A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...

That was our day last Friday. We had experienced a week of reverting back to the first nine months of Jacob's life, waking up every few hours--coughing, nightmares, dog throwing up, you name it, it woke us up.

Because we were having a hard week with no sleep and, therefore, grumpy mommy, I planned a "Happy Birthday" party for Jesus and invited some of the girl's closest friends. It was to be on Friday morning. We were leaving town the next day and were worried about our dog health not improving all week. So I woke up with the dread of our indecision, "do we put him to sleep?" Eliza woke up at 5:30, BTW, that morning out of excitement for her party. So all the friends started coming over and they were playing, Marshall was on the phone with his mom and the vet talking about Joe. The party was about to start, I was going to read the Christmas story. Marshall pulled me into our bedroom and told me that he felt we should put Joe to sleep. The reality hit and I started to sob. I asked a friend to read the story while I cried and said goodbye to Joe. We pulled the girls out of the story circle so that they could say goodbye. They were fine with it, then.

After everyone left, Eliza started bawling about Joe. We had to talk about death and the fact that he wasn't ever coming back. While this was happening Marshall was taking some Christmas presents we had gotten for a single mother of three kids. The mother was supposed to meet him at her beat up apartment in the projects. She wasn't there, but there was a house full of people and the children upstairs, some yelling. He couldn't get ahold of the mom on the phone. So that was depressing. Not that we wanted gratitude or acknowledgment even. We just wanted a chance to reach her and build some trust, but it felt so hopeless, like she was embarrassed and saw it as a "handout."

Meanwhile, Eliza was still upset, a knock at the door. It was one of our homeless friends just wanting someone to love on her. She had been clean and living with her family for several months and then a series of events led her to be thrown out and rejected by her family, yet once again. So now she on the streets again, doing only what she knows to survive. The sadness overwhelmed me.

If you've read the book about Alexander's terrible, horrible, etc. day you would know that after each terrible thing he mentions, like gum in his hair, he ends with, "I think I'll move to Australia." Well, I was thinking about it last Friday. But at the end of the book he shares some of his mom's wisdom which is that bad days happen, even in Australia. So, obviously, I cannot get away from these sad moments, many of them live around me. Therefore, if I can't escape them or ignore them, what DO I do with them?

I'm Dreaming of a Red Christmas...

You know the song, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...." Well, in Africa we used to sing about a "red" Christmas and sometimes black. I know you're dying to know why. Well, around Christmas time it's the dry season in West Africa. So that means Harmattan winds from the desert in the north blow through where I lived. Our dirt is latterite red dirt and rocks, hence the meaning to the song, "I'm dreaming of a red Christmas..." Some days we would sing "black" because the Africans would also burn their fields during the dry season to prepare them for the planting. So along with the dusty red winds we would be blasted with black snowfall.

Now, we had an artificial tree that we would decorate, just like we would here. We would turn the lights on for a few hours at night. The tree actually spooked the Africans a little bit. They thought it was our fetish (something inhabited with spirits that we would offer sacrifices to). After Christmas was over we would take the decorations and lights off, then take the tree outside and hose it off. Red water would run off it.

The Africans celebrate Christmas very differently. For one, it's not about shopping for gifts, they don't have malls. They don't believe in Santa, obviously. It's not even a national holiday because only the Christians celebrate Christmas. The churches make a huge deal about it. They design and order a certain material that they get their outfits made out of, so they all match. It's quite cute. They get together on Christmas Eve, do plays about the Christmas story, sing and dance till day break. Then on Christmas day they have another service while some of the women prepare a huge dinner and they all eat together. (One year we were observers of the dinner being chased down and then we heard it being "prepared"--not pleasant!)

In the city some of the store merchants and restaurants try to create the holiday cheer for the tourists by putting up tacky garland and lights or painting Santas or snowmen on their store windows. That's always funny when it's 95-100 degrees outside. The really funny thing is that they leave the decorations up until about March.

So, that's Christmas in Africa for you....

You Know You're a Mother When...

--you can't remember the last time you took a shower...or changed your underwear.

--you can't even finish a sentence because you're either so used to being interrupted or you've forgotten a simple word.

--you become a maid, waitress, nurse, teacher,friend and a superhero.

--you can carry on a deep conversation with a friend while five or six kids are running around you.

--a vacation is more work than restful.

--a trip to the grocery store that should only take an hour takes you 3 hours!

--your dreams include Dora or the mean stepmother in Cinderella.

--8:00 pm feels too late to be out.

--you wipe snotty noses with your sleeve.

--you wipe up spilled milk or juice with your elbow or knee, then you continue to wear those clothes for the rest of the day! (Emily!!)

--you wear the shirt that was the spitting target for the baby that didn't want peas.

--you say things like, "stop licking the counter" (at Chick Fil-a!) or "don't eat that" (someone's leftover french fry on the floor at Mickey D's).

--you speak to everyone slowly and with pitch and emphasis, then realizing they aren't children...you get embarassed.

--you're so used to multi-tasking, you throw a dirty diaper in the fridge and place a half-finished sippy cup in the trash can.

--you never eat sitting down.

--you feel like you are a broken record, "use your words instead of screaming" "stop provoking your sister" "leave each other alone" "I don't know what that means" "blah...blah..blah."

--poop in the bathtub doesn't phase you.

--you want to bang your head against the wall sometimes or kick a toy or throw the phone. (throwing the phone against the pillows on your bed is most effective because then nothing hurts or gets broken, but tension is still released).

--you find yourself apologizing to your children at least once or twice a day, sometimes more.

--you find yourself more moody than ever in your life.

--the phrase from a hymn, "...every hour, I need Thee..." becomes a harsh, but sweet reality.

--you cannot imagine life without your children because they bring you so much joy.

Why? Do We Get Flu Shots???

This week I had to take all three kids to get their second round of flu shots. Two days later Psalter is sick with a fever. I honestly don't remember the last time Psalter got sick, she never catches anything, so I'm convinced it's because of the shot. Getting them was an ordeal in itself...

I was telling the girls our agenda for the day. One of the errands involved the Dr.'s office. My too smart 4-year-old asked, "are we going to get shots?" How did she know? I couldn't lie, so I told her that we were. Well, bad mistake, I should have diverted her attention because then they both started wailing. We had about an hour before we could leave, so I endured my punishment for that next hour and the trip to the Dr.'s office. I almost decided not to go. I called the office to ask for the side affects of the shot. The lady that answered was grumpy with me and even said, "Well, they just got one, right, so they're the same." Arghh, I was glad she couldn't see me sticking out my tongue at the phone.

We got to the office and the usual friendly receptionists, who love it when we come in were busy and the only one open was the one I must have talked to on the phone earlier. No smile, no "may I help you?," just an expectant look. She asked for my birthday, I told her. tAP..TAP...TAP... She asked who I was here to see and I said I wasn't here to see anyone, my kids needed shots. She got grumpy with me because apparently I was supposed to give her my children's birthdays and not mine.
Arghh, again! Meanwhile my children were getting antsy because they realized that it was really happening. We finally got to the waiting room and waited...and waited...read some books...went to the bathroom...smiled at other patients...

