Where and how do you choose to serve?

I know that everyone has something to do. There are more opportunities to serve than there is time to serve. So how do you choose where you're going to serve?

I've always had a problem with saying no when asked to serve, particularly when the expressed need was felt personally.

It was first my husband who put the governor on my wheels so to speak. I remember resenting it at first because being needed filled a hole in myself. But when you personally fill every hole that needs filling, you end up actually being swiss cheese yourself. So he instituted a policy of "everytime you say yes to one thing, you must say no to something else". The one for one policy helped me learn some priorities because I really had to want to do the "something" to be willing to give up another "something". Over time as I learned the whole prioritizing, I realized that my God-given talents were actually best used on somethings and weren't meant to be used at all on others.

For example, I love teaching the Bible. I currently teach a ladies' Bible study that I'm passionate about, and I pray that God is glorified in my service. I know myself to be completely dependent on Him for the time necessary to do all of the reading, study and preparation essential to being able to teach. And although God has given me a love for speaking in that it comes naturally and without too many nerves, I recognize that unless the Holy Spirit fills me for the teaching and prompts the hearts to receive, my words will fall empty.

On the other hand, one time I helped organize a consignment sale. I'm not nearly as talented with organizational skills as I desire to be, and the whole interpersonal ego/female dramas that occur with such a sale bring out the road rage person in me that I'd like to forget even exists. My "gift" for speaking becomes warped and sarcastic, certainly not glorifying to God at all. And although the money raised by the sale went to help worthy causes, I delighted in the personal gain the sale gave as well--maybe even too much.

Arguably, depending on God for both types of service is necessary. Humanly though, in the first case I know myself to be needy of His intervention, and constantly call out to Him for help. With the second case, I behaved in my own strength & all the stretch marks showed.

Conclusion: In having to choose where to serve, I wholeheartedly desire serving God in areas where I know myself to be most needful of His help. Otherwise I selfishly look to my own strengths, which end up not being strengths at all. My sin nature perverts them to weaknesses. But when I embrace my lack--of time, knowledge, skill, organization, wisdom, etc--God shows up gloriously to have His name proclaimed as the One who did in me and through me what I can not do in myself. It's scary, in my flesh, to be so "needy" of help when I'd rather feel myself capable. But when I feel myself to be "so capable", my flesh is scary.

Guess that's what Paul learned in 2 Corinthians 12:9 "And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may dwell in me."

Setting the bar

Christian discipleship has always had a bar, a measure, a standard. In the OT, the bar was called the Law of Moses and no one, save Christ, met its requirement, although many died, physically and spiritually, trying.

In Romans, Paul tackles the question that if no one can meet the bar, then is it an unjust bar? Is it an unjust God who sets it? Is it a wrong measure to even have?

And Paul clearly reminds his readers that the bar is completely just, the God who set the bar is completely just and the bar's purpose is completely just. Paul even contends that those who live under grace by faith should still meet the bar.

So what has happened in believers today who claim to live under grace by faith but reject the notion and purpose of the bar when it comes to the practical details of Christian living? I'm not talking about a legalist notion of the "shall nots" and "should nots", although there is in great measure wisdom for choosing not to do certain things, ie. gluttonous eating is bad for your health. More particularly I'm talking about being willing and desirous of Christian living that understands and appreciates the value of costly commitment.

Personally I think God would blow open the doors of heaven to His people for embracing commitment at cost. We don't serve a dollar store God, and we shouldn't expect dollar store commitment to last--either eternally or otherwise.

I pray God will continue to cause me to count the cost, and I trust that His imperishable riches are enough to fund the cost through me.

1 Corinthians 3:11-15 "For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man's work. If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward. If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames."

A hamster on a wheel

Currently I feel like a hamster on a wheel.

The future greats are back in school with even the littlest future great having started (and loving) kindergarten. Maybe conventional wisdom would say that things should start opening up with all the time I now have--I mean, really, all three of my boys are in school at least some part of the day. So why do I feel like I'm the hamster on the wheel just spinning, and spinning, and spinning?

Perhaps because when the future greats are at home, I must be organized or nothing gets done and we all spin the wheel. And I'm now being faced with the daunting task of disciplining myself for the "open" time. As the Bible study I attend is starting up, I see this task taking shape of its own accord!

