thoughts from a Mother's Day Sunday

Yesterday being Mother's Day, me being a mom and a having a mom and knowing moms and women who long to be moms and/or grieve the loss of their children, it was a day full of thoughts turned prayers.

Yesterday also being the last Sunday in a series on marriage at my church, and me being married and knowing firsthand the unique kinds of trials marriage brings, it was a day of reflection turned worship.

About a week ago I read Psalm 27 and it grabbed me.  I've been mulling it over ever since.  One particular verse has me thinking about my one thing.

One thing have I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to inquire in his temple.

What's the one thing I am asking God for and seeking after?  One thing.  Mostly its been for my marriage.  Or my kids.  The two things yesterday hit on.  When I read Psalm 27 I hear the writer exclaiming that in the midst of fearful troubles and rejections, his one thing was a triune request: To be in God's presence all his life, to see the beauty of God and to be able to talk with God and may requests of him.  If I'm honest at first reading I feel like that's just out of reach.  How can I say my one thing is all about God when my kids are struggling and I'm exhausted and my marriage is so troubled?  How could the Psalmist say this when danger and fears and rejection by his own parents surrounded him?

As I listened yesterday to the preaching of the message that God has ransomed us from slavery to sin and idolatry, like Hosea ransomed Gomer, the mental image of the Son of God crying out, "I buy you back!  I buy you with my own life!" while I was shamefully sold-out to sin flashed through my mind. I heard 1 Corinthians 6:19-20, "Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body."

And then Psalm 27 started making more sense.  There's only one thing I really need in the midst of fears and suffering: Christ.  If he didn't buy me back to God I would never be able to run to him as a refuge.  I wouldn't be able be in his presence daily or see his endless beauty or talk with him and seek his answer.

In the midst of parenting trials and marriage troubles, where fears and the pain of betrayal and rejection and sins threaten to destroy, the one thing I need more than anything is Christ.  And when I lift my eyes off this storm around me and believe the promise that he his with me, and dwell on the beauty of his glory, and seek his face and his counsel, everything is set right.  The storm may rage, but with the psalmist I can say:

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living!
Wait for the Lord;
be strong, and let your heart take courage;
wait for the Lord!

A Tribute To My Mom

Dear Mom,

I read a post of Facebook the other day where a mom was telling her adult kids what she really wanted for Mother's Day.  In short: Time with them.  I agree.  Being a mom myself I feel the exact same way.  But since we're far apart and don't spend as much time together as we both would like as moms, I wanted to take a minute to tell you, and the world just a few of the reasons I'm so thankful that God made you my mom.

#1  Your songs.

Now that I'm a grown up and have spent years pursuing my own walk with the God of the Bible, I realize there are a lot of messages I swallowed growing up that weren't so Biblical.  Some things taught as truth were just misunderstood.  Some were mis-taught.  Enter grace.  And hymns.  No matter what I learned about God and life that wasn't so right growing up, what I learned right I heard in your singing.  When you sang the words, "I need thee every hour..."  you taught me dependence upon the grace found in Christ.  When you cried out in song around the house, "Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, help me stand."  You taught me to cry to God and not pout to myself.  When I heard you worship at bedtime, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me..."  You taught me to awe at the salvation found in Jesus.  Your singing planted truth in my soul mom.  And now it has sprouted and grown into it's very own tree, planted by the same streams of water out of which my soul sings with you, "And he walks with me, and he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own.  And the joy we share as we tarry there.  None other, has ever known."



#2 Your brokenness

Mom, honestly I used to wish you weren't broken. I used to wish, with you, we had a neat, tidy, healthy family.  I wanted a yellow house with a picket fence, two happy healthy parents and siblings who got along too.  Who doesn't want that?  But brokenness has come upon us all.  Even those I thought had that picture perfect family.  And it's through the brokenness in your life that I have learned to see God's miraculous way of making beauty out of ashes.  I used to be angry with God for the brokenness I saw everywhere and in my own life.  But the beautiful masterpiece God paints by taking the very cracked up thoughts and emotions, bodies and relationships we all live with everyday and out of them painting a whole new Christ-imaging life makes the beauty of that Norman Rockwell life I had in my head look like a 5 year old's water color.  God has painted Christ-exalting majesty and glory out of your broken life mom.  Christ in you is beautiful!  Through you Christ has shown himself to me as the Great Physician who has come not for the well, but the sick, like me.  Through you, he has made me to know him as the great bearer of burdens.  Because you have turned to Him, time and time again, I have learned to see myself and others as broken people in desperate need of the love of Christ.



#3  Your creativity

Paper dolls cut out of any piece of cardboard or paper on hand.  Marbles and Jax.  Stories that should be written down and printed as captivating children's books.  Biscuits to die for.  Your interest in our lives and your creativity and handiwork drew us as children to you.  Your creative, happy, liveliness was Jesus in you causing the little children to come to him.  And he is still at work in you drawing your grandchildren.  God has given you the gift of touching the hearts of young children mom.  Your love of life and interest in investing in the young souls around you has forever changed the course of many lives for God's glory.



#4 Your diversity

In a small town where everyone was a shade of pale and most people spoke red-neck English, you were a wise woman with a world-wide awareness and a vision for honoring the diversity of God's people in every tongue, tribe and nation.  Before we could even speak, you were hanging cut out magazine images of babies with different skin-tones on the wall next to our crib.  When Cabbage-Patch dolls were all the rage, you bought your white, freckle-faced children black Cabbage-Patch dolls.  When people of darker pigment came into our our town and didn't speak much English, you welcomed them into our home and learned to make tortillas from scratch with them.  In a culture that was ignorant to it's xenophobia, you were planting the truth that in God's world there are peoples of all cultures, pigments and languages.  And that's a beautiful thing!


A Woman To Be Praised!

That's only four reasons out of many for why I thank God every day that he made you my mom!  I celebrate you mom.  I want to pass onto my children the gifts you've given me.  Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman like you mom, who is in awe of Christ Jesus our Lord, is worthy to be praised for generations to come!  May God bless the work of your hands mom!

I love you,

Your Lil' Toad

Sore throats, Puppy love and County Inspectors

(This pic has nothing to do with the post, but it just makes me laugh.  Pic of me as an infant looking in horror at an armless doll sitting in front of me.)

This is only my second week of working two shifts a week. I like it.  I've had the last three days off and thought I was going to be busy.

Monday I had planned to drop off the two barn cats at the spay and neuter clinic at 6:45 am and then take a day trip north with my neighbor so she could pick up a rooster and check on some goats we had sold to a lady there. Tuesday I was planning to go to Bible Study Fellowship, make soap and work on narrowing down a decision for where to pursue my BSN. Today was supposed to be the household chores and errands day, plus a buyer for my last two does was supposed to come pick them up today.