We finally got taken back to a small room with just a shot chair in it. My girls started screaming, then they each got their shot, with me holding them-tight. And just like that it was over. Thank God!!! I had to get out of that room, it was closing in on me. Fortunately we had no more run-ins with "grumpy pants" and we actually saw some of the ladies that are always glad to see us. Some sweat nurses gave the girls a coupon for free ice cream. And what did I get out of it?? Besides the old gentlemen (God bless him) who told me in the waiting room that I was a remarkable woman (as I dragged my two screaming girls behind me to the shot room), I've got a sick child. Go figure...I THOUGHT we got them the shots to keep them from getting sick.

My Secret Obsession...

The other day I walked into the girls room and all of Eliza's clothes were on the floor, out of her dresser drawer in neat piles. Exasperated I asked WHAT she was doing. Her response, "Mommy, my drawer was so messy, I couldn't find anything, so I'm organizing it!" Ahhhhhh....like mother like daughter.

So it's not so secret, but if you walked into my house you wouldn't notice my obsession, because my house is definately lived in. You would step on a few sippy cups, crunch a few cheerios or trip over our big plastic horse, need I say more? When the seed was sown, I was able to keep my obsession a secret, here's how:

In the elementary dorms at my boarding school we had a certain routine on Saturday mornings we had to follow before we were free to go outside and play. We had to fold all of our clothes, clean out and organize our cubbies, line up our shoes, dust our dressers, change our sheets, sweep our bedroom and do a chore for dorm upkeep. We had to have all of this finished, with our roomate and had to get "checked out" by a dorm parent. So, I loved this... I had to do it, but I would stay up late, hoping I wouldn't get caught out of my bed, and I would fold my clothes or organize my cubbie. I could disguise my obsession by the mere fact that all of us were in a race to get checked out first. To the despair of the middle schoolers in our dorm, we would wake up at the butt crack of dawn and start cleaning. They hated us for this and sometimes made us lock ourselves in the bathroom stalls if we were being too noisy. (wow, that sounds disturbing as I write this...).

So, my secret is out. If I had the time and energy (or a closet the size of Oprah Winfrey's dressing room closet...) and knew that it wouldn't be rearranged five minutes later, I would do this to every drawer and closet in our house. Sometimes the mess and clutter drives me crazy, but most of the time I'm too busy and too blessed by those who make the mess to care.

**my dream job: to work with TLC's "Clean Sweep" crew!

Oh, How I Love Glenwood!

Recently my eyes and heart have be opened anew to my neighborhood with both its needs and its beauty. There are some things that I've noticed recently that have made me smile:

--watching a family play a game on a big mattress on their front porch. The mattress is still there, BTW.

--through my kitchen window, pausing to watch a young man across the street, in a big bulky coat, start to lift a pole with a cinder block on each end. He did a few curls, some squats, put down the contraption and punched the air like he was kick-boxing. Then as quick as he started he walked down the street, blending in with all the other young men walking the street.

--driving home today I saw a man sitting in his "breakfast nook", sipping a drink and reading the paper. Only, his breakfast nook is completely outside, in his front yard.

--seeing our neighbor, Ben pulling his cart around collecting things to recycle. He just makes me smile, especially when he opens his mouth and speaks in his high pitch squeaky voice and nothing makes sense or he reminds me to tell Marshall to push the cans to the road for trash pickup.

--seeing people hang out on their porches, neighbors stopping by to chat. We've lost some of that precious connecting in the middle class world!

--feeling the bass rattle and shake our windows as the cars pull up to our stop signs.

--our friend Ron makes our cars look so shiny using only one bucket of water!

--pausing at our fence to talk or pray with Susan, Ivy, Kim, Bo and some others. Knowing when they've walked away that they've sensed the moving of the Spirit.

There are plenty of things that happen here that both frighten and frustrate me, but why focus on those? I love my neighborhood, it's my home.

Favorite Foods from My Boarding School's Dining Hall

I want to take a moment to thank Miss Marlene and her staff for all their hard, hard work in making our food three times a day. I know we were not an easy crowd to please and I'm sorry for my whining and complaining!! Now I know why you were grumpy all the time. You were teeny-tiny, so probably didn't feel authoritative enough to tell us to "bug off" when we were being immature, ungrateful little bugers. Little Miss Marlene, this is a tribute to you and all your service, despite the grumpy pants:

Pizza Loaf--my absolute favorite. Homemade bread wrapped around spaghetti sauce, meat and cheese. No one has been able to master this like our dining hall!

Meat and Cheese rolls, with hot tomato sauce--I know, sounds interesting, but they look like cinnamon rolls with meat or cheese in them and then smothered in tomato soup...hmmm

Croutons--I have never ever ever had better croutons than these homemade from French baguettes croutons, so crunchy, with just the right amount of seasonings-perfect! I would eat a whole bowl of them some nights when I was on the salad bar diet.

French dressing--this homemade dressing has ruined me for life. It was the perfect combo of thickness and flavor. I used it, along with peanut butter, to cover food I did not particularly like and was forced to eat. I have never met it's match.

Baked oatmeal--I don't know quite how you did it, but it tasted good to me. I would eat my friends' because she didn't like it and we weren't allowed to scrape any food, so...

Granola--are you sensing a theme? I love carbs and french dressing... this homemade granola was awesome. I would go back for seconds. Again, I have not found anything quite like it here.

There may be more, but most of what I'm remembering after these mentioned items, I still cringe over, so I think that I will stop for now. Thank you Miss Marlene and the wonderful staff, especially the guys that spoke Bwamu with me. I remember coming in the afternoons and helping you roll out the bread dough, put ingredients into the big mixer, helping you wash dishes and put stuff away in the walk in freezer. I had some fun afternoons helping out, before I became too cool.

Schawarmas?

My heart swelled with excitement as I saw this word on the sign for Jack's Corner, along with "hommus," "chicken gyro," and "farafel." But I hadn't seen or thought about the word "schawarma" in a looong time. Back in Africa, at my boarding school (called ICA) our dorms would go on dorm outings once a trimester. We would load onto the school bus and ride into town to a nicer pool than we would usually go to on Saturdays.

We would bake in the sun for 3-4 hours while we slathered baby oil on our bodies and lemon juice or peroxide (not recommended) on our hair. Sometimes we would order a coke by the pool and the waiter would bring it with a wedge of lemon and a serving of peanuts. Some of you are saying, "That's the life!" Well, it gets better. At noon we would pile into the bus and drive to a restaurant or sometimes we would just walk out to the street and buy street-food. Some of these items included questionable cuts of meat fried and on sticks, fried plantains, fried sweet potatoes, roasted corn on the cob, bags of sugared peanuts or donuts. But one of our favorite places was the "Schawarma Shop." This was the name we gave it. You would walk up to a huge rotisserie of some kind of meat and they would cut off of it with a huge machete, place it in the wrap with sauteed onions and such. Yum! Yum! Yum! and with a cold bottle of Pepsi (Coke tasted better in Burkina Faso, but Pepsi tasted better in Cote d'Ivoire--don't ask me why...the only explanation for us was that the Coke factory in Burkina also made beer and they may not have thoroughly cleaned the vats?...hmmm...makes me wonder how thoroughly they cleaned the empty bottles we had to return to get more Coke...I'm still alive, I guess that's what counts!)

After lunch we would go back to the pool to bake ourselves some more. We would take naps by the pool, play Marco Polo and Keep Away, make up water ballet routines, have diving board competitions and sometimes we would even skate on the open cement floors near the hotel. And yes, I mean the big bad metal-wheeled-fit-over-your-shoe skates. Because we were so cool!!

