning on its side (my family has had numerous bad luck on the 13th of different months, it continues to justify their superstition!) is her birthday. God’s sense of humor, I guess although I think if Sonora could have picked a date, she would’ve have picked something that was opposed!

I’ve made so many mistakes with her, letting her walk all over me. When I reach to change her and she screams I yank my hand away like she’s a rattle snake. When she casually rips my shirt down, I nurse her. I pray for wisdom already for how on earth I’m supposed to raise her. Not only is she incredibly strong, but she clearly has Daddy’s flare for intelligence. Of course, every parent thinks their child is brilliant, but Sonora Grace is very analytical. She will do almost anything she see’s Jake doing. (it’s kind of nice after having a son that’s always a little behind every one else, no offense Jake!). She colors, plays a drum, knows some baby “signs, “ and will even attempt counting! I’ve considered looking into potty training in a couple of months not only because I think she’ll get it, but because changing her diaper is a battle in itself. I feel like everything is a battle with her sometimes. Paul and I talk about the strange dynamic of Sonora Grace, someone so sensitive that saying, “aaaaant!” at her before she’s about to dig into Rush’s water bowl will make her cry like she’s been hit. Yet, she’ll put up a fight. Sensitive and fearless, yes, God is going to use her mightily.

It’s what I prayed for honestly, a girl that would get it right. Not to put myself down because I feel like much of my early life was dictated by the enemy’s hold on me and I wanted a daughter who would be anything but like me. I feel very ineffective because of my insecurities, because I never fight, and I can be easily swayed one way or the other. Well, I got my wish and although she is not the “prissy” daughter that I thought I would surely get, she is who God made her to be and she is so special, so extra-ordinary and I love her. I love her so much, and I feel helpless without the Lord when it comes to raising her. I know that to some it will sound strange that my tiny one year old, I’m prepared to watch her walk out the door and take on the world. But I know what she was created for, my little world changer, Sonora Grace.

Sonora, you are a lily among thorns, because you are different. Even now, you play by your own rules and I love every second of it. I cannot wait to see how God uses you, I humbly submit to what He has for you because so far, all of my expectations have been blown out of the water. That’s ok. You are exactly who God made you to be, and I love you. I love how you lean in for a kiss, your mouth wide open so my squeaky pucker can echo in your mouth, and you giggle. I love how you wave goodbye every time I tell someone goodbye on the telephone. Believe it or not, I love when you climb my leg, and how you nuzzle my chest, and how you wrap your legs around me and relax at the sound of my heartbeat. And after I get through training you up, I know that you are going to teach me a thing or two. You have all of the makings of a leader, a warrior, and yet, a lady. We named you Sonora because www.babynames.com said that it meant “harmonious sound.” How appropriate for the gentle, sweetheart that I was preparing for! Upon meeting a woman who speaks fluent Spanish she racked her brain for the real meaning and said she understood it to mean, “loud.” Sigh, it suits you, my dear. Believe me though, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Happy 1st birthday!

Abstinence talk.

I just want to complain? Is that ok? Is it ok that pretty much everything I have been planning is in shambles now? Just so you know, there is a smile on my face as I write this. I am happy because I know that once God closes a door somewhere, He just has better plans than I could ever imagine. Still, even next year I wonder what my family will be up to. If you aren’t aware, we are no longer house shopping. In fact, we are rental house shopping yet again because another year in Mi-wuk will make my issues with contentment nearly impossible. I love our house, and I’m grateful that God provides it for us. However, I think he understands that snow in May can no longer be a part of my life, right, God? I just can’t take it!


