Math Facts

It's only Sunday night, not officially the start of the new school week (the week that just happens to be after Thanksgiving break, which is so, so hard to start...)

But.

DJ needs to clean up some math problems before he can test tomorrow, so I've dragged him to the kitchen table to re-do the 9 or so that were wrong. T-O-R-T-U-R-E.

It's those crazy word problems. Remember starting those in 3rd grade? And you couldn't ever decide: is this an adding problem or a subtraction problem?

Those drove me nuts, personally.

Here's his:

David wants to buy a game that costs $4.79. He's only saved $2.98.

How much more does David need to save?

DJ's answer, given repeatedly while near tears because of the frustration level?

"$2.00!"

"Buddy, if he saved up $2.00 more, he'd have too much! $2.98 plus $2.00 is $4.98, which is more than he needs!"

"I KNOW! But he needs $2.00!!! That's a fine answer! He'll give the woman $2.00 and get $.19 cents back! So he needs $2.00!"

At one point in this round, I'm trying to hide my smile behind my arm. I'm frustrated, as well, in trying to help him (we talked this thing to death), but I'm also lovin' his reasoning skills.

"WHAT? I don't get it!"

And so, we start over.

T-O-R-T-U-R-E.

Poor guy. And tomorrow is just around the corner.

Giving Thanks

Time spent making my house look like we don't live in it ... $650.00*

Groceries to feed us all for the Thanksgiving season ... $200.00

Time spent grocery shopping ... $125.00*

Extra decorations to make our home more "Thanksgiving-ish" ... $25.00

*based on this, which doesn't even include the homeschooling aspect of it

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The Thanksgiving tree, made by a husband for an overwhelmed wife who was in tears over not being able to find time to keep the tradition alive this year, fearful that her children would miss the point of the season; a husband with no time to spare himself ~ but with sacrificial love ~ carefully gathered what was needed ...

and then took the time to trace and cut what was necessary ...

and even called in the troops ...

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Time spent with my brother and his family ...

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Cousins catching up ...

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Hearing my Big Mac (far right) tell, as we went around the circle to share, that he was thankful to be home with people he missed so much ...

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Getting to see my kids and Mom enjoying time together ...

(doesn't my mom look beautiful here?)

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Getting to hear DJ announce to the group that we must all go together and sit with Mimi on the front porch (Mom had fallen the night before, and her hurt foot prevented her from joining us right next to the bonfire) ...

(this guy loveslovesloves his Mimi and took great care

of her while she rested her foot) ...

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Getting to see the proof that the point of the season was not missed ...

being surprised by a job that took extra care and work ...

and rejoicing that the Giver of everything was acknowledged without prompting ...

P R I C E L E S S.

Waitin' on My White Robe

The (just the) three of us drove home tonight from the Thanksgiving service; Jake, DJ and I were sittin' cozy in the front of the truck.

DJ must have been dwelling on Jake's recent ER visit.

"Hey, Jake, guess what? When we get to Heaven we can wrestle and you won't ever get hurt!"

Jake, never one to not know somethin', answered: "Yep, and we get to eat all the candy we want and never get sick!" (I decided to let that go ~ just let them keep dreamin' of Heaven.)

Jake had more: "OH! And I never have to sleep!"

DJ had one more important fact to offer: "And Jake ~ I don't want you to be astonished when you get there, so I wanna tell you: everybody is naked up there."

"WHAT???!!!" (I'm never good at reacting calmly to things that startle me.)

"Naked? Why in the world... where did you... why do you think that? Who said that?"

DJ was startled, himself: "I don't know. I mean, adults! Lots of moms, lots of adults have said that!"

"Son, you have obviously heard something wrong somewhere. Haven't you heard about us getting robes in Heaven? White robes?" (where is that verse? isn't there a verse? i know there's something about being dressed in white robes... gotta look that up. make sure it's not one of those metaphorical things...)

"No, ma'am..."

"Well, we do. We're not naked. We've got stuff on. So it won't be weird."

DJ laughed as the weight of that awful thought was delivered from his brain. He was relieved!

Jake just asked, "Mom, what do 'naked' mean?"

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"After these things I looked, and behold, a great multitude which no one

could count, from every nation and all tribes and peoples and tongues,

standing before the throne and before the Lamb,

clothed in white robes, and palm branches

were in their hands..." Revelation 7:9

(whew!!)

(See also Rev. 3:5, Rev. 4:4, Rev. 19:14)

Do Not Despise the Lord's Discipline

"And have you forgotten the exhortation that addresses you as sons?

