Spring Rains Water the Earth

Let us acknowledge the LORD; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth. Hosea 6:3

In spite of the fact that I sometimes feel like I'm walking around in big circles, life manages to move at a steady pace and in a forward direction whether I am or not. I've often thought that if the world would just stop and let me jump off just a few minutes, I could get my act together and be ready to move forward too. But, it never seems to work out that way.

Just yesterday morning, I was up very early and snuggled on the sofa with my cup of coffee and Bible. As I was turning to the book of Romans, a little folded up piece of paper fell from the back pages of my Bible. There's a little pocket back there that holds a special stash of love letters from my Rachel. She often writes me a little note, you know, just because. I carefully unfolded this little letter to reveal a message she had written when she was only six years old.

On the outside is a little stick figure drawn in orange marker with a talking bubble that says, "a Kiss for Mama"

The inside reads, with carefully formed letters written in thick pencil:

God made me speshel so you and Daddy cood love and caer for me.
I love God is much as you do.
I love you.
Rachel

this is a Bible vers.
Sumit yourselfs then to God, resist the devel and he will flee from you.
James 4:7

As I sat there in the quiet of an early Sunday morning, tears chasing one another down my cheeks, I realized once again how fleeting is time. It waits for no one.

You know, I was certain I had lingered over what my children did and said and accomplished from the moment they were born. After all, I was with them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Did I miss something somehow? I found myself wanting to go back in time. To stay there. All wrapped up in that little hand written love letter, things seemed simpler. Life was innocent. Stick figures were works of art and words spelled phonetically were exciting milestones.

And so I find myself with another Monday nearly over. What do I do? I remind myself to acknowledge the LORD...press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth.

Stuck on Me

Home at last...

Remember the post about our refrigerator dying the day after Thanksgiving? Well, a few days later, my brother-in-love, Gary, came over to help Mr. Wonderful move it out to the garage. It's proper burial will come at a later time.

Gary brought with him an appliance dolly which made moving the huge refrigerator a little easier. Because the refrigerator was so wide, it had to be taken out the front door (after removing the refrigerator handle and the hinge on the front door). But, I digress...

Imagine our surprise to find eight magnetic letters stuck to the underside of the refrigerator. There they were, plain as day: E, G, N, Q, T, W, X and Y. Thank goodness there was a vowel mixed in there!

I realize this is not world breaking news or anything important, but, I'm here to tell you, when I saw them, I realized they had been there for a very long time. Do you know how long it's been since my kids have played with magnetic alphabet letters on the refrigerator? Yes, a very long time!

No amount of sweeping or cleaning would have ever revealed their location. They were literally stuck on the bottom of the refrigerator. Apparently, they fell on the floor with the magnets facing up. When we removed them, they had quite a collection of dog hair and dust bunnies stuck to them. But they washed up quite nicely, don't ya think?

I couldn't help but think of Toy Story. Remember how Jessie was pushed under the bed and left there collecting dust? Well, I suppose, these poor Alpha-buddies probably wondered if anyone would ever come to their rescue.

Never fear!

It only took the death of the refrigerator to realize they were even missing in the first place!

And yes, I intend on keeping them. A wonderful little treasure to pull out someday so we can recall those early days when spelling names and leaving love notes were exciting moments for tiny little hands.

They'll always be stuck on me...

Prince, Dead and Resurrected

Obviously this isn't Prince

I am going against my better judgment posting this story first, but since you asked for it (Bethany and Julie), here ya go! Teri, we'll get to Jones and the Radial Arm Saw soon.

Let me set the stage and always keep this in the back of your mind while reading this story. OK? OK.

1. This took place when I was a little girl, almost 40 years ago.

2. I grew-up in the country.

3. It was the dead of winter and there was lots of snow on the ground.

I had a horse named Midnight. You might remember me talking about my very first job delivering newspapers so I could buy the food necessary to have a horse of my own.

I don't really remember how this came about (you will hear this often in upcoming childhood animal stories), but someone my father knew had a horse and needed to find it a home. We were told the horse had some allergies, but if we did what was prescribed, all would be well. This was to be my sister's horse. His name was Prince.

Prince was princely. He looked to me like a horse you would see at the circus. You see, he had a very long mane and tail like the pictures above. Not quite that long, but his tail and mane almost touched the ground. To my sister and me, his long hair was an amazing thing. We loved brushing it and braiding it and playing with it, kinda like you would do with a doll.

From time to time Prince would get a little wheezy. We would do what we were suppose to do and he'd seem to be just fine. It was fun having two horses. Midnight and Prince became good buddies. Besides, whenever a friend would come over, we could go on a horse ride together.

One of my jobs each morning before school was to head out to the barn to feed and water the horses. They would hear me coming and whinny.