So these are the memories that one word brought to my mind. May you never read this word the same way again. May you always think of me in Africa, in the hot, hot sun eating a schawarma and lovin' life!

Sweet Home, Burkina Faso...

I'm singing, "Sweet home, Alabama...." as I write this. Last Sunday night I experienced the joy of watching my home, Burkina Faso, West Africa featured on "The Amazing Race." I don't know if any of you caught it, if not you could watch it online, I think. My parents served as missionaries there for 30 years, I lived there 18 years of my life, interspersed with a couple of furloughs and boarding school in Cote d'Ivoire. That's over half of my life. When I think about it, that's pretty significant in recognizing who I am as a result of living there. Watching it's effect on the contestants struck home the reality that it is a heart-grabbing place. It was interesting that the girl that "got it" was a Goth (I know that sounds so un-PC of me).

She and the other contestants had to go to a goat market, load up a bicycle with the goat, a chicken, several large jugs of water, some plants and other stuff. Then they had to ride the bicycle, past piles of garbage, through the open market (butchered meat hanging and raw fish laying out on tables, covered in flies--imagine!--no Harris Teeter experience here) and call out the name of the person they were to deliver the stuff to. Then they would get their next clue. She was really moved by the poverty, but yet the happiness or contentedness and generosity of the people. It literally brought her to tears.

Needless to say, it did me too. To see the familiar scene, I could even smell the raw, exposed meats, the piles of garbage, the local spices, the Arabic tea brewing and hear the chickens and goats in protest as they were being bought and loaded up. The memories are so vivid, but so unlike anything here. I could almost hear the children hollering, "Too-baa-boo," which means "white person," as they chased the contestants both out of excitement and curiosity. Oh, Burkina, I sure miss you and the joy mixed with sadness that you brought to my soul.

I Can't Do it Today!

I can't be a supermom today. I was done before my feet hit the floor. I'm tired and I don't know why. I'm still in my PJs, it's 2:00 pm. My top is inside out, with a hole in the armpit and spit up all down the side...dried. My son did not take a nap this morning and remained grumpy, his "lambie" smelled like sour milk, so I had to wash it. The internet is slow. I found out that Clinton Kelly is gay. My hair looks like Whoopie Goldberg because I slept on it wet without combing it. I have dark circles under my eyes (because they aren't covered in makeup!). My stomach feels weird, maybe because I've had 4 cups of coffee to "wake up." My socks have many colored spots from play dough crumbs as I've walked through my newly mopped kitchen where Eliza was making a "snack" for us all. Psalter leaked through her diaper...onto her Snow White dress and the kitchen chair (which is also decorated with many colors of play dough mashed into the fabric--nice!). Jacob gagged on "real" food and spit up chunks of oranges, chicken and formula because Eliza kept shoving more food into his mouth when I wasn't looking. So I had to change his clothes, which is no easy task. I tried to have a "quiet time" with God, but after the umpteenth interruption I gave up. Psalter wanted to play "Little One" and Eliza wanted to play "Snack time" and Jacob just wanted me to hold him. All I wanted to do was find a port key to a remote cottage, with clean PJs, a cup of fresh, good coffee and gaze into a fireplace...or curl up on my couch and watch TLC for the day. Instead, I have three little people that want me and rely on me and I have laundry to fold and put away, a body to dress, phone calls to make, a dinner to concoct.

Although I haven't felt like being a mom today, I still was able to swallow my selfishness and "funk" enough to enjoy some precious reading time with all three, as they fought to sit in my lap...do some dancing to cheer everyone up, participate in the "snack time" that Eliza put together, enjoy watching her clean it all up without being asked, and now enjoy a long silence from Jacob as he sleeps and the girls as they watch Nick Jr. (Thank you, Lord, for the 3 months of cable we get during basketball season, it's like magic--they don't fight over what to watch!) Just goes to show, I really can't be supermom any day! Days like today show me that I cannot do it alone. Lord, show me how to live out of Your strength and life, because I'm done doing it alone.

Ode to the Last 10 LBs!

I'm running out of excuses as to why you are still hanging around (no pun intended). Most days I hate you and I obsess over you in one way or another: As I try to wear my 'pre-third baby clothes' I end up changing 3 or 4 times. I'm too stubborn to buy new clothes that fit, so I wear the same ones. I think about not eating or exercising myself to death so that you will go away, then I just end up 'closet eating' and being too tired to exercise at all. I keep waiting for you to just "go away," but you won't.

If I'm completely honest, you've been around for the last 20 years because I've always wanted to lose just 10 more pounds and then I'd be happy. So I hope that you are happy with yourself and how many hours I've agonized over you and hated you. I'm sure I had you smiling at Old Navy last week as I tried on 10 pairs of different sized and different cut jeans. You put me in a rotten mood when none of them fit right. And the poor fitting room guy that caught my glares when he asked if those "worked for me" as I'm handing him an armful. (Sorry, Old Navy fitting room guy!)

Your days of victory will be over soon. I hate to tell you, but I'm learning to be content with you. You may stick around forever and may even invite some friends to hang with you. You know, I'm realizing that I have wasted so much time worrying over you. You've even caused friction for me in friendships because of comparisons or jealousy. Even though I've always seen you as a "thorn in my side" God is showing me that you are a gift. Most recently, you are the result of my beautiful son, Jacob. The stretched out stomach and widened hips are a blessing because of what they have brought me-three healthy children. You've also been a gift because you've shown me what I'm trying to find contentment in and that it's empty...I've never found it.

I'm still going to try to get rid of you, I will NOT let myself go. My new attitude, however, is compelling me to accept myself for who I am, right now and not focus on what I want to be (I will never get there and will waste my time trying). God has made me a beautiful creation and because of that I want to honor Him by taking care of myself. But that doesn't mean that I will necessarily lose you and I'm going to be okay with that! On a side note: thank you, J-Lo, for making hips and curves popular. I don't have the nerve or money to insure my butt for $1 million, but your confidence makes the rest of us feel like we can appreciate the curviness that we have and see it as beautiful.

Compassion Dilema

"Excuse me, ma'am..." I heard as I was feeding Jacob his bottle at the Barnes and Noble in the Friendly Center (a nice outdoor mall area). I had seen this young girl out of the corner of my eye come and sit down at a table across the aisle from the man at the table next to me. I had assumed she knew the man and was waiting politely for him to get off the phone and acknowledge her. When he didn't even pause in his conversation or so much as glance her way, that caught my attention. So I focused in on her. Right then I saw why he was conveniently ignoring her. She was wearing a baggy gray hoodie pulled tight around her face, sleeves bunched in her hands like she was cold. Her clothes were dirty and dirt was smeared on her face. After the few moments it took for me to get over my shock of seeing someone like her at Barnes and Noble, I acknowledged her with my, "Hi!" She began to talk about how she and her brother were staying in a truck and they hadn't eaten in a few days and could I spare some change or buy them some food. Still stunned, I asked her if McDonald's was okay and she said it was. So I told her it would take a few minutes to pack up my baby. She told me to take my time and that she would be outside. Then she disappeared. I noticed an older man a few tables away eavesdropping on the conversation. I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered what the young man that ignored her was thinking, maybe, "Phew!" and glad it was me and not him dealing with her issues. Who knows.