I’ve had a lot of things circling around in my head, and I give God all credit for the awesome things happening. First of all, I hope it is ok if I brag for a minute. I have been volunteering at our local pregnancy center and they have recently asked me to step up and speak in local youth groups, and the public schools. My topic: abstinence. I feel extremely unworthy, after all, I probably didn’t know the definition of abstinence when I was in high school! I was certainly not equipped with what it would have taken to wait on a husband, and I blame no one but myself and a perverse culture. But, no matter how much inner healing I have gone through the regret of decisions that I made in high school and college ways on me like 1,0000 pounds. I have been reading book after book after book on how to wait. I have watched 3 presentations on the topic in which very gifted teachers push the STD statistics. Why shouldn’t they? They stats are horrendous, 1 in 4 students have an STD, 1 in 2 are virgins, I mean come on! Yet, I have to wonder why the emotional scars are saved for the last ten minutes of the presentation. As someone who has suffered nearly all of the physical risks, I can tell you that the emotional toll is far worse than anyone can ever imagine. If only I could have fathomed the power of a simple, “no.” I think the truth is, it isn’t simple. Not even close, and having only waited for marriage one time, I can say that it was quite the undertaking with a measly three month engagement! So, I don’t have the answers. But I feel like the Lord is just whispering to my spirit, it’s worth it to try to warn them, all while leaving the words “God’s love” and “God’s grace” out of the presentation. But I’ve got to try. And yes, after reading countless books, and watching a million presentations thus far my plan is to just pour my heart out before them, and let my broken spirit serve as a banner, It’s not worth it! I don’t know if enough tears from someone who knew better, or enough sermons from someone who made every right decision would have changed my mind, but I just hope God uses me. Of course, it’s cheesy, but if one girl can see that my pain is not an act then it is worth it, more than worth all the pain it has caused me to tear open these closed wounds and try to let God heal them once and for all so I can tell these “1 out of 2” teenagers that either it is worth it to wait, and if you haven’t, it’s worth it to start over. I am so unworthy of this call, I mean, the enemy tells me every day how ineffective I will be because I did everything wrong. But I love God, and I love His plan, and I love this generation of young people and if I have the opportunity to share, then despite my unworthiness I’ll just do it.

Motherhood is going much better. My Mom came to visit last week (as many of you know) and it was such a time of restoration for my soul. To have my Mom close was healing, but having her see my home was so precious, and knowing that she knows where I live just makes a difference. Also, having help with the kids just for a short time was exactly what I needed to kind of help me move from point a to point b. I feel like since all of this abstinence stuff has come up, I have been dealing with what I call a “broken heart,” and wondering how on earth that is treated. I have been selling the gospel to Jake as simply as I can: “Our hearts are dirty Jake, but Jesus washes them for us.” So he repeats that. The other day I was sitting next to him in the backseat and he looked at me and said, “Our hearts are broken, but Jesus will fix them.” I don’t know if he heard it in Sunday school, or if Jesus told him that my analogy was not accurate but I just love the wisdom of children. While disciplining is not easy, I have been thinking that parenting is not as difficult as I once thought it was. I think just sharing with him the love of God and how special he is, I just wonder if I would have escaped a broken heart if I was told from the minute I could understand language that I was created by God, loved by God, and from the beginning of time was set aside for a special purpose. Although Jake is a little needy, (“Sit mommy, sit mommy!”) I know about God‘s love, and I can share it with him. Unfortunately, my actions do not always speak of my love for them, but I do love them, so much. I just asked Jake what God looked like and he said, “Mommy, God’s looks like the sunshine.” See, I would have said Santa Clause or something, but the sunshine is much more fitting. What a smart little guy.

Sonora Grace, although she is quite adorable at 3 am, it is very tiring. We went completely through crib training successfully, only to rock her to sleep at church, have her fall asleep in the car several times, and now we’re back to square one. AHH!!! How did this happen? I can’t wait to see how God uses that strong-willed little booger, I have a feeling that when she gets bigger I will not be bragging how easy parenting is! Anyway, we are happy. Jake hovering over my keyboard saying, “Mommy, I press that button,” and pointing to random buttons on the keyboard. I really don’t feel like spanking him so I better go play with him. Ok, he wins. 3124

Sadness...for now

     I feel extremely overwhelmed today. I feel like I could use a two week vacation from everything, maybe one that would be so wonderful that I wouldn’t come back. I feel like that vacation spot might just be out my front door, just away from the domestic life.