One bitter cold morning I headed down to the barn to feed and water the horses. I'm sure I heard the whinny. I walked in and there was Midnight waiting at the stall door. As I looked over, however, Prince was sleeping. Or so I thought. He wasn't laying down on his side, he had his legs under himself and his head was upright. I called his name, but he didn't move. As I looked closely I saw a frozen strand of snot. Sorry, but that's what it was. And it was literally frozen from his nose to his leg. Within a second, everything registered in my little girl brain. Prince wasn't asleep. He was dead.

I did what any other girl my age (or older) would do upon encountering this sight. I started screaming hysterically, crying uncontrollably, and running as fast as I could to the house.

I really don't remember what happened next. I suppose all of my siblings and my mother headed out to the barn to see it for themselves. It was confirmed. Prince was dead.

My father had a way of taking care of things. We weren't really told any of the details, we were just told, "Daddy will take care of it."

Well, a few days later, my sister and I walked out the front door, all dressed and ready for school. Books in hand. Ready for a new day. We look out. We look at each other. We look back out. Are we really seeing what we think we're seeing? I'm sure we must have looked at each other and then rubbed our eyes. Then the horror of what we were looking at hit us at exactly the same time. I can remember very vividly standing there, dropping my books, and jumping up and down screaming hysterically...again.

For there in front of us, ten feet off the front porch was our dog. And in his mouth was the hind leg of Prince. Yes, you read that right. Prince's leg was standing there. But he wasn't attached to it. It was just his leg. In the dog's mouth.

Remember when we were told, "Daddy will take care of it"? Well, he did. My father was a meat cutter. He handled dead animal carcasses every day of his life. What do you do with a dead horse in the middle of winter?

Listen, this was almost 40 years ago. Things weren't like how they are today. Back then they didn't have animal carcass removal companies. Even if there were, I'm sure our family could not afford their services.

And so my father did to Prince what he did with a side of beef. And then he disposed of it. Except the dog discovered it. And decided it was too good to pass up. And where's a better place to show-off your great find than right off the front porch? After all, wouldn't you want your family to see your prize? Yep. I'm sure the dog never gave it a thought that he was eating his friend. And in front of us, no less.

I don't really remember how the rest of the story goes. I probably passed out (just kiddin') or blanked it out of my memory. I never saw Prince again. Nor any of his other parts. My father made sure he was taken care of this time. For good.

I know. You thought Prince had thawed out and came back to life, didn't you? Oh, now that would be a story!

Did you gasp? Come on. And it's OK if you laughed. When the kids found out I was telling this story, they burst out laughing. Forty years later, it is funny. It is!

Childhood Animal Stories - Preview

Hangin' at the beach

I have been thinking over the past few days about some ideas for future posts. I don't know what made me think of it, but I thought animal stories from my childhood might be fun. These won't be your ordinary animal stories. Nope. Most will be short and sweet. Some will make you laugh. Some will make you sigh. A couple will make you gasp in absolute disbelief! I can assure you this...they are all true stories.

Here's a few titles I thought of...

Teddy in the Pickle Jar
Jones and the Radial Arm Saw
Prince, Dead and Resurrected
Bad Blue! Bad Blue!
Chitty in Trouble
Nanook the 1st
Nanook the 2nd
Harold the Gerbil
Big Black Snake and the Little White Mice
Owls for Dinner
Pixy and Dixy, Forever Friends
Mice in the Lunch Box

So, which one should I write about tomorrow? You can help me decide if you'd like. Just leave a comment below.

All Saints Day 2009

Rachel singing I Sing a Song of the Saints of God, November 1, 2009

I received an incredibly wonderful gift today and just had to share it.

Thank you, Bruce! And Ruth (playing the piano), thank you for the amazing opportunity you presented to Rachel almost one year ago. I am still in awe when I think how every single detail was filtered through His hands of love.

A little background...

Rachel was asked to sing for All Saints Day last November 1st. We were unable to record it and really only had our memories of this very special day. That is, until today. As you can imagine, tears flowed upon seeing and hearing our little girl's voice sing this song once again.

Please know that Rachel had never sung in public before. Rachel was 11 at the time.

Every single obstacle that stood in her way, the Lord removed.

This is a God Story and one we will treasure in our hearts all the days of our lives.

Praying this brings joy into the hearts of many,

My Blue Foot and Me

One blue foot...one blue me


I did something really stupid yesterday. Really stupid. I forgot that I have several broken bones in my right foot. Now, I didn't really forget. I just didn't want to remember. They've been broken for a number of years now. I think eight or nine years to be exact. Kinda hard to believe it's been that long.

