So, yeah, we're still going to Victory and we love it; love the pastor, love the kids' programs. We're getting connected with people. Wayne is thriving there.
I haven't been good about reading my Bible everyday, but I try to. I want to please God, you know?
If I can just communicate to my kids with my life what Jesus has done for them, I'll feel like I did my job. Is that right? Is that enough?
These are snippets of a phone conversation I had today with a woman I purposed to get to know 3 and 1/2 years ago so that I could share Christ with her. At the time, she didn't attend a church, dabbled in Scientology, had been raised Catholic, and was struggling in her marriage.
Not now. That is not the story today at all.
Sometimes I forget that when He said the harvest was plentiful, that He was speaking the truth, because it seems like there are none that are hungry. And then other times--like now--I marvel at the simplicity of sharing His love; it really can be done in the midst of just making a new friend.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Day #3 of Operation Lice-Removal has been an encouraging one. By yesterday afternoon, I felt increasingly confident that Gabriel and Bronwyn's heads are lice-free, and today I'm thinking the worst is behind us. My confidence is aided by three things:
1. I did a lot more research online during naptime yesterday about what exactly I should be looking for. I'd been nervous that I was completely "missing" the eggs because I couldn't find a thing on either of their scalps. It turns out that what I'd thought were nymphs ("baby" lice) were actually nits (eggs), and I'm pretty sure I've removed all of them, which is why I wasn't finding anything.
2. Knowing now what lice, nymphs and nits look like, I can draw the conclusion that Gabriel and Bronwyn had lice for 3 days maximum. There were only 5 lice total (3 on Gabriel's head and 2 on Bronwyn's), at most 2 dozen nits on Gabriel's head, and around 1 dozen nits on Bronwyn's. Since 1 louse lays anywhere from 4-10 eggs each day, it's safe to say neither had lice for long before Gabriel--in all his fussiness!--complained about itching and spiders. It's even possible that they didn't have lice while at church on Sunday morning.
3. Gabriel is virtually bald. If there was anything on his head, I'd see it. Bronwyn's hair is still very fine; after all, she's not even 2 years old yet.
So... that's our lice update. I am still going to "lay low" until Monday, when I will do another medicated treatment regardless of what I do or don't see. My rising hope is that by early next week I will no longer be housebound and might even have the indulgence of an adult conversation with someone!
(Yes, Bronwyn is basically as big as him.)
And for those who are wondering how I'm planning on emotionally navigating a week of being pent up with three children ages three and under, these are the aiding forces behind any maintained sanity:
1. I did a lot more research online during naptime yesterday about what exactly I should be looking for. I'd been nervous that I was completely "missing" the eggs because I couldn't find a thing on either of their scalps. It turns out that what I'd thought were nymphs ("baby" lice) were actually nits (eggs), and I'm pretty sure I've removed all of them, which is why I wasn't finding anything.
2. Knowing now what lice, nymphs and nits look like, I can draw the conclusion that Gabriel and Bronwyn had lice for 3 days maximum. There were only 5 lice total (3 on Gabriel's head and 2 on Bronwyn's), at most 2 dozen nits on Gabriel's head, and around 1 dozen nits on Bronwyn's. Since 1 louse lays anywhere from 4-10 eggs each day, it's safe to say neither had lice for long before Gabriel--in all his fussiness!--complained about itching and spiders. It's even possible that they didn't have lice while at church on Sunday morning.
3. Gabriel is virtually bald. If there was anything on his head, I'd see it. Bronwyn's hair is still very fine; after all, she's not even 2 years old yet.
So... that's our lice update. I am still going to "lay low" until Monday, when I will do another medicated treatment regardless of what I do or don't see. My rising hope is that by early next week I will no longer be housebound and might even have the indulgence of an adult conversation with someone!
For those who'd like a peek at my rock-star son, here's a picture I took this morning:
(Yes, Bronwyn is basically as big as him.)
And for those who are wondering how I'm planning on emotionally navigating a week of being pent up with three children ages three and under, these are the aiding forces behind any maintained sanity:
A whole lot of
,
one cup a day of
(Trust me, if I run out and can't get to the store, I will call someone for more of this!),
and sticking closely to
.
,one cup a day of
(Trust me, if I run out and can't get to the store, I will call someone for more of this!),
and sticking closely to
.Unfortunately, I've had to let go of the following chart (one of my mainstays in life) due to the unexpected hoards of laundry, vacuuming, and mopping I'm having to do; but basically I'm just doing all the chores for the entire week everyday.
Then Jesus lifted up His eyes, and seeing a great multitude coming toward Him, He said to Philip, "Where shall we buy bread, that these may eat?" But this He said to test him, for He Himself knew what He would do.
John 6:5-6
John 6:5-6
Lord, when You ask me what we should do about this, or how we should handle that, I pray that my response would be one of faith. When You ask me the questions that will test me, may I pass the test.
And teach me to remember when You're asking that it's not because You don't know what You're going to do; it's because You want to prove Who my hope is in.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Picture-time!
This is the driveway that existed upon our purchase of the house. It didn't have a retaining wall to speak of, but simply "sloped" down toward the yard.
(Our front porch and door are to the left.)
This picture was taken last Friday; by Saturday afternoon the railroad ties were all laid, 1 ton of driveway rocks were poured, and the back rails for the fence were built.
A picture of the wall from our yard. It is 5' high and 4' underground at the back, and at least 2' underground at the top.
The architect, contractor and labor--all rolled into one hard-working man!
And now, some pictures of our cute kids!
At the beach:
In Mom and Dad's bed:
(If you're wondering why our kids are lying down in a lot of pictures, it's because it's the easiest way to get all 3 in one photo without anyone getting injured!)
(Our front porch and door are to the left.)
This picture was taken last Friday; by Saturday afternoon the railroad ties were all laid, 1 ton of driveway rocks were poured, and the back rails for the fence were built.
A picture of the wall from our yard. It is 5' high and 4' underground at the back, and at least 2' underground at the top.
The architect, contractor and labor--all rolled into one hard-working man!
And now, some pictures of our cute kids!
At the beach:
In Mom and Dad's bed:
(If you're wondering why our kids are lying down in a lot of pictures, it's because it's the easiest way to get all 3 in one photo without anyone getting injured!)
We waved and said good-bye. He cried, which didn't make the saying any easier.
Now they're on their way, and I'm sitting in the kitchen while two of my children eat their breakfast of toast and cantaloupe; the youngest child is rolling around on the floor, trying to grab toys he hasn't yet figured out how to reach. I am sad to see Daniel go, as much because he is my friend as because he makes me better at what I am called to do.
But...
I am encouraged. My first day of "checking" the lice has proved an encouraging one. Thorough inspection located not a single louse--not even of the baby variety. Eggs, of course, are much harder to find, particularly because the shade of hair my children have is the same color as those pesky things, but I figure that if I keep checking at least twice a day (once in the morning and once after nap, corresponding with the stripping of bedsheets and spraying of mattresses), I'll be able to kill those lice as soon as they hatch if the eggs have avoided my discovery that far.
Actually, I'm realizing how fortunate I am to have an easily-bothered son. He complained of itching long before the lice broke out too badly, seeing as how I've still only seen five grown lice between both my children's heads. At times, Gabriel's overly-particular personality has its downfalls, but today I am praising God for his attention to details!
