Of Noble Character

Are You Ready To Be Called Fringe Yet?

2009-03-30T21:27:00.002-05:00

How much worse will you let it get before you start to push back?

****

Leaning In

2009-03-28T23:34:00.005-05:00

She wore her hair in a loose white bun. Inevitably, a few wisps would come loose. She had a soft, quivering voice and a sweet smile. I don’t remember many words that she spoke to me directly. I remember sitting beside her one Sunday morning. It was a warm spring day, and she wore a white shawl over her blue dress.

Her hearing had failed many years before, and so in the little church my parents attended, far from technologically savvy, had been placed a small speaker just for her on the pew in front of her. And so we always knew where she was going to sit each Sunday. On the third row, in the middle, on the left hand side.

I don’t remember how old I was when she died. I don’t remember if I attended her funeral. What I do remember was, in those last years, watching her from my seat near the back of the church, Sunday after Sunday, month after month. I always had to sit still, and I always had to face forward, and so I had a perfect vantage point. And as time went on, she leaned a little closer to her speaker so she could hear what was being said.

Churches today have all the bells and whistles available to their “fine arts” departments. They offer closed captioning for the hearing impaired, special headsets, CDs created in under 30 seconds immediately after the service and mailed to those who didn’t come to church. But that wasn’t available to this lady. Who knows if she would have accepted it if they had been. She was there every Sunday, in front of her speaker, because that’s where the message was. And when it was hard to hear the message, she leaned in even more.

I find myself at a point in my life where there are more questions than answers. Or at least, the answers aren’t found yet. I was reminded of this lady today as I once again struggled internally with situations that seem totally beyond my control. I cannot change them. I have tried. I am, instead, constantly looking for the message God is sending me, the doors He is opening, or hey, even the way of escape He promises when I’m tempted to just scream and throw things. (And you thought I had it all together.) I told the Lord today that sometimes He really needs to just shout at me because the whispers are apparently not getting through. And immediately I remembered this dear lady, each Sunday in church, her Bible on her lap, seemingly each week in those last years of her life leaning even closer towards the sermon.

And I realized, again, that what I’ve been doing these past few months as I’ve grappled with questions and struggles of various stripes is leaning, getting closer to the Savior who asks us to cast all our cares on Him. He knows more than I do. I will lean in, and listen. He knows exactly why I’m in this position because He put me here, and He knows exactly how I’m going to get out because He made the road that will take me there.

And so I’m leaning, still. Leaning more. Leaning in.

Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him. James 1: 2-5

No Words

2009-03-13T12:15:00.005-05:00

God made the beasts of the earth after their kind...and everything that creeps on the ground after its kind; and God saw that it was good. Genesis 1:25

Goodbye, sweet Reign. Not a day will pass that I won't miss you.

***

All Things New

2009-03-04T15:52:00.011-06:00

"Who knows where the leash is?" I call down the hall, for my wayward puppy has yet to learn the meaning of "come" and needs to be brought back inside. It is a crisp, cool spring morning. Dare I say spring? I am handed the leash by a boy who once climbed into my lap and asked me to read Pooh to him but now is two inches taller than me. He insists it was me who left the leash on my desk, and I insist it is he who is crazy, but handsome just the same.

I step outside and attempt to fill my lungs with air. I choke and catch my breath. I have been ill for weeks, too ill to be outdoors, too ill for anything really. At times it has seemed to be the dramatic conclusion to months of struggle. But today is different. The sun is shining, and the air is fresh, and I am reminded that to everything there is a season.

I am greeted by the back yard mutt, he who is perfectly content to have his ball thrown and his bowl filled a couple of times a day. How simple his life is. I toss his ball, and he charges away. He doesn't find it odd that the lady of the house is outside this early, and that she has returned to throw his ball. Eventually, normal returns.

My sweet Siberian is at my side at every turn. His days are few now, and he seems to know this. He barely stands against the spring breeze, and leans against my legs for support, looking up at me for reassurance. He will soon leave my side, another season come and gone. It will leave a tender place in my memory that will still ache years from now. Most will not understand it, and so mine will be a quiet grief.

The chickens have left me eggs this morning. They scold me for bringing all the dogs to the pen, or perhaps for not letting them out much lately, I'm not sure. I've asked a lot of them recently...they are clearing a new garden area for me and I reward them with kitchen scraps and bread crumbs and my gratitude that God has sent more sunshine for them. And for me.

I round the garden beds...too much work awaits me there...I can't begin to think that way. But the trees are just beginning to blossom, the signs of life are showing. The earth is coming out of its drab, dull winter. And my heart is warmed.

He makes all things new.

Even me, Lord?

Even me.

***

Money in the Bank

2009-03-01T15:13:00.008-06:00

In the next few weeks (or, knowing me, months) I'd like to try to slowly but surely show you how I manage my bargain shopping and particularly the stockpile-approach to shopping. I have had many, many questions about this over the years. I regularly get asked questions about this when we have guests in our home and happen to open our pantry door and they get a peek inside, and for years I have been stopped in stores by people who are curious and even amazed by what they see me pushing around in my cart. And, as food prices rise, more and more people stop me after I check out to ask me, "How did you do that?" as I walk away with a receipt as long as my arm that cost me a minimal amount.

And so I'm hoping to, in the course of just a few posts, show you what I do that saves our family a lot of money, keeps me sane (at least in the kitchen), and gives us some measure of comfort despite rising costs. I'm going to try to keep this very, very simple. So in this post, I have just two main points, two directions in which you can go to immediately begin reaping the benefits with very little effort.

Point one:I mentioned in an earlier post that the quickest and easiest way to begin a good pantry stockpile is to purchase "more than one" of things you need on your list. I will expand on that at a later time. For now, I will just say that my first of two basic points is that the quickest, easiest, and best way to purchase all your "more than one" things is to do so with coupons.

If you do not use coupons yet, then you need to begin collecting them. If you have a collection, you need to start using them. If you use them, but don't use them effectively, you need to start using them purposefully, instead of willy-nilly. Think of it like a game, and she who comes out with the most merchandise for the least expenditure, wins. (Hint: I am your formidable foe, but I welcome the challenge.)

Coupons come in the Sunday paper. I get a double Sunday paper each week. (For some this is a waste, however I use the paper as compost for my garden beds, drop cloths for kids painting projects, and myriad other things.) You can also buy just the coupon inserts online, or you can buy the coupons themselves, already clipped out. I really prefer to just buy the paper itself, rifle through it, clip my coupons, read the comics, look at the fliers, etc. There's something old fashioned about the Sunday paper. (Or maybe I'm weird. But that's a different post altogether.) Manufacturer's websites have printable coupons, and stores have their own coupons which can be combined with manufacturer's coupons on the same product.

I will write more about coupons themselves later, but my point is, if you aren't collecting coupons yet, start now. Start today. With today's Sunday paper, if possible.

Point Two: My second point is that If you have a neighborhood CVS and you don't shop there, you are throwing money away. CVS has a fantastic customer loyalty program that literally pays you back for shopping with them.

If you have a neighborhood CVS, go there this week and sign up for an ExtraCare card. While you are there, grab their flier, bring it home, and compare their sale prices to prices on things you normally buy at Walmart, Target, or wherever you shop. Now check to see if any of those things have Extra Care Bucks this week. And imagine how inexpensive they would be if you had coupons for them...

This probably sounds complicated to someone who hasn't done anything like this before. It's not. At the top of this post is a copy of my receipt from CVS last week. I have been quite sick and had to run to the pharmacy for a refill on my medication. While I was waiting, I grabbed a few things with what energy and brain power I had: Two bottles of Nyquil, a gallon of milk, a greeting card, and two Fuze strawberry drinks. (Hey, I was thirsty, and I had a coupon to get one free!)

Now here is where the fun begins. I've highlighted the fun parts for you--my total amount saved, and my total paid. For the above purchases, I paid twenty-five cents.

And the best part? Five more dollars towards the next time.

What will I use the five dollars for? I don't know yet. But here's my line of thinking when it comes to Extra Care Bucks, or coupons for products I know we will use: This is money in the bank. I would no sooner let this $5 in Extra Care Bucks sit here and expire than I would toss a five dollar bill in the trash. So even if I don't combine it with a manufacturer's coupon and get a steal on laundry detergent or Nyquil or Revlon mascara, I will at least get a gallon or two of fresh Oak Farms milk or some orange juice from it. Because if I get it free, or even almost free, from CVS, I don't have to buy it from the grocery store, and that, my friends, is money in the bank.

Hitler Youth, Anyone?

2009-02-21T16:14:00.003-06:00

This is what we're up against. Stay in the game.

****

Pantry Preparations

2009-02-14T22:25:00.007-06:00

I don't normally write about things like this but someone asked me a while ago what I think about those websites and catalogs where you can buy six months or a year's worth of food for your family for a set amount of money.

This came up because I mentioned how I shop for food.

I probably should write some posts about that, because it might be useful to someone.

Tonight I'm tired so I'll just say two brief things:

One:
If you're looking at the economy, and you're concerned about being able to provide food for your family, one of the worst things you can do is spend hundreds or thousands of dollars on freeze dried food. Seriously. Please don't buy that junk.

Two:
If you're going shopping in the next few days, look at your list. Underline the non-perishable items. Instead of buying one of those things, buy two or three. That is how you begin to prepare a good pantry for bad times.

And sleep well. Your Father is the King.

****

Welcome Home, Sophie

2009-02-04T12:53:00.009-06:00

On a bright, sunny Monday, just when we could really have used some good news, some arrived on four small paws.

Perhaps I feel a kindred spirit with this furry little soul that is a bit scared, a bit timid, and a bit overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events that brought her to me.

Here's to a hopeful future of many years of country life, sunning on the patio, chasing butterflies, catching frisbees, and attempting to herd a flock of annoyed chickens.

In the meantime, make yourself at home, beautiful girl. You are lost no more.

****

Delilah

2009-01-10T00:10:00.002-06:00

I think Tim made the mistake of booking a show at my elementary school. I venture this guess only because he finally got a laugh out of the audience when he sang, "Hey Delilah, when you die, tell the Devil I said hi," and where I went to school, everyone took great delight in determining who was bound for the flames.

Goodbye 2008

2009-01-04T06:20:00.009-06:00

It is 6 a.m. and I have not slept at all. In an hour or so, my youngest children will be out of their beds, and, seeing that I am up, will ask me to cook breakfast for them. They will not know that I haven't slept, only that I am blessedly awake, and they don't have to eat cereal or toast.

As I have been sitting in the darkness of my living room waiting for morning to arrive (sleep, why won't you come?) I have been reflecting on the past year. 2008 was incredibly hard for me. I wish I could sit here and list all the accomplishments that I achieved. I am sure there are a few. But in truth, this last year was very difficult for me.

I am not certain that sifting through the difficulties would be either wise or healthy. What I do know is that my heart aches for the time lost to turmoil and pain, both for myself and for people I love.

In many ways I feel as though the year has been lost...366 days slipped through my fingers with nothing much to show for it. I know that can't possibly be true, and yet I am reminded again that I must always keep an eternal perspective.

Because when I really think about it, what I really want is Heaven. There is no way to have what I want here on a sin-ridden planet. I long for a place where hearts remain unbroken, where bodies aren't mangled by disease, where promises are kept.

Someone I deeply respect and admire has recently gone through a major change in her life. We do not talk about it. I do not know the details. What I do know is that when I go to see her now, it is in a different place. Many times, I have met her only to find her wiping tears from her eyes. She has said she is not ready to talk about it, and I have not asked any questions. She is gracefully walking through a time of great turmoil in her life during a time when she should be able to relax and enjoy the life she had made for herself. A few days ago, she concluded an email to me by saying, "I do know, Tamara, that God is faithful, and that His grace is always, always sufficient."

One of my modern-day heroines, Elizabeth Elliot, wrote, “If we were given all we wanted here, our hearts would settle for this world rather than the next. God is forever luring us up and away from this one, wooing us to Himself and His still invisible Kingdom, where we will certainly find what we so keenly long for.”

Sometimes it is the trials which woo us.

I don't pour my heart out here. That is what my friends are for. So I will simply say that 2008 has reminded me to live toward Heaven. If nothing else, this year has been 366 days that I will count all joy because they have brought me that much closer to Jesus. Oh, Jesus, I love you. Thy Kingdom Come.

Load-bearing Walls and Practical Husbands

2009-01-01T11:53:00.006-06:00

Several years ago, on a trip back from visiting family, my husband looked over at me as I was barreling down the highway towards home. I was in a rush to get home. I had to get away from the white farm houses, open fields, tree-lined drive-ways, and red-painted barns. While Texas is home to me, and I now can't imagine not being here, the landscape of where we grew up is forever etched into my heart, and sometimes the stark contrast is especially painful.

"Do you want to move back?"

He asks me this question every now and then. My answer is always a resounding, "No," and it was that day too. A bit of a tear sprung to my eye, and I said, "This isn't about moving. I just wish I could throw snowballs and watch my kids jump in the leaves." (You midwesterners have no idea what you're taking forgranted.)

I remember that conversation because he asked me what I did want then, and I told him I'd think about it. So I did. Many days later, I presented him with my plan. Several acres in the country. I can't farm a lot of animals since my health wouldn't allow it, so I'd like to raise chickens and grow blackberries, pumpkins, and Christmas trees to sell. A real country house. Complete with a woodburning cookstove, some woods out back for the boys to roam in, a pond for them to fish in, and a long clothesline for all my quilts to dry on.

Well.

To say he shut me down flat would be the understatement of 2009 and we're just getting started. You might say where we live now is The Great Compromise. A small vegetable garden, a few chickens, and a fish pond beneath the kitchen windows are a far cry from the plan I carefully drew up and presented with a flourish and hopeful grin several years ago, but then they're also a step in the right direction from the postage stamp lot and stark, suburban life I felt chained to five years ago. Sometimes the progress is achingly slow, but it is progress.

Not too long ago, my husband came home to find me standing in the kitchen with an evil grin on my face.

"I've been thinking," I mused.

"What's it gonna cost me?" he asked fearfully.

Our oldest son is 14. His room is adjacent to the kitchen. I figure when he moves out, I'll call a contractor and have them take out the wall there, put in a slate floor, and install a wood cookstove for me. I'll throw down a big braided rug, bring in a comfortable rocker. Then, from the window where my son wistfully looked out and thought about his future as an adult and the world yet to be conquered, I'll sit by the fire and look out over my garden, watch my chickens peck in the yard, read a good book, and enjoy a simple, quiet life.

My husband rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then put his hands on his hips.

"Nope. No, I think that's a load-bearing wall. Yep, pretty sure that's a load-bearing wall there."

Load-bearing, schmoad-bearing. I think a stone pillar would look great with a slate floor, don't you?

And I noted, as I walked away smiling to myself, that as my husband tried to put a damper on my quiet little dreams, he was wearing cowboy boots and a flannel shirt. 10 years ago he would never have dreamed of putting on cowboy boots. Some things take time. That's all I'm saying.

Merry Christmas, Man.

2008-12-25T17:06:00.002-06:00

Our whole gang wishes you peace.

Oh, and love too.

****

All I Want For Christmas Is A Front Row Seat

2008-12-19T17:06:00.015-06:00

Last night I surprised my children with a bit of class and culture by taking them to see the Dallas Symphony Orchestra. This was kept a secret till the last minute, and when I asked them all to guess what they thought we might be doing, all but one came very close.

When I asked how they guessed so accurately, they all agreed it was, "Because we had to dress nicely." In other words: No jeans!

No photography is allowed during the performances, which really stinks because I and my zoom lens had a great view of the Maestro. But I did manage some cramped pictures (the nose bleed section doesn't allow much elbow room, my friends) before the performance.

I think Caedin was most impressed that the orchestra knew God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. I don't think it occurred to him that perhaps that song had been used before this year's church musical.

Tylan looked forward to the sing-along portion of the evening, and then promptly gave up when he didn't know all the words to It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas. I told him that was fine, at least he can now truthfully say he has sung with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra. He just looked at me like he thought perhaps his mother was a bit loony.

Taran seemed a bit bored at a few points during the evening, however, he seemed most impressed by numbers performed by Angela Renee Simpson. Wow, what a stage presence she has! I would love to see her in Porgy and Bess, but I dare say that is one bit of culture I won't be able to convince my husband to accompany me to.

He may volunteer to wear a suit but he's not going to wear it to the opera. *wink*

****
The last photo was taken by Chana, who is even more intimidated by my camera than I am, and who, after five tries taking a picture of her father and me, informed me this was just going to have to be good enough.

November's Close

2008-11-28T19:56:00.009-06:00

The end of November brings me a beautiful pink rose in my back yard. Despite gloomy cloudiness, I have one rose bush that seems to be determined to bloom, and this week had three gorgeous blossoms. This was by far the prettiest, and so I took a quick picture of it before it falls apart.

****

Josephine is healing very nicely, and in fact has gotten quite attached to me, though not nearly as much as Annabelle was. Mark built her a cage for outside, since she can't be with the other ladies until her wounds are healed over completely. But during the day we let them all out and so far we've only had to settle a few squabbles. She is attempting to establish herself as highest in the pecking order since she's obviously my buddy right now, however, the others aren't all that thrilled with the idea. She was always the smallest of the bunch, and frankly, they don't like being bossed around by their little sister.

Josie still looks a little odd. She has almost no tail feathers; usually brahmas have very thick, full tails. She was left with only three or four large feathers sticking out oddly. The feathers along the back of her neck and back are coming in really well and are filling in to cover the scarring. She began laying eggs again last week, and when I take her out of her pen for a walk she follows along beside me and clucks away like we are old friends.

She's not really pals with the other chickens any more though, since they pecked at her sores the day she got hurt. So when they are all out together, she tends to stay either by herself or with me. Sooner or later, she wanders toward the back door, because she knows she goes inside with me. I'll call her name, and she'll poke her head around the corner and look at me, then go back to the door and wait some more. It's hilarious to watch that little chicken head poke around the house to see if I'm coming or not. When we're outside and it's time to go in, I'll say, "Let's go, Josie!" and she'll make a beeline for the door, like this:

Ha!

****

With Annabelle gone, Clara is the prettiest girl in the yard. She was always second in command and is now making sure everyone knows she's the boss, despite what Josie might have to say to the contrary. Good luck, Clara. Taran's been feeding Josie ice cream and sooner or later she might be able to take ya.

****

Preach it, Brother John

2008-11-25T22:38:00.000-06:00

The Creator of This Blog Is 4% Secular Humanist

2008-11-22T20:28:00.002-06:00

Hey, I thought I'd try my hand at reporting the numbers like Frank Luntz does. Maybe I'll get that job at Fox News yet.

Anyway, I took this weird little quiz today so it could tell me what faith I am. Surprise, surprise, I'm 100% mainline conservative Christian. What are you?

1. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (100%)
2. Eastern Orthodox (85%)
3. Roman Catholic (85%)
4. Seventh Day Adventist (77%)
5. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (76%)
6. Jehovah's Witness (72%)
7. Orthodox Judaism (71%)
8. Islam (64%)
9. Orthodox Quaker (63%)
10. Baha'i Faith (54%)
11. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (54%)
12. Hinduism (42%)
13. Sikhism (42%)
14. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (39%)
15. Liberal Quakers (33%)
16. Jainism (30%)
17. Reform Judaism (29%)
18. New Thought (24%)
19. Nontheist (24%)
20. Mahayana Buddhism (23%)
21. Theravada Buddhism (23%)
22. Unitarian Universalism (22%)
23. Scientology (17%)
24. Neo-Pagan (16%)
25. New Age (8%)
26. Taoism (6%)
27. Secular Humanism (4%)

****

Some November Thoughts

2008-11-18T16:26:00.005-06:00

1. If my family wouldn't hurt me, I would listen to O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, a minimum of 20 times a day.

2. Since they would, I also listen to songs like this.

3. In about a week, I have to make an entire Thanksgiving dinner all by myself. I am not enthusiastic. I would rather come to your house and just bring a side dish.

4. Then again, we're supposed to have a bit of a Thanksgiving dinner with our church family tomorrow night. So perhaps my family will settle for that and I'll just tell them I'm taking the year off.

5. I doubt they'll fall for that, because Mr. Britt doesn't make Pineapple Cranberry Sauce.

6. Or Peanut Butter Pie.

7. Additionally, I'm supposed to croon a tune during dinner tomorrow night. "Live entertainment," you know... It was either that or my juggling act.