Instead, I cancelled my day trip with my neighbor on Monday, anticipating too much packed into one day. I took the cats to the vet as planned and started making soap. By half way through the day a sore throat was coming on.  I shrugged it off as allergies or maybe too much fragrance oil in the air from soap making.  I went to the gym and while I was there I broke into a cold sweat.  Sure I was running a fever, I wiped down the equipment I was using 1/2 way through my workout and went home.  No fever, but by the evening I was miserable.

Tuesday morning I woke up looking like I had an allergic reaction, my face was so swollen, my throat was sore but not as bad as Monday night and I felt like I had been on a roller coaster for three days. Ugh.  I slept off and on all day.  James had taken Tuesday off so he got the kids off to school and spent the whole day getting ready for the county inspector who was scheduled to come sometime between 8 am and 4pm to check on his progress on the front porch job.  By late Tuesday afternoon I was feeling much better, thought I had slept off this virus and decided to go attempt some kind of exercise.  That was a bad idea.  As soon as the blood started flowing the virus woke up and said, "We're not done!"  I went home, showered and went to bed early.

Today I'm feeling better, but decided against doing much moving around so as not to arouse the nasty sleeping virus in my body.  I was expecting the lady from somewhere between Flagstaff and Williams to come pick up my last two does today, but around 12 she texted me that she and her hubby had overheated their older pickup and were now waiting for a tow truck.  Sale not cancelled, but postponed until an agreement and meeting place and time could be arranged since it doesn't look like her vehicle will be up and running any time soon.  (I might just ask her to pay for gas and make a trip up to the Grand Canyon on one of my days off and take the two does with me.)

I did get some housekeeping done, some laundry and some correspondence with family.  One of the best parts of today was when I decided to just go outside and attempt to plant some scallion-like bulbs, peas and leeks.  I don't know what it is with me and gardening.  I think it's just lack of faith.  From inside my cozy house, the view out my window to the dry desert dirt that is my front yard, littered with thorny weeds, seems to steal away the idea that anything might grow if I plant it.  I look out there and it looks so barren and dry.  But when I get off my duff, walk out the door, grab a pair of gloves, water hose, garden tool thingy, seeds and get down on my knees and start pulling weeds, tilling dirt, adding water and poking seeds into the ground I feel a mysterious sense of health.  There's just something about putting your hands in dirt with the intent of killing weeds and growing flowers and vegetables that clears the mind and makes you feel better!  I need to do it more often.

James is not a happy camper right now.  He spent the last three days off digging gigantic squares in the ground where the footers (?) for the posts where the new front porch will go.  He even built forms to put in the squares in the ground to pour the concrete in.  But when the inspector guy (who was very loud and brash) came and told him he was overkilling the post holes and asked where the property line was (which James wasn't prepared to answer and didn't know exactly), he felt like he had wasted time, labor and money getting ready for the guy to come.  After the inspector left he started digging around to find out where the property line is, what he found threw a giant wrench in the whole plan.  Apparently he is going to have to fill and re-dig these footers a foot or two closer to the house than he has.  Not good.

Ryland is currently at his swim team practice.  Connor is probably home trying to explain to his dad why he's 15 minutes late getting home.  That won't go well.  One of my two middle school aged sons has a "girlfriend" (Read he likes a girl his age and she likes him and they blush and text each other smiley faces and talk about how much they hate ceramics class.  I know.  I read his text messages.  That was the agreement when he got a smart phone- parents have free access at all times.)  This is a big turning point in our lives as parents and his life as a boy becoming a young man.

I remember being 13.  I didn't care about boys yet then.  By the time I was 14 I liked Bobby Troop, but he had no idea I existed and I was a foot taller than all the boys that knew me so I had no boyfriends.  It was probably a good thing.  I've been praying for the girl that likes my son- that God would use her influence in my son's life for His good purposes.  From their birth I've dedicated both Connor and Ryland to the Lord.  I pray that God would use their friendships, even the girl kind, to draw them closer to him.

There's lots of scary things in the world when it comes to teenagers and dating.  Everything in our culture is sex-crazed.  There is no innocence in dating or courting or whatever you call it.  I know the world my sons are growing up in has a totally twisted view on the relationship between men and women.  I just pray that God would use all the relationships in my kids' lives to draw them to Him and that he would keep them from destructions that come in all kinds of teenage foolishness.

Prayerful,

Sheila

a fellowship of bearing up

I'm sitting her in my PJ's in a quiet house, waiting for my oatmeal to finish cooking. I pull up my Bible app on my phone and read the verse of the day:

 Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears us up; God is our salvation.- Psalm 68:19

I chuckle and sigh.  Daily bears us up.  I had just been bemoaning the daily bearing up tasks of being a mom and wife secretly in my heart.  Opening the fridge, taking mental note that there's nothing to make for dinner and I'll need to go to the store.  And we're out of eggs.  And the kids will be up soon and so will begin the grumbling and moaning I'll get to hear as soon as the call for morning chores is given.  And I need to get pellets for the animals.  And plan for someone to do the morning chores and milking while I'm gone next week.  And I need to make more soap and advertise it and post lotion for sale in the online store.  And I need to contact local retailers about carrying our soaps in their stores.  And I'll be going to part-time soon and that'll leave one more day a week for... for... for daily bearing up the needs of the household.

I sigh for a minute.  It's a blessing that I'm treating like a burden.  But no doubt, it is a burden.  It's a burden that has to be born up.  Carried.  But it's a burden with blessing built in because it's a burden that in it's very nature shares the likeness of God in it.  It's a fellowship of bearing up that I get to share with the Living God everyday!

I am no savior.  I do not save my family.  I save no one.  But I get to let the beauty of what God does shine through my life in walking with him under the load of bearing up.  And all the while I point to him as salvation.  He is my salvation.  He's why I can bear the burden of the needs of this family with delight in the gift it is to get to do it.

It only begins to feel like a tax on me for one reason: sin.  The sins of my husband and children make it painful and draining sometimes to bear the needs of this family.  And my own sinful grumbling and lack of faith cause me to feel the unbearable weight of this calling.  But when I see through eyes of faith, that I join God in the way of bearing up the needs of others, I feel empowered.

God is using my life to show his way among the nations.  Even the Dougals.  I tremble.  What a high and wonderful call.  I don't need to break the glass ceiling or prove my equality in power with anyone.  I know who I am.  And Whose I am.  And where I'm going.  I can bend down and bear today's burden.  Because I'm His daughter.  And that's what He's doing.

 Quieted,

Sheila

Love. Suffering. And the Heart-Stream Turner.

(Old pic, boys have grown a lot in a couple years.)

Here it is approaching midnight. I so wanted to sit down and write out some thoughts from today earlier but a neighbor popping in, a child wanting to play cards, a husband not feeling well and soap to be made stood in my way.

So, here I am, printing labels for soap at the very end of this 2nd Sunday in Advent and writing out some thoughts with this very tired brain.  Consider yourself forewarned.

Today's reading was reflecting on love and today at church we heard from 1 Corinthians 6, not an apparent tie here, but there are these two questions:

Why not rather suffer wrong? Why not rather be defrauded?