Additionally, all of the many after school activities have started up so I seem to always be in the minivan running someone somewhere. And we're one of those families who only allow each child to have one "extra" activity. The oldest fences one night a week, the next plays soccer--here's the rub because practice is twice a week with games all weekend--and the youngest has nothing but to be his brothers' greatest cheerleader/fan.

Even as I've just typed that out I realize I've answered my own question of why I feel like a hamster on the wheel. It is certainly taking some time this year to adjust and re-adjust to the "back-to-school" schedule.

Maybe I should eat more carrots....

To God Be the Glory

To God be the Glory was the only thing I could say today. And not because great and glorious things were happening. In fact, quite the opposite was occurring.

Something that I care a great deal about, that I have invested much time and energy into seemed to be threatened by the enemy. You know, that old garden enemy that slithereth around and wreaketh havoc.

And the enemy's attack came right after a tremendous weekend of renewal and reminder that I serve a victorious Lord. Just when I should have suspected an ambush, I was too busy basking in glow and moving ahead with *my* plans.

So he came, he struck, he bruised.

I cried, I prayed, I sang.

He came, He died, He lives.

Enemy, watch out. He holds the keys to your destruction, and I still serve Him.

Knowing Whom you believe means you can confidently, even if out of tune, sing "To God Be the Glory!"

"I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between her offspring and your offspring; He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel." Genesis 3:15

What my children have taught me about God

Jules over at Everyday Mommy is hosting a writing contest for moms on the topic "what my children have taught me about God." Easily that topic could be the fodder for numerous entries when I consider daily the ways these future greats humble me before my Father. When I have to discipline, I'm reminded that He disciplines those whom He loves. When I have a good gift to give them, I'm reminded that He always gives good gifts. When I hurt over a pain in their lives, physical or emotional, I'm reminded that He knows all the sorrows known to me. When I am impatient, I'm reminded that He is everlastingly patient with me.

As you can see, I could go on and on simply because the topic and its lessons are in daily operation for this mom of future greats. So when actually trying to distill the lessons down into an essay I thought mostly about how God even made me a mom. Me--the woman who didn't want to get married and certainly didn't want to have children. Me--selfishly ambitious for the tinsel of the world instead of the treasures of the Kingdom. All of that is it's own story by itself, but I'm humbled again at just remembering the ways the Potter has had to mold this lump of clay called Me.

Anyway, I write all that to say that being a mom has been both better and harder than anything or any other career that I could have taken. I'm awed that God chose me to be a mom, and I'm infinitely thankful that not only has He used the process to teach me about Himself but that He continues to teach me through these precious lives. The following is my essay.

My children have taught me much about God and the way He graciously operates in this world for the sake of His people. God has blessed me with four boys and daily their lives remind me of God's presence, promise, provision and providence. Here is some of their story.

My first child taught me about the presence of God. James was born into my presence in 1994. He was arguably the most beautiful child I had ever seen. He became ill at 3 months old. The next two and a half years were spent in and out of hospitals, in and out of treatments against a genetic disease that robbed him of developmental skills, health and a "normal" life. But disease was never able to deprive him of love or laughter or the preciousness of life. James was born into the presence of God in 1996. During his difficult two and a half years, I struggled with God as Jacob did, pleading for a blessing for my son, for myself. I cried out for His mercy on my son, on myself. I railed against the genetic curse on my son, on myself. And when James took his last breath in my arms, I knew and yearned for that very presence of God. Heaven and its promise has all fullness and imperishable understanding for me as I consider its glory and hope. James taught me to yearn for my true home, in the presence of God.

My second child taught me about the promise of God. Nate came into my life in 1997. He was born at only 28 weeks, weighing 2 pounds, 11 ounces and only 14 1/2 inches long. He was arguably the tiniest baby I had ever seen. We adopted Nate only 9 months after James' death and every detail of his adoption was handcrafted by God to the tiniest degree. From the first moments of seeing him, holding him, I was continually reminded by God's words "Thus says the Lord, your Redeemer, who formed you from the womb: 'I am the Lord, who made all things, who alone stretched out the heavens, who spread out the earth by myself," that all God's promises are true. Nate's full name is Nathanael for Philip's friend who wondered if anything good could have come from Nazareth. Nate has indeed taught me that the ultimate and greatest good not only came from Nazareth but He still lives today, keeping His promises to His people to the tiniest degree. Nate teaches me to live like a child of God, trusting in the promises of God.