8. I don't juggle.

9. Josie's feathers are starting to grow back.

10. Six eggs today. Someone is pulling double-duty.

****

Shhh.... Don't Tell Her I Told You

2008-11-17T13:54:00.011-06:00

This will be our little secret.

You must swear to me you will never let on that I let you see these.

You see, my daughter has been pretty good at fooling the world around her.

Especially my friends, who gasp and giggle when I tell stories about crazy things she does around the house.

So this is posted merely as evidence to prove that my demure, quiet daughter, when left unchecked by social mores, is a hilarious, noisy, attention-commanding force to be reckoned with.

World, don't say I didn't warn ya.

***

And Then There Were Five

2008-11-11T16:48:00.007-06:00

Annabelle, Josephine, and Lucille. September 2008

I am not a sentimental fool. But by the end of this post I won't be able to prove it.

This Sunday, I lost a beloved pet, my most beautiful Brahma, Annabelle. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, in which broken-heartedness far outweighs the necessary blame, the latch on her pen was left undone, and while we were at church, Annabelle and Josephine went for a Sunday morning stroll.

Josephine is hanging on, but Annabelle did not survive her morning walk in the sunshine.

Since they first arrived, Annabelle has been my favorite. She was the darkest-feathered chick, with the most personality. As a little one, she would rush to the corner of the tank where I kept them, and if I put my hand down for her, she would step into my hand and come sit in my lap.

Once they were living outside, she was always the first to notice when I came out the back door, rushing toward me expectantly. She scolded me when I didn't bring her a treat, and echoed my laugh with lilting clucks. Long after the other hens grew tired of the crazy lady talking to them, Annabelle stayed at my side, tilting her head as I talked softly to her as if to say, "Is that right? Tell me more."

Annabelle was always the first one to the roost when we checked for eggs, for she knew when she arrived within our reach she would get a thankful pat, a tummy rub, a gentle ruffling of her soft, fluffy feathers. Woe be to the others on the few occasions they were faster and made it there before her, because Annabelle knew that we liked her best, and she would sit behind them and mournfully squawk until she could reach us.

She knew her name. I could say her name from across the yard and she would turn to me and tilt her head and cluck as if to say, "Yes? What is it?" I am getting used to the idea that I can't go to the fence and call her name and have her come trotting over to see what I have for her. Instead, I go to see her little family and they give me indifferent stares and remind me they are all Not Annabelle.

It's interesting how quickly and firmly God's creatures will cement themselves in your heart, and how strange that seems to people who Don't Get It...those to whom a chicken is dinner, not a companion. And it reminds me that the further removed you are from the process of God's provision, the easier it is to take it for granted.

Annabelle did not just give me breakfast for a few short months. She made me smile. She made my children laugh. She taught them responsibility and gratitude. I was so looking forward to letting her follow me around the yard and peck around in my garden while I worked. She loved to eat the petals from my old rose blossoms. How I will miss her distinct and lilting cluck.

Last night Caedin, who is dealing with a unique heartache because he feels so responsible, came to me and asked quietly, "Mom, do birds go to Heaven?"

"No, sweetheart," I said gently. "I think the birds God made for here are just for here. But maybe there are other birds in Heaven."

"Like chickens?"

"Maybe even better."

I can't imagine.

Neither can I, kiddo.

Thank you, sweet Annabelle. You were part of God's world, and you were good.

****

I'm Traditional, Vibrant, and Tasteful. Ha!

2008-11-05T18:21:00.000-06:00

Your result for What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test...

Traditional, Vibrant, and Tasteful

16 Islamic, 14 Impressionist, 1 Ukiyo-e, -23 Cubist, -18 Abstract and 6 Renaissance!

Islamic art is developed from many sources: Roman, Early Christian, and Byzantine styles were taken over in early Islamic architecture; the architecture and decorative art of pre-Islamic Persia was of paramount significance; Central Asian styles were brought in with various nomadic incursions; and Chinese influences . Islamic art uses many geometical floral or vegetable designs in a repetitive pattern known as arabesque. It is used to symbolize the transcendent, indivisible and infinite nature of Allah.

People that like Islamic art tend to be more traditional people that appreciate keeping patterns that they learned and experienced from their past. It is not to say that they are not innovative personalities, they just do not like to let go of their roots. They like to put new ideas into details and make certain that they will work before sharing them with others. Failure is not something they like to think about because they are more interested in being successful and appreciated for their intelligence. These people can also be or like elaborate things in their life as long as they are tasteful. They tend to prefer geometric patterns and vibrant colors.

Take What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test at HelloQuizzy

A Brief Postscript

2008-11-04T13:08:00.004-06:00

As a follow up to yesterday evening's post, I want to add a link to this man's assessment of the election. (I have not read his blog before, but hey, he links to The Daily Spurgeon so he can't be all bad, right?)

To My Fellow Believers On This Election Eve.

A couple of quotes, which ring especially true to me:

Well, conservative Christians are most definitely prolife, right? Not really. What we are is antiabortion. We are by no means prolife. If we were truly prolife then orphanages would be relegated solely to Dickens’s Oliver Twist, and nursing homes would be empty, instead of filled with our elderly parents.

And:

When we know what we are for, then we will know how to vote, even if in doing so we choose the less traveled road. We are not responsible to men but to God alone for the choices we make in this life.

I pray for us all the courage to be faithful.

****

A Vote With No Fear

2008-11-03T20:45:00.005-06:00

One of the modern-day heroes of the faith is, in my opinion, Pastor John Piper. (When Mark was looking to move a good distance from Indiana, my very first suggestion was to Minnesota so we could attend John Piper's church. He stared at me blankly and said, "Who?" Hello, Texas.)

I am including this video of Dr.Piper because I think on the eve of a critical national election, some rational thought is due. I've read so many panicked blogs and seen so much compromise in Christians recently as to be overwhelmed by how to respond. I've sat down a dozen times to try to address it and all I've been able to do so far is let out an exasperated sigh. So here is Dr. Piper on what is really important in this national election.

For the past year, I have been (almost) tirelessly advocating for one Dr. Ron Paul for President. I did so knowing his chances were slim. I was greatly encouraged by the many people who came out of the woods and woodwork where they had been hiding from the mirror images of a corrupt two-party system, and by the people who had remained in the Republican Party who finally felt like they had someone to vote for, rather than simply holding the larger lions at bay.

I still advocate for Dr. Paul's ideals, and for the Campaign for Liberty. I will be voting for a third party tomorrow, specifically for the Constitution Party. For you see, I am a conservative, and the only conservative running is on the Constitution ticket.

This suggestion makes some people frustrated and even angry. In fact, Chuck Baldwin himself has made a lot of Christians angry in recent months, especially when he openly challenged them to be honest with themselves in taking a closer look at the annointed-by-the-religious-right candidate Mike Huckabee. But what really makes people upset now is that, even with the other guys out of the race, many Conservatives refuse to support the Republican ticket.

This is, as I have said all along, all about principle. This is a matter of refusing to compromise my deeply held Christian beliefs in a time when compromise among my brothers and sisters reigns supreme, where pragmatism rules the day, where party loyalty and "defeating the other guy" is often the sole motivation of voters.

We are in a situation where "the other guy" is both of them, and watching Christians flock to McCain disgusts me. The Republican Party is not The Jesus Party, folks. Not nearly so. Are we loyal to a party, or loyal to our King?

I will not live in fear, and I pray God keeps me from the sin of compromise. If I cannot operate within the American political system without compromising God's Truth, then I will not participate in it. This world, this country, is temporary. God's Kingdom, my real home, is not. I live toward Heaven, and that means that when the curtain closes behind me at the voting booth, I am still God's child, and I will walk in His way and leave the rest to Him.

And while I'm thinking about it...I am not a "litmus test" voter. In other words, there is no one single issue that is an absolute clincher for me. However, I know many people who are, and their issue is abortion. Yet they are "holding their nose" and voting for McCain. I wonder...how many babies dying is acceptable to them? And what will they say to Jesus one day, when He asks them what they have done for the least of these?

We are not commanded to change the world through political activism, but through prayer, obedience, and speaking truth...all of it...without compromise.

Here's to a good night's sleep tomorrow.

****

The Christian Act of Forgiveness

2008-10-31T22:23:00.004-05:00

Forgiveness has been on my mind quite a bit over the past several weeks. I won't go into why, in fact I'm not certain I can pinpoint an exact reason. But in conversations and personal reading the topic seems to continue to rise, and when a topic rises, I rarely let it go without some degree of thought. (This is both a blessing and a curse, I must say.)

This time of year, my thoughts always turn toward home. Home, where my family is now, and home, where it used to be. There is a special blessing in being able to transition from one home to another, not just in a new and far-off location, but as a state of mind. It provides perspective that one otherwise would not have. And so, coupled with the happy memories of golden rows of corn and red-orange sunsets is the realization that many of my harsher memories from my old home are what shaped me into the person I am today.

If you spend any length of time rifling through my blog, you'll soon discover that my childhood and teenage years were far from idyllic. The youngest child of a large family, spaced several years from any siblings, I was kept the longest in a dysfunctional home. "Dysfunctional" is a kind word here, but it will suit my purposes. What matters is that I have been given ample opportunities to forgive.

Or not.

Forgiveness, in many instances, has not come easy for me. It has been especially hard when validation of my victim-hood by well-meaning people has been in great supply. It is easier to wallow than to move past, it is easier to fixate than to step back. It is easier to tally the wrongs against me and use them to build walls (and seemingly justified to leave a few loose stones so I can throw them back when I'm especially hurt.)

But I don't want to be that person. I want to be like Jesus. Jesus, who wasn't nailed to a cross against His will, but willingly laid down His life. How petty will I seem, spilling my bag of slights and wrongs at the foot of the cross and saying to the bloodied face of Christ that there are some things I simply can't forgive?

The simplest of commandments is often the hardest to do: Treat others the way I want to be treated. And let's face it: I need to be forgiven. The state of my soul is often so raw and ugly. I hate what I must look like in God's eyes. I don't need to be told I'm justified, or that anyone who's been where I've been or experienced what I have would feel the same. I need to own it, or as my friend referenced, "face the slag." I am a sinner, in need of a Savior. I need forgiveness, and so I must forgive.

The truth is, we are all just broken people. Those who mistreated me, used me, or turned a blind eye have their own list of slights and wrongs and broken promises. I love those people. I can love them because forgiveness allows me to see beyond what was done to who they are. And when all is said and done, they are just like me: Broken people, in need of a Savior.

We love, because He first loved us. 1 John 4:19

My purpose for writing this is simple: To remind myself, and others who may read this, that our hurts and harsher memories are not ours to hold onto, but to let go of. Just as we have been forgiven, we must forgive. Just as our Savior loves, we must love.

And though it breaks my heart to say so, the sins committed against me are nothing compared to the things I've done to Him.

The Cross trumps my self-pity every time.

****

Nothing Gold Can Stay

2008-10-31T19:34:00.003-05:00

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

****

Poem by my favorite poet, Robert Frost, 1874-1963

Timely Learning

2008-09-30T19:42:00.004-05:00

Fall is finally in the air. The tomatoes are giving me one final harvest, the mornings are crisp and dewy, and the dog stretches out on the lawn in the red-orange glow of the autumn sun. My thoughts have turned from vacations and summer camp to apple harvests, baking bread, and reading books aloud to my children in front of the fireplace.

This is my typical response in fall...to turn homeward. And this year, that impulse is even more poignant. For you see, I have much to teach my children. Over the past many months, my husband and I have been actively teaching our children the differences between the two major political parties, the value of third parties, and the courage to stand one's ground rather than fall into pragmatism. While I have never been an alarmist, I have found the lack of discernment in Washington foreboding, and...well, alarming. And thus, when we typically would have been covering Ancient Egypt, we were discussing The Constitution. When we would have been conducting science experiments, we were learning good stewardship. And in the course of that, our children have been learning to expect our leaders to follow the constitution, and to be good stewards.

As I write this, the stock market is trying to recover from a major drop yesterday, following the House's failure to pass what has become known as simply, "The Bailout Bill." Predictions are dire. Economists predict not a repeat of the Great Depression, but a New Great Depression,and pundits surmise it will soon be followed by a New New Deal. These are scary times for those whose hope and substance is not in the Lord. But those of us who know His eye is on the sparrow can take comfort in the fact that His arms are still around His children.

And so, rather than worry, now is the time for us to delve into some "electives." How to stretch a dollar. How to get the best deal. How to make everything from scratch. How to cook without electricity. How to mend. How to conserve. How to "make do."

A miracle may happen, and the crisis on Wall Street might completely pass by Main Street. Our yard, filled with happy children and even happier chickens, may not be visited by the bad business practices and shady deals of people in power. But even so, these are good things to know, for surely this will not be the only time in our children's lives that their way of life may be threatened.

This year, we will go to the polls and vote for the next president...in a time of crisis, people are looking for a leader. As Christians, we must remember that God will still be on the throne in January, no matter who takes the Oval Office. And for that reason, because our hope is in the Lord and not in Washington, we can without worry prepare ourselves and our children for the bleakness of winter while the warm autumn sun shines on.

****

Who's Laughing Now

2008-09-26T13:56:00.006-05:00

I have a rudimentary understanding of how the markets work. Numbers and business jargon are no where near my strong suit.I have managed, however, to read, study, and listen to people with a proven track record of understanding. This has been my saving grace in this department, because school taught me nothing about these matters, and the media certainly didn't either.

And here is a case in point. On December 16, 2006, less than two years ago, broker and conservative economist Peter Schiff appeared on Fox News to discuss the housing market. His intelligent and detailed analysis of the inflated housing market was met not only with disagreement, but with outright laughter and mocking.

Investment advisor Tobin Smith, who is now advising short-side exchange-traded funds to hedge against the financial Armageddon that he mocked in the above video, actually turns to Peter Schiff and mocks, "Peter, just start selling the dried foods, would ya? Come on!"

The translation of the Fox News host and commentators' mockery and chortling is this: "Eat, drink, and be merry!" You see, this is America. Bad things don't happen here. We are successful, we are wealthy, and we dominate the world market. Home values are skyrocketing, salaries are up, net worth is higher than ever before. Why is anyone going to listen to someone who says we shouldn't be breaking open the champagne?

It's interesting that Tobin Smith mockingly suggested Mr. Schiff start dealing in dried foods, because now, when we face an economic disaster that people like Ron Paul and even Peter Schiff have been sounding the alarm about for years, people are scrambling for food storage and economic preparedness. Blogs are filled with ideas on what to do in preparation, and families are working to make sure they have hedged against circumstances beyond their control as much as possible. In bookstores, alongside the special marketing tables filled with books about presidential candidates are books about economic survival, food storage, disaster preparedness, and what to do when the dollar collapses. This is the world Americans are living in, not two years after the above newscast.

Are these scare tactics? Has Ron Paul been simply acting as a doomsday-er for the past 30 years? Two years ago, when Peter Schiff was mocked and jeered on the pseudo-conservative Fox News network, was he speaking up because it was popular?
Hardly. It's hardly fun to be the voice in the wilderness. It's hard to swallow bitter pills when everyone around you is drinking champagne. It's difficult to speak the truth when fantasy is all people want to hear.

We are facing a financial disaster. It has been a long time in coming, and while the vast, vast majority of conservatives were looking the other way, expecting the government to watch out for them, and voting pragmatically instead of conservatively, we have lost our ability to defend ourselves against what those we put into power would assault us with. And it is in the sheep's weakness that the wolf will strike.

So who's laughing now? No one who has any understanding of what is happening right now. Probably not even Tobin Smith. Reality isn't nearly as much fun as the fantasy world they've been selling. And somehow, it's just not funny any more.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Phillipians 4:6

Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?..But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Matthew 6:26-27, 33

1984

2008-09-23T14:01:00.005-05:00

I'm sure if you're a neocon with nothing to hide, you won't be the least bit disturbed by this.

Thank you, Annabelle

2008-09-17T22:35:00.008-05:00

...and Lucy, and Eleanor, and Josephine, and Clara, and Harriet.

On Saturday, our beautiful Light Brahmas began laying small, adorable brown eggs. They are five months old now, which is hard to believe, and decided to celebrate the cooler weather by becoming productive.

The boys were so excited when they opened the door to the nest and found three eggs waiting for them. They dashed for the door with their eyes dancing.

Thank you, ladies!

****

He reads.

2008-09-15T15:22:00.004-05:00

There's just something about the image of a little boy reading while perched up on a lawn tractor, when all is quiet except for the wind chimes and the gentle clucking of chickens, that says, "Childhood."

Blissful, innocent, peaceful childhood.

Welcome, autumn. How I've missed you.

*****

First Thoughts On Palin

2008-08-29T16:22:00.005-05:00

I've had a couple people already ask me what I'm thinking...so this is my first brain-dump, completely unedited and un-thought-out.

Sarah Palin has been on the radar of conservative media for quite some time so I've read quite a bit about her over the past couple of years. I think she's been generally very good for Alaska. I think Alaska would be sad to lose her if McCain were to win. She has been very effective there.

However (and it's a big however) what I have to do is apply her approach to governing and her philosophy of government to my own belief system. I am a constitutional conservative. Is she? Her big selling points among "conservatives" are the following:

She's pro-life.
She's pro-gun.
She's pro-family.
She's for lowering taxes.
She supports the war in Iraq.

One by one:

She's pro-life in that she believes life begins at conception and therefore abortion is murder, so there's no problem there. However, word is that she supports a constitutional ban on abortion. (I need to confirm this.) I do not. I don't think that we should mess with our constitution, it is very thorough already. I don't think one segment of the population should get special rights, nor do I think any segment of the population should be valued higher than another by making crimes against them "special." Many people don't agree with me, but I don't think an unborn baby's life is worth more than a woman walking down the street who gets shot by someone driving by. Therefore I don't think we should constitutionally ban the death of the baby and leave the death of the woman up to the states to handle. They should BOTH be handled by the state, and the federal government should stay out of it entirely.

She's pro-gun because she's "a member of the NRA." Listen, the NRA has been pandering to liberal government for decades. The NRA is pro-gun... except for a whole bunch of them... or except for when The Brady Bill tells them they should be otherwise, and then they're lock-step with anti-gun legislation. The NRA is basically a club of hunters and fishermen who for the most part would willingly hand over all their hunting rifles and personal weapons if a bureaucrat knocked on their door and asked them nicely. I don't respect her at all for being a member of the NRA, in fact, it makes me question her allegiance to the constitutional right to bear arms. A lot of gun-loving Americans abandoned the NRA a long time ago, and those who haven't, should.

She's pro-family in that she does make efforts to put her family first. She is quite often seen with a kid in tow or a baby in a sling, although one could question whether that is putting family first or fitting family in. However, she's applying for the job of vice-president of the United States...can she REALLY put her husband and children first if she has the second highest office in the country? Especially if things go wrong, which they very, very likely will? Can she be there for her husband if she's a very busy working mother? Can she fulfill her duties as a wife if she's traveling abroad and attending congressional sessions and casting deciding votes? Can she drop everything and handle a crisis with one of her children? Pro-family doesn't mean you're pro-HAVING a family, or pro-LOOKING like a family, or pro-God's designation of a family (which she is--one man, one woman, for life, etc). Pro-family means family comes FIRST, and each spouse puts that responsibility FIRST. Why is her husband a stay-at-home dad? I don't know what the details of their family are...has he already worked and earned a living for them, and they are living off of that? Because it looks like she goes to work and he stays home with the kids. I know it's not popular, but as a Christian I don't think that's OK. Now, frankly, I'm not trying to vote a Christian into office. Whether or not that would mean she could be a good VP is not really material in my mind, but I'm already reading Christians extolling the virtues of her and her husband when frankly something looks backwards to me!

She's for lowering taxes. I am all for that! I'm for lowering them into non-existence! This is one area I'm willing to concede on, to a large degree. I'm willing to take baby steps. I'm happy to make the Bush cuts permanent and start working for more cuts. Even if Ron Paul were elected president, the income tax wouldn't be abolished tomorrow, if ever. So I'm OK with someone who would work decidedly hard to lower taxes. We differ on the approach, but I'm not inflexible. ;-)

She supports the war in Iraq: Where do I begin?? How is a person pro-life if they are pro-Iraqi death? This makes no sense to me. How do Christians, genuine Christians, and really anyone who claims to be "pro-life" accept this gross and blatant inconsistency? (No pro-war Christian has been able to explain this to me yet. They seem to acknowledge that they're leaving their Christian principles at the door in order to support this war, and say, literally, "Some times you just don't have a choice." What???) But not only that, but being for the Iraq War brings up a host of other issues. It means that she's OK with trampling our constitution, invading other countries, far over-stepping bounds, wasting billions of America's dollars, and acting as an aggressor against foreign nations because we're bigger and can get away with it.