So we'll live the next week at least here in our home only. I'll wash bedsheets and mattress pads and express dry pillows twice a day. I'll spray furniture once a day. I'll vacuum in the morning and evening. I'll comb scalps thoroughly and glance over them even more often. I'll use a lot of electrity and by far more physical energy. And eventually, we'll be "lice free" and I will be glad for my stubborn attention and unwavering determination.
Right?
Of course right!
Now they're on their way, and I'm sitting in the kitchen while two of my children eat their breakfast of toast and cantaloupe; the youngest child is rolling around on the floor, trying to grab toys he hasn't yet figured out how to reach. I am sad to see Daniel go, as much because he is my friend as because he makes me better at what I am called to do.
But...
I am encouraged. My first day of "checking" the lice has proved an encouraging one. Thorough inspection located not a single louse--not even of the baby variety. Eggs, of course, are much harder to find, particularly because the shade of hair my children have is the same color as those pesky things, but I figure that if I keep checking at least twice a day (once in the morning and once after nap, corresponding with the stripping of bedsheets and spraying of mattresses), I'll be able to kill those lice as soon as they hatch if the eggs have avoided my discovery that far.
Actually, I'm realizing how fortunate I am to have an easily-bothered son. He complained of itching long before the lice broke out too badly, seeing as how I've still only seen five grown lice between both my children's heads. At times, Gabriel's overly-particular personality has its downfalls, but today I am praising God for his attention to details!
So we'll live the next week at least here in our home only. I'll wash bedsheets and mattress pads and express dry pillows twice a day. I'll spray furniture once a day. I'll vacuum in the morning and evening. I'll comb scalps thoroughly and glance over them even more often. I'll use a lot of electrity and by far more physical energy. And eventually, we'll be "lice free" and I will be glad for my stubborn attention and unwavering determination.
Right?
Of course right!
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
I'm not very stout-hearted. I wouldn't make a good pioneer wife, and I often fail at making a good minister's wife. But I've been feeling fairly pleased with my attitude about Daniel going to Spain for three weeks. In fact, the whole thing was my idea and, other than a couple emotional freak-outs about whether or not I'll be insane by the time August rolls around, I've handled the whole prospect with a surprising amount calm and even--well, yes--anticipation.
I've been feeling fairly pleased... until today.
Last night, Gabriel told Daniel that his head hurt and that there were spiders crawling around in his hair. Uh-oh. Close inspection revealed two patches of dark poppy-seed and smaller dots, and when I came upstairs with the comb, I found a real-deal louse crawling around. (Louse is the singular for lice, in case any are wondering.)
Those of you who know me know I get sick to my stomach just trying to tweeze my eyebrows. (I use the word tweeze instead of pluck because I have a very good sister who hounds me for refering to myself as one might refer to a chicken.) I can finally kill spiders after years and years of just screaming and running the other way, but only as long as they're tiny and don't squish at all during the killing; any of size are trapped and left for Daniel to dispose of upon his return home. When trying to remove a splinter from Daniel's foot the other day, I had to stop because I thought I was going to throw up.
It isn't just blood, folks; it's absolutely anything dirty or yucky or insect-y that gets me reeling and lurching.
Gabriel now has a shaved head which he, fortunately, thinks it's cool--even if his mother almost cried about it and refuses to shave Bronwyn's head [at this point], though taking care of the lice would be much simpler if there was no hair and Daniel argues that she'll just look like Demi Moore if we do it. We all were treated with Nix (Daniel and I did the treatment as a precaution, as we haven't [yet] found any lice in our hair). I stripped every bed, bleached or vacuumed every floor, sprayed every piece of furniture with lice-killing chemicals, bagged numerous toys in air-tight bags, and have been combing hair every couple hours.
And let me just tell you, with laundry piled to the ceiling in the laundry room and the anticipation of it being piled every day for at least two weeks, I am not feeling very ready for these next three weeks. I can't even think about the possibility of finding lice on my head, as that might just make my eyes smart with tears. My lists were long and my to-dos significant before this break-out, and I just don't do so well when my plans get messed up.
But I'm trying. I'm making an effort to decide that I can do this, even if I am house-bound, up to my eyeballs in 10x the normal cleaning, and ready to hurl every time I find a nit or a louse on the scalp of one of my children.
Be warned, though. You probably don't want to visit and "check in on me" for two reasons:
1. you might leave with a louse clinging to a hair shaft.
2. you might get roped into stripping and re-making beds, vacuuming carpet, bleaching linoleum, and/or combing scalps. (I figure I'll probably be able to refrain from making guests do the normal stuff like cleaning toilets, walking the baby and cooking our dinner.)
At any rate, since you might better not stop in, I am petitioning prayers for me while you're praying for my husband and the team in Spain. I'm working on that stout-hearted thing and, seeing as how I've often prayed that He would help me out in this area, I figure He's got me "in school" and I might as well make the most of it.
(Oh--and if your children were in the toddler nursery on Sunday morning, I'm very, very sorry.)
I've been feeling fairly pleased... until today.
Last night, Gabriel told Daniel that his head hurt and that there were spiders crawling around in his hair. Uh-oh. Close inspection revealed two patches of dark poppy-seed and smaller dots, and when I came upstairs with the comb, I found a real-deal louse crawling around. (Louse is the singular for lice, in case any are wondering.)
Those of you who know me know I get sick to my stomach just trying to tweeze my eyebrows. (I use the word tweeze instead of pluck because I have a very good sister who hounds me for refering to myself as one might refer to a chicken.) I can finally kill spiders after years and years of just screaming and running the other way, but only as long as they're tiny and don't squish at all during the killing; any of size are trapped and left for Daniel to dispose of upon his return home. When trying to remove a splinter from Daniel's foot the other day, I had to stop because I thought I was going to throw up.
It isn't just blood, folks; it's absolutely anything dirty or yucky or insect-y that gets me reeling and lurching.
Gabriel now has a shaved head which he, fortunately, thinks it's cool--even if his mother almost cried about it and refuses to shave Bronwyn's head [at this point], though taking care of the lice would be much simpler if there was no hair and Daniel argues that she'll just look like Demi Moore if we do it. We all were treated with Nix (Daniel and I did the treatment as a precaution, as we haven't [yet] found any lice in our hair). I stripped every bed, bleached or vacuumed every floor, sprayed every piece of furniture with lice-killing chemicals, bagged numerous toys in air-tight bags, and have been combing hair every couple hours.
And let me just tell you, with laundry piled to the ceiling in the laundry room and the anticipation of it being piled every day for at least two weeks, I am not feeling very ready for these next three weeks. I can't even think about the possibility of finding lice on my head, as that might just make my eyes smart with tears. My lists were long and my to-dos significant before this break-out, and I just don't do so well when my plans get messed up.
But I'm trying. I'm making an effort to decide that I can do this, even if I am house-bound, up to my eyeballs in 10x the normal cleaning, and ready to hurl every time I find a nit or a louse on the scalp of one of my children.
Be warned, though. You probably don't want to visit and "check in on me" for two reasons:
1. you might leave with a louse clinging to a hair shaft.