I remember having a Bible study with a lady once who seemed appalled at the thought that you should do something or refrain from doing something because it might cause that person to stumble in their walk with Christ.  I remember the look on her face that said, "That cannot mean that!  That's co-dependency.  I can do whatever I want."  I remember thinking she doesn't get it.  She still thinks Christianity is something you add like a cherry to the top your personally selected sunday life.  She certainly doesn't think Christianity is taking up your cross and following Jesus daily in dying to yourself and bearing with others, even suffering.

That section in 1 Corinthians that asks those two small questions... that's the part that came to mind when I read this evening's Advent reading on love.

Christ suffered wrong and was defrauded along the path to glorify the Father and bring me (and all those who would believe) back into a right relationship with God.

I will suffer wrong and be defrauded in this life as I set out to glorify my Father and point others to Christ.

That's the price of love.  But oh is it worth it!

To the one who holds tightly to all they have to uphold their worth, suffering wrong and being defrauded is to be avoided and must be avenged at all cost.

But to the one who knows all things are theirs in Christ; who knows their worth and identity are found in him, to suffer wrong and be defrauded is a light and momentary affliction on the path of Christ-like love.

Being a Timothy-Mom to two boys in a divided house is hard.  It's been really hard these last 48 hours.  But God amazes me how, "The king's heart is like a stream of water in the hand of the LORD- he turns it wherever he will." I worried.  And I took all those worries and cried and poured out my heart before the only One who can do anything about a 12 year old boy's heart and his tired, unbelieving dad. And He turned that unbelieving heart toward wisdom.  And gave him the right words for his troubled son.  And I stood there in the hall and thanked God for hearing my cries and intervening.

I will trust Him!  There is no one like my God!

Quieted,

Sheila

Why I took my boys to see Selma

I took my kids to watch Selma today.  Every year on MLK Day I purposefully talk with the kids about Martin Luther King Jr.  I set out to rescue the day from the "just another day off school" it could easily become.  Selma helped me do that in a big way today.  But I didn't just take them because today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day.  I took my boys to see Selma movie for a four reasons:

1)  I want to be purposeful about talking to my kids about history and social and moral issues.  History is what they're living and history is what they'll learn from and repeat or change.  And the social and moral issues of life will confront them unless they move to the Alaskan wilderness alone or hide in the basement playing video games for the rest of their lives.  I pray neither of those options will hold any draw for them.  The truth is, even though most of us don't live in either extreme it's easy to hide from social and moral issues.   I don't want my kids to hide.  I want them to shine.

2) My boys are about as white as white gets.  Blonde. Blue-eyed. Freckled-faced and have never been called a racial derogatory term in their lives.  They have no idea what it feels like to have a "people" who's history is full of not-too-distant slavery and segregation.  They have no idea what it feels like to live in an era when segregation was commonplace.  Neither do I for that matter.

3) Dr. King demonstrated the kind of gutsy submission I want my boys to have in life.  I want them to be characterized as a Christian should be: as a submissive person.  Submissive as Christ was.  Submissive to authority.  Respectful of those in leadership.  Obedient to the law.  Yet, like Christ, I want them to be willing to suffer when they have to stand up and against unjust laws.  In a interview on Meet The Press after the march from Selma to Montgomery Dr. King was asked how he could justify going against a law that forbade him from marching when he himself proclaimed to be a peaceful, non-violent protester.  King's response is spot on:

There are two types of laws. One is a just law. One is an unjust law. I think we all have moral obligation to obey just laws. On the other hand, I think we have a moral obligation to disobey unjust laws, because non-cooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good. I think the distinction here is that when one breaks a law that his conscience tells him is unjust, he must do it openly, he must do it cheerfully, he must do it lovingly, he must do it civilly, not uncivilly, and he must do it with a willingness to accept the penalty. And any man that breaks a law that his conscience tells him is unjust, and willingly accepts the penalty, by staying in jail in order to arouse the conscience of the community on the injustice of the law, is at that moment expressing the highest respect for law.

Oh that we as Christians, even me and my sons, would be so changed by the goodness and grace of God and the excellence of his ways that we would be model citizens and when we must break a law that our conscience tells us is unjust, we would do so openly and cheerfully and lovingly and civilly and willing to accept the penalty and thereby express the highest respect for the law.

4)  Martin Luther King Jr.'s mission and stand is a powerful and inspiring way to point my boys to Christ.

Dr. King's stance against the moral evil of racial bigotry and segregation, and for the moral good of all human beings to freely live in their society, share equal access to that society's economy, politics and social aspects as people created in the image of God no matter the color of their skin is important and life changing because it's right!  There is a right and there is a wrong.  There is evil and there is good. There is sin and their is righteousness.  God through Christ showed us what righteousness is.  We human beings demonstrate over and over again what sin is.  Out of our hearts comes all kinds of evil.

Forcing people with dark skin to eat in a different part of a restaurant, go to a different school, drink from a different sink; beating peaceful demonstrators for respectfully standing against legislated evil; preventing black people from voting... and the many more evils that were accepted as right by our society is deplorable.  It should never be.  But even when that evil is eradicated from the planet other evils persist.  The killing of the unborn.  Human trafficking.  Child pornography.  Violent and oppressive governments.  Child abuse.  Domestic violence.  And the list could go on and on.  All these are evils that have come out of the human heart.  Dr. King pointed us to the One who's glory is the only cure for it: Christ.

Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.'s speeches were prophetic and jarring.  He often quoted from the Bible in his speeches.  One from Amos really struck me in the movie today, "But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream."  It's righteous, God's righteousness, Christ's righteousness that will make things right.  In our lives individually now, as much as can be this side of His kingdom come.  And one day, on that great and glorious day, fully when we see him face to face!

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.  His glory is not merely racial equality and it is not less than racial equality.  It is massive.  It is transforming.  It is the right we long for.  And He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored.  All that evil.  All that has poured out of our hearts for generations and has done horror upon horror to each other and this world and ultimately has spoken enormous slander of God's name whom we bear as creatures made in his image.  His wrath is coming against all that evil that we have done.  And there is only one place to escape His wrath- His Son.

Christ did ultimately what King was a small shadow of.  King suffered the evils of men to stand for what was right.  Christ suffered the evils of men and the wrath of a righteous God against all those evils (to which men have held dear) to save us and make us right.

The hope for the black man and the white man, the Chinese woman and the Arabian woman, the African child and the Iranian child is the One who created them and died to redeem them all.  Only His Kingdom come and His will be done will bring the ultimate of what Dr. King sought.  Freedom.

Quieted,

Sheila

Do you know Jochabed?