So...what do I think of Sarah Palin? Well, in short I think she's been a pretty good governor for Alaska, but I question her ability to be a good President, which she could some day be.

I'm willing to listen to everything she has to say though.

Hold the Bacon

2008-08-23T13:52:00.005-05:00

I know a couple of people who are waiting with bated breath to hear what Caedin has said recently. (You know who you are.) So before I forget these two, I'm here to regale you:

Yesterday, while Tylan and Caedin were cleaning their room, Caedin came to me to inform me of what he had been doing. I honestly don't remember the point of what he was telling me, only that he was listing some things he had been taking care of. It went something like this:

"So I picked up the blocks, the legos, some books, and you know, those natural things."

Now, as we all know, Caedin not only loves to talk, he loves to talk using words whose use he is not familiar with. So when he said this, at first I thought he was just inserting a word he felt like using. But as he rattled on, and said it again, I realized that must not be the case. And then it dawned on me...He meant to say, "And things of that nature."

So I said, "Caedin, do mean to say, 'blocks, legos, books, and things of that nature? " Immediately a light dawned on his face and he exclaimed, "Yes! Yes, that is what I've been trying to say. I kept thinking it didn't sound right!"

(You'll note that that didn't seem to keep him from saying it anyway.)

****

Last night, while I was out, Mark took the kids to Wendy's for supper. Caedin, for whatever reason, asked for a bacon cheeseburger. As they were eating, Caedin took his burger apart (a habit I cannot seem to break him of...he must inspect it thoroughly before he will eat it, and I have no idea what he's looking for exactly) and found the bacon there.

"What is THIS?" he demanded incredulously.

Dad replied, ever so patiently, I'm sure, "It's bacon."

"EW! I don't want bacon on my cheeseburger!"

"You asked for a bacon cheeseburger, Caedin."

"Yes, but I didn't know it would have BACON on it!"

We still don't know what he thought a bacon cheeseburger would look like. And frankly, since asking Caedin a question results in an hour long conversation, we decided not to ask.

*****

Please Stand By

2008-08-12T11:17:00.004-05:00

Several months ago, my computer all but bit the dust. It was a sad day for all of us. OK, really it was just a sad day for me.

Thankfully, my trusty husband had only recently handed over to me a used, dirty, somewhat feeble laptop that could at least handle my emailing and surfing urges. That's about it though. And so for the past several months I've been unable to do much of anything I normally do with a computer. (You know, screaming and cursing technology.)

I was left unable to upload any pictures of What's Going On Around Here. The chickens. The beans. The birthdays. The flowers. The colonoscopy.

(Scared yet?)

So in the spirit of that, now that my computer is fixed AND I have a new monitor that my trusty husband also procured through his many channels of Free and/or Cheap Stuff, I thought I'd post a few pictures to show you that, despite what you might have thought, life has gone on here while I've been mostly AWOL.

However, my efforts are once again thwarted. Now that my computer works, the server is down and I can not get to any of my photos. So, after I publish this post, I'll just resume with the heavy sighs and rending of clothes.

I wish you a glitch-free day.

No, that's not Daddy

2008-08-04T20:28:00.005-05:00

I suppose it is inevitable, but it's still a bit jarring. You think you're prepared for your kids to grow up, because you know eventually (hopefully) everyone does. But there are always those little moments when it hits you just how real it is, how quickly it's happening. A picture, a glimpse, a comparison of last year's shoes to this year's.

And then, there was today.

Today, my son walked down the hall and called to his sister.

And my younger son, not expecting his Daddy home so early, burst out of his bedroom door squealing, "Daddy?!?"

What greeted him was not the sight of his Daddy, but of his older brother, whose voice has deepened enough that, especially when muffled by distance, he sounds much like his father.

And then it struck me.

There are two men in my house now. One my husband, the other my little boy.

***

If I could...

2008-07-29T22:20:00.007-05:00

...I would wake up every morning and make my husband a good breakfast.

...I would make all our bread from scratch.

...I would volunteer at a local children's home once a week, and I would always ask if I could rock the babies.

...I would send my children to a one-room schoolhouse for most of their education, even if I had to run the place myself.

...I would adopt a little girl whose nose I would kiss each night when I tucked her in under a quilt I'd made just for her.

...I would hire outside help two days a week, not so I could do less, but so I could do more of what I'm good at.

...I would have guests in our home at least one day a week, and they would always leave wishing they could stay.

...I would turn my back yard into a beautiful garden, with places for children and other creatures to run, play, hide, and rest.

...I would never eat another store-bought vegetable.

...I would be more like Apostle Paul, and learn to be content.

***

No rest for the wicked driven.

2008-07-17T17:06:00.006-05:00

I am not a good rester.

I struggle with the desire and need for rest vs. the drivenness I was born with, not to mention that whole guilt for being "idle" that gets drilled into our heads from a young age. (Or am I the only one?)

The reason I've been away so much lately is not because I'm taking it easy, or because I'm taking time off, or because I feel I've been on the computer too much, or any of those noble things that more principled and purposeful people do. (*cough*)

No, it's because I'm busy. I don't know how I got so busy this year, I just am. And summer, which I looked forward to with a good bit of drool trickling down the left side of my chin, has proven just as busy as the school year, just in a different way.

I am on day four of a two week supposed-to-be-restful stretch and I don't feel the least bit restful. No, I'm looking around and thinking of all the things I "could" do if I would buckle down and do it. I don't rest well, ever, if there are things around me that need to be done. So it's hard to sit and quietly read a book or watch a movie when I can see a stray dust bunny in the corner.

I was determined to do something different this summer. Yes, something I normally don't get to do. I had a list, by golly. Know how many of those things I've done? Zero.

And I have a very good reason: I've been busy. I'm still busy. The real trouble with that is that I can't figure out for the life of me what I've been doing. The evidence of my industriousness is apparently somewhat subtle.

The list remains, and I suppose that's OK. Perhaps someday, when I'm 95, I'll have time to learn about Photoshop, and the myriad other things on the list. In the meantime, I'll be here doing...whatever it is I do.

10 random things

2008-06-28T17:54:00.004-05:00

1. No, I'm not dead.

2. Yes, I've been sick.

3. Being sick really stinks. Being sick perpetually really, really stinks.

4. I've been very, very busy.

5. But I've still found time to read. (You should see my nightstand right now.)

6. It's too hot to bake.

7. Which really stinks 'cause cinnamon rolls sound good.

8. Something is eating my tomatoes.

9. But my daisies are blooming.

10. This my favorite song right now:

That is all.

In Memory of Maria

2008-05-25T21:30:00.007-05:00

Late Wednesday night I got an email saying that Steven Curtis Chapman's youngest daughter had passed away.

I don't know Steven personally, but feel a bit like I've grown up with him. The first concert of his that I ever attended had about 50 people present. He had long hair and a hole in the knee of his jeans and he sat down on the edge of the stage and played his guitar and sang to us. It was a little like an impromptu living room jam session, and that night I began to see the heart of someone who truly desired holiness.

Years later, at the prompting of their biological children, Steven and Mary Beth adopted children, and were so deeply moved by the experience that they formed a charity to help other Christian couples give children a family of their own. One of the couples who have gratefully received the help of Shaohannah's Hope are very close friends of mine. Steven and Mary Beth have joyfully lived out before us all a beautiful example of God's redeeming love for us.

Steven and Mary Beth have already established a memorial fund, which they are calling Maria's Miracle, so that children like Maria may know the love of family, even if ever so briefly.

Perhaps it touches me as deeply as it does because when I first saw Maria's picture some time ago, she seemed to be a mirror image of the little girl I have always envisioned, perhaps swinging her buckle-shoes under my table as she talked about ponies and Barbie dolls, were I ever given the opportunity to adopt as I had dreamed. And so when I heard this news, I could not help but cry for the Chapman family, and pray for them as they face this heartbreak.

But what I know through all of this, and what Steven's music has always endeavored to express, is that God is good. Even now, God is good.

A Very Long Meme for May

2008-05-19T13:11:00.011-05:00

I've been tagged by my friend Jess at Making Home for a new meme. So here goes:

Favorite person (outside family): That would be my best friend ever, Dawn. She was my best friend since day one of high school and remains one of my very, very favorite people. I miss her like crazy! I'm hoping we'll be very close neighbors in Heaven!

Favorite Food: I love Italian food most. Crusty toppings, cheesy centers, fresh warm bread...I'm all over it! My favorite desserts, however, are very traditional and comforting. I love pies and cobblers. Blackberry and peach cobbler are served in Heaven, I'm sure of it.

Quirks about me: Ha! I'm not even sure how to answer this. Let's see...my music tastes are, to say the least, very eclectic. I love old hymns, new worship music, Bon Jovi, Heart, Depeche Mode (to name a few bands), country, and Broadway tunes. I love to get dressed up, but really at heart I'm a country girl and could live in jeans and boots. My favorite vehicle is a Dodge Ram 2500. I am very much an introvert but love performing arts. My favorite color of clothing is blue but I almost never wear it because I feel like it draws attention. I love old literature like Sense and Sensibility and the sweet poetry of Elizabeth Barret Browning, but also can't get enough gripping, harsh reality literature like Nelson DeMille. Is that enough quirks?

How would the person who loves you most describe you in ten words or less? (Ask them.) (I had to wait for him to get out of a meeting.) Lovely, quick-witted, industrious, generous, talented, sagacious, God-fearing, elegant, artistic, excellent.

Any regrets in life? Yes, a few. The two big ones that I think about nearly every day are that I wish I had been able to finish college, and even more so I wish I had pursued music like I wanted to instead of being "practical" like I was told.

Favorite Cause/Charity: Local charities have my heart and wallet more so than any other. Local food banks, children's homes, crisis pregnancy centers, and especially people within the body of Christ who are in need. I feel a strong sense of responsibility to help with problems that are right outside my own door.

Favorite Blog Recently: This site has been giving me some insight and also allowed me to live a bit vicariously, ha!

Something you can't get enough of: Books and music.

Worst job you've ever had. The worst job I've ever had was not supposed to be a bad job. It was supposed to be part-time work to feed and clothe me during my sophomore year of college. I worked in a little office and was supposed to call customers who had recently purchased warranties on major purchases like appliances and electronics. My job was to make sure they had received their paperwork, and, at the end of the warranty, my job was to call them to see if they wanted to renew the warranty. It was very low key and my boss was very sweet. However, you would not believe some of the people I encountered on the phone. Most days it was fine and people were happy to take my call, but boy oh boy did I encounter some real doozies. I was screamed at (apparently I was assumed to be someone I wasn't), cussed at (because their purchase was malfunctioning and the repairman hadn't shown up yet that day), had the phone slammed down...it was amazing. I did stick it out till almost the end of the year, but I was so relieved to put in my resignation! Whew!

What job would you pay NOT to have. Last August I was driving into town and a truck pulled out onto the road ahead of us. Immediately there was a horrible stench. As I got closer to the truck the smell was so revolting I became very nauseated and the kids began to flip out a bit in the back seat, asking what smelled so horrible. I can not even describe the horrible, horrible odor. Well, the truck had a trailer on the back of it and on the trailer were about a dozen port-a-potties. This guy was apparently collecting them from construction sites (that is where he had just pulled out from) and taking them back to whatever horrible place they take them to clean them out. One port-a-potty in the sun is enough to peel the skin off your eyelids. Just imagine a dozen of them on a hot August day in Texas, sloshing around on the back of a trailer, and you have just imagined The Job I Could Never Do. I feel for ya buddy, but please...step on it.

If you could be a fly on a wall, where? Mostly political situations. Like I would love to hear the private conversations of Ben Bernanke as our economy continues to crumble. I would love to be there in the Oval Office to find out if George Bush is actually making all these decisions, or if another entity is actually at work. (Too many DeMille novels?) I would really like to know what was said when Mitt Romney decided to quit running, because it just seemed weird.

Favorite Bible verse right now: This has been a favorite for a while now, but I was reminded of it again today when I was reading and thinking about some things I'm trying to accomplish:

Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody. I Thessalonians 4:11-12

Guilty pleasure? Hmmm...There is almost never a day when there is not some chocolate hidden somewhere in the house just for me. I hardly ever touch it, but I know it's there and that's what matters.

Got any confessions? I secretly dream of being three things: a travel photographer, a farmer, and a Broadway singer. There. Now you know. Stop laughing!

If you HAD to spend $1,000 on YOURSELF, how would you spend it? I would rent a pick-up truck, take the open road to somewhere really remote and authentic, stay in a cheap but clean hotel, and spend three or four days all by myself, browsing antique stores and photographing old buildings. Can you tell I've thought about this already?

Favorite thing about your house? I really love my house. I love how open it is from one room to the next. And I really like my kitchen cabinets. They were worth the money.

Least favorite thing about your house? It's not way out in the country! Also I wish we had hardwood floors and solid wood doors.

One thing you're bad at: Staying on top of the details. I am easily overwhelmed.

One thing you're good at: Loving people.

If you would change one thing about your circumstances, what? I truly long to be in good health.

Who would you like to meet someday? My grandmother, Louise; Esther, my Bible heroine; and David Brainerd.

What makes you feel sexy? Among few others, the song, Let's Make Love that Tim and Faith sing, and Doing Something Right, sung by Billy Currington. (Video for that one is a swimsuit edition, ha!) And my husband smiling at me across a room full of people.

Who is your real life hero? For years and years, John Piper. And more recently Paul Washer.

What is the hardest part of your job? The responsibility can be very overwhelming.

When are you most relaxed? When all the kids are in bed and the house is clean, so I can sit down without worrying about getting further behind. (This happens very, very rarely...)

What stresses you out? Having too much to do. Mainly just the small little things that add up to huge ginormous things.

What can you not live without? Books and music.

Do you agree or disagree with the recent article that reported that blogs are authored by narcissists? I think I read that, but now can't remember where I saw it. Yes, and no. I've come across some narcissistic blogs. But at least among the blog circles I tend to keep up with, it's about the same as a conversation with a friend. I do think the medium is ripe for narcissism, though, so maybe I'm just not out there enough to see how bad it really is.

Why do you blog? That's a very good question, sometimes I wonder myself! *grin* Mainly as an outlet. *shrug* It's not a big deal and I don't feel the least bit obligated to keep it updated either. Ha! I enjoy writing, and this is some place to keep some of it stashed. If it ends up being of any benefit to someone else, then it was completely worth it to keep it here instead of in a file somewhere!

*****
Now listen, I am no good at tagging people. I can never think of people, and when I do, they often flake. (Ha!) But according the rules, I'm supposed to tag:

Two Newish Bloggers:

My sister Deanna.
(Visit her blog at your own risk, because she's a complete goofball and not the least bit like me. Not one bit. None.)

Can't think of another one, so I'll have to come back to this one!

Two Blog Friends:

My friend Kim at Living A Full Life.

And Mrs. Elliot, who really should move to Texas instead of England! ;-)

Two Bloggers I'd Like To Know Better this one was hard but I'm going to pick

Heather at Stepping Heavenward.

Ruth at MacCarthaigh Family.

****

Caedinisms

2008-05-12T12:16:00.006-05:00

Sitting in the van with his Daddy, waiting for me to appear from the abyss-like entity that is Walmart on a Saturday afternoon, Caedin, observing someone walking by, piped up and said, "Hey, that lady must be going to a birthday, she has an enchilada!!!"

Pinata, son. Pinata.

****

Chicken Bottoms

2008-05-09T11:12:00.006-05:00

Aren't they cute?

*****
PS: There is absolutely no point to this post whatsoever.

Homeschooling for regular folks

2008-04-30T18:39:00.005-05:00

Once again, our school year is coming to an end. In an attempt to keep both a workable schedule and my sanity, we follow a fairly typical school-year pattern, with a few extra days off here and there. And so once again I am perusing the workbooks we've completed, the books we have read, and our broadened horizons.

If you come to my blog seeking phenomenal homeschooling insight complete with printable copies of our lesson plans and the showcasing of our accomplishments, you're going to be sorely disappointed. Especially this year. Because this year has been especially hard. For many reasons, I have questioned my capabilities, my motivation, and my reasoning this entire year. There are many, many blogs out there where you can go to read about five year olds reading Screwtape Letters and 15 year olds heading off to college on full scholarships. Trust me, there are plenty of websites where they reveal how Mom finds new ways to incorporate counting for her 4 year old, fractions for her 9 year old, home economics for her 12 year old, and chemistry for her 14 year old, all by having them happily make the family's daily batch of bread together.

But not here. Here we get real. And this is my reality.

For the past five years, I have had people step back and say they can't relate to me. I have had people's mouths drop open as they say, "How do you DO that?" I've even been mocked, as one woman at a party announced to everyone there that I homeschool, and then proceeded to bow to me and chant, "We're not worthy." It was stupid. It was embarrassing. When I think about it, it still is.

Because in reality, I'm just a regular mom. This has never been more clear to me than in the past 8 months as I muddle through this school year, and now as I go over our achievements for the year. To my mind, our achievements are sadly lacking. That's probably not fair. In truth, my children are doing well.This year, they aren't exceeding expectations, but then I have not been able to set outstanding expectations, and they have simply met the ones I had. I am, after all, the captain of this ship, and I suppose it didn't hurt them much if they ended up playing on deserted islands a few extra days when circumstances ran us aground.

And so now, with the season we are in, the pressure is on. Because not only is the current year winding down, but the next year is coming up. Because of the rough year I've had, it feels like next year is looming over me like a black cloud. (Hey, I warned you I'd be getting real.) It makes me want to head for the hills. For brief moments, when the school bus runs past our house and I see happy children run down the steps and into their front yards, I ask myself, "Hey, just how bad could it be, anyway?" If you know me at all, you know that's a sure sign I've had enough. At least for now.

So what greets me in the mail when I'm already feeling the pressure? 'Tis the season! Catalogs. Magazines. Brochures. Fliers for the next curriculum fair. Co-ops that boast teachers with 20 years of experience. All of them bigger, better, more detailed, more exciting than the last one. Each year, the publishers become more and more intense in their marketing to homeschoolers. Can we blame them? With more and more people choosing parent-led education, there is a huge market out there that just about every curriculum publisher wants to tap into in some way. And so competition is inevitable. This program is done entirely online. That one is solely DVDs. This one provides an online tutor and grade-keeping. This one is interactive and fun. This one is classic and has 20 years of proven success. This one caters to science lovers. This one caters to writers. This one is half the cost of private school. This one provides a transcript fully recognized by accredited schools. This one says forget all that and read to your kids.

In the 80s and 90s, when homeschooling was really getting its wings, it was lauded as a wonderful way to further the family. It was a family-centric and often God-centric way of educating children. Many people accomplished great things with a math book, a grammar book, and a Bible. Perhaps that's overly simplistic, but the fact is, as time has gone on, homeschooling has become very market-driven. Sure, in the back of our heads, we still think of it as family-centered and hopefully God-centered. But alongside that is a stack of catalogs, books, and homeschooling blogs. Expectations we feel pressured to live up to. Don't we want the best for our children?

I have always thought I would pursue the Classical approach to homeschooling. That seemed ideal to me, on paper at least. My 8 year old hasn't had a science lesson so far...we're too busy with math, grammar, reading, and exploration. But that's OK, because the Classical format doesn't start science till the upper grades. Whew, we're OK. But wait...if we're a Classical homeschool, he should be doing Latin! Crap. So what is he behind in? Science? Latin? Shoot.

These are things that could (and have) kept me up at night. If that woman who kept bowing to me only knew...

And so I have to keep reminding myself of what the goal is here: A Christ-centered home, that produces intelligent, clear-thinking, Godly children. Children who love their parents and each other, who value the path of learning as much as the knowledge attained. Who see God in the puffiness of a springtime cloud and in the tiny details of a chicken's wing. Who see pride in the eyes of the woman who both taught them to read and made them cinnamon toast for breakfast.