It's a rather long story though and I consider it one of the worst mistakes of my life. I thought I had done something to my foot since I couldn't walk on it. It was Thanksgiving weekend and I ended up in the ER. X-rays were taken and a doctor who apparently didn't know how to read an x-ray said, "Nope, there's nothing wrong with your foot" and sent me home. Me, thinking an x-ray and an ER doctor knows more about my foot than I do, decided to ignore the fact that my foot hurt. I could hardly walk on it. It took about six months, but eventually it felt better. Long story short. There were broken bones. And they healed that way. Broken.

I am the woman that used to love to go shoe shopping. I loved wearing beautiful shoes. Now, a trip to look for a pair of shoes always leaves me in tears. Honestly. In tears. It just seems an impossibility for me to find a pair of shoes that feel comfortable. A couple of years ago I walked into a specialty shoe store. An older woman who had been working with people with special feet needs (how's that sound?), said she knew she could help me. Imagine dozens of shoes later, me on the verge of tears, and poor Mr. Wonderful sitting there so patiently, trying to be an encouragement. "Maybe the next pair will work, Honey." The woman actually admitted she was stumped. I eventually walked out with a pair of shoes that practically burned a hole in Mr. Wonderful's wallet. Listen, my sweet husband would have gladly paid $1000 for a pair of shoes if they helped me feel better. Or at least be able to walk without pain. These at least seemed to help. A little.

So what did I do yesterday that was so stupid? I decided to walk on the treadmill. Now, that's not really a big deal ordinarily. But I decided to change things up a little and used a program on the treadmill that automatically changes the speed and the incline. Hey, it was great while I was doing my thing. But last night it all came crashing down. My right foot started aching. I figured it would feel better today. Uh, no. I would say my foot feels like it got run over by a small car!

Hey! What's the worst thing that can happen? I break those already broken bones and have to have them fixed. Finally. But I'm sure it's fine. It's felt this way before.

Now, I knew I couldn't use an incline. I don't know what I was thinking. No. I do know what I was thinking. I was thinking I could burn more calories if I could walk on an incline. And I'm sure I did. Probably 20 more.

And so there you have it. My blue foot and me!



P.S. It could be worse. I could find myself with no foot. Or a hairy foot. Or a smelly foot. Thank the good Lord it's only a broken foot!

Bookmark in a Book

The Christian Martyrs' Last Prayer by Jean-Léon Gérôme 1883

This painting is on the cover of a book the kids and I are currently reading for literature, history and theology. The book is entitled Eusebius The Church History by Paul L. Maier. Whereby Herodatus is considered the father of history, Eusebius of Caesarea (c. A.D. 260-339) is considered the father of church history. We're only three chapters in, but I must say it is an amazing piece of literature which traces the rise of Christianity during its crucial first three centuries from Christ to Constantine. I will have a quote from it tomorrow, Lord willing.

This post is not to talk about the book necessarily, but to tell a story I was reminded of when I noticed the bookmark being used within its pages. There's nothing fancy about the bookmark itself. It's a thin piece of paper which appears to be hand-laminated. Adorned with a monarch butterfly perched on what looks like Queen Ann's Lace, here are the words on the front of the bookmark:

Keep thy heart

with all

diligence;

for out of it

are the issues

of life.

Proverbs 4:23

And on the back, these words:

Feel glum?

Keep mum.

Don't grumble.

Be humble.

Trials cling?

Just sing.

Can't sing?

Just cling.

Don't fear.

God's near.

Money goes.

He knows.

Honor left.

Not bereft.

Don't rust.

Work! Trust!

Several years ago we decided as a family to head out to a very fancy restaurant for dinner. The local Wendy's. Not wanting to eat on the run, we decided to go inside so we could enjoy dinner together. Providence perhaps?

At least you've got an image in your mind's eye, right?

Just across from us were seated an old man and an old woman. If memory serves me correctly, they came into the restaurant just after us. After they sat down with their bag of fast food, they bowed their heads and prayed.

I don't think we were lingering on purpose, but they finished their meal before we did. Then we saw them start walking around together from table to table talking to people and handing them something. When they came to our table, the old man's face beamed with joy and he gave a word of blessing (I don't remember the words exactly, but it was something like, "God loves you and cares for you!"), and handed us the bookmark. We started talking with one another and eventually walked out together. They were driving an old car, weighed down with a clothes rack across the back seat and filled with papers and boxes. They were on their way somewhere.

I had forgotten this act of kindness until I pulled out the bookmark this afternoon--then the story came right back into my memory. An act of kindness from a couple in the late evening hours of their lives, still reaching out to share the love of Christ.

Perhaps we will meet again someday. Perhaps!

You know, I needed my heart to hear these words today. They have proven to be a wonderful reminder to me to sing and cling and work and trust!

Standing on the promises of God,

He Is Still On the Throne

September 11, 2001

Taken from the Christmas letter I wrote to family and friends in 2001...