     I really think that if I wasn’t writing right now, if I was loving on my children or cleaning my kitchen maybe I wouldn’t be so sad. But I need a shoulder to cry on none the less and this computer is all I have, it seems. First of all, I hate holidays. I hate them because prior to them I am strong and once they get here, I can barely function. I question everything that I am, everything that I believe because I have been called away from my family that I love, and a life that I understood, and a goal that was within reach. All I know now is what I think God maybe wants from me, what Paul tells me that God wants. I stay at home with my kids, I keep a clean house, I eventually home school, I stay involved in the church, I have a core group of friends that I love having coffee with or meeting for a play date. It’s all an illusion. I stay at home, lonely and bored. I stare at my cluttered closets wondering how on earth I will tackle the task. I stare at the mounting pile of laundry, dreading it, feeling like maybe it is smothering me along with any self-respect I ever had. I feel like shouting, “I can’t do this anymore!” So I treat my children like dirt, leave them in their bedrooms to take naps, stick them in the crib for five minutes of peace. But it isn’t peaceful because the guilt of being a crummy Mom is a heavy burden to bear. I tell Paul and he meets my anxiety with scripture and comments that are supposed to be reassuring, “you only have two kids,” and “See, you are definitely not ready for foster children.”

And that’s the thing, I do feel called to this. I do want the domestic life but I feel like I can’t do it. I was raised in a loving family on a horse farm, I don’t remember learning how to stay at home all day. I don’t know how to home school, I don’t know how to have a baby on me all day, non-stop. The only analogy I can think of is the boy who was found living with the wild wolves. He had been raised that way and when he was brought into the real world, he died within months of being assimilated. I feel like maybe the weight of the expectation might kill me. And I do give it to God, I pray for strength. I pray that He would comfort me with His word. I can’t help that the only love I feel right now comes in cardboard boxes from North Carolina. I can’t help that the sound of my Grandma telling me that she misses seeing Jake draw makes me want to just go to my eternal home. Maybe that’s the whole point of this blog, that I am getting to a point where I just yearn for Jesus, for a relationship so tied in with him that I can’t survive without it. And I am there, if it wasn’t for the Lord, I would be gone or hyped on anti-depressants, which my skin crawls for on days like these as I try to understand what God wants from me.

     Don’t get me wrong: I do belong at home with my kids. I believe that moms typically belong at home, but not me. I feel like I can’t give them what they need. Every parenting book I read seems to conclude with that message: your kids need YOU, but I am making a mess of this. Jake’s not potty trained, Sonora sleeps connected to me or she screams endlessly. I’m trying to keep my eyes on the cross, but today it feels like I have a hard hill to trek before I find it. I keep hearing news of our church wanting to teach young women how to be wives, how to be moms and I just want to scream, “sign me up!” But I feel like I’m hiding away in the hills of Mi-wuk, miles from civilization raising kids I can barely keep up with, taking care of a husband whom plunders and murmurs every morning, “I just can’t find any clean socks in this house,” even though I do a load of laundry every day, and the words from my mouth come so easy, “I want what God wants, more kids, more ministry, ” But today I feel like I’m sinking.

Paul has reassured me that God will meet me where I’m at, that He will prevail in my weakness. I know these things, of course, AND I believe them. I also know that I can’t be that terrible of a Mom because I think about the nature of my mothering abilities 24-7, that’s gotta count for something, right?

I know it’s just a season, just an attack. I get it. I just counseled another mom-friend of mine several months ago as she told me she was sinking, “it’s ok, this too shall pass,” I told her. See, I know the right answer. Two months will pass and I’ll be spending the better half of the Summertime with my family. Two months will pass and Sonora will be walking (she is very frustrated with her current inability). I feel like such a hypocrite since I recently blogged about having peace in my spirit. I had peace because things were “going my way,” and now that the road is bumpy, I have to choose to live out what I know to be true, that the Lord will give me peace in my spirit. I wrote the first half of this blog earlier, before my husband walked in with a Day-O express for me. That definitely helped, and has cleared a point I wanted to raise earlier that Paul is not the culprit, he is my greatest support. He’s tried to stand behind me in my insecurities but I can feel insecure anytime I want. “Babe, your best is good enough for me.”

“So you think that my best is crappy?!!”

See how that works?

    Perhaps the saddest thing of all is that there are a few people I trust, few that understand my heart and still, in my sadness the vulnerability of it all will cause the ones I love most to manipulate the situation and my broken heart, to no avail, unfortunately.

It comes down to a lot of things, but the root of what I’m struggling with is a desire for contentment, and the need for a servant’s heart. If I could just die to myself. If I can get those things down, I won’t need to have vent days like these anymore. Oh well, thanks for listening. Still, any of you veterans wanna take me under your wing?