My initial feeling was a sinking stomach. I had been debating going shopping with my gift certificates I got for my birthday or going for a walk because it was my free morning with just Jacob. I only had 45 more minutes of free time and now I had offered to buy some food at MickeyDee's. I knew that I couldn't just do that without hearing their story, asking them questions, praying for them. That's what they needed more than the empty, unhealthy calories I was about to fill their stomachs with. So the battle raged within me, compassion versus being inconvenienced or more like selfishness. I was used to dealing with this in my neighborhood, but I didn't expect to have to deal with it here. In fact I come here sometimes just to escape my conscience, drink a cup of expensive coffee and read up on celebrity news.

So, as I dragged my feet outside, I prayed that the Lord would change my whiny heart and give me compassion. I didn't want to give them food out of mere obligation or guilt, I wanted to share the gospel with them too.

I didn't see her on the curb or the bench outside like I expected. In fact, I walked to my car and looked around for a beat up truck...still didn't see her. I climbed in my car and waited for her to approach or call out across the parking lot. I drove around looking for her and couldn't find her. A mixture of relief, guilt and sadness filled me. I really did want to help her and talk with her. Did I not look hard enough? Had she been asked to leave because she didn't look like the norm for B & N? I ran an errand across town thinking about all of my emotions. The Lord assured me of His love for me and His love for this girl. He was big enough to take care of her, so I prayed for her. He gently reminded me that whenever I love and care for the "least of these" I'm caring for Him. "I tried, Lord." But then He reminded me that it's my heart motivation that He cares about, not my actions.

So, Lord, forgive me for my selfishness. Grant me the ability to give up my precious free time to share Your compassion with those who desperately need it! May I understand Your love for me to the point where it COMPELS me to share the gospel with everyone I meet whether through word, action or both. Help me to believe that it's this love that can overcome fear, selfishness and a hardened heart. Thank you for Your AMAZING love!!!

Look at Me! Look at Me!

Last week I took the kids to Chick Fil-A for lunch and they were playing in the play area afterwards. It was the day that school was out, so lots of bigger kids were there terrorizing my small, timid children. So I was already annoyed by that, Psalter had been told to go away and I had to go up and pull her foot out of the netting at the very top level, meanwhile she's screaming her head off and the child that told her to go away was screaming thinking she was going to get into trouble and it was her fault. I think some of you get the picture.

I was ready to leave, but Eliza was having fun climbing, probably on all the areas she wasn't supposed to climb-oh well. This other bigger girl (second/third grade maybe) was balancing on the top of the opening structure right around where I was keeping track of Jacob. She kept saying, "Look at me! Look what I can do! Look at me!...." I ignored her at first hoping she would stop talking to me. Then when I realized she wouldn't I acknowledged her, "yes, you are balancing, good job!" I wanted to say, "Don't fall on one of my kids and stop asking me to look at you!" I know, I sound terrible, don't I? I was just so annoyed by her constant badgering for attention. I even had a "Phew" moment thinking, "I'm so glad my children aren't that needy for attention! Blah...blah...blah..."

Then the Spirit struck me, "That's you and pretty much everyone you know, including your children!" I realized that we all do the annoying, "Look at me, look at me!!" This girl could have come from a perfectly healthy home, just like my kids. But we all have the same longing, "look at me, notice me." It just plays out differently for all of us. For me it's, "notice me", not that I dress outlandishly or act obnoxious for attention. I mostly want to be noticed that I fit in, I'm acceptable. I'm more quiet about it and try to cover up the fact that I have this longing by appearing that I have it all together.

All of our insecurities that we obsess over: being in style, being in shape, having the nicest house or car, our kids dressing a certain way, etc. all of these come from the deep longing of simply wanting to be accepted. Our deepest longing is to be accepted for who we REALLY are. Some of us, me included, don't know who we REALLY are because we've assimilated into people we are not just to be accepted or prove ourselves worthy of acceptance. God has been working this out in me and helping me to see who I truly am and giving me the ability to accept myself as "Fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139) I still, however, cry out like this little girl. "I'm sorry, BTW, little girl for getting annoyed with you because you have really depicted my heart and my true longings. I will not easily forget you."

Wisdom From a Four-Year-Old

The other day as I was having a quiet time, Eliza asked me to do something with her. Used to being interrupted, I said, "Not right now, I'm spending time with Jesus. When I'm finished talking with Jesus then we can play." Her response was, "I pray sometimes too, Mommy." I said, "Really, when do you do that?" Thinking she was talking about prayer time before bed or at the dinner table. But she answered, "Well, I just close my eyes and bow my head and pray to God alone in my room." I said, "What do you pray about?" "I just sit quiet and pray, Mommy." "I know, but what do you talk to God about when you pray?" "Nothing, Mommy, I just sit quiet and listen to God."

My eyes welled up with tears as I thought about what I could stand to learn from my 4-year-old! To sit and quiet my spirit enough to listen to my God. Isn't that what prayer is intended to be? Less talking from me and more listening to God. Oh, God, may my prayer life be more childlike: simple, expectant, full of faith and innocence.

Cute Things My Kids Say: Part 2

One day some neighborhood girls were knocking on Dayna's (our housemate who rents the basement apartment)door. I hollered at 'em (in the 'hood' this means that I leaned out my window to talk to them). Eliza was standing behind me and asked, "Mommy, why are they a different color and still our friends?" So it gave me a chance to explain God's love for all people of the world no matter what race, socio-economic status, culture, He loves us all the same. And He calls us to love ALL just like He does. Her response, "Yeah, just like 'be ye kind one to another...'" (BTW, I didn't teach her that verse, her preschool beat me to it).

The night of the time change I was alone with the 3 kids and we had eaten dinner and it was only 5:30. What do we do for 2 more hours???? So we went to Chick Fil-A for ice cream to kill some time. For two days I had been working each day, so I hadn't worn makeup or worn anything other than beat up stretch pants and my bright red crocs (which I love). As we walked into Chick Fil-A I was waiting for Stacy and Clinton to jump out from behind the counter and hand me a Bank of America card with $5000 if I turned over my wardrobe (can you tell what my favorite TV show is?). The only redeeming quality and reason I MIGHT be acceptable here was because of my NorthFace fleece and red crocs. As we were leaving Psalter said, "Mommy, you look so pretty tonight. I like your shirt." I laughed silently and told her 'thank you.' Then Eliza piped up, "Mommy, when are you going to put on some makeup. Maybe you could wear some jewelry and a head band instead of a ponytail. Because you've been wearing a pony tail lots of days and you kinda look like Jenny from Oliver & Company."

Yesterday in the kitchen Eliza said, "Mommy, you're the best mommy!" I said, "Eliza, you're the best 4 year-old!" She responded, "No, mommy, I'm not, lots of times I'm bad." I asked why she thought that. "Because sometimes I take Psalter's toys when she just got them for her birthday...." She named a few more things that didn't make a lot of sense. I felt this was the perfect opportunity for a lesson on grace, so I took it. I explained how Jesus died for all of our "bad" stuff and so we can still be the "best" because Jesus is living in our hearts and through us. Eliza responded, "Mommy, that's just shocking!!"

I don't have much more from Psalter because it's been a lot of whining lately (welcome to the 3s!!!).

Overworked, Underpayed, and Usually Unappreciated, Yet I Love My Job...