My third child taught me about the provision of God. Matthew came into my life in 2000. He was arguably the oldest baby I had ever seen at 26 months old with a head full of curly hair and a past just as full of chaotic details. We adopted Matthew after having tried to adopt unsuccessfully for 2 years. Every event of Matthew's life has taught me that in the provision of God, I am not forgotten. He is continually at work sanctifying me and removing the years that the locusts have eaten. He is not finished with me and by His word provides the transformation that I need to be fully His child. Matthew's name means "gift of God," and he teaches me even by his own difficulties, that the provision of God is always that of good and precious gifts.

My fourth child taught me about the providence of God. Samuel came into my life in 2001. He was arguably the most surprising baby I had ever seen because he was born to me when I thought that pregnancy was impossible and genetic disease too probable. Samuel was born without the genetic disease that stole the life of his brother, James. During my pregnancy I had prayed with the fervor of Hannah that this child's life be spared and God did indeed grant me what I had asked of Him. While I learned that prayer is both for my obedience and blessing, God also taught me about His real and majestic sovereignty. With James, the answer to prayer was his eventual death, and the answer to prayer with Samuel was his life unaffected by the genetic disease, and it is only God who has the power to answer thus with any person. Through Samuel He continues to teach me that above all, He alone reigns supreme to do as He wills with His sons and daughters for His glory and their good.

Presence, promise, provision and providence--all of my children have taught me much of God and His love for His children. May I continue to be a child at His feet, learning from the precious ones He has given me for my blessing and inheritance.

"Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it." Luke 18:17

Good day....Bad day?

Bad day: could not pull myself out of bed to exercise like I needed to today. Chalked it up to the pain in my left heel. Bad excuse.

Good day: checking email and received an email from the past from a dear friend reconnecting. How exciting and sweet it was! Plus some other emails from friends reminding me that God is still in control. Good moment.

Bad day: felt unfocused and overwhelmed with all that has to be accomplished in the next week before school starts and other responsibilities. Bad organization.

Good day: future greats went right to playing with one another happily so that I could work on some of the pile on my desk. Good sons.

Bad day: lost my temper with future greats whose playing quickly degenerated into tsunami like behavior with millions of little pieces of Legos, K'Nex, Star Wars and assorted other things. Bad lecture.

Good day: everyone refocused on positive stewardship of toys and time and cooperation with one another to accomplish some household chores. Good work.

Bad day: while future greats profitably engaged, the Blue Duke of Disaster, et al. the cat, jumped onto the dining room table and knocked over an entire bottle of water to flood dozens of very important registration cards needed for upcoming Bible study. Bad frustration.

Good day: oldest future great jumped in to help me sort out wet cards onto paper towels scattered all over dining room and put up a small fan to help them dry. Good thought.

It's only 2:19 EST. I'm exhausted and wondering what the verdict of the day will be by tonight.

Psa 138:7 Though I walk in the midst of trouble, thou wilt revive me: thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, and thy right hand shall save me.
Psa 138:8 The LORD will perfect that which concerneth me: thy mercy, O LORD, endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine own hands.

Just the laugh I needed

I don't know who wrote this gem of an essay about public restrooms but I received it in an email today from a friend. Somehow she must have known I needed a belly laugh like this one. Thanks, friend. Hope you enjoy it as well.


Public Restrooms..........


When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn,
you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter.

The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's mom, no
doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook,
if there were one, but there isn't - - so you carefully, but quickly,
drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put
it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance." In
this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd
love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat
or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance." To take your mind
off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the
EMPTY toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mom's
voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have
KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more. You remember
the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's
still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the
puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.


Some one pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The
door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest, and you and your purse topples backward against the tank of the
toilet. "OCCUPIED!" you scream, as you reach for the door dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your
footing altogether, and slide down directly on the TOILET SEAT. It is
wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late.
Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life
form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper -
not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know your
mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain,
her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, "frankly,
dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get." By this
time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that
it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose that somehow
sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet
paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you
give up.