'My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor be weary when reproved by Him. For the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and chastises every son whom He receives.'

...He disciplines us for our good, that we may share His holiness."

Hebrews 12: 5-6, 10b

Part of the passage we were taught from yesterday in our first hour of church, brought through the pastor who is consistently used to rip my heart to shreds. Darkest sin has the deepest roots & needs much shredding of the rock ground to be penetrated by the light.

I hate it that I need so much ripping, but thankful that a patient God placed me where I could have the callouses torn away, especially as they grow back so quickly.

We were asked, at the beginning of the hour, to write down three areas or situations in our lives that we would change if we could. Things that might be especially grievous to us, things that caused us fear or worry.

Then we were reminded that God disciplines us as sons, as His children. The trials, the things that make us afraid, the things that cause us sorrow? Those are His disciplining tools, as "discipline" means not just punishment/consequences, but also training and instruction, coaching and teaching. And the hard things are what are necessary.

I was reminded (always necessary, as I forget so much) that to be disciplined for my good does not mean that I will have comfort and ease. (Why do I keep reaching for that Christian Hallmark picture?)

God says, instead, that my good means that I will share in His holiness.

As I remain on this earth, God will be at work to make me as much like Jesus as possible on this side of glory.

Which means that I will learn to die to myself and
have a grace-filled, forgiving love for that child
who is consistently disrespectful.

It means that I will love my husband
fully, whole-heartedly, and courageously,
not expecting perfection between two fallen souls.

It means that I will stop fearing
for the souls of my lost children, instead entrusting them
to the only source of their salvation.

It means that I will live with peace and contentment in the
circumstances that God has chosen for me, knowing that He loves me
and knows perfectly what needs to happen to bring Himself glory
and bring me to a greater level of purity. I will not curse my family
with my fear and sadness.

And so, I need to be patient and wait, responding rightly to God's will for me, knowing this:

"For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it."
Hebrews 12:11

And oh! the conviction and encouragement and exhortation that follows!

"Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather healed."
Hebrews 12: 12-13

Thank You, Holy Spirit, and help me to think long on these words and how they were broken apart for me yesterday. Help me to not lose the heart-tenderness that came again with hearing of Your love for me.

Good Reading

Love, love, love this book. Have been reading through it with my two youngest for a couple of months now.

Amazon's description says it's to be read to children ages 4 to 10. Ummm... maybe 4-year-old kids of brain surgeons? Not in this house. It's a challenging "listen" for DJ while Jake tries politely to stay attentive.

Not to say it's boring, at all! It's just a great book to challenge your kids' thinking about God's sovereignty in all areas.

For example, yesterday (we're in the New Testament section) we read the account of Jesus beginning to call His disciples to Him. Specifically, the account of Simon Peter failing at fishing one night, then hauling in thousands of fish the next morning when Jesus commanded him to lower his nets once again.

So you expect the author to retell the story in some fashion, giving it a little twist from her own unique angle. Instead, she spends half of the story talking about God calling His people to Him, and His effectual calling (that term alone takes a while to discuss through with my 8-year-old).

This book should be read to kids already well familiar with the Old and New Testament stories, as the author spends little time recounting the tales and instead focuses on highlighting the sovereign work of the One who causes all things to work for His glory.

Wanna See My Pictures?

Wanted to share some of the pics we got to choose from that were taken last month. School pictures of my growing-up-way-too-fast kids. I find it hard to get the full breath in if I stare at these too long. How did we get here? I feel sorta RipVanWinkle-ish, like I've missed a lot of time somewhere, somehow... (I'm also sleep-deprived as I type this [see last post], which translates in my life as "I will cry at the least little heart-twister" along with "absolutely everything makes me sentimental right this moment"...)

I remain overwhelmed with the truth that God has chosen this incredibly blessed life for me.

I was His enemy, but He chose to love me and draw me to Himself.

I blasphemed His name, but He has seated me at His table.

I chased after the world, and He has caused me to pursue His glory instead.

I scorned His view of marriage and my role as a mom, yet He chose to change my heart, blessing me with a godly husband and the four best kids.

Grace. Undeniable grace. Soli Deo Gloria.

How Not to Spend Your Anniversary

22 years ago yesterday, God joined my husband and me together for life, for the times of sickness and health, poverty and (more than I could ever imagine) wealth; for the days of better and days of worse, for the days of deepest sorrow and the precious days of overwhelming joy.