Something to ponder in light of the events that took place in our Country:

From USA Today (September 14): The crews assigned to the recovery effort after the September 11th attack on the Pentagon had an awful job to do. Working in 120-degree heat, they were making their way through the wreckage left behind when terrorists flew Flight 757 into the Pentagon. They didn't find any survivors. They did find a mass of concrete and metal debris; the metal too hot to touch. They did, however, find a sign of hope as they looked into that black chasm inside. On a second floor, right next to where the jet sheared off a section of the building, was an undisturbed stool. And on it was a thick, open book - a Bible. It wasn't burned. Neither was anything around it or on the two floors above it. The leader of the recovery team was quoted as saying, "I'm not as religious as some, but that would have me thinking. I just can't explain it."

Jesus said in Luke 21:33, "Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will never pass away." And in Hebrews 13:8, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” We should never forget no matter what happens around us that He is still on the Throne.

And He is still on the Throne,

My Jesus Story - Part 3

I really don't remember where I was or what I was doing when I received the phone call about my brother's accident. I just remember hearing the words, "He broke his neck and he's paralyzed."

It just so happens that my parents gave my two brothers rhyming names. The family joke was when you called one, they both came running.

I can remember hearing people talking and saying, "No, you must mean the other brother." No. It was this brother too. Two brothers. Two broken necks. One year apart. One paralyzed. One not.

Both of my brothers are younger than me. But this brother was the one who disappeared from my mind's eye and memory during those five years of being a pretend housewife and mother. He was always very independent and did things his way. He got himself in some trouble over the years. No one ever seemed to be surprised. I think some just expected it.

My brother was fearless. He did crazy stuff. He loved motorcycles. He raced dirt bikes. His accident occurred while he was preparing for a race. He was flying over one hill to another (the jump trick has a name, but I don't know what it is). He undershot the jump and came down hard. He broke ribs. His lung was crushed. He was paralyzed.

Late that night I found myself standing alone in a hospital intensive care room. All the lights were off. The only light came from the glow of equipment that surrounded him. He was unconscious. He didn't know I was there.

Even now the tears flow. I still can't believe I can see this scene in my mind's eye like a movie playing back.

I realized as I was standing there that I didn't even know my own brother. He was a stranger to me.

In the year between my youngest brother's accident and this brother's accident, I had bought my first home. I don't really remember what all I was thinking on the long drive back from the hospital that night, but I just needed to get there. I needed to find that same spot next to my bed.

And it was there I found myself again crying out to God, the same God who had heard me a year before, begging and pleading for my brother's life. "I don't even know him, Lord. Please don't let him die." It was here, next to my bed, that I recalled the promises I had made to read my Bible and pray every day. I had kept them. In doing those two things, I had come to realize that I was not living my life in a way that was pleasing to God. I was still the same old girl I used to be. I was living in sin and I knew it. For now I knew what God had to say about sin and I was in trouble. I knew at that moment in time I needed to make Him Lord of my life. I turned it all over...everything that gripped my heart and held me captive. And it was there I found a love that would never let me go.

After a very long hospital stay, my brother left in a wheelchair. He refused to move back home where someone could care for him. He was going to handle this new chapter in his life his way. And he did.

Since this is my story, I won't share my brother's story today. Maybe down the road I will do that. I will say that my brothers both knew, because I told them, how their accidents impacted my life. They both knew that God used their story to change my story. I don't believe for a second that God devised this horrible plan that my brothers would suffer for my account. No, I believe God used their stories and opened my blind eyes to see how great a need I had. No amount of money nor stuff nor man could ever fill the gaping hole that was inside my heart. There was only One who could fill that hole and He had found me.

My brother passed away very unexpectedly five and a half years ago (2005). He died the day before he was to turn 40. We later found that he had succumbed to pulmonary edema as a result of his paralysis.

God allowed me time to get to know my brother. It wasn't always an easy journey. He had this way of driving me crazy. He would lick his lips before he would kiss me. He knew it made me nuts and so he did it all the more. When I would bend over to hug him, he would grab me and try to pull me down. At the time, I didn't think it was funny. It often made me mad. But I loved his determination. I adored his smile. I spoke to my brother the week he died. We always told one another, I love you. Just the night before as I was talking with my father on the phone, I heard him say in the background, "I love you little seester!" and I told him I loved him back. I didn't know I would never hear those words again.

Oh, how incredibly kind and merciful He has been to me. To hear my cries and answer them in ways I never imagined.

There was a song I would listen to over and over and over again. It was my song for my story. A long time ago I loaned the cassette to someone and never got it back. But I found it on YouTube, so here it is. After all these years, the tears still come. Whoever created this video used Bible verses to tell His story...the same verses that pierced my heart and opened my eyes. Amazing!