You are soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're
exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket
and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. Now, you can't figure
out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe
your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of
women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the
very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from
your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from
your shoe, plunk it into the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here,
you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and
left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and
why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restroom
(REST??? - You've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men
what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly
asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the
other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex
under the door !!!!!!

Packing for the hills

Woo Hoo! I know that school is about to start for several of you. I know that most of you have all ready been on at least one vacation, if not two. I know that it is near the first of August. But this family hasn't had their vacation yet.

This is the week! We're heading to the hills of North Carolina--the mountains--the cool, crystal streams--the creek of rocks galore for future greats to plunk, skip, splash and haul away as treasure.

This is the week when picnics are the rule, not the exception. When the noise of an air conditioning causes a start. When the porch swing beckons, I can actually go and sit in it. When the creases of strain in my great man's face relax from sleeping in.

Can you tell I'm excited? This is the week.

That is, if I can manage through today of packing everything but the kitchen sink, remembering the details of how the house runs for the housesitter, and patiently train the children, as I train myself, that working together not only builds character but gets us all out the door with speed and grace.

This is the week!

I don't know if there'll be any blogging "from a remote location" because I didn't get to that part of the tutorial. But I hope you'll come back after "this week"!

Blogger technobabble

From the very beginning one of my greatest fears about blogging has been the technobabble associated with the art/journalistic work that is blogging. I don't know a blessed thing about html and its sister languages of code and encode. I am usually out of code anyway since the future greats learned to spell.

So there are all of these great blogs that I want to link to and reference and other posts that I want to link to and reference and pictures that I want to link to and reference, do you get my drift? But I have no knowledge whatsoever about linking to and referencing.

So in a moment of desperation I took the chance and left a question/comment on Shannon's Rocks in My Dryer blog about her Works for Me Wednesday feature that I think is really cool. "I want to play, please, but I don't have that kind of Barbie" was the tone of the plea. And I also included shameless flattery of how much I enjoy her blog--which is patently true. Shannon graciously emailed me back a thanks and a note to check out Blogger help. But then she said the "T" word.

Yes, "tu-tu-tu-tu-torial"! Ack! I've tried "tutorials" in the past and find myself immensely confused and frustrated because in the tutorializing they use terms that I don't understand!

For example, friendly tutorial says, "If you want to put your blog in a subdirectory, this must not be an absolute path--it should be relative to your ftp root location on the server."

Ladies, I'm a simple woman. I don't know what a subdirectory is, and the only absolute path I seek is the one way through Jesus Christ. Moreover, my relatives don't farm ftp roots in any location near servers of food.

But, all that terminology aside, after a few, no several, actually quite a few mistakes, I did manage to add some links on my sidebar. Woo hoo! Please visit these blogs! And while it's not computer hacking into the Pentagon missile bank, I do feel like Matthew Broderick on War Games, just a bit-a teeny, tiny bit.

Pottery doesn't talk back

The slumber party was great--although the ladies didn't completely rule the canasta game. Oh well, there's always next time.

But on Saturday, the great men gave us the day off to enjoy "therapy" of our choosing. We considered retail therapy, podiatric therapy, and dairy therapy but decided on pottery therapy. One of those pick-your-piece-of-pottery-and-paint-it places just opened and I've always wanted to try it.

So after only a tiny bit of convincing we went in, heard the scoop, decided it was the deal and set to work on persuading the creative juices to flow. The staff was truly helpful and once we found the baskets of stencils, stamps, tracing papers, and stacks of super cute ideas, we were creatively salivating over the world's next greatest piece of art.

We each picked a plate shape to create the "Family Celebration Plate" piece--I know it's not exactly a unique idea but it's a start--and we were on our way to colors, brushes and oh yeah, the actual work.

We painted in sweet, companionable silence, just enjoying the therapy of using colors and brush technique to fashion the images we had for our plates.

And the pottery didn't talk back to us, not even once. The pottery didn't ask to have more green and less blue. It didn't complain when the lines didn't completely fall in pleasant places. The pottery didn't even squeak with ingratitude when, in our timing, it took us a bit to decide exactly how to letter the edges or which stars to use. Amazing, huh?