2. you might get roped into stripping and re-making beds, vacuuming carpet, bleaching linoleum, and/or combing scalps. (I figure I'll probably be able to refrain from making guests do the normal stuff like cleaning toilets, walking the baby and cooking our dinner.)
At any rate, since you might better not stop in, I am petitioning prayers for me while you're praying for my husband and the team in Spain. I'm working on that stout-hearted thing and, seeing as how I've often prayed that He would help me out in this area, I figure He's got me "in school" and I might as well make the most of it.
(Oh--and if your children were in the toddler nursery on Sunday morning, I'm very, very sorry.)
Monday, June 26, 2006
Sunday, June 25, 2006
I think so hard my heart and mind start to hurt because somewhere along the lines of thinking, I forgot What made me start thinking in the first place.
Oh yeah. Grace.
Yesterday and today, there is one resonating thought within me, and with it comes great peace and hope:
There is a vast difference between I need to change, and I need to be changed by You.
As I was doing errands the other day, the same Fear--masquerading itself in perhaps different scenarios but the same, nonethless--crept up on me. I found tears smarting in my eyes and an ache in the deepest part of me. And, even more, I felt frustrated. Frustrated because I was supposed to have changed; because I was supposed to be past this; because I oughtn't be dealing with the same old same old... right?
But, oh yeah. Grace.
Enough of trying to make it different; of saying words that aren't meant; of being brave when I'm really scared. Enough of the me efforts. Time for Him.
This has been His theme for me this year. A simple one, yes, but one of the hardest I've encountered. I like things to be ordered and--may I be honest?--when it comes to me and mine, I usually only trust myself to make things right if they are wrong.
But, oh yeah. Grace.
In that fear-filled moment, I stopped racking my brain for the perfect Scripture and, instead of rebuking anything or anyone or trying to fill the hallow I felt with positive confession, I found myself simply praying, Jesus, You are my Peace. Jesus, You are my Peace. Jesus, You are my Peace.
And you know what? He is. He was for me right then. He'll be for me in the night-hours that may haunt me once again. He'll be for me when I'm alone, and He'll be for me when I'm surrounded.
He said that He will change me.
Oh yeah. Grace.
Yesterday and today, there is one resonating thought within me, and with it comes great peace and hope:
There is a vast difference between I need to change, and I need to be changed by You.
As I was doing errands the other day, the same Fear--masquerading itself in perhaps different scenarios but the same, nonethless--crept up on me. I found tears smarting in my eyes and an ache in the deepest part of me. And, even more, I felt frustrated. Frustrated because I was supposed to have changed; because I was supposed to be past this; because I oughtn't be dealing with the same old same old... right?
But, oh yeah. Grace.
Enough of trying to make it different; of saying words that aren't meant; of being brave when I'm really scared. Enough of the me efforts. Time for Him.
This has been His theme for me this year. A simple one, yes, but one of the hardest I've encountered. I like things to be ordered and--may I be honest?--when it comes to me and mine, I usually only trust myself to make things right if they are wrong.
But, oh yeah. Grace.
In that fear-filled moment, I stopped racking my brain for the perfect Scripture and, instead of rebuking anything or anyone or trying to fill the hallow I felt with positive confession, I found myself simply praying, Jesus, You are my Peace. Jesus, You are my Peace. Jesus, You are my Peace.
And you know what? He is. He was for me right then. He'll be for me in the night-hours that may haunt me once again. He'll be for me when I'm alone, and He'll be for me when I'm surrounded.
He said that He will change me.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Sun-kissed cheeks. Sandy feet. Full bellies. Greasy hands. Tired bodies. Dirty towels. Grimy bathtub. Sweet-smelling hair. Cozy pajamas. Wilbur and Charlotte. Sleeping baby.
Can you guess where we've been and what we've been doing?
*sigh*
Afternoons/evenings like this are what we dream of when we dream of summer.
Can you guess where we've been and what we've been doing?
*sigh*
Afternoons/evenings like this are what we dream of when we dream of summer.
Friday, June 23, 2006
It began with me calling out the window.
Daniel, he's going nuts in here. I don't know what to do with him! Can he come just sit out there near you for a while?
Sneakers were tied, and a crying boy--upset about this punishment of being outside with Daddy when all he wanted to do was terrorize his mom and sister--was ushered out the door to his father. I felt relieved. As much as I am glad to see "the project" (our driveway expansion/retaining wall) being worked on, these dawn-to-dusk days Daniel's been putting in, not even coming inside to eat lunch or dinner, followed by him running out the door for meetings have been a bit of strain... especially considering that we will be without him entirely for three weeks, beginning next Wednesday. His son has already been missing the stronger hand, steadier temperament, and masculine influence represented by him, and we haven't even gotten to the missions trip.
Fifteen minutes later I peaked out the window. I didn't want to leave Gabriel out there so long that Daniel's work would be terribly slowed down.
At first I didn't see Gabriel. Yup--there was Daniel, shovel in hand, working tediously at moving fill to where the next railroad tie-back needed to be placed. But no Gabriel.
Where's Gabriel, Daniel?
Daniel looked up, sweat trickling down his face. He smiled and pointed toward the big mound of dirt and fill that has claimed residence at the top of our driveway these past few weeks. Sure enough, there was my little 3-year-old boy, garden spade in hand. He was very carefully filling it with the couple handfuls of dirt it could hold. Next came his attempt at carrying the dirt over to where it needed to be put--an attempt not successful in the sense of actually moving any dirt.
When I called Gabriel in for dinner at 5:30, he began telling me of his work with Daddy; of how he was wearing "dirty clothes" like Daddy does, and using a shovel like Daddy does. Face beaming, he had already decided that he would help again the next day.
So he's out there right now, little spade in hand.
It's true: he's not getting a whole lot accomplished in a physical sense. But there's a lot going on inside of him. He's learning to take pride in the work of his hands. He's learning what it is to please his dad. He's learning how much better it is to use his energy for good and not for evil.
And, just maybe, my Dad feels the same way about me. I bet there are a lot of days when He sees the fact that the kids still aren't dressed, or that the bathroom needs to be cleaned. He knows even better than I do when there hasn't been a whole lot accomplished come sun-down. But He knews even better than I do when there's been a lot worked out in my heart and will and mind. And He'd much rather see those things any day.
Just like I'd rather see character and purpose developed in my 3-year-old than the pile of dirt moved from the top of my driveway.
Daniel, he's going nuts in here. I don't know what to do with him! Can he come just sit out there near you for a while?
Sneakers were tied, and a crying boy--upset about this punishment of being outside with Daddy when all he wanted to do was terrorize his mom and sister--was ushered out the door to his father. I felt relieved. As much as I am glad to see "the project" (our driveway expansion/retaining wall) being worked on, these dawn-to-dusk days Daniel's been putting in, not even coming inside to eat lunch or dinner, followed by him running out the door for meetings have been a bit of strain... especially considering that we will be without him entirely for three weeks, beginning next Wednesday. His son has already been missing the stronger hand, steadier temperament, and masculine influence represented by him, and we haven't even gotten to the missions trip.
Fifteen minutes later I peaked out the window. I didn't want to leave Gabriel out there so long that Daniel's work would be terribly slowed down.