Steve Camp, He Is All You Need



Still loving Him,


P.S. Next time I'll talk about how my life changed when Jesus became my Lord.

My Jesus Story - Part 2

My mother announced on Christmas morning she was leaving. In my mind's eye, I can see this day just like it was yesterday. We were unwrapping gifts in front of the Christmas tree. She moved out on New Year's Day.

This is my story, not my mother's story. I will say that I believe with all my heart that my mother and father raised me with the best intentions. But I was not raised in a Christian home. Jesus knew that.

I was 18 years old when my mother left. My youngest brother had turned 11 that summer. My older sister had graduated from high school early and had moved out of state. I cannot even remember where my other brother was. He would have been almost 15 at the time. I think he just disappeared. I was working full-time at a law firm. In an instant, my life had changed. I went from being a carefree teenager to taking on the role of a full-time housewife, and a self-imposed mother to my youngest brother.

My father was devastated. I watched a man who had been a tower of strength collapse inside himself. I would imagine that when a wife leaves her husband, for whatever reason, it does something to the inner man. I became his shoulder to cry on.

As a self-imposed mother to my little brother, I did what any loving big sister would do. I tried to do everything for him my mother couldn't do. I made sure he had new clothes. I kept the house clean. The laundry was always kept up. I made sure supper was on the table. I tucked him in at night and always kissed him and told him I loved him. We became best friends. I fondly remember him coming into my bedroom and telling me about a girl he liked at school. And so this became my life for the next five years. I was happy to do it.

Over those five years, I became hardened. I had seen so much weeping and sorrow that I didn't care if I ever saw another person cry again. Something in me had changed. I could no longer cry.

After five years of being a pretend housewife and mother, I finally came to the point in my life where I had had enough. I felt like my life had been placed on hold. Many of my friends had gotten married and had babies. I had a great job and was making a lot of money. So I moved out and was finally able to live my life the way I wanted. I was 23 years old. Unfortunately, my unwritten goals were centered around making money, spending money, and meeting men. I worked around people where all of those things became easy. In order to save money, I moved back home a year later.

And so it was one day, as I was sitting in a business meeting, the secretary walked in and interrupted the meeting. I was called away to a phone where I was told my little brother, now 19, had been in a car accident. Actually, that day happened 22 years ago today. An older woman driving on a busy four-lane road, thought she had enough time and clearance and turned in front of him. He swerved to miss her and hit a steel telephone pole head-on. The force of the impact melted his corduroy pants where his knees hit the dashboard. His head hit the steering wheel. His neck was broken.

I remember going to the hospital, but I don't really remember any of the details of that day. I just remember what happened when I got home late that night.

I didn't know what to do. Somehow in the recesses of my mind, I remembered that one Bible verse I had memorized at Vacation Bible School so many years before.

John 3:16
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him, shall not perish, but have everlasting life.

So I got down on my knees next to my bed and I started bartering with God. My brother was my best friend and I was willing to do anything, anything at all, if God would just keep my brother from dying. My prayer went something like this: God, if you will just keep my brother safe, I will do anything. I will read my Bible every day, even though I don't understand any of it. And I will pray every day, even though I don't need anything.

You see, I had never really heard anyone pray. Well, you know, pray pray. I thought the only time you prayed was when you needed something. I made those two promises and I kept them. I read my Bible every single day. And I prayed every single day. When I prayed it would start with something like, "Hi. It's me again." It was a funny thing, reading my Bible. After about a month of reading it every day, the eyes of my heart started to open. The words became alive to me. I didn't know a thing about reading the Bible. I'm sure I started in Genesis, but I can't remember. But you know, God was so faithful to me. In time, He spoke to my heart and began to show Himself to me.

Please know that I did not promise to do anything else. I didn't promise to go to church. I didn't promise to change my ways. I was still the same old girl I used to be.

My brother was in traction for weeks. I remember being at the hospital and cleaning the wounds where metal rods were drilled in his skull. He was scheduled for surgery. We were told he was the only spinal injury on the floor that wasn't paralyzed. There was a chance the surgery would leave him paralyzed. He had metal rods and screws placed in his neck. His surgery was a success. He wasn't paralyzed. He got to come home. I was so thankful.

I kept reading my Bible. I kept praying.

One year and three days later, I received another phone call. This time it was concerning my other brother. He had been in an accident. His neck was broken.

My Jesus Story - Part 1

Twenty-two years ago this week, I met a man. His name is Jesus. My life was changed and it's never been the same.

I thought it might be best to break my Jesus story into smaller pieces. Some people who meet Jesus have more dramatic stories to tell. I am one of them. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it's my thing. It's my story. And I am thankful for it.

Some background...