When our plates were finished, we rested and were thoroughly pleased with the results--they were very good. Most of all, they were fashioned with love and thought for our family members. On any given day when a celebration is in order, the plate will signify unique rejoicing for that family member. What a day that will be!

Definitely we'll be going back to pottery therapy--what a great reminder.

Slumber party!

I'm busy packing for a slumber party. There is no time to blog an entry of insight or profundities. I've got sleeping bags and play clothes and toothbrushes and toiletries and pirate costuming to first find and then pack.

We're going to a friends' house where the future greats rule the outdoors and the women rule the canasta game (so we're getting old--no laughing!) and the great men rule the grill.

That makes for a fun beginning to a weekend!

Slumber party!!!!

What makes a good day?

There are a lot of things that can make a good day but today I submit to you the following agenda as "good day" things:

Wake up
Work out
Drink coffee
Read Bible
Eat breakfast
Help future greats with summer schooling
Organize littlest future great's clothes for school
Eat lunch
Read blogs & answer emails
Catch up on phone calls
Shower at 3:30 pm
Put on pajamas at 4:00 pm
Pop popcorn
Future greats watch a movie
Blog

We didn't have anywhere to be. I didn't have to spend any money. There were no errands to run. We were out of the heat. Leftovers are planned for supper.

Now that was a good day!

Hope you had one too!

Not balance but a wheel is what I want

Too many times in my life I have veered and careened from one extreme to another in a misguided quest for stability. I latched onto the idea of balance and felt it to be a holy grail. Instead it became a self-centered seeking of having my cake and eating it too and feeling clean conscienced about the poundage I was putting onto the flesh, spiritually speaking.

Because my eyes were focused on the wrong goal, namely those things that pleased me and fit in with all the activities I had chosen to do, there was indeed a semblance of balance but not founded on truth. Balance became the perpetual plate juggler and spinner act.

A couple of years ago I was challenged by a godly teacher to reconsider the error of balance. Instead she suggested that I undertake the analogy of a wheel having Christ in the center or wheel hub and each spoke denoted a person or activity in my life. For example, the great man, the future greats, friends, social activities, hobbies and so on were all on spokes. At any given point because of the stress or deadlines or pressures incumbent to one of those spokes, the image becomes that of the particular spoke being pressed against the ground, or "the rubber hitting the road". But at no point is the wheel hub, Christ, to be displaced by one of the spokes. Just because one spoke at any point might need or require greater attention than another, there can be no reason to replace the wheel center, Christ. The spokes are intimately dependent upon the wheel hub to be held together and kept moving, in the right direction. A spoke might break and need repair, even strengthening, but if the wheel hub is replaced with less than perfect strength, then it affects all the other spokes adversely.

Right around the same time as receiving that analogy, I read on a blog a similar challenge--here I pause to apologie to the blogger who wrote this story because I do not have written down exactly where I saw this, but I believe it was Spunky Homeschool's blog so credit to her if it was there and my apologies if I have misplaced the credit.

"When our children were young, I made a wheel out of paper and put a round cog in the center and labeled it Christ. Shooting out from the center were spokes and at the end of each was an arch with the name of a family member. It was our 'family wheel'. When we all stayed in our appointed place, the wheel ran smoothly. But as it often happens, one of the spokes tries to place himself in the center of the wheel. At that time, anyone else was free to go up to the wheel and move Christ out of the center and place the name of the individual in the center. It quickly became obvious that the 'family wheel' was broken and needed fixing. It was at that point that we stopped what we were doing and sought to repair the wheel and the relationships."

These two challenges combined have been very helpful to me in evaluating myself and others on my own family wheel. In my own sin when I place myself in the center of the wheel, relationships suffer and need repair. Or when I place other things, people, activities in the center of the wheel, relationships suffer. And likewise, when other people place themselves in the center of the family wheel, it causes the rest of us to suffer.

So it is not balance that I seek but a Christ-centered family wheel.

Lord, forgive me for trying to be the center. Help me to forgive others for making themselves the center. Do not let me rest until only You are the center.

"The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance. I bless the Lord who gives me counsel; in the night also my heart instructs me. I have set the Lord before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken. Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices; my flesh also dwells secure. For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol, or let your holy one see corruption. You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore."