At first I didn't see Gabriel. Yup--there was Daniel, shovel in hand, working tediously at moving fill to where the next railroad tie-back needed to be placed. But no Gabriel.
Where's Gabriel, Daniel?
Daniel looked up, sweat trickling down his face. He smiled and pointed toward the big mound of dirt and fill that has claimed residence at the top of our driveway these past few weeks. Sure enough, there was my little 3-year-old boy, garden spade in hand. He was very carefully filling it with the couple handfuls of dirt it could hold. Next came his attempt at carrying the dirt over to where it needed to be put--an attempt not successful in the sense of actually moving any dirt.
When I called Gabriel in for dinner at 5:30, he began telling me of his work with Daddy; of how he was wearing "dirty clothes" like Daddy does, and using a shovel like Daddy does. Face beaming, he had already decided that he would help again the next day.
So he's out there right now, little spade in hand.
It's true: he's not getting a whole lot accomplished in a physical sense. But there's a lot going on inside of him. He's learning to take pride in the work of his hands. He's learning what it is to please his dad. He's learning how much better it is to use his energy for good and not for evil.
And, just maybe, my Dad feels the same way about me. I bet there are a lot of days when He sees the fact that the kids still aren't dressed, or that the bathroom needs to be cleaned. He knows even better than I do when there hasn't been a whole lot accomplished come sun-down. But He knews even better than I do when there's been a lot worked out in my heart and will and mind. And He'd much rather see those things any day.
Just like I'd rather see character and purpose developed in my 3-year-old than the pile of dirt moved from the top of my driveway.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
*This is a Private Post so as to not offend anyone who might not breastfeed. While most all my friends either breastfeed or understand my preference, I don't know exactly who makes up my "readers" and I don't want to unduely upset anyone.*
I am committed to breastfeeding. The health benefits alone are enough to convince me it's worth every minute, not to mention the whole "design" thing that would indicate the Master's plan.
That said, there are times when I wish I wasn't quite so "attached" to my baby. There are moments in the middle of the night when I desperately wish someone else--anybody else!--could do the job my baby is crying for me to do. There are also times when I would really, really, really like to do something--like see "Always, Patsy Cline"--that having a breastfeeding baby interferes with.
Last night, I was losing it. Jackson has gone back to waking every 2
hours (promptly) during the night to nurse. He's been at this for about
a week now, after being down to 2-3 feedings a night for quite some
time. Most of the wake-ups I can deal with. But it's really hard for me
to handle the first one; the one that comes when I am in the deepest
sleep cycle. Oh boy. If you want to catch me demonstrating the fruits
of the flesh, join me at 1am.
Gabriel had "his way" to nurse, that's for sure. Now that he's older and I see his personality, I realize why nursing sessions took 45+ minutes and could not be altered or interrupted without major ramifications. He likes things certain ways. As much as I thought he was addicted to nursing, he really was just addicted to "his way." His particular preferences were good for me, as I was at a time in my life when I needed routine and to be needed.
Bronwyn was extremely efficient when it came to nursing. She didn't really have a specific time preference on how long she should nurse and how far apart the nursing sessions should be. Really, as long as she got her 5-10 minutes when she was hungry (be it 2 or 5 hours between nursings), she was fine. She was also my only baby thus far who has gladly taken a bottle with expressed milk. Once again, she didn't care how the food came, provided it came. I found breastfeeding to be simple and straight-forward with her, which was a tremendous blessing since I had been skeptical of its "convenience" after how tedious Gabriel had been.
Jackson loves to nurse in a way neither of my other children loved it. When I lay him down in my arms to feed him, his arms and legs start moving in frantic anticipation. He smiles for me in a way he smiles for nobody else. He loves me, and I know this is largely attached to his love for nursing. When I am frustrated with the fact that he rarely falls asleep any way other than nursing, or because he won't take a bottle with expressed milk for anyone any time, or because it is his absolute favorite thing to do and he thinks he should do it more often than I think he should, all I have to do is get one glimpse of that smile. He may have spent the previous hour screaming in his bed, but the minute he sights me, the cries stop and his entire face lights up. I must confess that I love this.
And I love that I have been able to "see" my children's personalities through the breastfeeding process.
The great thing about God's plan is that for every sacrifice, there is
a reward. Some rewards for some sacrifices will not be known and
experienced until eternity. Let me just say that I am so glad that the
rewards of breastfeeding are to be had right now! They are different
each time, but they are good, nonetheless.
Sure, breastfeeding kind of weirded me out before I did it. To be brutally honest, there have been plenty of times since Gabriel was first born when I have wondered at the whole thing. Sometimes it's an "awe" kind of wonder; sometimes it's just plain wonder! But the blessings have definitely outweighed the discomforts (this coming from a mom who has battled thrush countless--literally countless--numbers of time).
Gabriel's weaning came too quickly. I decided to start reducing the number of times he nursed when he was around 11 months old. This was also when I first began introducing solid food--other than handfuls of Cheerios and juice, which I began giving him when he was around 9 months old. In 3 days he, of his own accord, went from nursing 6-8 times every 24 hours to not nursing at all. This first-time mom had expected the process to take a long time, and part of me felt extremely devestated that it had been so abrupt--and not just because there were physical discomforts. He no longer needed me in the same way he had needed me, and I missed that.
Bronwyn's was also a quick weaning. About 1 month after I found out I was pregnant with Jack, I realized how much fussier and discontent she had become. As she was solely breastfeeding and seemed hungry even immediately after nursing, I began to wonder if my body wasn't producing enough to keep up with demands of pregnancy and nursing. I introduced food and--surprise, surprise--she wanted less and less to do with nursing. Within a month, I was the one initiating nursing in the morning. Once again, I was losing that special connection, and I really didn't want to.
So, while I have my frustrations with Jackson's incredible love of nursing, I also harbor the no-longer-secret hope that this will mean he won't be bored with it as quickly as my other two children were. And I just look for that smile--that round, toothless grin--in the night hours when I'm wishing I could ignore the design of my body, the health benefits of breastfeeding, and the convenience of not mixing and heating bottles so I could tell Daniel, "Your turn."
Yup--I'm committed. And definitely for selfish reasons as much as any other reason!
(And at least I've learned how to type while nursing, dress toddlers while nursing, try shoes on Bronwyn in Wal-Mart while nursing, etc. I'm no longer completely tied down!)
I am committed to breastfeeding. The health benefits alone are enough to convince me it's worth every minute, not to mention the whole "design" thing that would indicate the Master's plan.
That said, there are times when I wish I wasn't quite so "attached" to my baby. There are moments in the middle of the night when I desperately wish someone else--anybody else!--could do the job my baby is crying for me to do. There are also times when I would really, really, really like to do something--like see "Always, Patsy Cline"--that having a breastfeeding baby interferes with.
Last night, I was losing it. Jackson has gone back to waking every 2
hours (promptly) during the night to nurse. He's been at this for about
a week now, after being down to 2-3 feedings a night for quite some
time. Most of the wake-ups I can deal with. But it's really hard for me
to handle the first one; the one that comes when I am in the deepest
sleep cycle. Oh boy. If you want to catch me demonstrating the fruits
of the flesh, join me at 1am.