I grew-up in the country. I lived at the same address all of my growing-up years. I lived in a modest home on a large wooded piece of property. I loved horses and most any creature that found its way to our home. Stray dogs and cats were always welcomed. I always thought I lived the life of a girl in a fairy tale.

My father often worked two to three jobs to make ends meet and to put food on the table. My mother stayed home until my youngest brother went to school. There were four kids. I have an older sister and two younger brothers. We fought like cats and dogs and mostly hated each other. Seriously.

I didn't know it until much later, but my mother was addicted to prescription drugs for most of my middle to high school years. I suppose back then nobody knew or talked about such things. Doctors gave out medicine like it was candy, kinda like they do today, except most people today know the side-effects. Valium was my mother's escape. I don't say that to be disrespectful or to make light of the situation. The truth is, she cared for her mother (my Grandma Meme) after she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She died at our home. I think her doctor thought he was doing my mother a big favor when he prescribed her Valium. Maybe he thought it would help her cope with the gravity of my grandmother's death. Honestly, I don't know. I could never figure out why the house was always a mess and why my mother was always asleep on the sofa.

I always looked to my father like he was a knight in shining armor, riding on the beautiful white horse, coming to my rescue. I knew he was there to protect me and provide for me. My father always seemed to be happy (when he and my mother weren't fighting), but when he got mad, buddy did we ever know it. He never had to raise his voice. His blue eyes would dance and his jaw would tighten and move back and forth. My father had a paddle he made out of piece of maple. It had holes drilled in it so it could swing quickly. He kept it on top of the refrigerator. When he reached for it, you knew you were in a big world of hurt.

When it came to "religion" we got to experience just about everything. My mother grew-up Catholic. I can remember going to church with my grandmother. She would kneel on a little bench to pray. My grandmother accepted Jesus as her savior three days before she died. I remember being at the wake and having the priest scorn me in front of everyone for attempting to take part in communion. I didn't know any better. I was only ten years old. I wasn't Catholic. I wasn't anything. We were introduced to Jehovah's Witnesses and went to a Bible study at someone's house. We were also involved with Mormonism for a while. We also went to a Bible believing church for a short time. None of it made any sense to me. Nothing fit together.

My father's mother sang in the church choir. She went to church just down the street. It was a little country church with stained glass windows and a tall steeple topped with a cross. I remember going to church with her. I would often hold her hand which always seemed to be covered with a soft leather glove. She would sing songs that were so pretty. Songs like The Old Rugged Cross and In the Garden. I learned those songs as a child and never forgot them.

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

Hard work usually paid off. I started working when I was ten. I got a paper route. I started paying rent to live at home when I was a sophomore in high school. I also bought all of my own school clothes and anything I needed personally (from laundry soap to shampoo). I bought my own senior pictures too. These were hard lessons to learn, but I learned from them. And looking back, I am thankful. A little bit of hard work never hurt anyone.

I'll pick back-up tomorrow where my mother announced on Christmas morning she was leaving.

Go back up there and read the words to the last refrain. And He tells me I am His own. Do you see those words? Then don't feel sad. Jesus is drawing near to this very messed-up young girl. She just didn't know it.

My Super Heroes

A number of years ago my Auntie Lou gave me a huge homemade chest filled with yards and yards of old polyester and cotton fabrics in just about every color you could imagine. Over the years the kids have created more costumes than I can even remember. Here's a tribute to my Super Heroes!


They're looking pretty serious here...


There's that famous smile!


Off to rescue someone in trouble!

Rachel saves the day...

The girl's fashion sense is remarkable. Even the earrings match!

Save yourself a lot of money buying the latest fad toys that will be broken or forgotten in a week. Go buy some cheap fabric on clearance in an array of different colors (or find yourself an auntie that's got a box stuffed just for you!). Place the fabric in a cool box along with a pair of kid-friendly scissors.

Ta da!

Guaranteed hours and hours of play time. A lifetime of memories.

Wordless Wednesday

Caleb (10)


Rachel (8)

Reminiscing,

A Birthday, A Boy, and A Boffer

Yesterday, July 6th, was Caleb's 14th birthday. I think the July 5th Man Day Event post was a little confusing. Understandable. And the fact that I posted a blog yesterday on birds made this birthday celebration even more confusing. Even more understandable. I just figured I'd use the blog scheduler (because I am so technologically advanced, you know) for the bird post since we'd be out celebrating and not blog writing. And so there you have it. Today is not Caleb's birthday. Yesterday was Caleb's birthday.

Here's how the day unfolded:


The traditional smiling pancake for breakfast

This is Grandma Meme's Lemon Cake batter

Side story: Caleb gave me his birthday list sometime last week. One of the items on it said, "lemon cake batter" which caused me to ask if what he really wanted was a lemon cake. With a huge smile on his face he said, "No, I want a whole bowl of lemon cake batter!" I explained to him that several spoonfuls would be plenty since there's only so much cake batter one can eat. Right?