Psalm 16:5-11

My car stinks...

when I turn the car on a very foul smell issueth from the air conditioning vents. I have visions of some creature caught in the Starship Odyssey innards, decaying and gross.

I expect the inside of the car to stink. It's just over 100 degrees every day via the heat index. I have 3 XY future greats. Hence, I expect the inside of the car to stink.

But not through the air conditioning vents! Oy vey! The air conditioning is supposed to be cool and refreshing to breeze away the other inside smells--not BE the cause of an inside smell.

Tonight I popped the hood (I felt rather macho even just typing that) and I managed to put the hood holder doodle thingy up (without breaking a nail), and then I peered around the innards looking for feathers or fur or burnt flesh----ewwww grosssss! But nothing leapt out as the cause for the stink.

So if something has crawled up into the insides of my vehicle and had the audacity to die, and is now rotting to putrid-fa-cation, I might actually have to resort to the green pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror to fight the stench, because we're keeping the air conditioning on!

Happy Birthday

I received the phone call two hours after I had left a message asking for our name to be added to the adoption advocate's waiting list. I figured that since it was all such a long shot and that adoption waiting lists could be years long, that if we were going to pursue this crazy idea, at least our name should be on a list as a first start.

"Elle, please call me back as soon as you can. A baby boy was born yesterday, premature--he's only 2 lbs 11 oz, and he's on a ventilator. I know it sounds crazy but God told me to call you. Please call."

In shock I dialed her number, and quickly she filled me in on the rest of the details. A little tiny boy had been born 12 weeks early. The birthmother had matched with another family but his preemie size caused them to decline. A second waiting family was contacted, but they had the week before been blessed with another baby, and so they also declined. And then, 15 families ahead of us on the waiting list were tried but were either unsuccessfully contacted or declined interest until--us.

The great man was in graduate school and I had one phone number, to a graduate lounge, to try. He answered the 3rd ring, while on his way out the door to class. Flustered and crying, I told him the story. Flustered but quickly, he agreed to meet me at a rest area between the house and the university to sign some paperwork to get things rolling. Between his battered blue truck and my aging sedan he asked me to repeat the incredible tale.

"He was born yesterday, Tuesday, July 15th, 12 weeks early. He weighed 2 lbs 11 oz at birth and had to be put on a ventilator. He only weighs 2 lbs 6 oz now, but he came off the ventilator this morning, sometime between 8 and 9 a.m., and the doctor believes that he will be fine."

Crying, the great man asked, "Do you realize that exactly 9 months ago to the day, date and hour, J. came off the ventilator and died? I don't know how, I don't know why, but God intends for us to have this baby."

J. was our first son. He died when he was 2 1/2 years old. He had been sick and in the hospital for nearly 2 years, the last 6 weeks on a ventilator in the ICU. We were living in a house purchased with a family loan. We didn't have a job. We didn't have insurance. We had medical bills for our first son totaling almost half a million dollars. The great man, by faith, was in graduate school working towards a master's degree to make a needful career change. He was paid an assitantship of $9,000. I worked part time at a bridal and prom shop. What were we thinking?

I don't think we were thinking, at least not with the rational parts of our brains. Grief from the last 2 1/2 years had driven us to depths that I'd only read about in the Psalms. We were spent in every conceivable, rational, and practical way. We thought that everyone, even One, had forgotten us.

But God....But God....But God was only beginning. He reached into the miry pit. He brought us out into His light. He compelled the adoption advocate to call me. He kept my husband near the phone to answer it. He made the way for the paperwork and the adoption costs and the state grants and the insurance to all work out for our good and His glory. He reminded us every step of the way that He had knit together the bones and sinews of this tiny frame with us in mind. He brought that future great to the world 12 weeks early but 9 months right on time to declare loudly that He is sovereign.

He gave us a beautiful son to remind me especially that all things precious and wonderful did indeed come from Nazareth. And today, that boy, our son, and future great turns 9 years old.

Happy Birthday, son! You have always been a sweet and precious gift exemplifying the depth of the Lord's love for His sheep. May you serve Him well all the days of your life! Mom and Daddy love you!

"Praise the Lord.

Praise, O servants of the Lord.

Let the name of the Lord be praised, both now and forevermore.