This is not achieved by curriculum. It is not achieved by buying the latest profit-driven online course. It is not achieved by racing my children from one class or activity to the next as I try to prove to myself and all the other-schoolers that homeschoolers can do just as well or even better. It is done by being here. And despite all this year's circumstances, that's one thing I've done well.

I expect next year will be better. Though I'm not picking out our books for next year (in fact, I'm deliberately avoiding it), I do have plans for how to be better prepared for the hurdles that will inevitably pop up, and I am hoping I won't be so hard on myself when they do.

On page 1A, my son's first math lesson this year, he was asked what 3+1 is. By lesson 30F, the last one in the book which he completed last week, he was asked what 76,541-32,153 is. He got them both right. Is that a successful school year? Perhaps. But even more so is the fact that each night, my students kiss me goodnight, and tell me they love me.

Perspective is a beautiful thing.

Happy 12th Birthday, Chana

2008-04-29T17:57:00.001-05:00

They're Here

2008-04-15T16:17:00.006-05:00

And they're as cute as can be.

****

Material Kids

2008-04-01T12:48:00.005-05:00

I don't have much patience when it comes to self-absorption or materialism. This is especially true when such traits are observed in those whom I gave birth to. Until very recently this has not really been a problem. But now that my children are getting older, I've been asking myself if I could have been better prepared.

This problem has caused me to evaluate how I have taught my children about our duty to put others before ourselves, and people before things. I wish there had been a formula for raising American children to not be materialistic. It would have made things a lot easier: Just follow these three easy steps and they'll love their neighbors (and you!) and only lay up treasures in Heaven. But there was no such formula, and instead I tried to meet the challenge of raising them right in a wrong-headed world as best I could.

There are many things I have attempted to teach them, as the mother of four children and the keeper of a one-income home, in order to instill a right attitude in the hearts of my kids. Among them are:

1. It truly is better to give than to receive. This, I think, has sunk in the most. How many times have I sat down to unwrap Christmas gifts with my children and, instead of tearing into their presents, they have climbed into my lap and handed me handmade cards or gifts, watching excitedly as I enjoy the treasure that they created for me. The look of satisfaction on their faces as I express my thanks for the handmade flowers or pencil-drawn cards is precious and invaluable, and knowing they find true joy in bringing me joy is worth every moment of the times I have tried to lead by example in this regard.

2. Gifts are just that...gifts. They are not an obligation, nor are they an indication that the receiver is of worth. There will be birthdays when there is one gift. There will be birthdays when there are ten. There will be lean Christmases, and plenteous Christmas. What you receive is not an indication of your worth to the giver, nor should it be what determines their worth to you.

3. In furthering point 2, gifts are for Christmas and birthdays. Food, clothing, and shelter are necessities of life, and what we will work till our fingers bleed to provide. Praise the Lord when you have them. Extras are just that...extra...and they come on special occasions. This has not been a shatter-proof rule, as we occasionally will buy them books, but other than that I can only think of one time when we bought each of our kids something they wanted on a non-occasion. We were at Toys R Us, and we told each of them they could spend $10. They all thought we had lost our minds, but once they realized we were serious they went a bit nutty. My two youngest bought nerf guns, and proceeded to pelt me with foam bullets all the way home in the van. (Maybe that's why we never did that again.)

4. Advertisers are not your friend. They do not know you, so they don't know what you "need." It doesn't matter if they say you have to have X to go with your Y. Usually, X is enough. Sometimes, X is even too much. Just because there is a "vehicle sold separately" doesn't mean you need that vehicle. (Your action figure likes to ride the Lego car that you used your imagination to build!)

5. Enough is enough. Once you reach the point of "enough," then you must eliminate something before you get something else. If you don't, then suddenly enough becomes too much. "Too much" comes with a huge set of problems.

6. People are more important than things. If your things cause you too much stress, too much work, or cause you to mistreat someone else, they are not worth the price. If you would be unkind to your brother, or disrespectful to your mom, because you feel strongly about a material possession, then that possession is too important to you. It's time to get things back in balance.

7. If you don't care about it enough to take care of it, then you don't care about it enough to keep it.

8. Whatever we possess is a blessing from God. How we respond to His blessing is our decision. There will always be someone who has more, and someone who has less. Part of holiness is learning to be content.

9. God does not owe us anything, including an explanation.

10. It could all be gone in a moment.

These, among other things, are the values I have tried to instill in my children regarding their material possessions. There are some times when this is more difficult, and yet there have been times I have been pleasantly surprised by the loose grip with which they hold their things.

Recently, though, this area has become a true challenge. The "gimmes" and ingratitude have infiltrated our family, not by my youngest children, but my oldest. I have theories about this, which I am still feeling out. Suffice to say, so far my estimation has been that material possessions are the assumed answer to peer pressure and the desire to fit in. Of course a wise person will see this as faulty logic, but how many truly wise teenagers are there? There is a tremendous learning curve that takes place between 12 and 20, and we are only at the start of the curve. In the meantime, I am constantly battling the insistent desires for earthly possessions that I know will never satisfy. By the time one desire has been fulfilled, a new one will take its place, and the vicious cycle of materialism will already be in full swing.

Having faced this uphill battle repeatedly for the past few months, I have had to think and rethink my above approaches. Did I do it right? Did I cover all the bases? What have I left out? Are there weak spots? Is that why this is happening now?

I suppose I could dissect the reasons for the possession-obsession that I am witnessing at times. Peers have it all. Two-income friends vs. our one-income household. Kids are all allowed to bring their latest gadgets everywhere they go. Too much TV. Billboards. Ads in publications as unassuming as Lego Magazine. A greater awareness of culture and technology. I must admit my analytical brain is tempted to hammer it all out, find all the reasons, figure out workable solutions...

But then, I am reminded that this all stems not from external stimuli, but the internal state of the heart. If my above reasonings have been correct, then our children have not been raised to have an unhealthy view of material things. They have been raised to be thankful for what they have, to recognize God's gracious provision in every state they might be in, and to keep their priorities straight.

This, then, is the test. It is, to use an old cliche, where the rubber meets the road. As kids get older, they will naturally be more exposed to these temptations. Because they are unwise, they will make unwise assumptions. They will assume that a cell phone will help them fit in. They will assume that a certain brand of shoes is going to help define them. They will assume that having the latest gadget will get the right girl's attention. And when they look around, their tunnel vision will allow them only to see who has the thing they most long for at the moment, and so their cry will be, "Everybody's doing it."

I mentioned earlier that I don't have a lot of patience for this attitude. And so when I hear the cry of "everybody's doing it" or "I'm the only one who doesn't have," my immediate reply is somewhat dated: "If everybody jumped off a cliff would you do it?" and "I never had that when I was your age, and I lived to tell about it."

This is much tougher than the "now honeys" and "we'll sees" their friends hear. But they need to learn to function in a world filled with temptation. Not just the temptation to lust after material possessions, but the temptation to dishonor God, their parents, and themselves by how they react to things, or the lack of things. And as parents, it's our duty to not give in to our children's sin because it's easier than fighting about it or because we feel guilty or for any other reason. We must hold ourselves, and our children, to the high standard of Scripture, even if nobody else is doing it. Because that's what God says, and because what God thinks is much more important than what our friends think.

Do not love the world nor the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life, is not from the Father, but is from the world. The world is passing away, and also its lust, but the one who does the will of God lives forever.
1 John 2:15-17

****
The photo collage above was found on flickr.com

It's why we keep him

2008-03-27T19:39:00.007-05:00

Tylan: I want to be able to go really high on the swings without being scared.

Caedin: I can do that.

Tylan: I also want to learn to ride my bike really, really fast without falling off.

Caedin: I can already do that.

Tylan: (dramatically) I want to be BRAVE and BOLD!

Caedin: I'm already brave, but I'm not bold because I have hair.

Caedinisms: It's why we keep him, folks.

****

A quilt for Silas

2008-03-26T10:56:00.004-05:00

Now that my friend Jessica finally had her baby and his quilt has made it safely to the other side of the world, I can show you here.

These are the fabrics I decided on. Muted and boyish, but not too babyish, I think.

I decided on a pattern called Road To Washington, which I've made several of before, but never for a baby quilt, so that was fun.

Here is my original sketch of a block. Brought to you by Crayola. Hey, only the most ~~professional~~ convenient design products are used in my ~~studio~~ kitchen.

Hard to believe all this sliced up fabric will ever be something useful, eh?

Here's the first finished block!

...And the finished quilt. I have to say that this one went together extremely easily. I usually have at least two or three "argh!" moments in making a quilt, and this time it went together without a hitch.

A closeup of the block detail. This turned out to be one of my most satisfying projects, actually. I was just very happy with the way the colors blended and the pattern fit well with a baby-but-not-too-babyish theme.

I have several ideas for more quilts in the coming months. For now, though, I have stored the sewing machine away, since it's time to start the garden!

My Living Hope

2008-03-23T15:40:00.004-05:00

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His great mercy has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to obtain an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in Heaven for you, who are protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.

In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ; and though you have not seen Him, you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, obtaining as the outcome of your faith the salvation of your souls. 1 Peter 1:3-9

***
(photo credit katapi.org)

Texas Floats

2008-03-18T13:05:00.009-05:00

In the likely event that you think Texas is a dry, dusty place with cowboys riding dehydrated hosses through deserts of cactus, I submit these photos to challenge your perceptions:

This is my front yard.

This is my raised-bed garden that we just finished framing and composting last night

Photos were taken from the safety of my warm, dry ~~ark~~ house.

***

A few random thoughts

2008-03-17T00:27:00.004-05:00

1. I am a year older. I don't feel a year older. I don't think I look a year older either, but I'm afraid to ask anyone else.

2. Few things make me happy like putting the last touches on a new quilt.

3. I want a clothesline.

4. For those who asked, Mark lost his election to a 30-year-incumbant. He lost by 40 votes. No, we aren't sad or upset about it. Now we can do other things.

5. Like start the garden.

6. This year's Spring Break is a working vacation. But without the vacation. We have a long, long list of things we want to accomplish. Two days down and we are well on our way.

7. I ruined my dining table yesterday. I was hoping to either refinish or replace it sometime soon, but I wasn't planning on that being like...now.

8. I have two new Tried and Trues to publish here. I will try to do that this week. Did I mention we're on Spring Break?

9. I could look at small-farm and homesteading websites all day. I think I've proven that at least twice in the last week.

10. Easter sneaking up on me in March this year has put a serious crimp in my style. Undeterred, however, I have plans for a fabulous Sunrise Breakfast. I can't wait to taste it.

That's all for now. More when I'm more awake.

The Unwasted Life

2008-03-09T16:49:00.006-05:00

On a recent episode of House, Dr. Wilson performed follow-up tests on a patient who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer a few months earlier. Dr. Wilson was astounded when he realized the man did not, in fact, have cancer, and would likely live a long life. Dr. Wilson was ecstatic to deliver the news to his patient that the man was not dying. However, things quickly turned sour when the man became angry and confused by the news.

He had told everyone goodbye. He had sold his house. He had prepared for the worst, and was now leaving on an extended vacation where he would finish out his days. Tears and questioning behind him, he looked forward to his last few weeks on earth with a sense of sad finality. And so to sit in the office of the doctor whose condemning diagnosis had wreaked havoc on his life, only to be told he had taken all those measures far prematurely, was a frustrating and angering experience. It wasn't that he necessarily wanted to die now, but he had put forth concerted effort towards dying, and he didn't want to live in these new circumstances, broke and homeless.

When I saw this story line, it immediately started me thinking. At the assumed end of his life, this man was faced with handling things that brought him no joy. Along with the mundane tasks of getting his financial affairs in order, he experienced the emotional tasks of selling his home and telling his family goodbye. Then, once he had prepared for the inevitable, he planned his escape: An extended time away where he would hopefully wring out a few moments of happiness from the remains of his life.

I don't know how reasonable it is to hope for a constant state of preparedness, but I wonder how different that man's perspective would have been if he had lived in one. His story-line was not in depth. We don't know what his family life was like, how attached he was to his home, if he had worked at a job he loved for decades and had to quit, if he had relationships that had turned sour over the years, or really much at all about his personhood. What we do know is that he was devastated and angered by the fact that his life had been turned upside down, only to be turned upright again, but with several key components missing.

But I think what stood out to me most in this brief side-bar of a story line was this: He wasn't dying. He had been told of his imminent demise, but it wasn't actually going to happen. And so, though perfectly healthy, he began to act as though he were dying. He stopped living life as he knew it, changed things dramatically, and had his own hand in the upheaval of his life. He accepted his diagnosis and began to make dramatic changes based on what he'd been told, rather than what he felt like. He didn't feel sick, but he quit working, sold his house, told his loved ones goodbye, and walked away from his life. What a waste. Even if he had been dying, and had the benefit of feeling well right up till the end, he made the choice to waste his final days. He used his diagnosis as license to stop living. And consequently, beginning to live again was a daunting task.

In his superb little book Don't Waste Your Life, pastor and author John Piper writes,

We waste our lives when we do not pray and think and dream and plan and work toward magnifying God in all spheres of life. God created us for this: to live our lives in a way that makes him look more like the greatness and the beauty and the infinite worth that he really is. In the night sky of this world, God appears to most people, if at all, like a pinprick of light in a heaven of darkness. But he created us and called us to make him look like what he really is. This is what it means to be created in the image of God. We are meant to image forth in the world what he is really like.

This is my absolute desire for my life here on earth. To be so consumed with doing my part to display God's glory that even my final days are used to eek out one more measure for Him. In recent months I have been mentally taking note of things that get left undone, things that aren't completed, things that should be taken care of, things that need to be eliminated, things that can be simplified, things that take too much time and rob too much joy, things that aren't worth the effort. Reflecting on these naturally causes me to consider their opposites: Things I've accomplished, things that are worth all the effort, things that, were Jesus to ask me at the end of the day what I had accomplished for Him, I would be proud to lay at His feet.

I am frustrated and feeling "stuck" recently, and much of it is due to a lack of organization and a strong sense of being overwhelmed by myriad mundane little things that rob precious time and energy. I am having to rethink my priorities, regroup my thoughts, and realign my daily tasks with my eternal goals. This has not been easy for me, but I can not deny the whispered undercurrent of discontent. It is not unhappiness that I feel, but rather a strong sense that I must throw aside "everything that hinders" (Hebrews 12:1) so that the life He has given me is not wasted as a consequence of my lack of focus and priorities.

If the discontent with your present situation is deep, recurrent, and lasting, and if that discontent grows in Bible-saturated soil, God may be calling you to a new work. If, in your discontent, you long to be holy, to walk pleasing to the Lord, and to magnify Christ with your one, brief life, then God may indeed be loosening your roots in order to transplant you to a place and a ministry where the deep spiritual ambitions of your soul can be satisfied...When he deploys you from one place to the next, he offers fresh and deeper drinking at the fountain of his fellowship. God seldom calls us to an easier life, but always calls us to know more of him and drink more deeply of his sustaining grace. -John Piper

I don't want to be like the man in that story, allowing only circumstance to dictate my perspective and approach. I long for God's glory to be reflected in my life, to embrace the refinement and change that He brings, and to be disciplined enough that when there is a bend in the path, I can gently set my feet in its direction as I surrender to His plan for me. This is an unwasted life.

Saving the World

2008-03-03T21:29:00.018-06:00

Tomorrow.

After months and months of hard work, late nights, boring meetings, and oodles of patience.

We finally get to vote for Daddy, and for Dr. Paul.

They say real conservatives are a dying breed. And maybe they're right.

But I don't know how anyone can say no to a face like this.

Or logic like this.

The first signs of spring

2008-03-01T15:28:00.004-06:00

Today we have blossoms.

It is amazing to me what good nature does my soul. But somehow, seeing these tiny white flowers on a fledgling tree in my backyard renews my hope.

Spring is here, and with it come the plans and dreams of a wanna-be homesteader on a small plot of land.

A victory garden, rows of berry bushes, a small orchard, a fish pond, a cutting garden, a few chickens...these are the hopes that keep my mind racing as I try to fall asleep.

Welcome, happy spring. I've missed you.

He gets it.

2008-02-25T19:28:00.009-06:00

A few weeks ago I had a conversation about politics with my 13 year old son. He asked me how we as Americans got to the point where we are today, with liberals running both parties.

I told him, in language just enough beyond his grasp as to invite more questions, how that had happened. I had several examples from my own life time, and I'm not even that old. It has, for the most part, been gradual. The slipping of something unnecessary into a bill, the compromise so "progress" can be made, the "crossing of the aisle," the tauting of how well a "conservative" managed to work within a liberal-controlled environment as though that were a good thing.

We talked about being known by our fruits, not just the fact that there is fruit, but what type of fruit it is.

The past 8 years have shown phenomenal change in what is acceptable to conservatives. A current presidential candidate acted and legislated as a liberal for 20 years, and is now considered the front-runner of the conservative party. He espouses a hundred year occupation of a foreign land, believes the war we started that has taken countless lives and destroyed the property and livelihood of millions was the right thing to do, and endorses the continued loss of privacy and civil liberties of American citizens. Meanwhile, his opponent (who says he would be honored to share a ticket with the likes of him)looks naively into the debate camera and says he "hopes we aren't going to have a recession" when it is blatantly obvious that we already are in one, but what the heck, let's spend more money on space exploration, and here's another $50 billion dollars I'd like the American people to cough up, too.

He asked why people put up with it, why people accept the destruction of our founding principles, why they don't react and rebel. That answer is painfully simple. They've been conditioned to believe what they're told. They've had the national anthem played, the bands have marched, the bombers have flown overhead to wild applause, the President has said God Bless America, their classrooms have been filled with red-white-and blue, and to this backdrop they have been told how free they are and how thankful they should be. They learned about the founders, they learned about liberty, and sometime while we were distracted by setting off the fireworks and playing baseball, the gnarled hands of tyranny began to strip it all away.

Two weeks ago my son climbed into the van after school, shut the door, and sighed. "Mom," he said, "You won't believe this. No, wait. You will."
He told me that in their journals that day, they were asked to write about the principles of freedom on which our country was founded and answer the question, "Is America still free?" I knew where this was going.

He was the only one who said that our freedoms had gradually been stripped away from us, until what little we have left is in jeopardy. "Everyone read their journals and all of them talked about how free we are and how blessed and lucky we are. Blessed and lucky. Lucky and blessed. When I read mine they all looked like they didn't get it."

So that day, we had another conversation. This time, it was about standing alone. Sometimes, you have to. Sometimes you have to be the lightning rod in a world of storms. For the most part, when things are all going smoothly, no one thinks about them. But when they're needed, people are thankful they're there. There's often a price for having an unpopular message. But that's OK if you're right.

He gets it. And for as long as he does, there is hope for a new generation.

****

In case you haven't heard

2008-02-25T12:35:00.004-06:00

Freedom is still popular.

Austin, Texas, Saturday, February 23, 2008

****
Thanks to Bryan Martin for the photo.

Comfort Food

2008-02-15T11:15:00.006-06:00

Remember back in the old days when I said I was going to post some of our favorite recipes? Yeah, well, I haven't forgotten, I just haven't cooked anything in months. (I'm kidding! Sheesh.) But I have been busy. But in the spirit of keeping promises, here is a hands-down favorite dish at our house. True, tasty, comfort food that disappears in a big hurry. I've made this for 13 years and it still gets met with anticipation as the kids come racing to the kitchen to see what smells so good. It freezes great (add the dumplings right before you bake it, don't freeze them) too.

Chicken and Dumpling Casserole

1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped onion
2 minced garlic cloves (powder works too)
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup flour
2 tsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. dried basil
1/2 tsp. black pepper
4 cups chicken broth
1 10-ounce package frozen green peas
4 cups cubed cooked chicken

Dumplings:
2 cups buttermilk biscuit mix
2 tsp. dried basil
2/3 cup milk

In a decent sized sauce pan, saute the onion and celery in the butter till they're tender. Mix all your dry ingredients together in a bowl, then add it to the pan. Add the broth and bring it all to a boil, whisking feverishly. Cook and stir at a boil for a minute or two, then reduce the heat. Add the frozen peas and cook for 5 minutes. Keep stirring! Now stir in the chicken, and pour it all into a greased 13x9 inch pan. Make the dumplings by combining all the ingredients just until incorporated. (Note that you can also make your own biscuits and add basil, that's usually what I do but of course the boxed stuff is quicker.) Now drop it evenly in twelve helpings on the top of the chicken mixture. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes, then put foil over it and bake for 10 more minutes. This will serve about 6 hungry people, more if some of your people are small.