None of us had any idea what lay ahead, what this would require of us if we were to love God as we claimed. We were bursting with joy, floating high above everyone else, and ready to leave for the honeymoon!

As with any marriage, we've walked through so, so much. And learned what we didn't even know was necessary. We've worked hard (really hard at times) to prefer the other, cherish the other, die to ourselves. With God's sustaining, we're learning to love.

How awesome it is, to look back over what's gone on in these 22 years, and see God's faithfulness at preserving our marriage, our friendship, and our love for each other. To Him alone belongs the glory!

And last night was made incredibly sweet by my thoughtful, kind husband ~ just as he's done with every anniversary I can remember. In spite of all the demands on his life, he found time (even though he's been really sick!) to make dinner reservations (at a quiet place where we could actually talk!!), buy a perfect card and extravagant gift, and have a huge vase of roses sitting on our reserved table when we walked into the restaurant (a tradition he started a few years ago!). He patiently listened to me ramble on all sorts of topics, something he knows matters to me. Summary: he done good!!!

The only kink? Jake got dropped on his head right before we left (big brother was wrestling a bit too aggressively). Bawled his eyes out, but seemed to be fine once I'd held him & gotten some Advil down him. Dad & I went on to dinner.

Then Mem called about 1 hour later. Jake had thrown up. Concussion? We left & went home.

Doctor on call with our pediatrician said to not worry unless Jake threw up again. Which he promptly did. So, off to the ER, me and Jake.

(Why not Dad? Because he had a house of three boys who were ready to get up at 4:00 a.m. for the first day of duck season! And Dad really was torn about what to do, but I've spent lots of time in the ER with Mom, so it was really not a big deal.)

Do you know how many people can be packed into an ER waiting room in November (cold & flu season, anyone?) on a Friday night (drunk driving wrecks & domestic issues all over the place)? It was packed. I was paranoid. Especially of the mentally ill woman who almost constantly... well, I'll spare you the details. Let's just say I made Jake sit on my lap and tried to keep his head covered with a blanket so he could possibly sleep.

We got to the ER around 10:30 p.m., got called back to a room around 1:40 a.m., was told at 2:00 we'd need a CT scan, had that done at 3:15, and finally left that lovely little place at 4:15. Jake slept through most of the time there (how does he do that? he even slept through the scan!). So he wasn't feeling too terribly bad.

I was the living dead. Got home and into bed around 5:15.

As I was driving home, though, Dad & I were talking. Realized we'd be passing each other as we drove our separate ways. And as we did, I thought: "Incredibly dramatic anniversary, this. Not the way I wanted to spend the evening with my husband, but... It is what it is. Jake is fine, and that's the most important issue."

And hey ~ just talked to Dad, and they had the best hunt they've had in a while: 46 less ducks flying overhead!

Tea Time

Coffee snob?

Yes, definitely. I pay too much for good coffee, probably. (maybe a sinful amount? I don't know, don't really want to examine my heart over that one...)

Tea snob? I wouldn't know a good tea if it slapped me in the face.

I've just recently started drinking it more. Something about cold air and falling leaves and gray skies, hot ovens with yummy smells and colors of gold and forest-green and deep red. Books that need to be read and quilting to do.

Mem and I went to a new Teavana shop a couple of months ago. Those cute young ladies with all their tea tin lid waving and those beautiful teapots on warmers... They had me at "chai." I even bought the lie about that extravagant German rock sugar. Suddenly I'm a tea drinker.

Found the Tazo Decaf Chai concentrate on my grocer's clearance shelf yesterday. Only $2.39 for the carton. Just add milk, warm, and you're good to go. I'm drinking my first cup, and I'm hooked.

I'm going back today and see if I can snag the rest! Gotta feed my new habit.

Hi, Ho, Silver!

The two youngest guys have been in a Lone Ranger fest the past two or three days. Somehow along the way we ended up with 3 hours worth, in all its black-and-white-jerkiness glory.

Better that than... a million other things. And Tonto's way cool.

I get called out of the kitchen by DJ: "Hey, Mom, they got the Lone Ranger's dad on this one!"

I'm no Lone Ranger expert, but this sounded like something that needed to be seen. Stepped into the living room to see... a priest.

Don't know what would've went through your mind, but I'm thinking, "Honestly? They've got a story line goin' about a priest fathering the Lone Ranger? Who was his mother? Was it before the priesthood? This was a family show! In, like, the 30's... What?"

Then my dot connected.