Here's a side story to the side story: When I was a little girl my mother made decorated cakes. You know, wedding cakes, birthday cakes, baby shower cakes. We were never allowed near the cake batter bowl unless it had been emptied into the cake pan. My mother made sure every drop of cake batter was in the pan and not left in the bowl. Try to imagine little kids sticking their heads inside a bowl trying to lick cake batter off the sides that was pretty much scraped clean. Well, one day I opened the refrigerator and found a huge bowl of cake batter. I took a step back, looked around and saw there was no one near. I grabbed the biggest spoon I could find and proceeded to scoop that cake batter so I could finally, finally, have more than a measly lick. Imagine my surprise when that big spoonful of batter filled my mouth and tasted absolutely horrible. Oh was it ever gross! It wasn't cake batter. No, it was pancake batter. Nice, huh? That's what I got for being sneaky! Sometimes as parents we make decisions for our kids based upon what our parents did or didn't do to us. Unlike my mother (although I'm sure her cake customers were very happy she didn't share their cake with us kids), my kids always have cake batter dripping off the beaters, a spatula that's very lickable, and a bowl they'll never have to stick their heads in.

OK...back to the birthday story

Caleb had several spoonfuls of lemon cake batter that I left for him in the bowl along with dripping beaters. He quickly realized he had had enough.

This is the birthday boy on the patio in front of the fabulous hydrangeas

Uh, no. He didn't get a new watch for his birthday. His birthday list actually stated "new battery for my watch." He has been without his watch for well over a year. Poor guy. So, that's why the big smile..."Hey! I've got my watch back!"

He also asked for this specific video game. Unfortunately, just after he made his birthday list, his PS3 died. As in, it won't turn on or do anything whatsoever. Mr. Wonderful and I went round and round about buying a game for our son when he didn't even have a system to play it on. Mr. Wonderful won the battle (with Rachel's support). While Caleb was happy to have gotten this game (which I might add is used and quite old), he was a little bit bummed out not to be able to play it. Not my problem, now is it?

Hmmmm. What on earth is that thing wrapped around Caleb's shoulders? Why, could it possibly be a quilt? As in, a homemade hand-stitched quilt? Yep! That's tomorrow's blog entry, Lord willing.

Here you have the birthday boy with his boffer weapon supplies!

Yes, that would be four rolls of duct tape along with several rolls of electrician's tape in a variety of colors. He couldn't wait to get started!

A few hours later, we have two boys and their brand new boffers. Caleb actually made them for Evan. As soon as he handed one to his almost four-year-old cousin, he quickly realized they were bigger than Evan and weighed almost as much! Caleb's already working on two new boffers for Evan. They are munchkin-sized!

We spent the afternoon with my sister-in-love and the kids at the pool. Doesn't it look like there are brightly colored ribbons in Rachel's hair? Too cute. It's just pool toys in the back ground.

I can't believe how much he's changed in one year. Do you see that little spot in the middle of his nose? That, my friends, is from a pool rescue. Caleb decided he wanted to be rescued on his birthday, so his loving sister swam to his side. While attempting this fake rescue, Rachel accidentally bonked Caleb's nose into the side of the pool. Ouch. All is well, and I mention it here so we'll always remember.

Grandma Meme's lemon cake (which Caleb has had on his birthday since he turned four) with five candles. You know, 1 and 4 makes 14!

Happy Birthday, Caleb! Your mama loves you very much. And she'll make lemon cake batter for you anytime. About that Bowflex you asked for. Sorry, sweetie. It was a nice birthday wish though.

If you read this blog and you are the maker of Bowflex and would like to make a generous contribution to our son, he'd be happy to help test your fabulous system!

Don't forget...tomorrow's post will be on those quilts I made. Yes, QUILTS!

Man Day Event 2009

Caleb at the beginning of the ceremony

Opening his gift

The look on Caleb's face is utter disbelief

Caleb's shield is carved out of solid black walnut

The four quadrants say:

Servant King .. Provider (King's Crown)
Tender Warrior .. Protector (Crossed Swords)
Wise-Mentor .. Teacher (Holy Bible)
Faithful Friend .. Uniter (Two Hands)

The Men

A Collection of Stones

During the ceremony, I presented these stones to Caleb. In the ancient days, stones were used to serve as a sign; when your children ask, "What do these stones mean?" tell them they are to be a memorial...forever. Joshua 4:6-7


Each stone represents a significant event in Caleb's life

13 stones were presented as markers to significant events in Caleb's life: Protected, Life, Dedicated to God, New Life, Service, Independence, etc. Each man then signed their name on a stone as a marker signifying this event in Caleb's life. A journal has been kept on the specific details of each stone. Two additional stones have been added since last year...