There you go, a family favorite that's been tested and tried for almost as long as I've been married! Hmmm, now that I think about it, we have a pretty darn good marriage and maybe this dish has something to do with it...

The Stuff of Love

2008-02-12T15:13:00.004-06:00

When I was in elementary school, Valentine's Day was celebrated with fanfare and excitement. The week before the impending holiday, Miss Beal would come by our desks with a large red piece of cardstock. The cardstock was folded over and stapled at the sides, forming a pocket, with our name written in black sharpie across the top.

Then the real fun began. Out came the construction paper, the stickers, the glitter, the paper doilies... all things that a child's creativity can run away with. Each year, my Valentine pocket was different. Now, with severals years of scrapbooking behind me, I think back to those days of cutting and pasting and imagine the possibilities if I had known then what I know now.

Once the pocket was completed, it was hung on the front of our desk. For an entire week, we could walk past the desks of other students and admire their festive creations. Glitter fell from its poorly glued foundations and spilled onto math books. Stickers came loose and had to be taped on, usually haphazardly by the boys and meticulously by the girls. It was all done in anticipation of The Big Day.

I realize now that it wasn't a big deal at all. What seemed like a tremendous amount of energy and a huge celebration of Valentine's Day to us as children was really just a couple of hours of creativity and eating too much sugar. But on Valentine's Day morning, we all brought our mass-produced valentines and dropped them into the appropriate pockets, the excitement palpable. We lined our homemade treats and our candy bags up on the brown shelf near our lunch boxes. We bemoaned our tortured state as we somehow made it through the morning hours till lunch time, then through reading time, and then finally, the hour we had been waiting for... The Party.

We dumped out the contents of our pockets on our desktops, squealing if there were candy attached and laughing dramatically if we had chosen the same cartoon-character themed valentines as someone else. They were signed in jagged, rough penmanship, a teacher's critical eye unavailable at the time of signing. The boys signed only their names, the girls played favorites still, "To my best friend, to my best best friend, to my best best best BEST friend."

And then the candy, the cupcakes, the heart-shaped cookies outlined with red-hots, the pink lemonade and pixie-sticks. A brown paper towel was laid on everyone's desk, and then laden with goodies unlike anything we'd seen since the Christmas Party. And then, sugar-induced excitement sent us running after our coats, our boots, our mittens and scarves, and we burst out the back door of the school, onto the playground and out into the snow for the rest of the school day.

This was Valentine's Day to me as a child. Excitement and fun and school books tucked away. Something different and magical in the air, like Christmas, but much more temporary. The next day, it was over. The pockets gone home with children, the treats only crumbs and empty bags. Memories that even now, 25 years later, come back to me whenever I see my children chopping hearts out of construction paper.

It was, perhaps, a poor perspective on Valentine's Day. It was what I grew up believing Valentine's to be all about, the Hallmark-version, if you will. As time has gone on, I have found myself caring less and less about holidays and more and more about day-to-day life. Instead of anticipating the highlights, I find delight in the everyday. I find myself wishing for more of the little moments that happen, the unphotographed, unexpected, unretouched moments that over time make life what it is.

Mark asked me to marry him on Valentine's Day. "How sweet," people say when they learn this. Yes, but sweeter still are the 15 years from then till now. 15 years of silly notes, of shared secrets, of reading the other's thoughts, of knowing looks, of stifled laughter, of looking into the other's eyes and finding a large part of yourself there. I don't remember any Valentine's Day gifts, large or small, that we have shared in 15 years. We rarely go out, and when we do we avoid the crowds and don't go on Valentine's Day. He doesn't buy me chocolate, and I'm far too practical to ask for jewelry. Of the flowers he has brought me, almost all have been for no reason at all.

I have grown away from the expectation of Valentine's Day. The child-like anticipation of gifts and candy and flowers have been replaced with an undercurrent of comfort and abiding happiness. I have learned through times of highs and lows, through times of not being able to afford gifts when we wanted to give them, and then not wanting them when we finally could, that what satisfies me is not the unexpected, but the comfort of knowing love never fails.

There was glitter in my childhood Valentine's Day, and a glossy sheen that decoupaged the newness and expectations of young love. I can only smile at the constant clambering after the glitter and sheen that fades, wilts, and goes quickly out of fashion that I notice during this time of the year. Give me the common, the comfortable, the minutiae of life. The voice that always answers, the arms that always open. The same key in the same lock, opening the same door year after year.

This is not merely the stuff of life.

This is the stuff of love.

***

Choose Life

2008-02-06T09:08:00.000-06:00

You just never know what God will do.

Many mothers cherish the first kicks they feel from their unborn babies.

But unknown to one U.K. mother, the kicking she felt from the twins growing inside her actually saved her life, according to a report from the Daily Mail.

Michelle Stepney, 35, said her twins Alice and Harriet, now age 13 months, were a lively pair in the womb. At the time, however, she had no idea that constant kicking she felt actually dislodged a tumor that had formed on her cervix and, according to doctors, saved her life.

Shortly after becoming pregnant, Stepney of Cheam in South-West London was taken to the hospital after suffering what was believed to be a miscarriage. Soon doctors realized she was still pregnant, but had developed life-threatening cervical cancer. Stepney declined to have an abortion and doctors at the Royal Marsden Hospital in London agreed to give her reduced chemotherapy in the hope of stopping the cancer spreading during the pregnancy.

But it wasn't the chemo that ultimately saved Stepney.

"I couldn't believe it when the doctors told me that the babies had dislodged the tumor," she said. "I'd felt them kicking, but I didn't realize just how important their kicking would turn out to be. I owe my life to my girls, and that's why I could have never agreed with a termination."

Source

Future For Sale

2008-01-31T23:16:00.000-06:00

In a study released by the National Taxpayers' Union this week, each presidential candidate's awareness of our economy's current state of bankruptcy is revealed in plain English. It seems your presidential candidates are living in a dream world, ...you know, where everything all works out in real life even if it won't work out on paper, and everyone lived happily ever after.

The report concludes that the other remaining Republican candidates, Mitt Romney, John McCain and Mike Huckabee, have proposed spending increases of $19.5 billion, $6.9 billion and $54 billion respectively.

These men are clearly naive if they think this country's economy can withstand this outrageous spending, and this solidly proves their ignorance of the crisis we are in as our dollar is devalued more and more by the day and we borrow more and more money from communist countries. This is unthinkable. To support any of these three men is to further bankrupt our country and steal from every single one of our children. I would like to ask them (particularly Mr. Huckabee, since in both debates and in proposals he seems to have the least amount of grasp on economic issues): Where, sir, are you going to get that money?

Perhaps our esteemed candidates would like to read up on exactly what state of crisis our economy is in. In case any of them read this blog, I'll leave a link for them. I'll also leave it here for anyone who comes to this blog and feels fully qualified to make a vote for the next president of our country. Please listen: Our country is $53 TRILLION dollars in the hole. That number is one we cannot fathom. It looks like this:

$53,000,000,000,000

If you can't wrap your brain around that many zeros, consider this: Your share is $175,000. Your husband's share is $175,000. Each of your children is already in debt $175,000 to their government. Your household represents another $400,000 of debt that must be paid. The banks aren't going to erase our debt because we ask them nicely. China certainly is not. Look at your children. Look into their eyes, and consider the future you want them to have, the hope you have felt for the life they will lead as Christians and Americans. Their future has been sold before they could even begin to move toward it. What are you going to do to stop this insanity so your children do not become slaves?

If you aren't particularly savvy on American economics, please read. If this very busy, sleep-deprived wife and mother can grasp it, so can you. Your country is in crisis. If you won't make time to learn, please don't make time to vote. You are blinded by ignorance, and you will have unwittingly exchanged your children's future for a lie.

How do you start a revolution? One mind at a time.

2008-01-29T16:41:00.000-06:00

Listen carefully as a talk-show host reaches an epiphany on the air.

This is exactly how many people have been won back to the ideals of small, constitutional government...by exposing the glaring faults of the establishment. Sometimes, like on this lucky day, the establishment will even do it for you.

It occurs to Mr. Larsen suddenly that every candidate is the same. That no matter who you vote for, you're going to end up with the same outcome. More government. More spending. More waste. More war.

At a recent debate, as Dr. Ron Paul spoke, he was mocked and chuckled at by every other candidate. "We're going to miss you tomorrow night, Ron," John McCain jeered, referring to the fact that Dr. Paul had been left purposefully uninvited by Fox News to a Republican candidate forum the next evening, while the rest of them would be attending. Who laughed at John McCain's disrespectful comment? They all did. Why? Because every one of them fears a truly free people. As well they should. A truly free people would unseat their pompous rear-ends, exposing them for the liars and thieves that they are.

Some of us won't vote for more of the same.

Mr. Larsen, welcome to the revolution.

***
As a caution, the clip contains some strong language.

A Book Meme

2008-01-28T11:30:00.002-06:00

Heather at Stepping Heavenward tagged me for a book meme.

Here are the rules:

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages.)
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

Here we go:

"At the time of this writing, gel-filled bras and fluids with medical uses (including, specifically, K-Y Jelly) are exempt from the three-ounce limit imposed on most fluids at the security gates. The TSA's lists go into bizarre detail, permitting sabers and meat cleavers, for example, in checked luggage, but prohibiting water. Hand grenades and gunpowder are not allowed--even in checked baggage."

Taken from A Nation of Sheep by Andrew P. Napolitano.

This is a very odd segment to pull out of this noteworthy book, so much so that I thought about cheating and grabbing the next-closest book. But rules are rules, folks, so there you have it!

I'm not sure who to tag. I'll have to think about that one.

Provision

2008-01-23T13:11:00.001-06:00

The first house we ever owned was a broken down, 50-year-old 2-bedroom ranch that had not been taken care of. The carpet was an ugly blue and smelled of animals and cigarettes. The cupboards looked like they had been ripped out of an old house trailer and hammered onto the walls. The bathroom had pink carpet and there was a ring around the tub that was so thick and brown I never did get rid of it completely.

My mother gave us a used dryer, and my mother-in-law bought us a used washer for $50. The washer had a dent in the top from where someone had dropped something on it, but it ran well and washed hundreds of loads of little jeans, dresses, and burp cloths. The dryer was harvest gold, almost as old as I was, but if you held the door shut with a kitchen chair, it dried our clothes just fine.

The furnace in our new house gave out one day about a year after we moved in. We called someone to look at it, but the estimate was way too high for us to pay. So we paid him the fifty-dollar service call fee and told him we'd call him when we got some extra money. I still remember the estimate, because it hung on my refrigerator for months. "$232 for new ignition switch. Price includes parts and installation." All that winter, we would rise to a cold house, run to the thermostat, and turn the furnace on and off, on and off, until the ignition finally caught. Then we would race back to bed and huddle under the covers until the house warmed up and we could begin our day.

In our rental house before that, we lived with windows that rattled in the cold mid-west winter winds, and a door with a terrible draft on one side. One morning I woke after a blizzard to find a swath of snow across the floor in the dining room. The wind had blown towards the door just right, leaving a gap that brought the cold, dusty signs of winter right into our home. And so at our new house, despite the broken furnace, we were thankful for a solid front door and new windows we had installed ourselves before winter set in.

After moving to Texas and finding out we would be having yet another baby, it was quite evident we needed a bigger car. We test drove the finest we thought we could afford and everything leading up to that, but in the end we felt very strongly that we would not be good stewards by going into debt for a fancy new van. So one day Mark took the day off and went hunting for something "reliable." What he found was an old Dodge van, 10 years old and decorated with rust, complete with suede curtains and faux-wood paneling. He paid $1200 cash, and hit the road. We drove that van till it had 240,000 miles on it, smoke was pouring out the exhaust, and the smell of burned rubber hoses rose up from under the hood. By the time we were prepared to pay for a newer, nicer van, the driver's side door latch had completely given out. For the last six months of owning that van, whoever drove had to climb through the back of the van to get out, unless of course we forgot and opened the door, and then we had to drive home holding the door shut beside us, until we could get home and slam the door enough times that the latch would catch, and we would resolve to never forget and open that door again. If we went through this process in the church parking lot or at a gas station, the looks we received were simply priceless.

There are many examples throughout our married life of ways in which we took the frugal route, the prudent route, the cheaper route, the sacrificial route, and even, in the case of that van my husband bought me, the embarrassing route.

Most recently, I've been dealing with a clothes washer that has given me no end of grief. For the past year, when it reached the spin cycle, it would make a horrendous noise like it was about to set off into orbit. This past summer it decided not to spin at all, and a puddle of water equal to the amount of water in the washer for a large load suddenly appeared on the laundry room floor. Mark replaced the belt, tinkered under the hood, and it was back to its noisy performance. And then a couple of months later, it stopped spinning again. This time there was no fixing it. Consequently, each time I did a load, it would reach the spin cycle and then stop working. I would unload the washer, dropping the sopping wet clothes into a basket. Then I would manually get the washer spinning again, until the mechanism caught and started spinning by itself. Then, one piece at a time, I would drop the wet clothes back into the washer. This is how, for the past two months, I have done laundry, with an average of 20 loads per week.

I won't tell you I did this without frustration. The task of lifting up those towels and jeans, heavy with water, took its toll on me and I'm paying for that now. Laundry seemed to take twice as long, especially since many things had to be washed twice in order to get clean.

So why do I say all this?

Because today, as I showed my son how to run my new "whisper-quiet" laundry equipment, I found myself telling him, "These things are a real blessing, and we need to be very careful with it, to take good care of it and make sure it lasts a long time." He thought the new equipment was "whoa, cool...!" and said that he wants a washer like this when he moves out. I smiled at him and said, "I doubt you'll have this kind at first."

I didn't regale him with the stories of being young and broke with my dented washer and my harvest gold dryer that wouldn't work unless you held the door shut with a chair. But I did tell him that sometimes it takes a long time to be able to have what you really want, and in the meantime, you make do with second best, third best, or even less. And at each stage, you find reasons to be grateful for what you have.

So now as I sit here, my son's jeans are tossing around in a dryer whose door closes properly and that actually dries everything the first time. His darks are sloshing around in a "whoa-cool" washer that doesn't leak, actually spins, and thankfully doesn't have to be unloaded and reloaded mid-wash. He doesn't understand yet why he should be so grateful. But I do, and I am.

If I'd never had the noisy washer, the broken furnace, the rust-coated van...would I have the proper perspective to truly rejoice in the blessings God has given me?

Because now I sit here and smile as I listen for the washer and realize with gratitude that I don't hear a thing.

***

Proof

2008-01-22T16:18:00.001-06:00

See? We really do learn around here.

She's back!

2008-01-22T14:41:00.002-06:00

Seven years ago, our home was affected tremendously by a devastating loss.

My sewing machine died.

Let us all observe a moment of silence in remembrance of a faithful friend who served me well.

Gone were the days of spending hours in the fabric store, lovingly admiring the latest designs from Thimbleberries. Gone the days of carefully watching Ebay auctions for hard-to-find fat quarters. Gone the days of Mark coming home to find the house in shambles, the kids run amok, dinner still frozen solid, and me beaming as I showed off my latest creation. (OK, it was never that bad. Usually.)

However, I now have a sewing machine again and a reason to make a quilt. My new machine's first inaugural quilt was for the gorgeous little boy of some friends at church.

These are the fabrics I used. Very boyish, don't you think?

Here's an individual block. Aw, aren't those little bears cute???

And here is the finished product!

In case you're wondering, I like to make quilts for babies fairly big...big enough to nearly cover the top of a twin size bed. That way if they get particularly attached to it when they're in their crib, it's still a good option when they're a little bigger. If you give them an infant-sized quilt and they won't part with it, then by the time they're two, their little toes will stick out at the end. And nobody likes cold toes.

The Thirteenth Tale

2008-01-15T14:07:00.001-06:00

I love books. Thomas Jefferson and I have a many thoughts in common, not the least of which is his sentiment that, "I can not live without books." Most people walking into my house immediately comment on the number of books they find here. We are, indeed, a family of book lovers. I don't know if it is because I have read so many books and have too much to compare new books to, or if it is quite the opposite and I have simply still not read enough to find The Greatest Book Of All, but it is hard for me to find a book that is truly riveting, something that grabs my attention and holds it till the last page, housework, sleep, and dinner forgotten.

But this was one such book. Booklist's review called it, "A wholly original work told in the vein of all the best gothic classics. Lovers of books about book lovers will be enthralled."

The Columbia Dispatch declared, "The shared literary landscape that The Thirteenth Tale recreates with lush precision takes us back to a time when reading could seem more compelling than life."

This is a book lover's book. Not all book lovers, naturally...it is of a gothic and somewhat dark genre, dealing with the ugliness of decades-old secrets and the certain soon death of a central character. But the story telling is riveting, and the precision and beauty of the words this author chose are particularly great considering this is her first novel. I was entranced by this book, even through the parts that disturbed or saddened me.

The love and respect for literature is so well depicted in this book, that even if the plot had been abysmal, I would like it just for that. I don't know if Diane Setterfield, a former academic who gave up teaching in part because the schedule hampered her own reading time, can outdo herself on this one. I'd be happy to find out though.

I have closed my study door on the world and shut myself away with people of my imagination. For nearly sixty years I have eavesdropped with impunity on the lives of people who do not exist. I have peeped shamelessly into hearts and bathroom closets. I have leaned over shoulders to follow the movements of quills as they write love letters, wills, and confessions. I have watched as lovers love, murderers murder and children play their make-believe. Prisons and brothels have opened their doors to me; galleons and camel trains have transported me across sea and sand; centuries and continents have fallen away at my bidding. I have spied upon the misdeeds of the mighty and witnessed the nobility of the meek. I have bent so low over sleepers in their beds that they might have felt my breath on their faces. I have seen their dreams. My study throngs with characters waiting...imaginary people, anxious for life, who tug at my sleeve, crying, "Me next! Go on ! My turn!" I have to select. And once I have chosen, the others lie quiet...until I come to the end of the story and the clamor starts up again.--author Vida Winter, main character of The Thirteenth Tale.

Using Legos For Education

2008-01-07T13:39:00.000-06:00

***
And you thought this was going to be a homeschooling post.

Good company

2008-01-06T02:41:00.000-06:00

**

Crazy.

But the tide stays for no man, calling them away that were thus loath to depart, their reverend pastor falling down on his knees (and they all with him) with watery cheeks commended them with most fervent prayers to the Lord and His blessing. And then with mutual embraces and many tears they took their leave one of another, which proved to be the last leave to many of them. --Mayflower Journals

Lunatic.

I believe there are more instances of the abridgement of freedom of the people by gradual and silent encroachments by those in power than by violent and sudden usurpations. --James Madison

Kook.

It behooves every man who values liberty of conscience for himself, to resist invasions of it in the case of others: or their case may, by change of circumstances, become his own. --Thomas Jefferson

Crackpot.

When the men of our State Department, especially after WW II, went all over the world trying to implant our form-freedom balance in government downward on cultures whose [humanistic] philosophy and religion would never have produced it, it has, in almost every case, ended in some form of totalitarianism or authoritarianism. --Francis Shaeffer

Fringe.

We are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of Nature has placed in our power... the battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. --Patrick Henry

All of the above.

Time is short, but our course of action should be clear. Resistance to illegal and unconstitutional usurpation of our rights is required. Each of us must choose which course of action we should take: education, conventional political action, or even peaceful civil disobedience to bring about necessary changes. But let it not be said that we did nothing. --Ron Paul

Snippets

2008-01-04T09:17:00.002-06:00

So after several days of many other things to do, I have lots of catching up to do. Speaking of catching, I'm also getting a cold. I think the lady at JCPenney is to blame, and should I see her again, I will thank her properly. In the meantime, pass the Kleenex.

A few things likely of little interest to anyone but me:

1. Al Mohler is being nominated for president of the SBC.

2. During vacation I browsed through the local quilt shop (again) and was reminded (again) of one of my greatest passions. Ahhhhhhhhh, quilts. If I could applique worth a fig, I would make this:

3. Christmas shopping with Caedin right before the big day was quite an experience. As we walked through Target, a Starbucks employee (from the little Starbucks at the front of the store) came through and asked if I'd like a sample. It was Peppermint White Mocha, which I've had several times throughout the season (which explains the three pounds I gained during December), so I gave it to Caedin. He was incredibly delighted with it, and announced at the check-out that, "OK, I am ALL about the peppermint white mocha now." Gramma gave him a giftcard as one of his Christmas presents, so I imagine I know what he'll want.