Moses in his mothers arms' by Simeon Solomon (1840-1905)

What do you do as a mom when you know your child grows up under the influence of authorities in their life who dishonor God and His Word? Who mock the Christ and the whole concept of sin and the need for a Savior? Who think of the Bible as old, out-of-date stories? Who offer the short-lived pleasures of this world as the ultimate pursuit of your child's life over and against the foolish call of Christ to deny yourself, take up your cross daily and follow Him to a kingdom that they cannot see where true riches and never-ending pleasures abide in uninhibited relationship with the Living God?

I look to a woman named Jochabed.

The nearly 4000 year old story of Moses is not only a pivotal story in the history of the people of Israel, it's also the heroic story of a mom who put her hope for her son in the Living God and whose influence, no doubt, was God's means of grace to plant faith in Moses.

We only get a few short verses about Jochabed's influence on Moses. But we get a thousand upon thousand year old legacy of faith in Christ because of her faith.

By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter, choosing rather to be mistreated with the people of God than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. He considered the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking to the reward. - Hebrews 11:24-26

Mary Elizabeth Baxter (a Christian woman long gone to glory) wrote a commentary on Jochabed that I find tremendously encouraging. Here is an excerpt:

Christian mother, does your home influence counteract the sin, the untruth, the impurity, the hollowness of the world, so that your son finds the home life a haven of rest from temptation and shame? 

Is there so much of God in your life that it more than outweighs other influences which surround him? Blessed mother, if it is so! 

Pharaoh's daughter said to Jochebed: "Take this child away and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages." (Exd 2:9.) This is the last we hear of Jochebed, Moses' mother. THE RESULT OF HER LIFE's WORK was the man Moses. 

The true mother lives again in her son. There is the answer to her prayers; there is the result of her watchfulness; there is the true correction of her own faults reproduced in her son. Moses might never have been the man he was had it not been for Jochebed. 

Who knows how many a leader of God's people may be at the present time in course of training by some pious mother? Who knows but that the little James or John or William, who is playing with the kitten on the hearth, may some day become a man to whom hundreds or thousands may look for help and direction? 

Oh let every mother who reads these pages understand her vocation when a higher than Pharaoh's daughter says to her: "Take this child and nurse it for Me, and I will give thee thy wages." But the wages of Jochebed were not to be given by the princes of this world. To be the mother of a Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face, like whom there arose not since in Israel (Deu 34:10): this was an honour which none but God could give.

I often get discouraged. Almost to the point of giving up... whatever that would look like. I guess every paralyzation of indifference or hopelessness that I choose is a giving up of sorts. I let the lie that my influence means nothing, even more, that God's word and grace is not powerful enough and God's Sovereign goodness is not really sovereign or good, numb me into just sitting there rather than saying something.

There was a time when they nursed at my spiritual breast. There was a time when I had a captive and eager audience of two boys under 5 who fed on the truth with gladness. But that season of nursing is passed. Now they are in Pharoah's house. Now they have the opulence of the world at their fingertips and the temporary pleasures of sin to worship the false gods of this age with. 

But I remember Jochabed.  I remember the God of Jochabed. My God- the God who purposed Moses' life even when it was full of the fleeting pleasures of sin and the treasures of Egypt.

I often wonder how Jochabed endured those years in Egypt, knowing her son was gaining rank in the house of the ruler who enslaved her and her people. Surely it was painfully difficult to go about the laborious tasks of slavery knowing that her son was enjoying riches, entertainment and power in a house which attributed all it's power and riches to false gods.  I wonder if she thought there was no way her son Moses would remember all that she taught him at her breast.  I wonder if she seriously doubted that he would ever turn his back on Pharaoh's gods to worship the God of his enslaved kin.  There must have been years of tight-throated, eyes-burning-with-tears prayers and pleas to the God of Joseph to not forget her son and let him rot in the riches of Egypt.

Even in this season, hard as it is to endure, I know my God is able to take what was (and is) planted in my sons, my ongoing prayers (feeble as they may be) and the faith (microscopic as it is) that He has given me, and make all that tempt to ensnare my boys serve the purpose of bringing them to the place where, they too, can choose the reproach of Christ as greater wealth over all that gleams and glitters (and becomes enslaving chains) in this world.  And if, when, they do that, it will be a miracle!  No one chooses the reproach of Christ over the fleeting pleasures of sin and the wealth of this world without a miracle!

Oh God of Jochabed! God of Moses!  God over Pharaoh!  My God!  You who rule the universe.  You who do not let a single sparrow fall from the sky without your okay.  You who designed motherhood and know the heartache of sons and daughters who leave your goodness to go after the cotton-candy rot of the world.  You who gave me sons and a heart to know you.  You who used my sin to bring me to the knowledge of my need for a Savior.  You who called me out of darkness into your wonderful light, who brought me from death to life despite my angst towards you and my wandering from you, who gave me taste buds to taste your goodness when I was intoxicated with the poison of the pleasures of sin.  Oh merciful God who loves and is just and poured out all judgement against sin on your only Son to save us from what we could never endure.  Hear my prayers for my sons.  Let no one keep them from coming to their Savior.  Give them the faith to choose the joy of You over all this world has to offer.  Give me the faith to stand when I want to lay down; to believe when I'm mocked.  May Christ be magnified in me!  Let my life bring you glory!  

Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands! - Psalm 90:17

Quieted,

Sheila

Confetti Post

Much to fill the day and by the time I sit down to blog my brain goes into neutral and I fall asleep in minutes.

Mid afternoon isn't my usual time to take a seat and write out my sojourning thoughts here, but the kids are sitting down to do worksheets from the reading comprehension and math workbooks I bought them last week to prepare them for school on Monday.  So now's a good a time as any.

Where to start...

There's No Place Like Home

I was showering in our make-shift shower- which is literally standing room only as it's only the circumference of a child's hoola hoop- feeling very much like the stance I was in in the place that is usually relaxing to me is exactly how I feel my life is in general right now: no place to relax.  Not exactly something to complain about, nevertheless it is a real stress that wears on you.  As I was standing there, the Holy Spirit knowing all my complaints and searching my anxious thoughts, that still, small voice lifted:

The Son of Man has no place to lay his head.

Mmmm.  Instant comfort.  Instant peace.  Instant rest in a vertical, uncomfortable place.

Home is a dust filled, every-corner-cluttered, tension-filled, labor-intensive place.   Work is a high-risk learning, government-regulated, magnifying-glass-to-your-every-move place.  Church is a battle to get to.  Relationships between the grown-ups are distant, tense... spiritually mismatched.  Right now parenting feels like refereeing a boxing match and facing a judge dressed in 10 year old's clothes.  My own mind is a battle ground.  The fight for faith and the slaying of sin and lies is a constant war.  I'm tired.  I look for a place to rest.  And I look up for that place.  And I realize all this is keeping me from finding here any real home.  I really, truly only find rest in the Holy Spirit's ministry to me and through me; as he teaches me of Jesus and conforms me to his image everyday, and as I open the Word, in which I find all my hope in the promises of God.

He will make all things new.

He blazed the trail of no place to lay his head.

He authored my faith.  He'll finish it.