Becoming intolerant of tolerance

I am becoming more and more disenfranchised with this word called “tolerance.” It seems as if the more I learn, the more I cannot stand the sound of it. Now, this is me we are talking about, perhaps the most sensitive young woman to have ever lived. A story will probably illustrate this well enough:


At The Refuge once there was an offering taken up to go towards a Christian organization whose pursuit was to build an orphanage in a Muslim nation and lead the children to Jesus. I was appalled at this: how dare we share the gospel with children whose parents mean for them to grow in Islam. Was I nuts? No, just incredibly foolish. I once lead someone to Christianity with this very statement, “Christianity is a very tolerant religion, it is just those crazy conservatives that make it not so.” If someone would have given me a crystal ball I would have fallen dead, luckily I don’t believe in those voodoo things. Or luck for that matter.

I was stirred to write because I have been learning. For the first time in my life I have a subtle understanding of what I believe and I’m sorry to say to my liberal friends, I cannot be a liberal. How can I? This weekend was my first session of training with the pregnancy center to help young girls make a decision against abortion if at all possible. As I read the statistics and pamphlets I understand that abortion not only kills a baby, but too, a woman’s soul. Well, of course it does, I was just too busy jumping on band wagons before to really understand. But the word tolerance no doubt paved the way for the legalization of abortion to occur. The anatomy of an abortion is this: it is the least of three evils. When a unplanned pregnancy occurs a woman has three options: 1) Abort, 2) Parent, 3) Adoption. To abort is the death of a baby. To parent or give up adoption is “death of self,” and life as they know it. So abortion is chosen, the least of three evils, so it seems. Statistically if family and/or boyfriend were removed, the woman would almost always choose to have the baby. That seems something like intolerance to me.

There was a time when I said out loud, “the Christian God and Allah are the same,” but that is so far from the truth that almost 8 years later I want to wash my mouth out with soap! It is so ironic to me now that I would lay my own life down to see Islam disappear from the face of the earth. I know it sounds terrible, terribly intolerant. If that’s so, it’s probably ironic that it is the intolerance of this religion of hate that I so desire to see justice overtake. This is actually the root of my rant. I just watched Glenn Beck. In the wake of the Japan earthquake, a certain story is not making headlines, although it should. Muslim terrorists killed an Israeli family. Snuck into the family’s house, and murdered the parents and the children. When it made headlines in Palestine, a celebration took place and candy was handed out on the streets in celebration of a 6 year old, 3 year old, and 3 month infant being murdered. That seems like intolerance to me, and for the banner of tolerance we turn our heads. Paul was explaining to me the situation in Israel, why I should care. For one, it is the homeland of the Jews, given to them following years under the Nazi regime. Speaking of the Nazi regime, that was a time in history that was headed up by intolerance as well. Anyway, I really just wanted to mention that because the Nazi regime years earlier started this all.

I guess my point is that lots of pointing gets done towards the right: “you intolerant party.” This is why knowledge is power. I just learned in my training and Paul confirmed it several times through some of his history books. Birth control and Planned Parenthood were started by Margaret Sanger, who developed it alongside the Nazis in an attempt to rid the world of “the blacks,” as well as what she considered “moronic people.” She got her wish because statistically, African-Americans receive more abortions a year than any other race. That is intolerance!

       It’s really sad that I do not want women to have rights to their own body so that in the face of intolerance, she will kill her unborn baby. It’s really sad that I don’t want same sex marriage legalized because I believe that there is life-changing, mind-transforming power in the blood of the lamb. I guess that makes me a heartless bigot although I can absolutely swear to you that my heart is that everyone know absolute joy and God’s grace. In the face of terrorism, abortion, socialism, and a society so obsessed with money that they barely notice any other indiscretion, I am the intolerant one.

      I hate apologizing for myself, but I feel like doing it again because I do not want to hurt people. I love people. But, I believe that the word tolerance is ruining our country. It is taking down our faith slowly, and thanks to Margaret Sanger’s efforts and thousands of Christians sucking down birth control, she is going to succeed. If nothing changes in 100 years we are going to be lost, broken, empty people wandering and wondering where we went wrong, and I know it will begin with that word tolerance that we bought without even asking the cost.
 
     I recognize also that we are all capable of unspeakable evil.  I just cannot seem to get the Israeli family out of my head, it is heartbreaking.  I also realize that we are an intolerant relgion: "Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life."  But to be tolerant in all seasons, in all ways is not love.  It is not acceptance.  In every way possible I can think of it is cheating people of true joy.