4. The number of endorsements for Ron Paul is becoming somewhat staggering. I especially love the number of academics who are professionals in foreign policy and economics (on this list and in other places) who unabashedly endorse across-the-board conservative ideals.

5. Speaking of politics, the annual Judicial Watch list of ten most wanted corrupt politicians is out. Judicial Watch is a private organization who keeps a close eye on those in office and those campaigning for office. They don't endorse anyone, and don't have anyone in their pocket. They just give honest assessments. It's an interesting, discussion-worthy list this year, that's for sure.

6. While our family was visiting, we taught them how to play this game. I got Mark the expansion pack for Christmas so we could have more ~~victims~~ players. I won. Again.

7. My blog is in desperate need of some revamping.

8. So is my pantry.

9. I have two huge stacks of books on my nightstand. Huge, I tell you. The best problem in life is too many books. Did I mention I have one more week of vacation?

10. My throat and nose hurt. I'm going back to bed. Did I mention I have two huge stacks of books?

Christmas Eve

2007-12-24T23:35:00.002-06:00

Priorities

2007-12-23T21:15:00.001-06:00

Say you have a bazillion things to do. (I know, it's hard to imagine, but work with me here.) And say one of those things is wrapping some gifts. And say you realize you're completely out of gift tags. And say for instance you really don't want to just write on a scrap of paper or whatever because that would be, well, boring. Say you're in this situation. I submit that there's only one thing to be done.

Make your own.

Because it's a whole lot more fun than doing other things on your list, like cleaning the bathroom for instance.

And try as you might, you just can't put a clean bathroom on a nicely wrapped Christmas gift.

You'd get coal in your stocking next year.

And that would really stink.

And plus, you can't hijack your handiwork after all the presents are unwrapped, and use it on a scrapbook page later on.

I'm just sayin'.

Do you hear what I hear?

2007-12-23T12:46:00.000-06:00

It's the sound of freedom, roaring back to the United States.

*****
The photo above was snapped quickly as we sat at a stoplight. (Hey, neighbor...hope you don't mind my taking a picture of your fence!) Ron Paul signs are EVERYWHERE.

You didn't see aaaaaanything.

2007-12-19T12:47:00.001-06:00

Hypothetically speaking, it's perfectly acceptable for a grown woman to eat cookies for breakfast. It is especially acceptable when said cookies are festive Christmas cookies the hypothetical woman made herself and none of her hypothetical children are looking.

It's no different than having a donut. Hypothetically. No different at all. Right? Right???

Right???

Merry Christmas from the Pauls!

2007-12-16T15:06:00.001-06:00

Christmas At Our House

2007-12-15T12:40:00.001-06:00

Well, it's a little late in coming, but Operation Christmas has begun at our house. Despite usually having it well underway within days of Thanksgiving, this year multiple delays meant a rather slow start.

I have to say that the idea of the house only being decorated for two weeks gave me great pause about putting up anything but the tree, but it's kinda one of those things where once you're in up to your elbows, you might as well jump in with both feet, though I did leave several things in the attic this year.

So here are some bits and pieces of Christmas At Our House.

This is the big tree. It's so wide that I can't even show you the Christmas tree skirt that I made the first year we were married. But it's under there, you'll just have to trust me. This tree has been with us for 8 Christmases and it has outgrown us. It worked beautifully in the old house but here it doesn't have much elbow room. We will be seeking a fabulous new (skinnier) tree at the after Christmas sales. For the past two years I have done red, green, and gold ornaments, interspersed with my snowman ornaments. I love those colors more than any other I have tried. The tree looks just gorgeous at night (and I'll take a picture of that later when it gets dark).

Our stockings are hung by the chimney with care. These first three, I made for Christmas 1994. It was our second Christmas together and we had a little baby boy. While Mark was at work and the baby took a nap, I cross-stitched the designs for the cuffs (the pattern had no cuffs...I had to improvise) and made the stockings. We had a humble little Christmas that year, and these stockings have been with us ever since.

When Chana was born, I turned the house upside down looking for the pattern to make her stocking. I couldn't find it and had to buy a new one. So her stocking was different from ours. The boys were born later, and I used the same pattern for theirs. (Incidentally, I found the pattern for the original stockings after we moved to Texas in 1999.)

Here they are on the mantle, hung by my snowman stocking holders. The little tree on the left is done in silver this year. I just love a fire in the fireplace. I especially love it at Christmas time.

Speaking of snowmen, let's just cut to the chase and get right to the confessions: I am a snowman addict. I love snowmen. I love real ones, but we can't have those in Texas. Consequently, the only thing to do is adorn one's home with artificial ones.

This is the little guy that started it all. My mother-in-law got him for me several years ago. Isn't he so cute??? Well, that started a craze the likes of which have not been seen since...well, since my mother-in-law's Santa collection. What started out as a little 3-inch snowman sitting alone in 1996...

quickly morphed into this...

...and this...

...and this...

...and this...

...and lastly, this. (There are more, but you get the idea!) This cookie jar was a gift from my mother-in-law (who seems to truly get my fascination with this collection, probably because she, too, has been asked over the years if she thinks she has "enough yet" of her Santa Clauses). In carrying on the tradition of generational Christmas collections, my daughter has decided to collect nutcrackers. Woe be to the great-great-great grandchild who inherits all this!

The candlesticks to the left in this picture are something given to me by Mark's grandmother, Dorothy. They are antiques. They are displayed every Christmas without fail. No candles or wax guards I can find seem to fit them right, so I can't actually use them, even if I wanted to.

And last but not least, here is my childhood stocking. Just recently I explained to my youngest son the value of keeping things that were special to you when you were younger, even if they aren't your favorite things now, or even what you would use now. I told him the story of my stocking, and now he mentions it in some way every day. When I was two or three, my father dragged in an old mantle from the barn and my sisters decorated it for Christmas. We didn't have a fireplace in our house, but for some reason they wanted a mantle. So it was brought in, and their stockings were hung on it. It was soon apparent that I didn't have a stocking, and my mother and I went to her sewing room, where she dug through a box of old scraps until she found something that would work. She cut the stocking out without any pattern, and I picked out a few scraps of ribbon to go on it. I stood beside her as she whipped along the edges with her sewing machine, and quickly embroidered my name along the top edge. And thus my stocking was. Countless candy canes, glue sticks, boxes of crayons, and rolls of lifesavers awaited me on Christmas mornings for years to come.

And now each year, my stocking hangs there, a symbol of a childhood long past... which is what all of the above will be for my children some day.

Merry Christmas from our house to yours.

Protecting Her Heart

2007-12-12T10:20:00.001-06:00

Is it right to send our young daughters off to live at college? In an era when Christians buy into the American cultural "norms" just as much as unbelievers, I am questioning the wisdom of this move.

I do not wish to devalue the education of young ladies at all. I am far removed from the crowd that asks why a young woman would even need to go to college when her chief end is to be a mother. I value knowledge and learning and I think it is the wise choice to have a young woman receive an education and learn to channel her abilities in a good direction.

However, I seriously question the trend of sending our daughters away to college, miles and miles away from home, at a young age, especially right out of high school. (I question the wisdom of doing so with boys as well, though to a lesser degree. However, what sparked this line of thought was preparation for my daughter's future.) Christians seemed to have bought into the lie that 18 is the magic age at which young people are ready for adulthood, can at least to a degree provide for themselves, can protect themselves, and no longer need the predictable and loving physical presence of Godly parents. It is almost as though we take their gaining the legal right to vote and enter contracts as our cue to stop parenting.

The result of this is many young ladies being thrust from their parents' home that provided shelter, protection, guidance, counsel, and accountability, into a world of persistent compromise, danger, and temptation. There is an inarguable value to having one's parents consistently present at all points of attaining adulthood, and that includes the early years of adjusting to the adult world. This is very difficult, if not impossible, at a long-distance college. The wisdom gleaned from conversations at the table with parents each night, the knowledge imparted on a daily basis especially from a mother to a daughter, the guidance, authority, and protection afforded to her by the presence of her father are all things that a university setting can not provide. No matter how many emails or phone calls they may share throughout the week, the fact is that she will be spending all of her time away from her Godly home and in a world filled with sin and compromise and temptation.

A young lady does not have the wisdom of her much older and more experienced parents when she goes off to college, and neither do her peers whom she will look to for understanding, friendship, and commiseration. The people that she will spend most of her time with, whose counsel she will seek, and who will be readily available to listen to her thoughts and questions not only on career and study issues or frustrations, but also on spiritual matters and relationship issues, will be profoundly like herself. Consequently she will likely receive validation and inexperienced musings from the people closest to her at college where she would have received discernment and wisdom gained only by time and experience from her parents at home.

A young lady away from the protection of her parents, especially her father, is disaster and heartache waiting to happen. She will easily become an unguarded temple waiting for the devourer to attack. Among other things, sexual tension and temptation abounds at this age, and with no parental presence to provide direction and counsel, she can very easily begin a downward spiral into sin. It will be sin hidden from her parents, who are not present to notice the changes it brings about in her. It will be sin that her peers not only look the other way on, but will often assist her in accomplishing.

In the event that a parent feels a "Christian" college is the answer to keeping the Christian values we have tried to instill in our children living strong in their hearts, let me assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. Christian colleges today are rampant with compromise, deception, and promiscuity. The "give us your Christian testimony" section on the application for a Christian college is not an indication of the heart of a student, and actually offers the person yet another way in which to sin: lying. Once there, the students continue to live like unbelievers, even if they have to sneak around to do it. This instills pride at the idea that they got away with it, which yields an unrepentant heart. These are often the peers that will influence our daughters. These are often the boys they will bring home to meet us.

When I went to college, I was confronted on the very first day with the lack of authority and wisdom. I was introduced to my floor's Resident Assistant, who was nice enough and was praised by the administration as being a wonderful student and Christian example. Really, she was just like all the freshmen, only 3 years older and with 3 years of college under her belt. Over those first few weeks I learned that she was a straight A student and the daughter of a minister. But she seemed very prideful, was in a relationship that was continually reported as being compromising and sinful, and her best friends were very poorly chosen. There was no reason to look up to her, or to expect her to be able to provide me with Godly insight to the new situations I found myself in.

The Resident Director, a woman in her late 20s who lived in a dorm apartment and supervised all the Resident Assistants, was not much better. She had the benefit of having gone through college, but that seemed to be the only way in which she had experience that I did not. She was not a spiritual guide or mentor in the slightest, and in fact quite often provided poor examples of Godly feminine conduct.

Attending a "Christian" college is not by default more virtuous than attending a secular one. I attended a small college sponsored by a very conservative Christian denomination, yet it was well-known who was no longer a virgin, who was currently sleeping with someone, who had alcohol in their room, who had sneaked out at 2 a.m.. The list went on. Peers were not accountability partners in these situations, they were accomplices. Authority was mocked, not respected, because after all, the students were "adults."

When my daughter is ready to enter college, it will be 20 years after my own college experience. In modern society, Christians are more like the world than ever and the edge of what is acceptable behavior is constantly being pushed back in an effort to make compromising sin acceptable. This gives me reason to question the cultural norm of university life that Christians have accepted. In speaking about education, Voddie Baucham says, "If we continue to send our children to Caesar, they'll continue to come home as Romans." In that same vein, why should we be surprised when we send our daughters to places where compromise, deception, sin, and heartache abound, and they come home cheated, deceived, sinful, and heartbroken?

There are exceptions to every rule. But in an age where the exceptions are becoming fewer and farther between, am I willing to risk my daughter's spiritual well-being in hopes that she'll be one?

Carrying the Bag

2007-12-10T11:00:00.001-06:00

I have not written about this topic here before, and honestly likely will not again. Chronic illness is not a subject I like to spend my time on, even though it often consumes my time, if that makes any sense.

However, just recently a friend of mine asked me in the midst of conversation how I deal with it. "I feel like I should never complain again, knowing what I know about you now." I had recently confided in her something very few people know...that I live with (I refuse to say suffer from) multiple health conditions that are unfixable. She and I have a connection of sorts, just a clicking that happened between us, and I found myself telling her what challenges I face, even though normally I wouldn't have said much. So when she asked me how I do it, I was honest then too.

First and foremost, I trust my Savior to walk with me through this. That is the simplest answer I can give. He who suffered wounds for my sake gives me grace to face my own.

And secondly, I have come to know my limitations. I know what pushes me to the edge, and what sends me flying past it. There are sometimes I am caught off guard, but not often. Sometimes I find it worth it to do things that cost me greatly, but most of the time I keep things predictable and routine.

The hardest part of bearing this burden is not the burden itself but the lack of understanding by often well-meaning people. And that is one of the reasons I wrote what I'm about to share here. Because they do not understand, they ask questions whose answers they can not accept. They make assumptions that hurt and embarrass me. And so, it's easier to remain acquaintances who would never share that much information, than to become closer and always have to explain myself.

I wrote the following for people who do want to understand, and for people like me who aren't sure how to express what is happening to them. As you read this, know this: This is merely an acknowledgment of circumstance...a circumstance that I refuse to let define me. Illness has affected my appearance, my future, my strength and my capabilities. It will never affect my joy.

And to all of the people with burdens and pains
Keeping you back from your life
You believe that there's nothing and there is no one
Who can make it right
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
Love for the broken heart
There is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, Cry out to Jesus
--Third Day

****

My bag is heavy today.

It's the best way I can think of right now to describe it.

I carry a bag with me everywhere I go. A proverbial one, so don't look around for one you can really see. But despite its lack of physical manifestation, let me assure you it is there. The bag was handed to me when I was sixteen years old and became very, inexplicably ill. It was hard for me to carry, but in time it lightened as I became physically better and mentally able to better handle my stressers. But I never got rid of the bag.

When I was 21, pregnant with my second child, the bag began to grow heavier. A bout with mononucleosis threw me into a physical tailspin. A few months later, a new baby, along with the lack of sleep and an unpredictable schedule, added weight to the bag. At 22, the diagnosis of fibromyalgia seemed to stretch the bag to capacity. At 30, I was diagnosed with Epstein-Barr, arthralgia, and the pre-cursors to lupus. I have to strain to hold the bag, my knuckles white against the fear of the unknown, but I'm still holding it.

For years now, I have carried this bag around. Circumstances add heavy rocks and I am expected to carry it still. I take it with me to church, to the grocery store, to a friend's house, to visit my family. Each circumstance has its own weight that it adds to my bag, and multiplied circumstances means that much more added heaviness. As I talk on the phone or stir a batch of cookie dough, I am ever conscious of the bag. As I cook dinner or pay a bill, the bag is there, hanging off of me like a dead carcass. As I sit down to work on math problems with my children, the bag pulls at me, nagging me, always reminding me it is there and it isn't going away.

Having recently moved into our new home, I am very conscious of the bag. There are so many things I want to do but fear to start because I have to carry the bag. How will I paint walls and hold the bag? How will I plant flowers if I'm holding the bag? The kitchen is so much bigger here...how do I mop this floor and keep a hold on the bag? No matter what needs to be done, I am still required to carry the bag. It factors into everything I do. I have to take careful consideration of my day, to make sure the bag does not become so heavy I can no longer carry it. I have to calculate, to plan, to pick and choose the things that are most critical, because I simply can't do it all and still hold the bag.

Even on days when the air is dry and the temperature is perfect and I've slept well, the bag is there. Even without its substantial weight, I can still feel it, lightly bumping against me as I try to have a "normal" day. "I'm still here," it whispers. "Don't forget about me. Don't pick that up, don't drink that, don't walk so fast, don't reach so far. You know what happens." I must constantly make choices that seem so inconsequential to others but are critical for me. If I stay up late to read, will I be able to make breakfast in the morning? If do some laundry, will I be able to load the dishwasher? If I go for a walk, will I be able to vacuum the floor? If I go to dinner with a friend, will I be functional enough tomorrow to do schoolwork with my children?

I have learned through painful trial and error what my limitations are. I know what they are, and yet even when I state them they sound pretentious to me. How silly they must sound to other people. I watch women my age and older, running wildly after their children and staying up late and going on vacations and juggling careers and motherhood and taking long walks and going on hikes and throwing parties and it tears me apart.

I can't do those things.

I have to carry the bag.

People look at me skeptically. I know they're thinking my bag doesn't look heavy. They tell me how to get rid of the bag. They tell me they know people who carry a bag and they're doing just fine. They tell me not to think about the bag. They tell me to focus on all the good things and the bag won't seem so heavy.

I think, They must have never had a bag.

How wonderful it must be to not have a bag. To plan for a big day tomorrow without fear of dealing with the bag the next day. To look forward into your future with your children and not wonder if you will be there, and if you are, if your bag will always feel heavy. To not worry about handing the bag down to your children. To not have to factor carrying the bag into every choice you make, every place you will ever go, every dream you will ever pursue.

Someday, I won't have this bag. I have grown to accept that it will probably not be in this lifetime. But someday, the One who bore the heaviest of bags is going to lift this one from my shoulders and I will never carry it again. He has given me the sweetest of joys that make the bag seem less cumbersome. He has blessed me in ways that more than compensate for the heaviness. And someday it will be only joy that I know.

Till then, I am carrying the bag.

***
Written 01-24-06

American Underdog

2007-12-09T23:07:00.000-06:00

It is the duty of a patriot to protect his country from his government. --Thomas Paine

A Christmas Meme

2007-12-05T11:11:00.002-06:00

I am not a "meme person." However, since Heather saw fit to step away from the homeschooling, Ron Pauling, and promotion of all things Reformed long enough to do this, I figure I should too. Call it furthering of the fellowship, if you will. Ha!

Wrapping paper or gift bags?

Wrapping paper. It's handier for the annual after-unwrapping-paper-wad war.

Real tree or artificial?

Artificial. *sigh* I love real trees.

When do you put up the tree?

Usually the weekend after Thanksgiving. This year...well, it still hasn't happened and I'm thinking maybe I could just hang up a picture of last year's and we could put our presents around that.

When do you take the tree down?

If I have my way, usually the day after Christmas, or at most the weekend after. I'm usually anxious to get the house back in order and totally kick back the next week.

Favorite holiday theme?

Pretty much anything traditional.

Favorite gift received as a child?

When I turned five, I got my first doll of my very own. Before that, I had only my sister's hand-me-downs to play with, and since she drew makeup on their eyelids with a ball-point pen and cut half their hair off before she graciously shared them with me, they weren't very fun and frankly they were a little scary, especially in the dark staring at me through the moonlight in my bedroom. I was very much a "little mother" and did all the girly things when I was little. So when I got my own doll for Christmas I was ecstatic. I named her Elizabeth Anna. (Those who know my daughter can now ponder that.)

Do you have a nativity scene?

Yes, we have one small one that we've had since our first Christmas together. I see so many gorgeously crafted nativities and I think they would be so fun to collect, but honestly I have a hard time with the way people respond to them and I think it's better not to.

Hardest person to buy for?

My youngest son. It's nearly impossible to figure out something really good for him. He's very much a "Oh, me too!" type of kid, and so he doesn't have many original ideas for gifts, and those that he does have are never specific. Case in point: This year's list includes "new bedding" and "some CDs." He's 7.

Easiest person to buy for?

My daughter. Not only is she specific about her wishes, she's also very easy to please.

Worst Christmas gift you ever received?

Used underwear from a garage sale. (I love you, Granny.)

Mail or email cards?

*gasp* I can't believe anyone would even suggest that an email card is anything like a real card.

Mail. Of course. I'm a Christian and a Republican, for heaven's sake.

Favorite Christmas movie?

White Christmas and Miracle on 34th Street.

When do you start shopping for Christmas?

January. Seriously.

Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?

Um, no. But I've received recycled presents.

Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?

Buckeyes and sugar cookies. Only my sugar cookies, though. Everyone else's don't compare. Ha!

White lights or colored on the tree?

White on the big tree, colored on the snowman tree.

Favorite Christmas song?

Hymn: O Come, O Come Emmanuel
Other Christian: O Holy Night
Secular: White Christmas or Silver Bells

Travel for Christmas or stay at home?

I really prefer to stay at home.

Can you name all of Santa's reindeers?

Yes, and I can sing them at fevered pitch too.

Angel on the tree top or a star?

Angel

Open the presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day?