Lately I've been really striving to "stop and smell the roses" so-to-speak. I've realized that it's not so important to have the floor vacuumed, the dishes and laundry done or the toys picked up. It's more important to have puzzle races, play "Little One," color, tell stories, play peek-a-boo and give my children juice or a snack when they ask, not "...in a minute." No wonder they don't always do what I ask right away. I hear myself saying "...in a minute..." too often.

A few weeks ago a friend sent out an e-mail which contained a poem that was written by a young cancer patient. She was encouraging us all to stop and listen to the music, not dance our life or time away. It struck a chord with me. (no pun intended). Having some good friends who are struggling with cancer made it sink in even more. They suffer so much, yet they seize every moment of life and find the joy in it, no matter how simple or hard it is.

We decided last month that I should cut back on some work hours, so that I could spend more time with the kids. Can I tell you how much I'm enjoying it? Psalter benefits the most from it right now since Eliza is in pre-school 4 mornings a week. This past Wed. when Jacob was napping I experienced the sweetest moment with Psalter. We were playing Cinderella, I was Anastasia and I was taking a nap on her bed. I asked Psalter if she was going to tuck me in and she said "No." She went on her way and I lay there quiet. Then I saw her coming out of the corner of my eye. She knelt down, rubbed my head and started singing, "Jesus loves me, thisino....they are weak, but He is prong..." Then she leaned over and kissed me on my cheek (which was hiding a smile) and said, "I love you so much, Little One!" I wanted to cry, the emotion that welled up was so intense. I was so content to be who I was, where I was, right then. Those moments are the ones that make it all worth it. I wouldn't have "had the time" to experience it if I had let the other worries and duties get in the way. So, stop dancing through life--it WILL go on, stop and listen to the music. May you find peace and rest in the stopping and the listening.

Thank You, Lady in the Little Black Car!

As you turned around the same moment I realized what I had done, I was sure you were cussing me out with a big, "F*** you!" As every emotion surged through me, as well as my own few choice words, I saw the big dollar signs, the grumpy officer, grumpy you and rightly-so frustrated husband. I was already late to pick up my oldest from a Halloween party and therefore late for another birthday party we were going to after that. I could see the disappointments everywhere.

But...you drove off. Then I realized you had been saying, "I'm F-I-N-E!" (Good thing I don't have to rely on my lip reading skills very often, huh?) Either you are not so attached to your worldly possessions or you were running late too, or maybe you knew that there was most likely no damage and didn't want to make it a big deal. Bless you, though, you did not even get out of your car to look and see IF there was damage. My big ol' mini van could have eaten your cute little car for breakfast, there was bound to be a scratch from the bump.

Anyways...thank you. And...sorry for my initial judgment and my stupidity. Hope I don't run into you again!

Back to Life, Back to Reality....

That's the only phrase I can recall from that song. But it speaks loudly to what I've been experiencing these last few days. Marshall and I were able to attend a conference in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, ALONE. No kids, just us. That meant, sleeping through the night, exercising when we wanted to, at the same time even, getting just myself ready and out the door (I even wore eyeshadow, something that never happens here!), eating out with colleagues and having adult conversations all day long. It was such a refreshing time, though full of learning and interacting, it was different.

I really did miss the kids while we were away. I would show my new friends pictures and tell them stories, when they asked for them. We were so excited when we got home and Marshall's dad was going to bring them to us. He was minutes later than we had talked about, so I started to pace the floor and look out windows, ready to see, to touch, to kiss my babies. Then they came. It was a joyful reunion, excitement, smiles, hugs, "I missed my mommy!" comments over and over.

Then, also with them came reality. We didn't set up an ease in schedule where we could get back one child at a time until we got used to them again. I found myself floundering a little--"What do I do?" I had gotten so used to being on my own, I had to rethink some things for a couple of days. Along with the reality came some frustrations and disappointments...being late for preschool because I had to get four people ready and I had slept in (my response--throwing a shoe and breaking one of my window blinds, cursing the red lights and slow drivers on the way, shaming myself and my children for making us late); I forgot Eliza's lunch on lunch bunch day (I didn't even make one), I found out that I had signed up for a Fall Party in each class, no one could come to Psalter's original birthday party so I had to change everything, the dryer duct kept falling off turning our back room into a sauna, the house was a total disaster all week....

So, as I sped up again and filled my time with busy work, I continued to feel overwhelmed and out of control. Finally, by the end of the week I started to see again. I started to see my neighbors and talk with them, I started to spend time with each of my children individually and I chose time with the Lord over busywork or talking with friends. I realized that what I experienced in the previous paragraph was not reality, but me living out of my flesh (my fears, disappointments and my shame). The true reality is that Christ lives in me. Since He is alive, I can do all these things through Him. Praise the Lord that He is sovereign and gives me a gazillion chances to choose Him over my flesh. So today as I went to two different stores, with three kids, in the rain to look for flower girl shoes, I praised the Lord for the rain and for my three precious children that stomped through the puddles and made many people smile, including me.

EEEEk!!!!

I saw it! It was little and black. It scurried across the floor in the blink of an eye. I was sitting on the couch in the living room when I saw it. My heart started pounding, "did I really see it? Was it just my imagination, just the lighting?" I would hear a sound..."was that a squeak?" I ran to the back of the house to find a trap, the whole time watching my back. Like it's going to jump out at me and take revenge for his cousin Rufus or his aunt Rosie. (Don't ask me where I got the names, they just sounded like mice names).

As I rummaged through several boxes I started to laugh at myself. I'm afraid of something smaller than the palm of my hand. Or am I afraid of what it represents? I remember the episode of Friends (underline) when Ross goes to his girlfriend's apartment, which is completely nasty. Food everywhere, stuff everywhere, no where to make-out. I'm thinking, "Is my house like that? Dirty enough for a mouse. I know there are cherios stuck on the floor and some crumbs under the table but..." Phew, I find the trap, stick some peanut butter on it. I make it snap. My heart saddens for the poor creature that chose my house this night. I start to think about all the sweet mouse movies like Stuart Little (underline) and The Rescuers (underline-pitiful, I know). Those were sweet mice that did a lot of good.

Oh well, my mercy runs short when it comes to finding droppings in my pantry and sticky urine on my silverware (I'm not joking). Sorry little mouse. You are a marvelous creation of the Father, but not fit for my house. I wish you had stayed outside and I hope you stop taunting me with little squeaks and moans from behind the stove. I will wait for the SNAP!, I will squirm and feel sad for a moment, then I will get Marshall to take you outside to join the "others."

This Potty Train is NOT Moving!

Yes, that's right. I have an almost 3 year old (in two weeks)who is not AT ALL interested in potty training. In fact a couple of months ago she WAS interested in wearing panties. She had been starting to dress herself and show more independence in other ways too, just like her older sister had when she was ready. So...I started to get excited and said, "Well, if you want to wear panties, you have to go pee-pee in the potty." Pretty self explanatory, you'd think. We even went to the potty to practice. She sat down and got up exclaiming, "I did it, I went potty." Well, hopeful thinking as I looked in to find it dry as a bone, nothing, nada, zilch.