Gabriel had "his way" to nurse, that's for sure. Now that he's older and I see his personality, I realize why nursing sessions took 45+ minutes and could not be altered or interrupted without major ramifications. He likes things certain ways. As much as I thought he was addicted to nursing, he really was just addicted to "his way." His particular preferences were good for me, as I was at a time in my life when I needed routine and to be needed.
Bronwyn was extremely efficient when it came to nursing. She didn't really have a specific time preference on how long she should nurse and how far apart the nursing sessions should be. Really, as long as she got her 5-10 minutes when she was hungry (be it 2 or 5 hours between nursings), she was fine. She was also my only baby thus far who has gladly taken a bottle with expressed milk. Once again, she didn't care how the food came, provided it came. I found breastfeeding to be simple and straight-forward with her, which was a tremendous blessing since I had been skeptical of its "convenience" after how tedious Gabriel had been.
Jackson loves to nurse in a way neither of my other children loved it. When I lay him down in my arms to feed him, his arms and legs start moving in frantic anticipation. He smiles for me in a way he smiles for nobody else. He loves me, and I know this is largely attached to his love for nursing. When I am frustrated with the fact that he rarely falls asleep any way other than nursing, or because he won't take a bottle with expressed milk for anyone any time, or because it is his absolute favorite thing to do and he thinks he should do it more often than I think he should, all I have to do is get one glimpse of that smile. He may have spent the previous hour screaming in his bed, but the minute he sights me, the cries stop and his entire face lights up. I must confess that I love this.
And I love that I have been able to "see" my children's personalities through the breastfeeding process.
The great thing about God's plan is that for every sacrifice, there is
a reward. Some rewards for some sacrifices will not be known and
experienced until eternity. Let me just say that I am so glad that the
rewards of breastfeeding are to be had right now! They are different
each time, but they are good, nonetheless.
Sure, breastfeeding kind of weirded me out before I did it. To be brutally honest, there have been plenty of times since Gabriel was first born when I have wondered at the whole thing. Sometimes it's an "awe" kind of wonder; sometimes it's just plain wonder! But the blessings have definitely outweighed the discomforts (this coming from a mom who has battled thrush countless--literally countless--numbers of time).
Gabriel's weaning came too quickly. I decided to start reducing the number of times he nursed when he was around 11 months old. This was also when I first began introducing solid food--other than handfuls of Cheerios and juice, which I began giving him when he was around 9 months old. In 3 days he, of his own accord, went from nursing 6-8 times every 24 hours to not nursing at all. This first-time mom had expected the process to take a long time, and part of me felt extremely devestated that it had been so abrupt--and not just because there were physical discomforts. He no longer needed me in the same way he had needed me, and I missed that.
Bronwyn's was also a quick weaning. About 1 month after I found out I was pregnant with Jack, I realized how much fussier and discontent she had become. As she was solely breastfeeding and seemed hungry even immediately after nursing, I began to wonder if my body wasn't producing enough to keep up with demands of pregnancy and nursing. I introduced food and--surprise, surprise--she wanted less and less to do with nursing. Within a month, I was the one initiating nursing in the morning. Once again, I was losing that special connection, and I really didn't want to.
So, while I have my frustrations with Jackson's incredible love of nursing, I also harbor the no-longer-secret hope that this will mean he won't be bored with it as quickly as my other two children were. And I just look for that smile--that round, toothless grin--in the night hours when I'm wishing I could ignore the design of my body, the health benefits of breastfeeding, and the convenience of not mixing and heating bottles so I could tell Daniel, "Your turn."
Yup--I'm committed. And definitely for selfish reasons as much as any other reason!
(And at least I've learned how to type while nursing, dress toddlers while nursing, try shoes on Bronwyn in Wal-Mart while nursing, etc. I'm no longer completely tied down!)
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
I've been bad about photo-sharing. Even worse, I've been bad about getting photos off the camera and organized into files on the computer. 
But since I took some time tonight to sort and format, my readers will benefit.
Okay... okay. So I think it's wonderful to view pictures of my family. If you disagree, please do so silently.
But since I took some time tonight to sort and format, my readers will benefit.
Okay... okay. So I think it's wonderful to view pictures of my family. If you disagree, please do so silently.
My beautiful boys in their matching summer pjs
Bronwyn Eliese is the cutest even when the picture is blurry!
Our big 5-month-old
Daniel on his 26th birthday
Gabriel "reading" to his siblings.
(Bronwyn's hat is really Jackson's hat. She insisted on wearing it.)
The apple of 4 pairs of eyes trying out his going-away present from Daddy.
Our big 5-month-old
Daniel on his 26th birthday
Gabriel "reading" to his siblings.
(Bronwyn's hat is really Jackson's hat. She insisted on wearing it.)
The apple of 4 pairs of eyes trying out his going-away present from Daddy.
If you're curious about some of our doctrines or theology, just watch Gabriel and Bronwyn play church.
The other day, they were "speaking in tongues."
This morning--on a stage made from value pack diaper boxes--after
Bronwyn led worship, I asked Gabriel if he was going to do some
preaching. His response was, "Yeah, 'cause I'm the guy."
You can also get some funny toddler imitations. For instance, the
clicking noise Gabriel tests his pretend mic with, "like Pastor Mike
does."
The other day, they were "speaking in tongues."
This morning--on a stage made from value pack diaper boxes--after
Bronwyn led worship, I asked Gabriel if he was going to do some
preaching. His response was, "Yeah, 'cause I'm the guy."
You can also get some funny toddler imitations. For instance, the
clicking noise Gabriel tests his pretend mic with, "like Pastor Mike
does."
Monday, June 19, 2006
Self-doubt so easily creeps in. One comment, one thought: that's all it takes for me find myself lying awake night after night in a row, staring at the fan, my mind full of the questions that so easily beset me.
I remember the moment I finally gave in about further education after highschool. I knew God wanted me to spend every ounce of remaining singleness (at the time, indefinite; in retrospect, very brief) serving the family and the church that had invested so much in me over the years, but I couldn't deny the haunting thought that this was His plan for me because I simply wasn't good enough, talented enough, or smart enough for anything else. I wanted to get that bachelor's degree because I wanted to prove to myself that I could, but--let's face it--God isn't into us proving ourselves.
The battles with self-doubt and a deep desire to prove to myself and to the world that I really am good, talented and smart have diminished in frequency over the past six years, but it would be a lie to say I never find myself in this familiar struggle. Did God send a husband and children so quickly because this was the only thing He could do with me? Making these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walking these infants, vacuuming these carpets, reading these elementary stories... is this all I'm good at?
I am blessed to be in a church culture that values stay-at-home-moms. Whenever there is an insinuation that getting married and having kids is second-rate or a waste of talent and gifting, it is always accidental and not truly meant. I know that.
I also know that God values me. He values what I do and how I spend my days. He doesn't see me as being left-behind and not good enough for anything else, and He doesn't think that what I do is insignificant, or even that it doesn't require hard work, intelligence, ingenuity and--yes--talent.