He is my comfort.  He is my rest.  He is my home.


I'm Just the Farmer.  But I Am a Farmer.


"Oh yeah, well what if I don't want to be a Christian?!" the angry boy bit back at the answer given to the question he had regarding his correction.

"Well I believe dad!"  he shouts as he stomps off feeling successful at taking sides in a family where there are sides, and there should only be one side.

This constant opposition is... constant.  This struggle, this teaching, hearing arguments, correcting, disciplining, comforting, enduring rejection, choosing the unpopular best... it's daily; moment by moment, and I'm tired.

But it's good. It's a constant reminder to me that I can't make the seed come to life.  I can only plant and water and pull weeds and protect from gophers.  But I can't make it grow.  I can't give life, I can only bear it and train it.

Right now there's a tight reign on the most defiant plant.  It wants to grow wild.  It wants to grow sideways and its full of thorns, but with God it has the potential for great beauty and fruit.

I can't just give up and look up and say, "It's all on you God.  Only you can make it grow."  But I can keep doing my part as the farmer and train this wild shoot and look up in faith and say, "Apart from You I can do nothing Lord.  Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it.  The Lord gives children.  You will not let your word return void.  But you will prosper it for your purposes."

Life this side of heaven is like Saul chasing David.  We are called kings and priests... children of the King.  But we don't get to reign yet.  Instead we are constantly opposed from within and without.

One is not more important than the other.  I need to have the Word and a life that backs it up and lives it out.  I can't just teach Bible stories and quote scriptures.  And I can't just be a nice person and a loving mom and wife.  I have to have both.  A farmer can be the nicest guy in the world but if he doesn't plant a seed he won't have a harvest.  A man who plants seeds but doesn't tend the soil and labor to care tenderly for the plant, to provide it what it needs, what is best, to give it warms and water and good soil... that farmer won't have a harvest either.

This means a lot to me.  It's a much needed reminder:  I am where He has me.  This is my work in His field.

 Quieted,

Sheila

Momma-Preacher: Meditations on Deuteronomy 6 and 11

"You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words I command you today shall be on your heart." Deuteronomy 6:5-6

Therefore you shall love the LORD your God, and keep His charge, His statutes, His judgments, and His commandments always. Know today that [I do] not [speak] with your children, who have not known and who have not seen the chastening of the LORD your God, His greatness and His mighty hand and His outstretched arm...what He did for you in the wilderness until you came to this place...but your eyes have seen every great act of the LORD which He did... Therefore you shall keep every commandment which I command you today...Therefore you shall lay up these words of mine in your heart and in your soul, and bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes...You shall teach them to your children, speaking of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up. - Deuteronomy 11:1-2,5,7,8,18-19

Every night I tuck them in bed after hurried mornings in a divided house; away all day eye-ball deep in  the damaging effects of sin on and in our children, while they are in someone else's care and under someone else's teaching in this Egypt I live.

And when I read to them from the scriptures, or talk to them about a spiritual truth, or unpack to them some more of the nature of God as revealed in Christ and proclaim the gospel to them like the momma-preacher I sometimes become and they have a glazed over look in their eyes, and they sigh and start fidgeting around, and interrupt, and are obviously not captivated with what I am pouring my heart out to impress upon them, I remember Deuteronomy 6 and 11.  And I am renewed in faith and spurred on to remember its my being in love with God, and his words being on my heart, and because I have "seen"the chastening of the LORD in my own life and have experienced his work in my life, I am the one who's going to be passionate and motivated in love and obedience to the One who has captivated me with His great love... not my children.

Not yet anyway.

That doesn't mean they won't be captivated one day themselves.  I pray they will.  I trust they will.

But for now, for now with a heart on fire and hands that serve them and a life laid down to nurture and teach them, I talk with them about this great God, who I love, and about his ways- which are wonderful and always good- and His amazing story and how he redeems and their only hope.  I talk with them when we're doing our everyday stuff and when I get 5 minutes to tuck them in at night.  And I entrust the seed to the One who gives it life and who promised it will accomplish the purpose for which he sent it out of this momma's mouth.

 Quieted,

Sheila

Rx's and Rocks

I've had several post topics in mind but the last few days have not allowed for blog post time.

It really started last week on Wednesday night when my little guy with asthma coughed a terrible cough that keeps a mom up all night long.  I took him with me to work on Thursday (advantage or disadvantage to being a school nurse depending on how you look at it).  Friday and Saturday nights were repeats of Wednesday night plus fever.  So Sunday after church, when the fever was still there, I carted him to the urgent care.

This poor guy can't catch a normal cold and be done with it.  In the past 4 years he's had 3 bouts with pneumonia.  This time it was *just* acute bronchitis which sent his otherwise well controlled asthma into a tail spin.  Sunday he started on antibiotics, prednisone and a night time cough syrup so he could actually get a night's sleep (Doesn't help the mom though.  She still can't sleep knowing breathing is compromised with her little one).  My counter looks like the cough/cold isle in CVS.

I'm sick of sick.  Before Ryland got sick, I caught the respiratory crud.  I've been quarantined to the couch for a couple weeks because of my hacking through the night cough.  I did all the good nursing stuff you should do for a virus: fluids, fluids, fluids and more fluids.  About 10 days ago I'd had enough and broke down and went to the urgent care for a very painful lymph node, got started on some antibiotics for that lymph node infection and have been slowly getting rid of more mucous than... yeah, that's gross.  Not very lady like at all.

Monday was strictly a sabbath for me and the kids.  No work.  No chores.  Just lots of clear liquids, prescription medications and rest.  Ryland was in tears on Sunday cause he had his heart set on going rockhounding at Saddle Mountain over spring break (He heard you can find fire agate there).  I told him if there was no fever the rest of Sunday and thru Monday and his asthma symptoms were better I'd take him Tuesday.

And so it was that today was our real first day of spring break:  fire agate rockhounding.  It was a blast despite the fact that the crud I'm about rid of, and Ryland is fighting, seemed to begin it's torture with Connor.  He hacked and walked around while we found literally pounds of fire agate right under our feet.  Within 20 minutes he was asking me if he could go lay down in the car.  Ugh! I'm sick of sick!!!  So Ryland and I gathered up as much as we could find in 10 more minutes, packed up our stuff and headed back for the 40 minute drive home.

It's past ten and I'm worn but despite all the sickness and fatigue from coughing, today was a really cool day.  I'd drive 40 minutes into the desert to hunt for rocks with my boys any day over T.V. and video games.

Being out in nature invites all sorts of opportunity for talking about God and His Grand Plan.  I love it! We talked about how God is a Rock, and how reading the Bible is sometimes like looking for gems in the desert.