Two very proud parents with their son


Best Friends


Man Day Event July 2009

Tomorrow is Caleb's 14th birthday. It's hard to believe that one year ago we were celebrating his first step into manhood. I thought some reminiscing was in order. I wrote the note below just after the celebration took place.

--------------------

Jerry has had this event on his heart for many years. In a way, it's hard to believe it has already come and gone. Jerry might word things differently than I am here, but the end result is the same. This event is to serve as a marker in Caleb's life to remind him to look back to where he came from (heritage), consider where he is now, and look to the future realizing that God's hand is on his life and directing his steps.

Caleb was presented with a new Bible, one whose cover is thick leather, hoping it will last his life time. It was signed by his pastor, Alistair Begg, as well as by his father, mother, and sister. Each gave an admonition: Keep On!, Walk with the Lord, Stand Firm!, and Belong to the Truth.

Taken from the book by Stu Weber, The Four Pillars of a Man, here's an excerpt:

What kind of man builds a civilization, a small civilization, that out-lasts himself? What kind of man has shoulders broad enough to build upon? A four-pillared man:

--A man of vision and character...a King.
--A man of strength and power...a Warrior.
--A man of faith and wisdom...a Mentor.
--A man of heart and love...a Friend.

It is upon these pillars, the four pillars of manhood, that the small civilization we call "home" will either stand or fall. You can't support a roof, keep out the elements, and shield against things that go bump in the night with one or two pillars. Three pillars might hold up a roof for a while--but the structure is out of balance and always in danger of collapse. It takes four pillars to hold up a building, a temple, or a home. And it takes four pillars to make a man. A man who will bear the weight, stand against the elements, and hold one small civilization intact in a world that would like nothing better than to tear it down.

And so the book begins...

After the day's events (breakfast with the grandfathers, skeet shooting, bowling and golf), dinner was served and the ceremony began by Jerry going back in time over Caleb's heritage. Most of you know that Caleb was a twin and is the only child to survive similar circumstances. He was then reminded that he was created in the image of God for God's purposes. We were given Caleb as a gift, but realized we needed to hand him right back to God for His safe keeping. While we have made many mistakes as parents (and will in the future), we have done our best to direct our children in the ways of the Lord and to stand firm on the foundation of God's Word.

Each man wrote a letter with his thoughts for life and presented it to Caleb. He will have these to look back on and remember and reflect upon this first step into the journey of manhood. As God would have it, both Carl and Tim chose scripture from the book of John about being fruitful...live out what you believe...impact lives for Christ.

The gifts were then presented. The ceremony ended by the men gathering in a circle around Caleb and praying over his life, commissioning him to the Lord.

This was not the end of the ceremony...it was just beginning!

And so one year later, I find myself looking at my son who has grown physically and spiritually. Somewhere between then and now his voice even changed.

I end with a letter Caleb received from a mentor-friend who was not able to join him for the day of celebration.

Caleb,

Congratulations on your 13th birthday! I wanted to encourage you, now that you are officially a "teen", to stick true to God's Word. Our culture seems to think that an official and unavoidable part of being a teenager is a "stage" of rebellion, and many Christians have bought into it as well. It is all too easy to go with the crowd, and our sinful nature makes doing what is right all the harder.

The Psalmist gives some excellent advice in Psalm 119. Why was he blessed by God? How did he obey when everyone else rebelled? By "sticking" to God's Word (vs. 31), loving God's Word (vs. 97) and having the right friends (vs. 63, 74, 79, 115).

As you enter your teenage years, keep in mind that it doesn't have to be miserable, rough, or difficult. Keep yourself immersed in God's Word, and you will find that you will appreciate it more, understand it more, and love it more! Love God's Word to the point that it grieves you when others disregard it (vs. 53, 136, 139). The Psalmist lists numerous blessings from loving God's Word and obeying it in verses 97-104. These blessings come because of the three things he did in verses 59-60 (this is not original to me, but I thought it was excellent): He assessed his ways, adjusted his life, and advanced in doing right.

If I can leave one last thought with you from Psalm 119, it is this: your spiritual life and walk with God should affect--and will be affected by--your friends. You will become like the people you hang around with. If they follow God and are obedient to their authorities, it will be easy for you to do the same. If they are crude or rebellious, it will be hard for you to stay pure and obey. The Psalmist describes who he spent time with (and who he avoided) in verses 63, 74, 79 and 115. Haggai 2:11-14 puts it in a very clear picture.

Caleb, it has been a pleasure getting to know you. You are remarkably mature for a 13-year-old, and I thank God for you when I think about you. Keep it up!

In Christ,

Alex

Hebrews 4:15-16

What more is there to say? That's what I thought too.