So we proceeded through our day in panties. Several times I walked through puddles on the floor and carpet. Each time I'd check her panties, yes they were wet, so we changed them and talked about how she needed to run, run, run to sit on the potty when she started feeling them get wet. "Okay, mommy!" she would say. And then it would happen again. After the sixth pair of underwear and making her help me clean up the messes and showing her how to sit on the potty, I said, "Okay, Psalter, let's not wear panties and when you start to feel wet down your legs, run to the potty." I had heard that this worked for some moms, so I decided to try it. Well, needless to say, I walked into the living room a while later, to a very familiar stench (only this time it was not enclosed in a diaper). I found the two culprits, on the carpet--NICE--. Several toys were mashed inside. Yeah, those got thrown away. And yes, that was it for potty training. I found the wipes and a diaper and I covered that naked bottom.

Now that she is in a preschool class, I had hopes that some of her younger classmates (who are already potty trained) would rub off on her. But no such luck, yet. I asked her a few weeks ago when she wanted to be a big girl and use the potty. She responded, "Mommy I am a big girl!" "Yes, Psalter, you are, but grown up girls learn to use the potty." She said, "Mommy, I want to be a grown up and still wear a diaper!" I felt like retorting, "Well in a few years you'll have to hire someone to wipe you and change you because at 5 years old, I'm done!!" I'm not really stressed about it. In fact, it's more stressful potty training. I sort of dread the big grocery stores where you're in the middle, with a full cart of merchandise and three kids and one of them says, "Mommy, I've got to go potty." And they mean, NOW! So, I don't mind keeping her in diapers for now, it's pointless to teach her before she's ready. Besides, I don't know that I want my little girl to grow up quite yet.

Things I'm Realizing I Like About Myself...because it's me!

I'm always late--at least by 5-10 min., if not more. It doesn't matter how early I start out. I'm still on "African time!"

I cry (more like sob) while watching things like: The Biggest Loser, ABC's Home-Makeover show, Rudy and Baraka Boys (must watch!). Oh, and also, those commercials for "help this child for only 20 cents a day..."

Most of my wardrobe is from yard sales, hand-me-downs, thrift stores or clearance racks.

I put the music on, when it's just me and the kids and we dance like crazy. (I don't know if I should be offended that they laugh at me).

I love deep theological discussions.

I'm naive enough to run (at night) after one of the neighborhood prostitutes to make sure she knows that Jesus loves her and she can come over anytime to talk.

I'm more comfortable serving others than being served.

I know when a waiter or waitress is "in the weeds." I love to encourage them and leave them a nice tip.

I love to travel--especially by air. I love airports, watching people and eavesdropping on their conversations or striking up one with the person beside me, but usually eavesdropping.

I love to make things like mosaics and cards.

My love language is time.

I get embarrassed for people, even in movies. I cringe in pain for people like Michael Scott from "The Office" or movies like "Kiss the Girl" when Drew Barrymore makes a fool out of herself in many situations. Sometimes I've had to leave the room because I can't take it anymore.

I love going to or watching Carolina football and basketball games and NASCAR races with my husband. I even watch the games or races on TV when he is out of town.

I'd rather talk to people face to face than over the phone or e-mail.

I'm invigorated with a run or walk outdoors.

I enjoy simple things in life: an orange moon, a star sprinkled sky, the calm before the storm, then the storm, walking barefoot through squishy mud or a creek, the wind in the trees, the fresh scent of spring flowers.

I love to roll down a grassy hill, holding my children, listening to them and myself giggle with glee all the way to the bottom. Then hearing, "Let's do that again!"

And lastly, not that this is all, but for now: I'm so thankful that my heart is (usually) open for God's continuous work, shaping me, refining me and allowing Him to love my family and friends through me.

***I still haven't figured out how to underline things on this site, so excuse all the errors. I'm technologically slow. :)

Somebody Slap Me...Please!!!

So this last week or so with my kids has been great. I've been submitting to the Lord, dealing pretty well with my daily junk and being nice to my kids. Actually, I've really been enjoying them. Especially Jacob because he's still a mystery and exploring everything. I've been quite smitten with him, really, maybe because he's probably the last one.

So back to the slapping part. Yeah, someone needs to because I've been thinking the last few days..."I think I could have another...I think I might want one more..." AM I CRAZY? AM I KIDDING MYSELF??? So someone talk some sense into me. The last time I felt this way I was already pregnant....

Cute Things Kids Say...

After we dropped off Vicky, one of our neighborhood friends, at the shelter to eat Eliza asked: Mommy, why do we have to drive people places? Me: because some people don't have a car and can't walk that far. Eliza: why doesn't Vicky have a car?
Me: Some people don't have enough money to have a car. Eliza: Well, mommy, we have two cars, we could give one of ours to Vicky!
(oh the lessons we could learn from such sweet innocence!)

Psalter: "Pwinkle, Pwinkle wittle star..." "Mommy, I want a special pweat." (treat)

Psalter dropped something under her chair and screamed, "Argh, get it, mommy!!!" Eliza's response: "you have two legs, you pick it up." (where did she hear that?????)

Eliza while pretending to talk on the phone: "Hey Girl! Oh my gosh, you have got to be kidding. you cannot be so serious!! Oh my gosh!!"

Eliza: "Daddy, we have tongue bugs." Telling Marshall about taste buds.

Mommy: "When you learn how to spell you'll know what we're talking about."
Eliza: "Will the spell get broken later?"

"I have a bottom, but Jacob has a tail." Psalter to her Sunday school teacher.

Eliza: Jesus died for the cross for our sins. "Well, if that's what you say, I trust you God."

Eliza: Jesus asked us to have a sleepover in heaven with Him.

Psalter: A B C D E F G H I Jacob (singing)

Eliza: (sigh) I give up.

Eliza: I don't want to see your tummy, daddy. Marshall: why not? Eliza: because it's furry.

Psalter to a friend that came to visit: "my daddy and Jacob have peanuts!" "Do you have peanuts?" (BTW, he was a guy!)

Psalter reading her Bible: Jesus complained A LOT!! Diane: don't you mean the Jews?
Psalter: no, I mean Gropey. Diane: Who's Gropey? Psalter: One of Jesus' siples! (disciples)

Life is Worship

This is the inscription I read on the back window of a car as it merged onto I-85 near Durham the other night. I was driving back from visiting my mother-in-law and all was quiet in the car-so far, so good. I was listening to worship music and enjoying the dark night sky with the sprinkle of starlight...and the occasional deer (on the side of the road--fortunately for them and for me!).

After I read the sign I began to think about it--is my life worship? If I could look down and take a fragment of my day and watch it, would it look like worship? My first thought was from the "Accuser" (of course). "No, your life would not look like worship, but it would look disjointed, chaotic, anxious." That was a pretty accurate synopsis, at least for what my life has felt like lately. My responses to life, especially to my children, are often in anger, impatience, resentment, you name it. I hear myself trying to shame them into obedience, screaming at them, "Stop screaming and be quiet!!" That probably makes A LOT of sense to 3 and 4 year olds.

I was contemplating all of this and feeling like a huge failure because my life is not worshipful--to God anyway. Then the Lord spoke gently to me, "Diane, worship is not an act, but a state of your being." Meaning, I don't have to achieve or even give the act of worship, it is simply lived out by how I choose to live. Now I could choose to worship my flesh (which is the picture that I saw at the beginning), or I could worship God with my life by choosing to surrender to His control and by believing that what He says about me is true. As Romans 12:1 says, "Offer yourselves as living sacrifices (just as you are), holy and pleasing to God (I used to think this meant I had to attain holiness BEFORE I could worship---that's a hopeless thought, but I believe He's saying that offering yourself, as you are, IS holy and pleasing to God because it's recognizing Christ in us and living out of His holiness. That's what He wants from us, giving Him complete reign so that He can live out of us)...THAT is your spiritual act of worship."