From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised.

The Lord is exalted over all the nations, his glory above the heavens.

Who is like the Lord our God, the One who sits enthroned on high, who stoops down to look on the heavens and the earth?

He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap; he seats them with princes, with the princes of their people.

He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children.

Praise the Lord."

Psalm 113

My kingdom or His?

A couple of weeks back my parents took all three future greats to their house for Grandparent Camp. (I just named it that because it sounds wonderful, eh?) The boys had a wonderful time and are completely persuaded, as if there were any doubt, that they have the all time coolest grandparents.

I had the entire week to myself. I could sleep in if I wanted to and then eat the hidden stash of Captain Crunch without questions and/or interruptions. I could turn on the TV in the middle of the day if I wanted to, although there is nothing at all worth watching. I could have watched one of my girlie movies in the middle of the day if I had wanted. I could fix my lunch, or any meal for that matter, and then actually ingest it while still warm, even hot. I could have spent hours shopping without the taglines of three future greats requesting this, that and the other. I could have had all sorts of private time with the great man where doors didn't have to be locked and conversations weren't interrupted. It was thoroughly my kingdom.

I know you're salivating over a week like this. So what did I do all week?

Well, I did indulge in some, but not all, of the aforementioned luxuries, and it was very nice, all right, maybe even better than nice, maybe really fun, precious and oh-so-needed. But for the bulk of the week my main privilege was to just study, read, study and read some more for a Bible study that I have both the gift and responsibility to teach during the year. It was divine to have all of those hours used to teach me more of the truest love, greatest sacrifice, indescribable grace and glory of the Lord. It was thoroughly His kingdom.

Please don't misunderstand me. I am not especially holy or even pious. But I was given a gift of time that by choice was to be used for the priorities before me. And for that week, God gave me great hunger and thirst for His word and intimacy with Him. It was a feast! One that I desire to continue to enjoy for life, not just for an uninterrupted week.

The three future greats are back in residence, I'm still enjoying the feasting and all of its accompanying delights, and I'm reminded clearly that when Jesus commanded in Matthew 6:33, "But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." not only did He mean it as a command but also as a promise of His continuing provision. I didn't miss one good thing for the hours spent studying and reading, but instead gained so many great and wonderful things.

I'm grateful that the future greats got to spend so much fun time in activities with the grandparents, and I'm thankful that some luxuries were enjoyed for me and the great man, but oh, how praiseworthy indeed that God gave to me of His very self in that week. May I do even a piece as much in teaching His word this year!

Let's just try again

As a child I was fascinated with the idea of writing and keeping a diary. I had sentimental daydreams that if I was ever killed in some fantastical blaze of tragedy that a lingering comfort to my family and friends would be poring over the words of wisdom found in my diary. They would giggle at my witty use of humor and clever words of prose, muse over the insightful profundities of a 12 year old mind, and weep for the dreams unfinished and unmet. Maybe I'd be the next Anne Frank! without the whole hiding from Nazi Germany thing, of course--there were limits to the tragedies I was willing to daydream about.

Of course, the crashing reality to this daydream was that for every diary that I started (here's where you say, "If I had a dollar for every diary that I started....") You get the picture. Even at age 12, complete thoughts seemed to never make it into written form.

But getting a new diary was so fresh--a clean paged journal to pour out your thoughts upon. And this was before daytime talk show hosts made journaling "cool", before it was considered necessary for spiritual and emotional intelligence to daily write the five things that you are grateful for having occurred. The routine looked something like this:

Day one entry: Dear new diary, how glad I am I have you to tell everything to, you will be the only one who really understands me. This is who I am (followed by short introduction), and see you tomorrow.

Day two entry: Dear diary, I went to the pool today. Anne and Jennifer were there. Mark was the lifeguard--isn't he cute? Ate cheetos at lunch. See you tomorrow.

Day three entry: Dear Diary, I didn't get to go to the pool today. I'm mad at my sister. She borrowed my red leggings without asking me first. We're having tacos for dinner. See you tomorrow.

Day four entry: Dear Diary, well it's been 4 months since I last wrote. Let me tell you what's been happening.