The culture at large thinks that being pregnant, having babies and staying home is cool. Right now, it's a fad. People like Oprah give lots of kudos to stay-at-home moms, and maternity stores can be found in every mall. (OK, every mall except the one in Massena, but that's just 'cause it doesn't have any stores.) But let's be honest: Oprah would never be a stay-at-home mom because she thinks she's just too valuable for such a thing. It might be "in" to be a mom, but there's still the underlying current of it being "less."
I fall prey to this as much as anyone. Thus the self-doubt.
I look at highschool girls and I wonder if they're hoping to heaven that they get to do something more important in their lifetime. I wonder if my peers feel badly for me that I'm home most every morning, afternoon and evening. I wonder if people older than me are the only ones who think that my life is valuable--or if even they, too, think I've missed it.
And then I wonder, If they're wondering this, is it because I'm wondering this?
Here I am, supposedly embracing what He has called me to and yet diminishing His call as much as anyone "out there" might be. I want others to value my investments, but I don't. I under-estimate the importance of being Daniel's wife and my children's mom, and then I can't figure out why I'm not better at it.
Most of all, I forget, as much as (if not more than) anyone "out there" that He said, "...whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant. And whoever desires to be first among you, let him be your slave--just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many."
Make me Your servant, Lord. Make me Your slave. Let me do Your bidding--no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to me. Help me to be like Jesus, coming to serve and not to be served. Let the minutes of my life be about what You want, and not about my worth or fruitfulness or value. Forgive me for wanting my calling and my days to be like another's. Teach me what it is to truly yield me--all of me--to my Father.
*Edit* I finished writing and began to read some other blogs. I always begin at the beginning--with Mom's. Immediately I was reminded of how much more dying I have to do, and of how much grace He gives for the dying.
I remember the moment I finally gave in about further education after highschool. I knew God wanted me to spend every ounce of remaining singleness (at the time, indefinite; in retrospect, very brief) serving the family and the church that had invested so much in me over the years, but I couldn't deny the haunting thought that this was His plan for me because I simply wasn't good enough, talented enough, or smart enough for anything else. I wanted to get that bachelor's degree because I wanted to prove to myself that I could, but--let's face it--God isn't into us proving ourselves.
The battles with self-doubt and a deep desire to prove to myself and to the world that I really am good, talented and smart have diminished in frequency over the past six years, but it would be a lie to say I never find myself in this familiar struggle. Did God send a husband and children so quickly because this was the only thing He could do with me? Making these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walking these infants, vacuuming these carpets, reading these elementary stories... is this all I'm good at?
I am blessed to be in a church culture that values stay-at-home-moms. Whenever there is an insinuation that getting married and having kids is second-rate or a waste of talent and gifting, it is always accidental and not truly meant. I know that.
I also know that God values me. He values what I do and how I spend my days. He doesn't see me as being left-behind and not good enough for anything else, and He doesn't think that what I do is insignificant, or even that it doesn't require hard work, intelligence, ingenuity and--yes--talent.
The culture at large thinks that being pregnant, having babies and staying home is cool. Right now, it's a fad. People like Oprah give lots of kudos to stay-at-home moms, and maternity stores can be found in every mall. (OK, every mall except the one in Massena, but that's just 'cause it doesn't have any stores.) But let's be honest: Oprah would never be a stay-at-home mom because she thinks she's just too valuable for such a thing. It might be "in" to be a mom, but there's still the underlying current of it being "less."
I fall prey to this as much as anyone. Thus the self-doubt.
I look at highschool girls and I wonder if they're hoping to heaven that they get to do something more important in their lifetime. I wonder if my peers feel badly for me that I'm home most every morning, afternoon and evening. I wonder if people older than me are the only ones who think that my life is valuable--or if even they, too, think I've missed it.
And then I wonder, If they're wondering this, is it because I'm wondering this?
Here I am, supposedly embracing what He has called me to and yet diminishing His call as much as anyone "out there" might be. I want others to value my investments, but I don't. I under-estimate the importance of being Daniel's wife and my children's mom, and then I can't figure out why I'm not better at it.
Most of all, I forget, as much as (if not more than) anyone "out there" that He said, "...whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant. And whoever desires to be first among you, let him be your slave--just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many."
Make me Your servant, Lord. Make me Your slave. Let me do Your bidding--no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to me. Help me to be like Jesus, coming to serve and not to be served. Let the minutes of my life be about what You want, and not about my worth or fruitfulness or value. Forgive me for wanting my calling and my days to be like another's. Teach me what it is to truly yield me--all of me--to my Father.
*Edit* I finished writing and began to read some other blogs. I always begin at the beginning--with Mom's. Immediately I was reminded of how much more dying I have to do, and of how much grace He gives for the dying.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Usually the words are, Tighten up, Brietta; or Crack down on this, Brietta. I have to be more diligent to be hard on myself in an area, whether it be in taking time to read the Word instead of becoming a vegetable in front of the TV or forcing myself to stay consistent in correcting my children.
Sometimes, though, the word is to loosen up. And, for me, it's been a season of hearing this regarding my house.
My many good friends and family in Pittsburgh can probably testify to how particular I am about having clean house. My sisters definitely can, and my mom can--and I'd even bet that my brother can, too. Let's not even start on my husband's friends, 'cause I'm getting tired of linking.
I like things clean. And there's a lot to be said for cleanliness.
But, let's be honest: I've got three children ages three and under. It's easy for me to spend an entire day running around after them in a frenzied effort to keep the house tidy, not to mention squeezing the other important jobs--like cleaning the bathrooms, mopping linoleum floors and organizing closets--in the little bit of time that I might be lucky enough to have all three of them sleeping simultaneously.
The problem is that this frenzied mom and wife is often all that's left to be found by the dinner-hour. And when I'm grouchy with my husband, irritated by my children, and void of all peace and joy because the kids made a mess too big for me to clean up or I never got the chance I wanted to clean the laundry room, I am sinning.
Yup. Sinning.
This past weekend I found out while I was out of town that my husband's mom and youngest sister would be landing at our place the next night. Of course I was delighted to be able to spend time with them; but my mind immediately began that frenzied mental perusal of the house--from the laundry basket and garbage bag that are the "fill in" until I can get a dresser for Jackson to use, to the bathrooms that hadn't been cleaned in almost a week, to the dusty nightstands in my bedroom. Daniel looked at me the minute he saw that look in my eyes. "They don't care, Brietta. In fact, they understand!"
I know... I know. People are happy to give me a break.
I am the one who can't give myself a break.
So, yeah. I'm learning to loosen up. And I'm a lot better than I used to be. I daresay a bunch of those Pittsburgh friends would be rather surprised a lot of days to find that the lampshades are dusty and a refrigerator shelf sticky. There might even be some shock at the condition of the windowsills (mostly due to not having a vacuum hose that works, but I'll pretend it's because I'm learning to chill a bit) and Daniel's dresser-top. But they'll also find me smiling and enjoying my children a bit more, and freaking out and sinning with my attitude a bit less.
I don't think I'll ever completely get over wanting things picked up and tidy, but I'm also not sure I want to. What I do want is to view a messy family room and piled dirty dishes as a sign of life and blessing instead of as an annoyance and cause for stress. People tell me that one day I'll miss these little people who are the reason for such things, and I'm trying to remember that.