So, yes, my life is worship, whether its worship of God as I surrender to His love and sovereignty in my life, or it's worship to my flesh, which only brings disaster and the need for God's grace and mercy. Godly worship, essentially, is a continuous broken heart before God--THAT is my spiritual act of worship--acknowledging the need for Him as my LORD!

Little Bunny Foo-Foo

I've recently seen the different personalities of my 3 and 4 year olds come out. A few weeks ago the girls were doing a great job of playing together-a few fights, but no major drama. As I was probably cleaning something up, I heard a rhythmic rocking sound. Knowing that we don't have a rocking horse I went into the room to investigate. There was lots of laughing involved too. I walked in on them jumping on one of their beds. These beds are not spring beds, but "cheapo plywood on the bottom and that's it beds." So I told them to stop and went about my business. Not five minutes later I hear the sound again. Angry this time, I went in there and told them to stop and if they didn't they would get a spanking.

Thinking that would resolve it, because it usually does, I left again. 2 minutes later I heard the same sound... So I RAN in there this time, seething. (I fear what my face must have looked like). My four year old, Eliza said, "I'm sorry, mommy, I'm sorry mommy..." I said, "Sorry is too late," and I grabbed her and swatted her on the bum. She said, "That didn't hurt." I set her on her bed and grabbed the three year old, Psalter, nailing her (I knew this by her wail)on the back of her leg. Then I went back to Eliza and spanked her again--this time she cried.

So angry, I had to leave the room and I told them they had to sit on their beds in "time out" too. They were both wailing for a while. When they finally stopped I went in to talk with them. I asked the Eliza, "why did I have to spank you?" She wailed out, "I said I was sorry." Then I asked the Psalter the same question and she responded with a shrug and "I don't know." So I explained to them that I spanked them because they disobeyed me THREE times when I asked them to stop jumping on their bed. After my reasoning, Eliza is still distraught from being called out and punished, Psalter looks up at me, with a glint in her eye and matter-of-factly tells me, "Mommy, I was being little bunny foo-foo." Like, there's nothing wrong with that and what's the big deal, mommy.

I had to hide my face in my shirt as I laughed. Eliza was so distraught over getting in trouble, our rules-keeper and my free-spirited child was only upset because the spanking hurt, she did not know why she got a spanking or time out, that was just an inconvenience. In her mind, playing little bunny foo-foo on her bed made perfect sense.

Oh what a joy to have 2 such different and beautiful personalities! Oh Lord, give us the strength and wisdom to discipline and train up each one according to what would be emotionally and spiritually healthy for them.

3 o'clock baby

I'm going to start calling my 8 month old, "3 o'clock baby." For the past couple of weeks he's been waking up at 10:30, 3:00 and 6:00. Yes, he's my third and you'd think I'd have it figured out by now. I know people who's 3 month old FIRSTBORNs are sleeping through the night. But is my THIRDBORN? No chance. A month or so ago I asked the Lord what else He wanted from me, feeling like He was punishing me for something I was with-holding. But in a small gentle voice I heard Him ask me, "Why do you think I'm doing this to you?"

Well, I don't know...I guess I don't believe that God is punishing me, this is just a part of life. But I'm so ready for at least a 6 hour block of sleep. This is the point of parenthood that I'm throwing out all the books on baby's sleep. "Babywise", yeah dream on. Letting him cry it out is like torture because he literally screams like he's being tortured, it wakes up both of his sisters, so now I have three screaming children. Yeah, tried it, didn't work, not the answer. So, I just do the best I can, I get up, nurse him and go back to bed. Oh and sometimes I punch things because I'm so frustrated, like last night I was so angry I punched the leather chair in his room. At least it's padded...

Afterwards, as I felt my hand throb, I started to think about how this time really won't last. I won't be able to hold him like this much longer. And in 16 years he's probably not going to want me around as much. So why not be his superstar for right now. I'm his celebrity, the one he wants to see all the time, the one he's looking for. Not much longer, so enjoy the time now. I'll eventually get a full night's sleep, right now it's a delight to serve him, even if it's at 3 o'clock in the morning.

Susan

Susan, when I saw you walking the streets again this morning, my heart broke for you. Why do you run? The Savior is right there, waiting, ready for you to come to Him, ready to save you from yourself and this cruel world. He loves you so much, He pursues you, but you ignore His gentle voice.

And why wouldn't you, no one's left you any reason to listen and trust. You've been used, abused, rejected and judged for so long. Why would you believe what He says about you is true: that He knit you together in your mother's womb...He knows how many hairs are on your head...He saw your innocence taken from you and wept for you...He saw when you took your first "hit" of drugs and He saw when you first sold yourself for money, drugs or just a place to lay your head and yet He did not pick up a stone.

He's forgiven you already because He loves you, He wants to call you His own. He created you to love Him and glorify Him. He longs to peel off that ugly cloak of shame and clothe you with His beauty, His glory and His love. He's already forgiven you, Susan. You've come so close to believing that for yourself, but then you turn in fear and run. You run back to the life you know, it's comfortable to you because you've lived it so vividly. Why chance being vulnerable and broken, that's what got you to where you are today. But the truth remains...He's calling you. Whether that's through me or in another way, He will keep calling.

You are God's gift to me because you allow me to take my selfish eyes off myself and soften my heart towards God's incredible creation--people. You also provide me a physical picture of my spiritual life. I'm often running from God's gentle voice, running back to the things that are comfortable, of my flesh. I'm often hiding beneath a heavy cloak of shame, when I'm not choosing to believe what God says about me. The evil one wants to devour our hope and leave us in a pit of despair. But it's time to fight back. I'll fight with you, Susan, I love you.

Uncontrollable Laughter: a tribute to my friend Joy

My parents came to visit this weekend. One night we sat around (like we usually do) and reminisced about some missionaries and their families. I took a walk down memory lane that night as I remembered my best friend from boarding school, Joy. We don't talk anymore, not by my choice, but I couldn't help but remember and smile about the times that we used to laugh.

Have you ever laughed so hard that you cried and/or peed your pants? Have you ever been in a serious situation, where you were supposed to be quiet, but you broke out in uncontrollable laughter--the seriousness of the situation made you laugh harder? That was Joy and I. We would be in church, Sunday School, Class or a dorm meeting and these kicks of uncontrollable laughter would take hold. We would just look at each other, know what the other was thinking and burst into laughter.

I remember one such occasion at lunch in our dining hall. We ate lunch as a whole school, family style. Joy and I got into one of those laughing moods and couldn't stop. Someone asked me to pass them the peas and for some reason that was hilarious to me and I spewed my mouthful of food all in front of me, which made us laugh harder. Another time, Joy was attacked by a very small monkey (BTW, monkeys are not cute, they are evil!)as it jumped from a tree limb onto her head and started to bite her ear, in which it proceeded to bite off her earing and store it in his cheek--what in the world? As I observed, I couldn't believe what was happening, but also couldn't stop laughing long enough to call for help.