Eventually even I was bored to tears, along with the diary, on what was happening in my life and I would just quit writing. Until of course I was in the Hallmark store with my mom and would see the latest batch of diaries with the cute little gold keys, that I'm told will actually open all major suitcase brands as well, and I would beg her for a new one. And the routine would start again.

My greatest fear with this blog is not that I will be involved in some major skeezscandal of blogvillia, not that I won't even have complete thoughts--my day will come won't it, huh, huh?--not even that I won't learn how to attach all the cute links and photos (although that still really bugs me), but instead that I will have the Diary routine replayed and this time with higher technology involved.

So, if there is anyone reading these thoughts, I've not forgotten this blog. I've even had some complete thoughts. But I am also trying to ed-u-ma-cate myself on blogging and at the end of the day I still only have 24 hours--go figure. Getting past the paralysis of needing things perfectomundo is the next step to hurdle--and a post in itself on why I cannot, cannot hop on the scrapbooking wagon without breaking into a cold sweat. Just write one complete thought a day, I chant. That old ditty of moms all around "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again" is where I'm at today--just trying again.

Thanks for sticking around.

A baby complete thought in the form of a question

What is it about the Y chromosome that makes it physically impossible for bearers of the Y chromosome to either A) take his socks off without rolling them off into a ball of dirty stinkiness or B) unroll them out of the ball of dirty stinkiness before throwing them into the laundry for the mom who then has to "handle" said dirty stinkiness before tossing them into the wash because if she doesn't, the ball of said dirty stinkiness just goes through the wash and comes out with streaks of clean and dirt, not to mention, although I will, that it doesn't properly dry!

I don't know where the question mark goes in that so just imagine that I look like I'm asking you.

Can I even have a complete thought?

A friend (who is reading this blog) asked me the other day if I had recently had any more complete thoughts. The fact that I haven't posted in a week plus should give your first clue.

Three times I have sat down to write a complete thought and was interrupted to distraction.

Three different drafts of complete-thought-wanna-bees are buzzing around in the otherwise empty hive called the create folder.

Innumerable thoughts have crossed my mind as possible posts only to be kicked to the curb by the latest need, demand, question, problem, phone call, you fill in the blank reason.

So to the 3 1/2 readers I have (that's if anyone claims the 1/2 part), I beg your patience. I'm hoping that summer--the time for vacation, anyone?--is going to bear some fruit of future complete thoughts.

Gotta go, life is calling.

LOST

This is not a post about that TV show that everyone seems so crazy about. I don't watch it and have no intention of watching it. I'm more along the lines of the Jack Bauer thought that if he were on that island, they would have all been off the island(give or take a few killings, terrorist threats, nuclear disasters, government betrayals, & Kim's latest fiasco) in 24 hours!

I'm talking about LOST in Atlanta. I do not claim to have a good sense of direction but I didn't think that I was a hopeless case. I have future dreams of being a contestant on The Amazing Race and not being one of those couples that screams and yells at each other because they can't find the exit to take in lower Poland while driving a 2 door 1965 Volvo.

Anyway, I should have become aware of the challenge when the great man, who has an awesome sense of direction, got lost in the neighborhood. Now in his defense this is one of those neighborhoods where every street has the same word in it and it's a really big neighborhood.

For example, let's say we live in The Shoes neighborhood and every street has the word shoe in it like Old Shoe Street, New Shoe Street and so on. But to confuse things further, there are variations within the whole Old Shoe name. There is Old Shoe Street, Old Shoe Drive, Old Shoe Lane, Court, Close, Way, Road, etc. And the entire neighborhood goes that way with every possible variation of "something Shoe something". It is entirely maddening! You
keep saying to yourself "I think we just passed Green Shoe Drive" and you probably just did because all the streets are built labrynthinian to each other. So just leaving the neighborhood is quite a challenge.

Then navigating the Atlanta traffic, which is infamous for being ridiculously horrible, finding the correct street to turn on, off, left and right at, stopping at non-synchronized lights every 15 feet, and dealing with road raging drivers short their daily espressos and constantly on their cell phones--my neck is tensing up just writing about it.

I'm thankful that LOST was all that happened. Eventually everyone got to the place they were supposed to be and then arrived back home at something Shoe something.

First day down, 4 more to go! Where is Jack Bauer when I need him?