"But where shall wisdom be found?  And where is the place of understanding?... It cannot be valued in the gold of Ophir, in precious onyx or sapphire.  Gold and glass cannot equal it, nor can it be exchanged for jewels of fine gold... God understands the way to it, and he knows its place... And he said to man, "Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom, and to turn away from evil is understanding." - Job 28

Quieted,

Sheila

of a rockhound and 4th grader under pressure

So Ryland has decided he wants to be a Rockhound.   He's been telling us how much he loves rocks for about a year now.  His room has about as many rocks as Lego people scattered on every surface.  But about a month ago there must have been a geology lesson in his 3rd grade class because he's been passionate about rocks ever since.  He asked if he could join a rockhound club.  Wanted to know if I'd take him to look for rocks on a mountain, and if he could have one of the pick tools to break the rocks apart with.  I did the only thing a tired, barely getting over a virus working mom could do, I googled kids geology clubs in the area.  That turned up nothing.  I tried kids rock clubs.  Nothing.  Kids rockhounding?  Nada.  So I suggested he start his own rock club.  His eyes lit up and he started scheming.  I offered to let him start his own rockhounding blog.  He was jumping up and down with yes's.  So ARockHoundKid is born.

The Music Man dad asked Ryland what he was going to do when the kids started coming to his rock club.

"I don't know.  I don't have anything to do but look at rocks!"  He answered emphatically as though to say, "Duh!  What else is there to do in a rock club dad?"

So if you're in the neighborhood, keep your eye open.  You just might see a boy or two out there in my driveway, hunched over rocks, pounding them with hammers and lining them up in neat rows.  And if Ryland has his way, there will be a sign that says:

Rockhound Kid Club meets here.  Rocks for sale.  Geodes five dollars.

We'll see how it goes.

In the mean time, Connor is anticipating starting Majors and trying to trust his parents that his current 4th grade stresses will pass.  I think he's got a lot of pressure to perform.  I wish I could take that away from him.  I'm almost 40 and I'm still trying to turn myself from the self-centered path of performing for others' approval.  I'm trying to at least help him during this time to see that he doesn't need to impress me, he just needs to do hard work and listen.  I'm concerned for him.  Like Solomon prayed, I'm praying for wisdom to make right judgments.  I wish I could wave pixy dust over him and all would be well.  But that's just now how it works.  And so I present my requests with thanksgiving and beyond understanding there's a visceral assurance inside that says Connor's heilsgeschichte is being worked out even now.  Even in this.

My food blog is fast becoming a pumpkin bread blog.  I just scrolled back and realized I have three different pumpkin bread or muffin posts.  I like pumpkin.  I like it better in a bread than in a pie.  I've also discovered I like custard.  Custard is a refined person's desert. When I was a newly married 19 year old working as a live-in health aide for a wealthy family in Scottsdale four days a week, the 80 year old woman I cared for taught me how to make custard.  It was her favorite breakfast.  I didn't think much of it when I tasted it back then at 19.  My palate was more suited to Whoppers and Snickers bars in those days.  But the other day I made a custard using coconut milk, egg yokes, honey, vanilla and nutmeg.  All I can say is I guess my palate is a little more refined than it was 19 years ago cause custard is creamy deliciousness.

Quieted,

Sheila

My trade and joy

I like markers in time. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Holidays. New year celebrations. And, the older I get, the more I feel each night as I lay down to die daily to my failures and successes and wake each morning to new mercies I am celebrating the beginning of a new, important marker in time.

I don't make new year's resolutions, but I do take the holiday from the daily grind to stop and think through what has happened in the past year and to prayerfully look ahead to the days of mercy before me.   In fact I keep a little journal which only write in sometime after Christmas or before the new year.

This year I need to look up.  I needed to look up last year too.  So it begins today and again tomorrow and the day after that, that I'm taking Ann's challenge to exchange being worn for garment of praise.

It's the way I've felt most of the year.  Worn.  In fact, if my 2012 was a song, it was this song:


I stepped away at the end of that last paragraph to put to bed a boy in trouble and it turned out to be a by far the most thankful, joy-filled moment of 2013 so far!

As I was searching, praying for what to do with this one as I put him to bed- how to make this a "in the nurture and admonition of the Lord," moment?- I looked up at the bookshelf, at the two nearly-blank journals I had purchased last year to keep for my two boys.  One for each of them.  The thought occurred to me that I should have them join me in my quest for joy this year.   I grabbed them, our most-loved Jesus Storybook Bible marked at the page we left off, a couple of pencils, the brother to the erring boy and headed to his brother's room.

We sat there on the bed and I explained a little and they eagerly agreed to join me in the challenge to come up with 1,000 thanks in the next year... just 3 a day.  The boy with puffy, tear-worn eyes asked, "Can I write more?"  Isn't that the way it goes with grace?  When we're in deep in our own mess we see the goodness of His grace and we can think of many reasons to give thanks.

So I gave them their pencils, some cues if they needed them:  Give thanks for a person, place and thing.

We sat quietly writing our thanks to the Giver of all good things.  And then they asked to read them.  The smiling, freckle-faced boy read his with glee.  Thanking God for his new jacket.  His Aunt who just flew back home today.  And for his family.

Then his freshly disciplined and still hurting from the pain of it brother who had been rapidly writing away said, "I want to read mine."

With sincere child-like faith he said, "Thank you Lord that I didn't have to die on the cross because you did..."  He went on, giving thanks for the Lord's salvation,  the Lord's moving on his dad's heart to desire to be closer to family... all in precious, genuine 9 year old words.

My smile was about to burst off my tear-wet face.  There is no greater joy than to hear your children give thanks for the work of Christ!

All week I've been hurting, not knowing how to connect with this dear son of mine, feeling like I was loosing the parenting battle.  But tonight, as he read vulnerably his list, closed it and closed his eyes, he sang with me what he wrote at the top of his first thanksgiving journal page: 10,000 Reasons.

So, this year, this day, and tomorrow if it comes, I prayerfully set out to:

1.  plant the thanksgiving-seed of joy in my children and the other precious little ones I'll get to teach this year
2.  trade in my mourning for the oil of joy, and
3.  press forward in my pilgrimage of a Long Obedience in the Same Direction

To give them beauty for ashes, The oil of joy for mourning, The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; That they may be called trees of righteousness, The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified. - Isaiah 61:3

May this be my song in 2013:

Quieted,

Sheila

You never know

In the district I work, nurses have to work late on the Thursday of parent/teacher conference night. So last night I was there until eight, hence no blog post.

You never know what can happen in a day.  Your house could catch fire.  Your grandchild could drown in your pool while you're watching T.V.   You could have a stroke.  You could get hit by a car while riding your bike on the way to school.  I'm not just being a doomsayer here.  Between yesterday afternoon and this morning I found out all of these things happened to people I know. My heart aches for the people involved in all of these situations.  People to pray for.

It's the beginning of fall break for me and the boys.  They get one week, I get two.  Tomorrow is baseball.  Sunday I'm really looking forward to.  And then a week of... He knows.  And I trust Him with it.  I know not what can happen in a day.  I do know the One who will use all that happens in my days to mold me more and more into the image of His Son.  So be it!

Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit"--yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.- James 4:13-14

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.- Romans 8:28-29

 
Connor's teacher wrote a few things about him that made me glad despite his struggling grades.  She wrote that he asks good questions and that he accepts responsibility and learns from his mistakes.  Those two statements hold a lot more credit than A's in my book!

My two boys are the odd couple for sure.  One is always moving, one I am always trying to get moving. One is very academic, a good puzzle solver...a thinker.  The other will chase any fast moving object, be quick to hurry through eating or any assignment so he can go chase a fast moving object.  One could easily excel in school. The other will probably always struggle in school.

I obviously want my kids to get good grades, but I don't place the emphasis of my approval on the grade.  I do place it on their willingness to work hard, listen and learn and take responsibility for their choices.  To hear Connor's teacher point out these characteristics in him thrilled me, despite my concern for his grades. I know as long as he keeps asking good questions and is willing to learn from his mistakes, take responsibility and work hard, he'll do just fine.

Poverty and disgrace come to him who ignores instruction, but whoever heeds reproof is honored.- Proverbs 13:18

Quieted,

Sheila

Children and "elders"

19 year old "elders" always give me a chuckle. It was an interesting conversation last night in the driveway. Oh the many proud things that keep us from a humble and total trust in Christ.

19 and 21 year old Elder White Shirt and Tie came walking up to my open garage with smiles on, asking how we were doing.  We were doing a workout with our buds in our ears and sweat pouring down our faces, but we pulled the buds out and greeted the "elders".

They made small talk with us, or we made small talk with them for awhile.  I asked where they were from, how long they were here for, if they went to the Mormon church down the road, etc.  James asked what they were doing.  They told us that they hoped to be invited into someone's home to give them an opportunity to study the Book of Mormon with them.

James asked about their "prophet"- where he came from, who decided he was a prophet, etc.  I asked them what they believed about Christ.  They answered a very good rehearsed answer.

I told them I didn't believe the Book of Mormon was the inspired word of God.  I prayed as they talked for what my Lord would have me say.  Those timely, comparable-to-precious-metal words (Proverbs 25:11). I went with what came to mind rather than a theological debate.

I asked them how they thought an unbelieving person, say a person raised in immorality or where the name of Christ or God was used as a curse, would perceive their message when they approach people in white shirts and ties with "elder" tags.  They said they didn't want to misrepresent Christ.

Christ, the Christ who was accused of being a glutton and hanging around with sinners I asked?  They said, "Oh yes, there is definitely a place for service if that's what you're talking about."

I confessed that I only knew that without Christ dying in my place I was hopeless before God and that my inability to love my neighbor who throws trash in my driveway, or my own spouse, or children, or the people that cut me off while I'm driving, prove to me everyday that I am in need of a Savior.  I told them I believed that the gospel of Christ was best spread by one's everyday living and talking with people.  After all, I said, Christ said others would know we were His followers by our love for one another.

They had no rehearsed fodder for that discussion.  My dear husband did have a reply though.  He told them he agreed with his wife.  If someone was going to believe in Christ it would be through the believer showing by the way they lived around unbelievers that Christ was real.  I had nothing to say, but my heart was speaking in palpitations for that glimpse into a secret place.

The conversation ended with me wishing them a nice evening and them giving us their card.  The conversation between my husband and I continues...  Oh for the grace to open my mouth with wisdom and for the law of kindness to rule my lips!

If anyone wants to know I have stumbled upon a consequence for leaving lights on that seems to be working in my house... so far.   It's a continual problem.  I walk into an empty boy's bedroom and or bathroom from a hall all with lights on.  I informed my boys the other day that they would pay the price of sitting in their room in the dark for 15 minutes for every offense of bedroom, bathroom or hall light left on with no person using those rooms.  So far, the consequence has been put into effect twice.  I think it's having an impact.

Consequences are important.  Consequences are.  Period.  You reap what you sow.  There's a result to the choices you make.  Apparently in Delaware spankings can no longer be used as a consequence in parenting without the parent facing the consequence of jail time.  Connor said he wants to move to Deleware, which I thought was funny since he doesn't really get spankings anymore- unless you call the attention-getting swat to the behind a spanking.

Spanking is a hot topic.  It seems to me the people who don't believe in spankings don't know what a healthy spanking is.  And unfortunately the people who physically abuse their children will get all up in arms about the people who are against spankings because they think when they beat their children they are spanking them.   And even worse, some will use the Bible as a reason for the physical abuse they deem a spanking.

I believe there's a reason, place and time for a proper paddle to the behind of a child.  I also believe there are many other, just as effective and sometimes even more effective, forms of discipline when raising a child.  Spanking is not the only way to discipline a child. Whatever consequence (imposed or natural) a parent chooses to use when raising a child, if it is accompanied by cruelty from the parent, it becomes abusive and ineffective in training a child.  A parent can be just as abusive in words or the use of time-outs (isolation) as they can in spanking a child.  If you sow abuse into a child, you will reap the consequences!  If you sow loving discipline, you will reap the rewards!

He who sows iniquity will reap sorrow, And the rod of his anger will fail. -Proverbs 22:8

Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe to stumble, it would be better for him if, with a heavy millstone hung around his neck, he had been cast into the sea.- Mark 9: 42

 Those who spare the rod of discipline hate their children. Those who love their children care enough to discipline them.- Proverbs 13:24

 

Quieted,

Sheila

Good things and hard things.

Yesterday kindergarten, today preschool screenings. It was nice though... almost too nice.

When you're used to functioning on a high-energy expenditure level with lots of interruptions and constant prioritizing of decisions, sitting in an empty board room in silence while your scheduled every-15-minute preschooler and their parent come in to let you screen the child's vision and hearing is actually hard.  You don't know what to do with yourself and all that paced, focused time. It was nice though.

The head of my department told me he's learning all about appreciation of focused time from his new son. Just being in the room with him is valuable. Multitasking is over-rated!

It's hard to just be with a person and not have your attention divided by other things, like computers or email or T.V. or phones, etc. It's good but it's hard. It's revealing. I like it.

A four year old was bribed with $2 to buy clothes for her babydoll by her mom today so she would let an un-named school nurse screen her hearing. WOW! I wonder what she'll pay for getting homework done?

I understand, let's just get this over with.  Will a buck get it over with?  How about two?  

Teaching children to do hard things without any obvious or immediate reward is hard, but it's something we need to do. Building virtue is worth far more than a few less hours of hearing a crying child. I try to encourage the kids I come in contact with in a day to do hard things without any prize or reward. I find myself saying this a lot, "We all have to do things we don't like sometimes. Doing things that are hard, that you don't like, is necessary."

My boys often hear me say, "I didn't ask you if you liked it or if you wanted to.  Just do it."   And, "No I'm not going to pay you or give you a special treat for doing that.  That's part of being a family.  You do things you don't like.  It's part of living together.  One person can't do everything."  They don't like it but one day I pray they'll do things they don't like for the greater good of those around them, not just so they can get what they want.