*EDIT* Some of the things I'm particular about are just weird and I simply have to get over it; it has nothing to do with having children and everything to do with me being a freak about things. Like the fact that I like the kids books put away in a certain order--grouping the "types" of books. Seeing as how they only own one shelf of books, it really isn't necessary. And it's just another thing that I find myself following behind them and "fixing."
Yeah, I know. Needless.
Sometimes, though, the word is to loosen up. And, for me, it's been a season of hearing this regarding my house.
My many good friends and family in Pittsburgh can probably testify to how particular I am about having clean house. My sisters definitely can, and my mom can--and I'd even bet that my brother can, too. Let's not even start on my husband's friends, 'cause I'm getting tired of linking.
I like things clean. And there's a lot to be said for cleanliness.
But, let's be honest: I've got three children ages three and under. It's easy for me to spend an entire day running around after them in a frenzied effort to keep the house tidy, not to mention squeezing the other important jobs--like cleaning the bathrooms, mopping linoleum floors and organizing closets--in the little bit of time that I might be lucky enough to have all three of them sleeping simultaneously.
The problem is that this frenzied mom and wife is often all that's left to be found by the dinner-hour. And when I'm grouchy with my husband, irritated by my children, and void of all peace and joy because the kids made a mess too big for me to clean up or I never got the chance I wanted to clean the laundry room, I am sinning.
Yup. Sinning.
This past weekend I found out while I was out of town that my husband's mom and youngest sister would be landing at our place the next night. Of course I was delighted to be able to spend time with them; but my mind immediately began that frenzied mental perusal of the house--from the laundry basket and garbage bag that are the "fill in" until I can get a dresser for Jackson to use, to the bathrooms that hadn't been cleaned in almost a week, to the dusty nightstands in my bedroom. Daniel looked at me the minute he saw that look in my eyes. "They don't care, Brietta. In fact, they understand!"
I know... I know. People are happy to give me a break.
I am the one who can't give myself a break.
So, yeah. I'm learning to loosen up. And I'm a lot better than I used to be. I daresay a bunch of those Pittsburgh friends would be rather surprised a lot of days to find that the lampshades are dusty and a refrigerator shelf sticky. There might even be some shock at the condition of the windowsills (mostly due to not having a vacuum hose that works, but I'll pretend it's because I'm learning to chill a bit) and Daniel's dresser-top. But they'll also find me smiling and enjoying my children a bit more, and freaking out and sinning with my attitude a bit less.
I don't think I'll ever completely get over wanting things picked up and tidy, but I'm also not sure I want to. What I do want is to view a messy family room and piled dirty dishes as a sign of life and blessing instead of as an annoyance and cause for stress. People tell me that one day I'll miss these little people who are the reason for such things, and I'm trying to remember that.
*EDIT* Some of the things I'm particular about are just weird and I simply have to get over it; it has nothing to do with having children and everything to do with me being a freak about things. Like the fact that I like the kids books put away in a certain order--grouping the "types" of books. Seeing as how they only own one shelf of books, it really isn't necessary. And it's just another thing that I find myself following behind them and "fixing."
Yeah, I know. Needless.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
If only...
...I wouldn't tire of Jackson's crying before he does.
...I could wake up smiling as much as Bronwyn smiles upon waking.
...drumming--even "pillow" drumming--wasn't as loud as it is.
...food didn't = calories.
So glad...
...for chubby cheeks to kiss.
...that Daniel wakes up smiling as much as Bronwyn smiles upon waking.
...to have both bathrooms thoroughly cleaned (even the doornobs!).
...for blogs to read while I sit and nurse the baby for what feels like the 10th time today.
...my kids have a daddy who's invested in their lives.
...there are nuseries available on Sunday mornings.
...going over the grocery budget only means less $ for house projects, missions, etc. and not debt.
...so many guys have helped with our "project."
...that absolutely nothing can separate me from His love.
Voila! The "glads" definitely outweigh the "if only's."
...I wouldn't tire of Jackson's crying before he does.
...I could wake up smiling as much as Bronwyn smiles upon waking.
...drumming--even "pillow" drumming--wasn't as loud as it is.
...food didn't = calories.
So glad...
...for chubby cheeks to kiss.
...that Daniel wakes up smiling as much as Bronwyn smiles upon waking.
...to have both bathrooms thoroughly cleaned (even the doornobs!).
...for blogs to read while I sit and nurse the baby for what feels like the 10th time today.
...my kids have a daddy who's invested in their lives.
...there are nuseries available on Sunday mornings.
...going over the grocery budget only means less $ for house projects, missions, etc. and not debt.
...so many guys have helped with our "project."
...that absolutely nothing can separate me from His love.
Voila! The "glads" definitely outweigh the "if only's."
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Today is (was?) Daniel's birthday. That's right. The big 2-uh... 6. (Just doesn't have the same ring, ya know? 
)
The morning began with my two boys and me in the family room, getting a card ready for the kids to color while I made breakfast. Neither Daniel or I have ever done "breakfast in bed" on any occasion, but I thought this would be the year to do such a thing. My inspiration was in part due to Jackson waking up at 6am and giving me plenty of time to prep. At any rate, I fried eggs and made coffee while Gabriel and Bronwyn (by then awake) colored pictures and decorated the birthday card.
The real celebration was reserved for the evening, and even that was low-key. Dinner didn't get a lot of before-hand planning, but I'm fortunate to have a husband who isn't a picky eater. (In fact, he might be almost as far away from being a picky eater as his brother--but not quite.) Some tilapia sauteed in butter with parsley and lemon pepper, along with Italian bread, salt potatoes, and a ceasar salad did the trick just fine. It wasn't his "traditional" homemade pizza that he grew up requesting, but he declared it wonderful and--I must confess--I much prefered it myself.
The family stopping in to share a homemade cafe latte cheesecake topped the day off. Once again, it wasn't Daniel's "traditional" cherry chip cake--the cake of choice for years and years--but since the boxed mix he loves so dearly is difficult to find, he picked the cheesecake. And he said he thinks he might prefer cheesecake anyway. I guess I probably don't have to indicate which I like better.
All in all, there wasn't a big bash. Instead of an iPod or a video camera, there were shirts and Steelers paraphanalia (oh, yes) and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. We ate our dinner--just our little (growing) family--and Gabriel joined heartily in my boisterous rendition of "Happy Birthday." And I think in the simplicity of heartfelt wishes and prayers, hugs and laughter, Daniel knows how dearly he is loved and how much he means to us.
Yeah. He's the best.
(And he preaches pretty well, too.
)
)The morning began with my two boys and me in the family room, getting a card ready for the kids to color while I made breakfast. Neither Daniel or I have ever done "breakfast in bed" on any occasion, but I thought this would be the year to do such a thing. My inspiration was in part due to Jackson waking up at 6am and giving me plenty of time to prep. At any rate, I fried eggs and made coffee while Gabriel and Bronwyn (by then awake) colored pictures and decorated the birthday card.
The real celebration was reserved for the evening, and even that was low-key. Dinner didn't get a lot of before-hand planning, but I'm fortunate to have a husband who isn't a picky eater. (In fact, he might be almost as far away from being a picky eater as his brother--but not quite.) Some tilapia sauteed in butter with parsley and lemon pepper, along with Italian bread, salt potatoes, and a ceasar salad did the trick just fine. It wasn't his "traditional" homemade pizza that he grew up requesting, but he declared it wonderful and--I must confess--I much prefered it myself.