"Buddy, did the Lone Ranger call him 'Father'?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Bud, that's because that guy's a Catholic priest! Everyone calls him 'Father'!"

"But Mom! The dad called him 'Son'!"

"That's just what they do. Especially back then. I promise you ~ that man's a priest and has nothing to do with the Lone Ranger."

His face was clear: he wasn't buyin' it.

Halloween in November?

We finally carved the pumpkins this afternoon. Meant to do it before last Sunday (the official Halloween). But this life, this schedule? wasn't gonna happen. So, today.

Just me and the two younger boys. Everyone else was away from home. I waited for the sun to warm the air up a bit so that we'd be comfortable while we carved.

DJ has begged to carve pumpkins since last year. It's not really been a priority for me, ever, but my kids know how to tug my heart strings ~ anything that has "memory-making" on it, and I'm jumping through hoops to get 'er done. (I have this insane fear that my kids will leave home and never want to return if I don't do "just enough" with them. I know, it's crazy... and impossible.)

So, about the pumpkins. Had four on the porch, ready to go. Had bought my carving kit with 15 different stencils. I cut the tops off the pumpkins and cleaned mine and the boys'.

DJ gave up first. He would say it was because he got that nasty cut from the kit's sawing tool ("safer than kitchen knives!!!"), but he was moaning about the nastiness of it a good 7 minutes before the blood-letting.

Jake hung with me longer than I expected, but he'd picked one of the hardest stencils & just ran out of steam dealing with the intricate turns.

I was determined to finish MY pumpkin, so I ended up with the job of all three of them.

Cole (our Lab) was the only one to stick it out with me. He'll do anything for a chest rub now & then on.

So, the pumpkins got done. Lined them up on the porch for pictures. Lit them up when the sun set. And they're beautiful! The boys squealed all over them, just like they'd done them themselves (which you did not!!! don't forget how you bailed on me!!)

The epiphany came after dinner, as I worked in the kitchen. The realization that I need to stop worrying about making my kids happy enough to return home for visits. Because honestly? They're already ruined.

DJ comes in and asks in the sweetest voice (because he knows he can wrap me around his pinkie): "Mom, can you get our candy boxes down? And Jake & I are gonna get dressed up and come to the front door & ring the doorbell, and you're gonna answer and give us our candy?

Because, you know, the pumpkins are lit, and we can play 'Halloween' now."

The explanation for this: our family does not celebrate Halloween. Never have.

Nope, I do not have a problem with other families who want to do this. I don't think others are making some big mistake letting their kids dress up & go trick-or-treating. Period.

The vast majority of people I hang around with, though, don't celebrate Halloween, either, and so we're all on the same page. Instead, we celebrate the Reformation on October 31 with a huge shindig at church. We get a great speaker in each October, we have a church family meal together, and there's a huge party put on for the kids: games, etc. with TONS of candy, awards, and everything else. It's a blast, and our kids have always enjoyed that.

I have close friends who are very passionate about not observing Halloween, and our family thinks it's better to not involve ourselves in a holiday with dark roots. There's enough about Halloween and all it embodies to convict us that it's better for us to focus elsewhere. We LOVE to celebrate the history of the church that began with the Reformation period, and so that's what we choose to do instead.

But then there's DJ, who's always throwing me these curve balls. And as he came and requested a Halloween re-enactment on our front porch, I realized that he will probably be on some psych's couch in 20 years lamenting the fact that he grew up without Halloween!! And Santa! And the Easter Bunny, too, for crying out loud!!

So, they rang the bell and I answered with "oohs" and "aaahs" over their costumes. And I gave myself the rest of the evening off.

Clinging to Truth

He reaches from behind me, encircling me with his man-sized arms. The hug is huge but purposefully gentle. And longer that I'd hoped for. He's been thinking on that.

I turn to face him, to kiss the cheek I suddenly have to reach up for. No more stooping for embraces with this one.

The stubble on the cheek continues to surprise me. Not sure why. It's been there a while. It's prickly, but I enjoy the newness of it, the difference. And I struggle to breathe without tears.

He's having to deal with hair growing. And I find myself in a place where I'm dealing with hair leaving.

The doctors have tested. The handfuls of hair that have been coming out for weeks seem to have started from stress. Just stress. (you think? want to tell me something new?)

I have the sweetest family doctor. Younger than me, which is no longer uncommon at this point of the timeline (ha!). I don't think he knows the Lord, but he has been graced to be one of the kindest people.