Day.

Most annoying thing about this time of year?

Oh, don't get me started.

Ok, here's a few:

The outrageous amounts of money people spend on children, who either can't or won't appreciate it, for things that will be tossed aside or forgotten about the next day.

The massive amount of debt that people go into during this season.

The ridiculous "family feuds" that either spark or are allowed to continue, the mountains made out of molehills, the way pride gets in the way of peace on earth. (Maybe I shouldn't read blogs and message boards this time of year!)

What I love most about Christmas?

The smells, the excitement, the music, the Gift and the Giver.
Oh, and the fact that Mark always takes the week off and is here to play with the kids and keep me warm and sleep in with me and take me to lunch. I like that too.

One of my favorite Ron Paul supporters

2007-12-03T16:55:00.000-06:00

I love you, Dad.

(PS: You look cold.)

***

New Mercies

2007-11-30T10:59:00.001-06:00

Driving home today I felt the urge to slow down and take a good long look at the landscape between town and our house. What sparked this desire was noticing that the new fall calves were out en masse, stretching their little necks through the fences to reach the tastier grasses along the roadside. Others were standing close to their mamas, their tiny tails swishing. At that moment, not much would have pleased me more than to stop my van, walk over to the fence, and pet those little brown-eyed creatures. Their presence near us does my heart good.

When I was younger, I took some things for granted. Growing up in the country, surrounded by farmers and Amish families, I was accustomed to the smell of fresh-cut hay, the distant quiet mooing of cattle, and the need to drive ever so slowly behind a combine or buggy or tractor you couldn't pass on a narrow country road. Having defined myself by my surroundings to a large degree, I assumed I would always be a country girl.

When I left home early and headed for college, my inclination was towards the arts. Theatre, writing, music, expression...those were my strong suits, my passions, where I felt most alive and comfortable. But, especially with being so young as I stepped out on my own, I was strongly encouraged to be "practical." Nursing. It paid well, there would always be jobs, I could work in shifts and pursue other things on my off hours. I was young, I had lots of energy, I would make it happen. At least that's what my sisters said.

Fine, I said to myself. I'll do it. I had every intention of getting my degree, moving a good distance away, and being successful. A trip with the college arts department to the city of Indianapolis further cemented my ideas. I sat in my down-town hotel room, my cheek pressed against the cold window, looking down at the busy life below me. I could do this. I could get my degree, move to a larger city, find a place to live that was convenient to city life, and pursue my career. I could see myself there, hurrying down a snow-slushed sidewalk, my little black wool hat slightly tipped to one side, my fur-cuffed leather gloves warming my hands. I would be in the thick of life, and only a few hours away from family if they needed me.

And then it all changed. An incident at work caused me to rethink my future in nursing. And then I met my future husband. I had not been expecting him, in fact I'd quite frankly asked God to hold off on sending me a husband. I was tired of games and pretense and uncertainty. And finding a husband meant having to take him home to my family, and I didn't want to do that. My family was a wreck. Instead, I planned to spend a few years healing, pursuing a career, and finding peace.

But everything changed in the matter of a few short months. And suddenly I was looking at a change in direction. My plans to head in a new direction were over-ridden by His plans to remind me who I was. Interestingly, the change wasn't hard for me. My studies flowed almost seamlessly into something new, and my new relationship felt like putting on an old, well-loved sweater that felt comfortable from the first moment. And life in small-town Indiana sounded good to me.

Still more change was waiting for me. 6 years and three babies later, we had been looking at acreage on which to live. One area had lots of trees and a stream. Another choice had farm-life right across the road. I would be happy there; I envisioned my children and grandchildren running across the damp green grass or building a snowman in my front yard between the pine trees. And then my husband announced his desire to move away. I did not leave those possibilities behind easily at all. Especially with the announcement that we would be living in a major metropolitan area.

Living for six years on the outskirts of a huge city, surrounded by traffic, pavement, and cold shoulders has made me all the more appreciative of fields of grass bending in the breeze, of roads lined with the colors of autumn, of star-filled skies that call the soul to rest. Moving away from town two years ago, although we don't enjoy full country-life ourselves, has been a sort of balm to me. I take my time now along country roads. I take the back route, the long way, the curved quiet roads that eventually lead to where I need to be, but along the way remind me of who I am, and where God has brought me.

So today as we were driving, the presence of little brown-eyed calves along the roadside gave me pause, and caused a flood of memories to rush in. Somewhere in my heart resides the little girl who raced through cornfields after a kite whose string had broken, who leaped onto the back porch with fists full of dandelions and Queen Anne's lace, who found families of new kittens nestled safely in the hayloft with their attentive, tired mothers. I am grateful for these memories, for they are a part of what makes me who I am...

The mother who slows down on the road, who points out to her children the way the leaves have changed dramatically in just a day or two, or the way a little calf knows just who his mama is, or the way the sky looks a deeper blue in November. The mother who calls her children to simpler things that they otherwise would miss in their metropolitan lives.

These things are God's new mercies to me each day. Some days, I remember to not overlook them.

***

My Thanksgiving Week Project

2007-11-26T15:06:00.002-06:00

Give a girl a few days off and you just never know what she might do.

This particular girl decided an oft-mentioned thought should come to fruition. (OK, reading that, I understand why a certain friend of mine always says, "Don't you just LOVE the way she talks?" to everyone within earshot. Ha!)

Yes, folks, it's time for a little domestic overhauling. A little textile manipulation. A little creative license. A little...OK, I'm out of cute phrases.

Here is what I had to work with:

The sofa.

The loveseat.

I bought this furniture almost 4 years ago. I didn't like the cushion upholstery but the couches were very, very comfortable. And I saved a fortune because apparently no one else liked it either and they weren't selling. So I bought them thinking I would switch out the upholstery on the cushions "someday."

Well, a new house and clashing red wall was all it took to finally inspire me. Unfortunately, I lacked a key component: a sewing machine. But wait, what's this??? Is that my husband coming in the door with *gasp*....

Merry Christmas to me!

(Note to my handsome husband: I know I hemmed and hawed for a good long while before I finally agreed it was a good idea, and once I finally agreed I told you where to go to get the best deal, so it wasn't much of a surprise, but I really, really appreciate it.)

So now, with inspiration, a week off, and a sewing machine at my disposal, I am fully ready to begin my mini-makeover. (Did I mention when I grow up I want to be Candice Olson??)

Two trips to Joann Fabrics to purchase supplies, which included 9 yards of that expensive home decorator fabric (but I had a coupon!), a few yards of uber-cool trim, a couple of pillow forms, a new seam ripper and heavy-duty scissors, and 6 yards of sturdy batting, and I was ready.

The result:
Woohoo!

Oh yeah!

The critics rave:

Caedin: It's awfully comfy!
Tylan: Way, way cool, Mom!
Chana: Will you pleeeeeeeeeeeease teach me how to sew?
Taran: Looks really different in here.
Mark: Are you happy now?

(I'm pondering if I should resent the implication that I wasn't happy before...Hmmmm...)

That's right folks, we went from "OW"

to "WOW"

in less than a day.

Project facts:
$100 budget
4 hours shopping time (because I'm indecisive AND cheap)
12 hours actual work time

Satisfaction level: 10 out of 10.

Yes, sweetheart, I'm happy now.

Can we talk draperies?

Some things never change

2007-11-26T13:57:00.001-06:00

The first house we ever owned was a small, three bedroom ranch in small-town Indiana. Having just moved in to what was definitely a fixer-upper, my list of things to do was endless. But one nice thing was being able to let my three-year-old finally play outside. At the old house, our neighbor’s enormous and uncivilized dog was allowed to barrel throughout the neighborhood, and never knowing when he might show up to terrorize my son, we had very limited outdoor activities.

But here, at the new house, a huge open yard with massive oak trees and a swingset made for exciting times for my blue-eyed little boy. And sending him outside to play while his sister napped meant a fair amount of time for me to work with little interruption. I had a million things to do. The house was filthy, having been lived in by people who apparently didn’t know the meaning of the word “housework.” We were still in the process of unpacking, and compiling lists of things to pick up at Lowe’s for all the projects we had going on.

I remember that particular day like it was yesterday. So meaningful was this exchange that it has been forever cemented into my memory. I had laid my little girl down for her nap, and sent my son outside to play. (What am I saying...I didn’t even have to send him...he excitedly flew to the door when I suggested the idea.) “Play on your swingset or with the puppy,” I instructed, “But don’t play in the sand.”

“The sand” was not really sand. In our front yard, there was abundant shade provided by old oak trees, and underneath them, where grass apparently refused to grow, was this odd type of dirt. It was fine and dusty and made the best dust clouds in the world when little feet stomped happily through it. It was easily scooped up in a hand trowel to fill a plastic cup that was, with a childish flourish, dumped in the ugly flower beds that were badly in need of attention. And it clung. Oh, how it clung. It clung to everything. You could not dust it off, it just stuck to whatever touched it.But despite all its poor qualities (at least according to Mommy’s standards), it was a ton of fun to play in. And it immediately became known as “the sand.”

So on that day, when I sent him out to play, I instructed him not to play in the sand. There wouldn’t be time for a bath before supper, so he shouldn’t get dirty. I also reminded him to wait on the tile for me to help him with his shoes, since I had just shampooed the carpet the day before. (I won’t even go into the disgusting results of that horrible chore.) “OK, Mom,” he said as he kissed my cheek and waved goodbye to me as he raced for the swing. I immediately set to work, peeking out the window at him periodically as I busied myself in the house. There he was, swinging back and forth, or sliding down the slide with his hands in the air.

So when he opened the door and called for me, I expected to see my happy little boy, standing there with a smile on his face and maybe even a dandelion being held out in my direction by a cute little fist.

But instead I was met by a brownish-gray mass with dirty blond hair and big blue eyes. How, in the ten minutes it had been since I’d checked on him out the window, he had gotten so filthy, I could not imagine. He was covered in dirt. Nasty, grainy, fine, gray-brown dirt. It was in his hair and under his fingernails. It clung to his cheeks and rested on his eyelids. Beneath those eyes, a big smile was directed at me, the perfectly lined white teeth a stark contrast to the dirty skin around it.

I am ashamed of my reaction. To this day, it hurts me still. “What are you doing?” I demanded quietly so as not to wake his sleeping sister. “Why are you all dirty? Mommy told you not to play in the sand, and now you’re all dirty! I really don’t have time to give you a bath today. Why did you disobey Mommy? No, don’t step on the carpet with those filthy shoes! I just cleaned it yesterday!”

It all spilled out of my mouth unbridled. I had a list of things to do that was a mile long. I was overwhelmed with a new house, a new puppy, and the necessary taming of both. I had hoped for uninterrupted work time and now not only was I interrupted, but all my plans for completing several tasks during the short window of time available to me had come to a screeching halt when I was confronted with the extra chore of cleaning up a very dirty little boy.

“Well,” I sighed, “it’s too late now. You’ll just have to have a bath.” I knelt down to help him take off his shoes and looked into his eyes. He looked sad and uncertain, and I felt a part of my heart soften as I looked at his dirty little face. “What did you need, anyway?” I asked, my tone a little less irritated now.

“I just wanted you to love me.”

Those words came crushing down on me like a thousand stones. He had come in for a hug. That was all. In the midst of his playtime, even his wayward adventure in the sand, he had thought of me and wanted my affection. And he came to me, knowing that he could always be loved by his mother. I melted. I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face in his dirty hair, and breathed in the mixture of sunshine and dirt, of baby shampoo and little boy.

“I do love you,” I told him. “Even when you’re really, really dirty.” I looked at him, really looked at him, then. My disobedient son who needed me to love him anyway. I fluffed his hair and straightened his green “T is for Tigger” shirt. We had a talk about the sand. And he had a bath. My chores were eventually completed, just not on my schedule. And now ten years later, I still remember that day as though it were yesterday.

Because not much has changed. He still needs me to love him, despite everything else. We have gone from playing in the dirt to hormonal surliness, from throwing toys to late homework. And yet this remains constant. In the midst of it all, he wants to know he’s loved. The mistakes a child makes, the times he comes in dirty as a result of doing what we advised him not to do, the times he challenges authority and tries to make his own way, do not change that ever-abiding need to know his parents will stop in the middle of it, look past the wrong, and love him anyway. Each time he tests the boundaries, each time he questions our reasons or our intentions, each time he struggles to keep a balance between submitting to authority and learning to be independent, I hear that sweet voice echo across the years, “I just want you to love me.” And so I do.

It is not unlike my relationship with my Father. There are days I know for certain I am not what I should be. I deserve not love, but justice. And yet the greatest promise I have ever known has been that He loves me anyway. I cling to that truth. That despite my failings, my waywardness, and my tendency to forget His instruction, His vision of me never changes. He has known me at my dirtiest, knows me as I am, and loves me anyway. It is, unquestionably, just what I need. And so He does.

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

With Gratitude

2007-11-23T19:45:00.001-06:00

I am a day late, only because Thanksgiving around here means a lot of work. This year, I am grateful for these things:

*my home.
*a good cup of coffee.
*my church.
*books, and lots of them.
*the sound of my children playing the piano.
*unexpected gifts.
*getting to mother four incredible people.
*the fact that all my children love to read.
*my van.
*my new red casserole dishes.
*my sewing machine.
*good deals.
*the huge success of our campaign.
*God's provision.
*friends.
*the sound of a child's sudden happy laughter.
*comfortable shoes.
*my family, here at home and far away.
*my husband, who gives the best hugs ever.
*my Father, Who knew me when, and loved me anyway.

A blessed Thanksgiving to all.

***

This Boy Is Bound For Greatness

2007-11-17T17:55:00.001-06:00

(OK, that's a play on words.)

Today was the hymn festival, where all the hard work of the past few months culminates with a private performance before a judge, followed by a recital.

Tylan's song was This Train Is Bound For Glory. Here's how it works:

Hand your music to the judge. Don't be nervous. The judge already has a soft spot for cute little boys. Especially cute little boys who say, "Yes, Ma'am."

After you play for the judge, wait patiently to see if you've done well enough to get to play in the recital. Once you're in the auditorium, wow the crowd with your toe-tappin' hymn rendition. (Also, make Mom wonder how your shirt got that untucked just by playing the piano. Ha!)

Make Mom proud. Take your bow.

Wow.

2007-11-13T10:40:00.000-06:00

As my old pastor used to say, "If that don't light yer fire, yer wood's wet."

RON PAUL 2008

God Bless America. Land of the free again.

November 11th.

2007-11-11T08:20:00.000-06:00

To all those who served with honor, thank you.
To those still serving today, I pray you come home soon.

God Bless America.

Caedinisms

2007-11-10T18:07:00.001-06:00

I've recently been made aware that various friends and family members get a particular hoot (that's the closest thing to a yankee term you will ever hear me use) out of my 7-year-old's philosophical ramblings. I've received both phone calls and emails asking if Caedin has made any keen observations recently, and telling me that stories about him are popular country-wide.

It's true, this child loves to talk. Even if no one wants to listen at the moment, he is quite content to talk anyway. He is his own audience when one is unavailable, and so far this doesn't seem to bother him. Which works out well, because after a certain point, our ears are simply worn out and we can't process any more chatter for the day.

Everything is an interesting topic of conversation for Caedin, and this proved true again tonight at supper time.

It went something like this:

Caedin: Wow, this pizza is tasty!

Mom: It sure is!

Caedin: It also makes me thirsty. (Picking up cup.) Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug!

Mom: Caedin, please don't make those loud noises when you're drinking, that's not polite, and as I've told you before I will have to take your cup away if you keep doing that.

Caedin: (Reprimanding look.) Well, now, that's just not very nice.

Mom: Well, you'll find that quite often consequences are not nice, but necessary.

Caedin: Well, it might be a consequence this time, but sometimes people will take drinks away just because they're very, very mean. (Suddenly re-evaluating his last thought.) But that's not why you would take my drink away. You aren't mean like that.

Mom: Well, I would hope not. So really this doesn't apply to what I was saying, and since you need to finish your dinner, we don't need to continue.

Caedin: (Look of exasperation.) Well, I know it doesn't apply (dramatically), but I still like to talk about it.

Since I'm already praying for my childrens' future spouses, I'm thinking of adding a new preference for the girl who lands this fabulous boy. Lord, please let her be unbelievably patient. Or deaf.

Is America Ready For A President In A Skirt?

2007-11-08T19:44:00.000-06:00

Pat Robertson is.

Merry Christmas!

2007-11-06T12:42:00.002-06:00

Note: This is a rant of sorts. If you aren't into reading rants of normally demure (ha!), quiet (Mark will tell you otherwise), peacemaking (well, usually) people, please pass this post by and go on to the one below where I stump for Ron Paul again.

It happened again today...I came across someone grumbling about the stores "shoving Christmas in our faces." It seems the stores try earlier and earlier to get us to spend money on Christmas.

Now, I'll just bet you're expecting me to agree with her. Au, contrare!! So prepare yourself.

Starting some time in late summer, I regularly hear or read these complaints:

1)The stores pay little attention to Halloween and completely by-pass Thanksgiving, and start shoving Christmas down our throats way too early.

2)It's very hard to be in a "thankful" mood when shopping for Thanksgiving dinner supplies when there's a Christmas tree at the end of the aisle.

3)The stores have made Christmas all about money and they show little to no respect for the meaning of the holiday.

Now...I hate to be the one to point out the obvious, but...oh forget it, I LOVE being the one to point out the obvious! So here goes:

Stores are, and shall continue to be, retail-oriented. They sell stuff. They want you to buy stuff. A more sinister, conspiracy-oriented manner of saying this would be They Want Your Money. (Insert maniacal laughter here.) This is nothing new. This is, after all, why we go to stores...to shop, to buy things, to come home with new stuff and shove it in our houses that are already packed with too much stuff. (For those that have forgotten, I'm also a foe of rampant consumerism. Or at least I like to think so.) The stores do not shove anything down our throats. Instead, they put out what they want to sell, what they think will entice buyers, and what compliments the current calendar and culture. It is up to us whether we purchase it or not.

For instance, in August and September they might put out coats and gloves, because starting in October, such things become necessary. (Or so I've been told.) Though you can still swim in August, they begin putting swimming suits on clearance, in order to make room for what comes next. This is not some great conspiracy to get you out of the pool and next to the fireplace with your teeth chattering. This is simply a way to do what they do: sell you the things you need, hopefully at a time prior to when you simply must have them, so that you are prepared.

The idea that the stores "by-pass Thanksgiving" always makes me wonder about the merit of this accusation. What, exactly, is thanksgiving? Is it a holiday, or is it a state of mind? In being thankful, what exactly are we expected to do? Go out and buy more stuff? What do we want the stores to do for us here? If we don't like the way the Halloween clearance aisle quickly becomes the Christmas ornament aisle, what would we like in between?

United States tradition is that we re-enact the first Thanksgiving. We bake a big turkey, stuff ourselves with pumpkin pie, and watch football or the parade. Thanksgiving is, by and large, not a consumerist holiday. For this reason, it is one of my very favorites. Thanksgiving is about retreat...retreat from the daily grind, the undesirable circumstances, the mundane...to focus on being grateful for even the smallest of blessings that are often overlooked. While you can buy Thanksgiving products, such as tablecloths, linen napkins, china, and salt-and-pepper shakers that look like cartoon turkeys or glazed-eyed pilgrim children, for the most part Thanksgiving is simply a pause in the everyday to consider...the everyday.

For this reason, I always wonder what consumers expect the retail industry to make of the Thanksgiving celebration. Would they rather it were more money-driven? Would they be happier if they saw more Thanksgiving product on display in October? Or would they rather that the retailers completely ignored Thanksgiving as the internal holiday it's designed to be, and then threw all the Christmas products on the shelves the day after? When exactly would it be appropriate for retailers to begin marketing for Christmas?

Last year, for some reason, my husband entered Hobby Lobby in early August, and was aghast when he saw them stocking an aisle with Christmas ribbon. Here's the thing, though: stores like Hobby Lobby and Michael's are especially tuned in to what the consumer needs regarding holiday purchases, because they are arts and crafts retailers. Few people who actually expect to complete a project for Christmas start the project after Thanksgiving. (Trust me, I have cross-stitch Christmas ornaments I've been working on since 1998.) They plan ahead, and go seeking inspiration at retailers who sell what will meet their needs. Rest assured that Aunt Myrtle did not start your unicorn latchhook rug after the leftover turkey was carefully wrapped in foil. Oh no, she's been planning that little surprise since at least June.