I miss those moments of uncontrollable laughter. It always felt so good, so freeing! I rarely laugh like that now, maybe it's because life is not as care free as it used to be-I have to act like an adult now. Or maybe it's because I haven't clicked with anyone like I did with Joy. Who knows, but I miss you Joy. I hope that one day we can laugh like this together again...

Where is my "Africa"?

This past Wed. Marshall and I packed up the kids and drove up to Asheville to attend one of my best friend's "commissioning" service. She and her husband are going on the mission field under the Southern Baptist convention, so their commissioning took place at a humongo church. As we walked into the service, I had some mixed emotions. I mostly felt familiarity because I grew up going to these--usually dreading them because I didn't like to stand out, I was then treated differently once everyone knew I was a missionary kid. (Besides the fact that my parents sometimes made us wear terrible "angel" dresses, as we called them. They were like big mu-mus made out of African cloth and then sometimes we had to sing African songs,in front of the church--talk about a popularity-killer).
As the service went on, all 48 missionaries had a chance to share where they had started on this journey and where they were being sent. As they shared, interspersed with lines from a worship song, my heart started to come alive again. I started to feel things that I had forgotten, love for other cultures, the people of the world that are so interesting and important. My heart started to break again for the oppressed, the poor in devastating situations who don't know Christ. As my heart softened, I began to remember some of my experiences in Africa. I knew some about what these missionaries were about to face because I've experienced a different culture. I've seen extreme poverty, grew up seeing it as the norm. We were rich when we lived in Africa. And then we came to the U.S.
Although we are still rich, I don't always see it like that any more. The longer I've lived in America, the more desensitized I've become to materialism. I used to not care what was in my wardrobe, what kind of car or job I had, I was content to have little. The longer I'm here, I care too much. I find myself coveting lots of different things, thinking, "if only I had 'this' or 'that' I would be content." Sometimes I get "this" or "that" and then I'm still waiting to feel the contentment. Even worse, I start to feel like I deserve those things! Living in the inner city has helped me keep a lot of this in perspective, as we see poverty on a daily basis. But even then, I can drive across town to pick up my kids from preschool (the comfortable side of town) or go clean the million dollar palace and my struggle starts all over again.
I was thinking about this during the missions conference as the speaker was talking about giving ourselves as a living sacrifice (which he equated to a broken heart before God). He talked about when we offer that up, God is able to open our hearts to caring for the lost of the world and once He does that, there will be an inexplicable joy in our hearts. As I soaked it all in, the familiar surroundings (a missions service), the talk and the fact that I was in the presence of missionaries, my heart felt warm, comfortable, alive.
So...what do I mean by "Where is my 'Africa'?" Where is the part of me that I shutdown so many times because it doesn't fit in this culture of consumerism, it's unpopular, it's forgotten. It involves needs instead of wants. It's not a slave to the clock or money. It's taking the time to enjoy others and family. It's living simply, being blessed by all that we receive. It's giving generously to those in need. It's living, ready for the opportunity to care for others. That is the gift that Africa gave to me. This is the part of me that I want to continue to come alive and remember. I want my "Africa" to become home again!

Where's the Joy in the Mess?

Ironically, after my last post, I really struggled with the mess in my house. Isn't it amazing/frustrating how when God enlightens us with something, the accuser brings on the struggle full force. Well, this week I did nothing short of curse under my breath as I picked up Barbie shoes, wet diapers, the same shoes a hundred times, etc. I even cleaned my house the other day, yelling at my children to stop crying about the loud vacuum...mopped the floor in the kitchen that had black splotches all over (what was that?). And then, not ten minutes later, I walk into the kitchen to see a puddle of orange juice all over the table, chair and floor. After cursing under my breath while I cleaned up the mess I scolded my children and probably stored away another therapy session for them as adolescents. I had to cool off by taking a shower. I had pretty much had it.

In the shower, the place God seems to be able to speak to me the most, I felt a tug at my heart. I felt the Lord drawing me back to Himself. I realized that I spend so much time and energy cleaning up my house, when I really just do it to ignore the mess inside. I was hardening my heart towards my children, blaming my lack of control on the mess they make, rather than realizing that my lack of control was coming from ignoring the mess in my heart.

So, you'd think that this insight would have moved me to make a change of some sort, or rather spend more time in prayer (which I didn't make time for). The next day I woke up in more of a funk than ever. It was the worst day I've had in awhile. Fortunately the day after was Sunday, which is today. During the sermon our pastor was talking on prayer and having us walk through the steps of the Lord's prayer. The very beginning is acknowledging God's holiness/praise to Him. As I tried to focus and quiet my heart to praise Him for who He is, not just what He's done, the Holy Spirit gently spoke to me. I realized that God doesn't need me to praise Him--He is so Holy and worthy of praise the mountains and rocks cry out to Him. No, God doesn't need me to praise Him, I need me to praise Him. Praising God takes my eyes off myself (my selfish wants, my sin, my pride). So, hence, the answer to my title, "Where's the Joy in this Mess?" it's in praising God. He is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness--all the fruits I want to bear to my family and then others. So, praising Him means taking my eyes off of me and my mess, (which ultimately comes from a lack of abiding in Him), and focusing on Him.

***Okay, so patience would be good here as I hear my almost three year old scream in the highest pitch, EVER!!! BTW, it turned out that her sister was holding the door to the TV cabinet-???? Who knows!!

So, my hope and prayer is that the Lord would teach me to praise Him in the mundane: changing a diaper, cooking a meal, cleaning, laundry, driving kids to school. I pray that He will grant me the humility to praise Him in the hard things: struggles with my flesh, conflicts with others, disciplining my children, loneliness and disappointments! That I would learn to praise God in all things, even in the mess... Thanks for letting me process!

Why Won't the Mess Just Go Away?

In a perfect world, I would be able to get out of bed in the morning and walk across my bedroom, through the foyer and to the bathroom without spraining my ankle on the 10 pairs of shoes or the Little People scattered around.

In a perfect world, I would be able to walk barefoot through the kitchen without stepping on a bead or walking through a sticky patch from yesterday's juice spill or a mushy crust of bread and be able to make my coffee without hearing the crash of 100 toys being dumped out of box a couple of rooms away.

In a perfect world, my children would pick up after themselves before they got out a new toy. They would sweep up the crumbs under their chairs from their breakfast lunch and dinner. They would pick up their dirty clothes and soggy diapers that they remove each morning, so that I wouldn't have to step on them throughout the day. They would scrub down the chairs and door frames that have a layers of yogurt, ketchup and peanut butter.


But praise the Lord that I don't live in a perfect world. Because in a perfect world I would not need to experience the unfailing love of God. In a perfect world I would not need to grow in humility and patience. In a perfect world I would not need to ask God for the grace to love my children each moment of every day like I do in my imperfect world.

Finally joining the century!!

Many of you will be shocked that I'm actually setting up a blog. Yes, I can be technically savvy if I want to be! I don't know why I've been so against blogging, maybe because I felt like it was impersonal or maybe because I felt like I was missing out on important things because I knew I wouldn't have or take the time to read other people's blogs.

I have humbled myself greatly, especially for my husband's sake. I know that he is gifted in writing and really blesses others through his blog. I have also enjoyed and sympathized with some of my friends as they have processed their thoughts by writing on their blogs.

So "goodbye" pride and "hello" world... And so ends my first blog.