His recommendation? "Now, I know you! I know you hate to take anything [I consistently question his prescribing of antibiotics]. I know you are very spiritual [well, Hallelujah!] and don't want to take medication to help you. I just want you to know that there are things that can help you andyouhavesomuchonyourplaterightnowblahblahblah..."

I just smiled. Told him I would exercise more, eat better. And I would be fine.

For the record, I don't believe that a person should NEVER take medications to help them cope. I know of one person in particular who is on depression meds and should probably stay on them for the rest of their life. Sin affects all of us, including our brains, and some people's hard wiring is in such a bad place that medication is absolutely necessary for them to think clearly.

I just think that so many (most?) people are medicated, by their choice, because they don't want to face their problems, and because they think life should be comfortable. Easy(ier). That pain is unacceptable.

And that's bunk. Life is wretched, often, because that's what sin does to everything. This is NOT supposed to be Heaven, because it ain't! And while we are supposed to count our trials as joy, this life is often full of heartache & trial because it's Life-On-Earth.

Jesus' life was full of heartache and pain. His death was the most horrific account of that. Why would any of us expect any less?

And trials are where my faith's rubber meets the road. Stress brings opportunities to cling ever tighter to Jesus. To look to Him for ALL that I need. To learn to trust Him more. To be reminded that this place is not my home.

So I lose my hair right now. Alarmed? Yes, a bit. What woman wants to lose hair at 46? (heck, at 86?) But I am also mindful that each lost strand is a reminder to cast my anxieties on Him; that He knows the numbers of hair on my head and is intimately sovereign over each second of my life; that He loves me and will never leave me; that my pain will not be wasted ~ that it is being used for my good and to press me to be used for the good of others around me.

And as I brush my cheek against the stubble on my first son's, I will choose (over and over) to put him (where he stays, anyway) in God's hands. I will remember that I have no control over anything at all! And I will remember that, even when I have no idea what God is doing, I can always trust that it is good.

And I should rest.

Heaven Comes in Flannel

(Honestly, don't even bother to read this post. It's just for me, one of those "I don't want to forget this, so I'm posting it for my future enjoyment." One of those "momma's memories" things...)

DJ called me in as he was making his bed this morning, big grin on his face.

"Mom, I just... I don't ever... I love these sheets! I could just lay here all day. It's like... it's like laying in Heaven."

(wait for it...)

"Without all those lights."

yep.

Bundle of Emotions

As I watched him read today, his first "real book" (real in his eyes)...

I was so excited for him.

I was so proud of him.

I battled being proud of myself for teaching him (silly woman... God alone has caused him to read).

I marveled at how far he's come.

I saw (again) evidence of the great intelligence within.

I was amazed anew at how God has caused his brain to work so well at catching up and understanding.

I found myself grieving for his birth mom. She had a very short time with him. She saw his birth and heard his first cries. She fed him and held him and probably saw his first smile. But then she had nothing else.

I missed his first 5 years. I missed his first solid food, his sitting and crawling; his first steps and first word. I don't know what songs he heard or what he laughed at the most.

But I got to see him learn a second language (and learn it so quickly! so well!). I watched him adapt to a new culture, new food, new expectations. I watched him grieve and push to stay on top.

And now I get to hear him count. And learn to add. And coached him through the many difficult hours of learning his ABC's. And then their sounds, and now he's reading.

I watch his face as he labors diligently to sound out the words in a tongue that is still foreign in sound.

I listen to him repeat the Word of God as he prepares for AWANA.

And I have hope that I get the next 10 plus years.

I wish I could capture these days and tie them up in a memory somehow. A gift for the day when Jake sees his birth mom again. I want her to have a view into these days. The hours she'll never know.

It makes me sad to think of her thinking about him. And I grieve for her at so many unexpected turns.

November

November is...

~ the 6-week fruit cake starter setting up camp on my kitchen counter (fruit ferments for 6 weeks, makes the most incredibly delicious cake ever. double-pinkie swear. my mouth is watering as I type.)

~ the layering of flannel sheets on the bed. Finally! Everyone in this house is ready to crawl into bed tonight as we lower the thermostat and hibernate like bears.

~ the tea kettle singing throughout the day. Hot water is a MUST if you're going to sit a spell with hot tea or cocoa.

~ Dad in the garage, lost in thought as he preps his gear for duck season.

~ leaves that are too pretty to bag, even though we have to do it anyway.

~ cold ears on the dog.

~ cool hands and ears on the kids.

~ eyes peeled for the burn ban to be off so we can roast at the fire pit.