I've heard the arguments for giving rewards.  I agree with some of them.  I've used rewards.  I still do at times.  Incentives are necessary sometimes.  But learning to do what you don't like to do without any immediate reward is even more necessary.  Most of life is filled with things we don't like to do that give no immediate reward but are necessary for healthy relationships and communities.

I don't like laundry.  Even when it's finished I get no bonus check or special treat.  But I do get to wear clean clothes and so do my kids and husband, and we all like the smell of each other a lot more with clean clothes on.

I don't like doing dishes.  When they dishes are done I get no satisfaction, no happy face sticker, no Starbucks gift card.  But my family and I do get to eat off of clean plates and drink water without floaties in it. 

I like Starbucks gift cards by the way... even happy face stickers, but I think I enjoy them even more when they are given just because.  Not because I earned it, but because someone wanted to give it.

I try to do that with my boys.  They do a lot of work around this house that they don't like and that they don't get any immediate reward for doing.  At times I'll pick up some Chips Ahoy or an Izzy drink just because, and give it to them.  I want them to learn to do hard things without a reward or prize for the greater good.  And I want them to enjoy special things in life.  Things that are gifts that we all are so graciously given.  Not because they were earned.  Sweet things, and smiles, and pats on the back, and beauty.  It's nice to be the recipient of something you weren't thinking you were entitled to.

There's a place for earning a wage, a place for incentives and a place for hard-work with no immediate reward. 

 Whoever works his land will have plenty of bread, but he who follows worthless pursuits lacks sense. - Proverbs 12:11

Quieted,

Sheila

You make beautiful things out of dust. You make beautiful things out of us. -Gungor

I took my boys out to see The Odd Life of Timothy Green yesterday. From the previews I thought it would be cute and kind of silly but I did not think I would ball. Yes ball. Catch-my-breath-face-wrinkled-up-dripping-nose-dripping-with-tears-wet-faced ball. Sometimes the dam that holds back the flood is broken with a flicker from a Disney film.

If you want to see the movie and haven't yet, SPOILER ALERT!

 A husband and wife, longing to have children, unable, faced with the reality decide to write down who their kid would be if they were able to give him birth. They place their dreams in a wooden box and bury it in the garden. A stormy night waters their wishes and a 9 or 10 year old boy covered in mud is delivered. Sounds silly I know. But I guess God could have designed kids to be born out of the garden if He wanted to.

The creation obeys the Creator. He commands birth out of bloody wombs. It's no less a wonder. No less magical. Maybe we're just used to the magic of birth by wombs.

For some, their children were born just as magically as Timothy Green, out of dreams, prayers offered, longings buried. The Creator places the fatherless in families. Yes, many times the fatherless are the ones being rescued from a terrible place, but the Creator also gives barren women a family, lifting her out of her hopelessness.

Whether we have children from our wombs, or from prayers and others' wombs, the number of days we get with them and our inability to perfectly parent them is a reality we fight against. Just like Timothy Green's parents.

The truth is the time we get to plant seeds of love and truth in the lives of the children we've been miraculously granted to raise is a great gift and responsibility. We are forever changed in the process. We get the privilege and high calling of guiding a life. We try so hard to do it right but we don't.

We have to entrust our kids to the Savior of children of raised by sure-to-not-get-it-all-right parents.

My kids are gifts. Not because they are gifted. Not because they're my trophies. Not because they make me look good. They are just gifts from the God who makes life grow out of dirt and wombs and messed up parents.

 I treasure every moment I get to be a mom. I pray for the grace to make right decisions in raising them and I fall on the grace that saves us both! What a gift. What a gift!

Quieted,

Sheila

The Adam and Eve Principle: No matter how good a parent you are, your child is still capable on any given day of doing something despicable, disgusting, or depraved.- John K. Rosemond

On the last week of summer break I bought a puzzle Connor asked for as an indoor activity we could do together. I learned a few things.

First, Connor is too on-the-go for puzzles (If you've known Connor for 5 minutes you know this.  I've known him from day one and yet I still bought him the puzzle.  Could be a sign of early onset dementia?). If they had puzzles you could chase, or puzzles that chase you he'd love putting one together. But since it involves sorting, more sorting and sorting some more- and nothing makes him run- it's not for Connor.

Second, puzzles are for Ryland who I'm convinced is going to be in some position of accounting or a referee one day. He likes to put things in order, he likes order, and he likes to tell people the order of things.  It'll go something like this: Connor will be the pitcher on the field, Ryland will be the ump calling balls or strikes or the CPA telling the manager of the team what to do with his money.

Third and last of all, puzzles are very frustrating and addictive for me.  I like sorting and I like putting things in order, but I can't stand leaving something unfinished on a table for 3 weeks!

This past first week back to school, for both me and the boys went fairly smooth.  Adjusting to living by a schedule again is easier for the grown-ups than the kiddos.   I'm very thankful to have a job where I get to work with kids and be home every evening and weekend with my family.

School nursing involves a lot of puzzle-like tasks: gathering, sorting and putting information together one piece at at time.  It also involves teaching kids and parents and staff about various topics pertaining to health and safety.  And because it involves teaching it also involves ongoing learning for me.  I have CE courses on heat related illness (HRI) and Asthma bookmarked to take this week.

It's too hot to do anything, even go to the pool. Which is worse, to be home bound in scorching heat for a few weeks or home bound in a depressing deluge for a few months?  I have thought I'd rather live where its hot than where its constantly cloudy, but on weeks like these I feel certain that cuddling up with a book and hot tea while the gray, rainy drizzle carries on outside would be a form of paradise!

I read an excellent parenting book this past week:  Parenting By the Book by John Rosemond.  I was convicted and motivated as I read it.

• Say what you mean and mean what you say.  
• Let the consequences be memorable so as to cause one to think twice before committing the crime.  
• Be a leader with a vision for where you're leading your kids.  
• Look to the scriptures for guidance, not people with capital letters behind their name.

These are some of the bullet points that stuck with me!  Most of what I read I already have believed and therefore put into practice.  But I've grown slack, lazy in many areas.  I am inconsistent and warn way too much.  I set out this week to lead with a powerful love and purpose again.  Its easy to fall into what-makes-my-life-easier-in-the-short-term parenting.  The monsters created by short-term parenting aren't worth the few minutes of peace one may get now.

The Bible is such a gift!  It's never proven wrong.  None of God's instructions are ever out of touch with the times!

We prayed in small groups during our second hour at church this morning.  It was powerful.  I want to do that again.  It's not what we normally do.  Our pastor went home early to rest and recoup after having a pacemaker implanted this past week.

I read this quote today:

 "God did not come to me in some mystical experience, but through a human being, a neighbor, an agent of His love."- Elizabeth Kilbourn

That's what the people of Pathway Bible Church and my pastor have been to me... agents of His love.  I'm very thankful for them all!

Quieted,

Sheila