"And besides, the stores are packed with Christmas shoppers after Thanksgiving," I reminded my husband, the man who probably knows this better than anyone, considering the times he's left at 4 in the morning on Black Friday in search of the perfect Bob The Builder toy. "They would be even more packed if everyone who wanted to create, decorate, or prepare something for the season all shopped at the same time the gift shoppers did."

I have news for anyone who shops: The retailers are out for your dollars. It's what they do. They're a business. It is up to you how you celebrate the holidays, how soon you begin planning and preparing, and how much influence you allow marketing to have on your buying choices. For retailers, the meaning of the Christmas season is getting out of the red. (Hence the term, Black Friday.) It's the busiest, most profitable time of the year for consumer businesses. They are successful when they have satisfied the needs of their customers as they arise, enabling consumers to be prepared for upcoming needs and events.

In my circle of Christian friends and family, just about everyone puts their Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving. I doubt they bought everything they needed that morning in the retail madness, but yet they are also some of the first to start complaining when they see Christmas products out weeks in advance, claiming that retailers have ignored the spirit of Thanksgiving.

We are expected to be discerning in all things. If you are the sort whose eyes glaze over upon entering a store and you begin mindlessly chanting, "Must buy candy canes, must buy ornaments," and forget about being thankful, then by all means stay out of the stores till you can afford to be in there or it is otherwise prudent. But for those of us who enjoy perusing the aisles and oohing and ahhing over the cool snowman cookie jars, this is all part of the fun. The retailers meet my consumer needs. The real reason for celebration lives in my heart.

****
The title of this post was chosen solely for the consternation of those who would prefer there be no suggestion, sighting, or smelling of Christmas till after Thanksgiving. You know...the people I address in this post. Bah. Humbug.

Who will remember the 5th of November?

2007-11-05T20:55:00.000-06:00

My guess is a lot of people will.

The media's ears started perking at around noon and tonight by 6 p.m., Ron Paul's name was heard in several newscasts.

With 2 solid hours left on the east coast, the numbers are staggering. A single Ron Paul supporter's idea took hold, the grassroots effort went into full swing, and as a result an all-time record has been broken.

Thirty-thousand individual donors, each averaging just over $100 in donations, have spoken loud and clear to the media and the establishment. It's time for change in Washington. What the other "Republican" candidates offer is more of the same war-mongering, spend-happy, freedom-stealing, unconstitutional leadership that has got us in this mess.

Today, Ron Paul broke the record (previously held by Mitt Romney) for the largest amount of Republican primary fundraising in one day. With two hours to go, he is closing in on $4 million dollars raised in 24 hours.

Here are some news links, before the day is even done:

Associated Press: Ron Paul raises more than $3.5 Million

USA Today: Ron Paul says he's broken one-day record

ABC News: Ron Paul Is Money

USA Daily: Ron Paul, Long Shot No More

Somewhere in heaven, some founding fathers are grinning from ear to ear.

Run Ron, Run.

But let it not be said that we did nothing. Let not those who love the power of the welfare/warfare state label the dissenters of authoritarianism as unpatriotic or uncaring. Patriotism is more closely linked to dissent than it is to conformity and a blind desire for safety and security. Understanding the magnificent rewards of a free society makes us unbashful in its promotion, fully realizing that maximum wealth is created and the greatest chance for peace comes from a society respectful of individual liberty. ~Ron Paul

***

Examining the Evidence

2007-11-01T13:51:00.002-05:00

So, because I know everyone is just dyyyyyying to see me in my befeathered hat, here are a few pictures from my recent step into the limelight.

I'd like to tell you all about it, but we Iowans aren't really a friendly bunch and don't welcome newcomers readily. In fact, we can be cold as a falling thermometer in December.

I will tell you that the Wells Fargo Wagon came to town, but there was nothing on it for me. It was just the band instruments. But in March I got a gray mackinaw!

Speaking of which, I typically pride myself on my appearance. When in doubt, add a feather, I always say. Therefore, I was a bit reticent when the ladies decided on the attire for our performance at the ice cream sociable. But I wore it anyway, complete with my floral tiara, and I must say I looked stunning, simply stunning. I do resent being called a gullible green-grass goat though, just for the record.

Of course it is very important to maintain your poise and dignity even in those unfortunate moments when things are not going quite as one would like. Therefore, my practice in the gymnasium paid off greatly when we were affronted by that dreadful Charlie Cowell.

It's not always easy, but when I feel discouraged I just look to my friend and mentor's example. Of course, you've met Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn.

Thank you for stopping in, my dears. I am truly touched. Truly.

Pro-life ???

2007-10-30T11:53:00.000-05:00

Pro-life? Really???

I just stumbled upon this:

I've seen this image a few times. Most often, things along the side bar on people's blogs don't even register with me. (Something that is both a blessing and a curse, ha!)

Well, today for whatever reason, I clicked on it. I had seen it on a friend's blog earlier and when I saw it elsewhere today I realized it was clickable.

This brought me to this page where the woman who created it gives her reasoning behind it.

So I'm sitting here with my mouth hanging open.

Here's the content of the reasoning behind this ticker, and my completely astounded response:

I've heard a lot about how many people (read: terrorists and enemy combatants) Bush&Co. have killed by protecting Americans from terrorism and the people of Iraq from a mass-murdering, chemical weapon-possessing, rapist dictator. The irony is that most of these complaints come from the party that promotes the murder of children as a "privacy right."

I think I'll by-pass this. Well, except to say...Who believes the hundreds of thousands of people killed in this war are all "terrorists"? Seriously?

And to lump everyone who opposes unnecessary, sinful death and destruction into one group and label them as a particular party is both ignorant and foolhardy. 70% of Americans oppose this war. Many, many of them are Christian Republicans.

But as I said, I'll by-pass this.

I realize that children have died in Iraq, but that does not compare to the atrocity of abortion for these reasons:
1) The only ones purposely targeting children (or civilians) are the terrorists;

Surely this is a joke. We have killed killed thousands and thousands of Iraqi civilians. So far, 89 that we know of just this month. Even if you don't believe that American forces have knowingly killed children and other civilians (which would be wrong), the fact is they are dead and we are responsible. Some of them we just torture though. We're nice that way.

2) We do not consider killing Iraqi children a "constitutional right";

You're right. We don't. Because we didn't bother to consult the Constitution before we went to war. We bypassed the Constitution and went headlong into a bloody, unnecessary war that has taken thousands of lives and is impossible to win. The war itself isn't constitutional, but we're fighting it anyway. So it probably doesn't matter that we're killing people unconstitutionally either. We'll just overlook that pesky little constitution. And we Christians can turn a blind eye to Scripture while we're at it.

3) Americans do not hold marches, rallies, or fund-raising dinners in support of killing Iraqi children;

Any march, rally, or fund-raiser for ANY CANDIDATE WHO WOULD ALLOW THIS EVIL TO CONTINUE is in support of killing Iraqi children.

4) The number of American babies killed by abortion far outweighs the total number of casualties in the war -- including children, adults, civilians, soldiers, and terrorists. In fact, that's exactly what my ticker sets out to proclaim.

Someone please tell me why this matters? Is one cause greater than another because more have fallen? Should we only mourn certain numbers, ignore evil until it reaches a certain benchmark? Do we rush to the aid of the frail, defenseless, and innocent only if there is a large enough group?

I am astonished.

Which human life is more valuable than another?

When is the death of innocents acceptable?

When you read your Bible, whose murder is excused?

If I sound angry, it's because I am. The way Christians adopt a certain platform and turn a blind eye to other evil astounds me. The preventable death of Iraqi children (and adults) is every bit as evil as the death of an unborn American child. I am amazed by the inconsistency and frankly at times it seems all hope is lost. Some days are worse than others. Today is one of those days. My God, what have we become?

*****
The image above is of a little girl who has just seen her parents shot and killed by American forces. They were killed "by mistake." Collateral damage. I'm so sorry, sweetheart.

Happy Pauloween

2007-10-29T13:29:00.001-05:00

A local man has decorated his lawn for Halloween.

It's a fairly common practice around here.

This time, however, it comes with a twist.

And since I find it hysterical (and sad), I'm posting it here so my fellow liberty-lovin' readers can enjoy it too.

It's an homage of sorts to all the things that have died an ugly death these past few years.

You know, those wonderful things our forefathers thought were so important...

Like liberty...

And sound money...

And Privacy...

And sovereignty...

And that never-missed-it-till-you-needed-it right to Habeus Corpus.

Like this guy, I recommend voting for Ron Paul in 2008, unless of course you'd like to continue to mourn over our lost Constitution. Will YOUR candidate resurrect it?

Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn't pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children's children what it was once like in the United States where men were free. ~ President Ronald Reagan

Thoughts of Autumn

2007-10-24T10:39:00.001-05:00

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh...
the warm orange glow of autumn.

Never mind that I'm in Texas. I am just happy that the calendar officially says, "Autumn."

I am happy with the mere thought of crisp early mornings and warm, orange-tinted afternoons.

Autumn is so different in Texas from what I am used to. But I'll take what I can get. I remember racing through the field of faded corn behind our house, playing hide and seek with my sister until Mom would yell out the back door, "Girls? Girls!" and we would race to the back door, leaping onto the porch, sending a family of cats scurrying to safer ground.

I remember my grandfather, putting on an extra flannel shirt as though it were a jacket, and trudging outside, where he stood in the wide, splintering entrance of our old barn and smoked his pipe, the sweet smell of his tobacco filling the air around him.

These were the days of last minute summer adventures, the last days we played in the playhouse, the last days we raced our bikes, the last days we chased wild cats in the hayloft, the last days we hopped in the old abandoned car in the barn and pretended to drive to Mamaw and Papaw's house. Winter was coming, bringing with it the chill that required mittens and scarves and thick coats, all of which were impediments to these types of play. The leaves from the huge oak trees in the front yard turned into beautiful golden colors and fell to the ground, and we raked them into huge piles and leaped into them while Mom watched from her sewing room window. We stopped at the orchard on the way home from school, filling bushel baskets with crispy yellow and red fruit that would be turned into applesauce and baked into an army of pies lined up across the kitchen counter.

Will my children ever know these joys? Life is so different now. The big city has enveloped them, and bikes are ridden on sidewalks, playhouses are replaced with video games, and apples are bought at the grocer in town. My heart clinches at times when I think of the things I have not been able to share with them simply because of our landscape.

So I tell them. I tell them about Aunt Joyce coming over to help can the last harvest of green beans. I tell them about taking the biggest, shiniest apple I could find and secretly putting it on Miss Beal's desk at school. I tell them about the playhouse with the ancient mantle that we pretended was a real fireplace where we "cooked" fallen leaves. I tell them about the tire swing that, if my sister pushed me really hard, allowed me to soar up into the colors of orange and gold and yellow, and come down with a piece of autumn clutched in my chubby fingers.

The wonders of God never cease to amaze me, the way He touches the earth with color seems to echo in my heart, "I am still here, I am still Creator, I am still the Master Artist."

The wonders of autumn have barely touched Texas. Autumn here is short and quiet, and I spend two months in anticipation of a few short days. This year I will soak every last bit of autumn up, I will take the kids to the park, and I might even take a rake along. When God gives you a gift like Autumn, it should be savored. It shouldn't be passed through and admired periodically and left to quickly fade away. It should be used up, enjoyed, soaked up and wrung out like an old rag, pulling every drop of treasure and happiness from it till it is dry and brittle and tired, and then flung aside, exhausted, as it groans for rest and slips into winter.

I am dreaming of Autumn today. I am dreaming of "home," of my family there, and the rows of faded corn that carry adventure from house to house.

****
Written 9-25-05
****
The painting above is the work of Alexei Butirskiy, a Russian artist whose gift with oil and canvas is simply beautiful and profound.

Wishful Thinking

2007-10-22T12:58:00.001-05:00

My daughter, for all her flighty ways, has a few things about her that never change.

She doesn't like mustard.

She hates rap music.

She wants to be a veterinarian.

She loves horses.

She wants to live in the country...the real country...with room for the horses she loves.

And she wants kids. Lots of kids. "Probably five."

Today as we were driving to piano lessons (how is it that so much happens on the way to piano lessons?) she was telling me again what kind of place she wants to call home as an adult. A two story house, with lots of trees so you can't see the road, with plenty of room for the kids to play in the back yard, and lots of barns for all the horses.

"Although I really like the house you and Daddy built," she told me. "But the one thing I would change is I wish we could have horses there. Since we can't, that means I'll have to move away from you when I am older, so we won't be able to live on the same street."

"Well," I told her, "Daddy and I think we might want to move away from town when all our kids are grown, so maybe we'll move somewhere with lots of room for us to build two houses."

"That would be cool!" she exclaimed. (I love when her eyes get big with excitement.) She thought a moment and said, "And convenient."

I asked her why that would be convenient.

"Well, because I'm sure there will be days when my kids annoy me when they do things like pull my plants out of their pots or something. And if you lived close, I could just send them to your house so I could have a break. And then they could pull the plants out of your pots instead."

I laughed. I can see where this is headed.

"I was thinking more like, they could come sit on the porch with me and drink lemonade and I'll tell them stories and sing songs to them," I said.

"That would be OK too," she answered.

Yes. Yes, it would.

The 7 Year Old Critic, Or, Why I Keep Him

2007-10-19T12:55:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, when I plopped my hysterical Pickalittle hat on my head and paraded through the family room:

"Mom, you look positively beautiful!"

This morning, 7:45 a.m., as I sang him a lively rendition of, "Oh, we've got trouble! Right here in River City!:

"Mom, you sing just like an angel!"

This afternoon, as I sang a heart-felt stanza of Lida Rose (while stirring the Jello he caaaaaaaan't waaaaaaaaaaaait till dinner for):

"Mom, when you sing songs that normally boys sing, it sounds pretty even though you are a girl so you have a girl voice."

OK, he can stay.

***

While You Were Sleeping

2007-10-18T13:50:00.000-05:00

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

~Pastor Martin Niemöller

Your republic is in danger. Do something.

***

The Lasts

2007-10-17T15:20:00.003-05:00

I can't remember the last time he called me Mommy. Or the last time he sat in my lap. Or the last time he asked me to unwrap a sticky Dum-Dum sucker.

I can't remember the last time he crawled up beside me on the couch and put his head in my lap. Or the last time he asked me to button his shirt.

I can't remember the last time he asked to watch Winnie The Pooh. Or if I would read him a story.

I can't remember the last picture we colored together. Was it 101 Dalmations? Or Star Wars?

When was the last time I had to buckle his seatbelt? Or hold his hand as we crossed the street? When did he last crawl under the covers beside me, seeking comfort from a bad dream?

I remember his first step. His first word. The first time he climbed the stairs. The first time he drank Mountain Dew and the first time he tasted chocolate. I remember his first birthday cake, his first movie, his first haircut.

I just can't remember the lasts.

Now it's youth group and history tests, acne cream and hair gel, computer games and guitar lessons, broom ball and...girls.

And only those who have been where I am can understand when I say it happened just...like...that.

A whirlwind of time and events, highlighted by photos or notes quickly jotted down when I had the time. If I had the time.

And now here I am, 13 years into mothering him. I still smile when I remember the firsts. I just wish I had noticed the lasts.

***
The photo above was taken July 29th, his 13th birthday, on the streets of downtown Chicago.

Language Arts

2007-10-17T14:45:00.001-05:00

This week, sitting at a stoplight on our way to piano lessons, my seven year old piped up from way in the back seat: “‘Right lane must turn right.’ How lame is THAT???”

This elicited giggles from the older kids because, well, once again Caedin is proving to all of us that though he has an extensive vocabulary, he doesn’t have extensive knowledge of how to use it.

I asked why the rule was lame, and he answered simply, “Because it is!” So I asked him what “lame” meant. He countered with, “If you want to know, you can look it up in the dictionary.” Hmmm...this kid has been listening to someone (I wonder who?)

This immediately reminded me of a conversation I had with a teacher when I was about Caedin’s age.
“Words have meanings,” Mrs. Masters told me (right after I had called an annoying classmate a smartypants and, when caught, pretended to think it meant I thought she was smart), “And what you mean is even more important than what you say."

I don’t think I have successfully imparted this wisdom to my son yet, so in the meantime, I informed him that he should not use words whose definitions he was uncertain of.

He was indignant.

“I like to talk,” he informed me (as if I hadn’t figured that out in the previous ear-tingling seven years), “and I run out of words if I don’t use ones I don’t know.”
Naturally, I responded with hysterical laughter to this new bit of Caedin-ism, and I told him that perhaps he should be the one to use the dictionary if he wished to use more words. He informed me he can’t use a dictionary. Note to self.

As we drove on, past the apparently offending sign and towards our daily routine, I had a big grin on my face. My boy loves words. Any words. Even words which make no sense to him. They are his tools. At the young age of seven, he is figuring out how they work and where they fit, trying them in new situations and even, to my great entertainment, bending them to his will.

How cool is THAT???

Pick a little more

2007-10-11T22:18:00.001-05:00

A bit of an update on my skyrocket to fame and fortune is, I suppose, long overdue.

We are two weeks out from show time. I have the shoes. I have what I hope will be the dress. I have the hat, which is waiting to be befeathered. I have the draperies, the keds, and the black opaque tights. I can walk with a book on my head for a solid five minutes without it falling off. I have my proper-lady attitude and my brown-nosing caricature perfected.

I have even figured out where to breathe in the song that induces a woozy, oxygen-deprived state and a very dry mouth.

My kids are sick and tired of hearing Seventy Six Trombones.

And sick and tired of me being gone three nights a week.

And frankly, my feet hurt.

But I'm finally getting it all figured out.

I had an interesting experience tonight that involved me being called out in front of the entire cast. Another cast member stepped in front of me and I did not move fast enough to counter his move. This left me behind another cast member, which is...well, anathema to this particular director (a situation I have never had to work with before, as I've always been taught that the principles are the ones who should take center stage at all times.)

Now personally, I thought the first two sentences were plenty of scolding and I immediately moved to where she wished me to be. Once I was in the correct position, the scolding continued. For a long time. Till many faces were turning around to check and see how I was holding up. I just kept smiling. I'm not taking anything too seriously. But afterwards, a few people came over to say how unnecessary that was. I agree, especially since we were in the process of blocking and the cast member who stepped in front of me normally would not be there, so the whole thing was based on something that won't be an issue in the actual show.

Which kinda makes me giggle. I should have at least gotten to really screw something up if I was going to be taken to the woodshed! Perhaps I should try harder.

All that to say...my skyrocket to fame and fortune is undeterred by the demands of the art.

You really ought to give Iowa a try!

****

(The photo above was swiped from an unsuspecting stranger on the internet. I am not one, nor do I know any, of the refined and well-groomed ladies in the photograph.)

A plea for mercy

2007-10-05T12:59:00.002-05:00

With apologies to all who will visit my blog today and be shocked by the above photo and wonder a) if they've come to the right place and b) if so, have I lost my ever-lovin' mind, I would like to send an open letter of advice to all inventors, creators, designers, stylists, and people-who-think-stuff-up.

Please make sure that what you put out there for the world to consume is worth not only experiencing, but experiencing over and over again.

As we all know, what goes around...well, goes around again. We have seen this with bell bottoms, platform shoes, Volkswagon Beetles, big sunglasses, cars with flames painted on them, and the list goes on. Consequently, it should be apparent that not only are we going to consume whatever you put before us with wild abandon, but we'll be more than willing to consume it once, diss it for a couple of decades, and then consume it again in a more modern fashion. We are creatures of habit, I'm afraid, and habits aren't always gentle on the eye or the instep.

I mention this because of something I saw at Lowe's. There I was, happily looking at light fixtures when I turned a corner and lo and behold...

A pink toilet.

A pink toilet, people.

A. Pink. Toilet.

It is true that everything is revisited in some form, and apparently the eye-burning mauve and dusty blue decor of the 1980s is no exception, not even when it comes to pastel-colored bathroom fixtures.

Please, for the love of all that does not induce visions of my sister's country decor complete with baskets nailed to a country-rose wallpapered wall, please have mercy on us. Please only release new products that are not only worth purchasing, but are worth revisiting again 20 years later when we've forgotten how much we laughed at pictures of what we once thought was cool.

Thank you. From the bottom of my wide-lapel heart.