The family stopping in to share a homemade cafe latte cheesecake topped the day off. Once again, it wasn't Daniel's "traditional" cherry chip cake--the cake of choice for years and years--but since the boxed mix he loves so dearly is difficult to find, he picked the cheesecake. And he said he thinks he might prefer cheesecake anyway. I guess I probably don't have to indicate which I like better.
All in all, there wasn't a big bash. Instead of an iPod or a video camera, there were shirts and Steelers paraphanalia (oh, yes) and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. We ate our dinner--just our little (growing) family--and Gabriel joined heartily in my boisterous rendition of "Happy Birthday." And I think in the simplicity of heartfelt wishes and prayers, hugs and laughter, Daniel knows how dearly he is loved and how much he means to us.
Yeah. He's the best.
(And he preaches pretty well, too.
)Thursday, June 8, 2006
Nice is waking up to find a new outfit and hand-picked bouquet of peonies from Mom.
She is one of the most thoughtful and generous people I know--all the time buying gifts and bringing things to people "just because." Don't you just love her?
She is one of the most thoughtful and generous people I know--all the time buying gifts and bringing things to people "just because." Don't you just love her?
Wednesday, June 7, 2006
I keep thinking it's Thursday.
I want it to be Thursday--'cause then I'd be one day closer to the end of this week.
I sure am looking forward to a new week that isn't [already] imprinted with long nights, grouchy mornings, missed exercise, arguments between a frustrated husband & wife, countless discipline sessions, and selfishness and laziness. It's amazing what sin and sinful attitudes we've (I've) managed, seeing as how it's only Wednesday.
But isn't this my way? Instead of fixing what's broken, I want it new. I may have been around for enough years to know better, but I still think that next week... next month... next year... will be different; that somehow I will do better, stay stronger, think faster, work harder.
Could it be that I'll spend my whole life waiting for tomorrow at this rate?
This day--this Wednesday, June 7th, in the year 2006--is the day He has made. He knew I'd mess it up. He knew I'd want to get rid of it, scratch it from the memory books. But He made it anyway.
Because He also knew that my Savior--my good and gracious Jesus--could fix it. He knew that the dysfunctional attitudes and crumbling emotions could and should be transformed to be a testimony of His love and Fatherhood; and that the real work of Grace is truly understood through life and not just in spite of it.
So I offer up today. These next nine hours are Yours, Lord. Take this frail humanity and teach me what it is to let Your work shine through: through the ups and downs, and through the wins and losses. Thank You for today: for the way You mend what's broken, change what's wrong, and complete Your work.
And please, Lord, let it somehow be a light to others. Let me not be too proud to let them really see how great Your work is and can be.
This Wednesday.
I want it to be Thursday--'cause then I'd be one day closer to the end of this week.
I sure am looking forward to a new week that isn't [already] imprinted with long nights, grouchy mornings, missed exercise, arguments between a frustrated husband & wife, countless discipline sessions, and selfishness and laziness. It's amazing what sin and sinful attitudes we've (I've) managed, seeing as how it's only Wednesday.
But isn't this my way? Instead of fixing what's broken, I want it new. I may have been around for enough years to know better, but I still think that next week... next month... next year... will be different; that somehow I will do better, stay stronger, think faster, work harder.
Could it be that I'll spend my whole life waiting for tomorrow at this rate?
This day--this Wednesday, June 7th, in the year 2006--is the day He has made. He knew I'd mess it up. He knew I'd want to get rid of it, scratch it from the memory books. But He made it anyway.
Because He also knew that my Savior--my good and gracious Jesus--could fix it. He knew that the dysfunctional attitudes and crumbling emotions could and should be transformed to be a testimony of His love and Fatherhood; and that the real work of Grace is truly understood through life and not just in spite of it.
So I offer up today. These next nine hours are Yours, Lord. Take this frail humanity and teach me what it is to let Your work shine through: through the ups and downs, and through the wins and losses. Thank You for today: for the way You mend what's broken, change what's wrong, and complete Your work.
And please, Lord, let it somehow be a light to others. Let me not be too proud to let them really see how great Your work is and can be.
This Wednesday.
Tuesday, June 6, 2006
There are over 70 railroad ties in my yard.
Half a dozen 6"x6"x8' posts are stacked on my front porch, along with even more 1"x6"x10' rails.
Next to the driveway, a rather long trench is dug--in some places 4' deep.
The grass hasn't been cut in over a week because lawn-mower-man (aka Daniel) has been preocupied with "the project."
The many holes that will soon tear up the rest of our yard in anticipation of fence posts haven't even been dug yet.
So if the saying, "It gets worse before it gets better" is really true, my yard should look exceptional when all is said and done.
Half a dozen 6"x6"x8' posts are stacked on my front porch, along with even more 1"x6"x10' rails.
Next to the driveway, a rather long trench is dug--in some places 4' deep.
The grass hasn't been cut in over a week because lawn-mower-man (aka Daniel) has been preocupied with "the project."
The many holes that will soon tear up the rest of our yard in anticipation of fence posts haven't even been dug yet.
So if the saying, "It gets worse before it gets better" is really true, my yard should look exceptional when all is said and done.
Saturday, June 3, 2006
One of the things I love about my worship-leader-sisters is the way they lead us in hymns. I like that they like the same hymns as me--the ones with intricate yet simple melodies and profound yet never-changing lyrics. And I really like that they know how to change a chord here, or a time-signature there, so that these hymns can be brought to life... once again.
I'm a "chorus girl," really. The old songs that are basic to my childhood will ever be dear; songs like I Love You, Lord and The Steadfast Love will never be forgotten or grow old. Some of my favorites are the many choruses written by Matt Redman; I listen to what he writes and I know that he loves Jesus and that he loves the Word. In addition, I'll take a smattering of this and a sprinkling of that, with a little of this and a little of that--and even a teeny bit of this, as well.
But there's something about those hymns, so moving, so inspiring, and so true.
I appreciate that my worship-leader-sisters are also bloggers, because it's good to begin some mornings reading what they write and being led in worship. Like today, when I read her stuff and found that I was singing and contemplating the following hymn the rest of the day.
Thanks, Wease.
I'm a "chorus girl," really. The old songs that are basic to my childhood will ever be dear; songs like I Love You, Lord and The Steadfast Love will never be forgotten or grow old. Some of my favorites are the many choruses written by Matt Redman; I listen to what he writes and I know that he loves Jesus and that he loves the Word. In addition, I'll take a smattering of this and a sprinkling of that, with a little of this and a little of that--and even a teeny bit of this, as well.
But there's something about those hymns, so moving, so inspiring, and so true.
I appreciate that my worship-leader-sisters are also bloggers, because it's good to begin some mornings reading what they write and being led in worship. Like today, when I read her stuff and found that I was singing and contemplating the following hymn the rest of the day.
Thanks, Wease.
My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.
My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
I love Thee because Thou has first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
Thursday, June 1, 2006
Today we went shopping. Just Daniel and I. (OK--Jack was there, too, but nursing babies don't count against "alone-time" as far as we're concerned.)
I shopped.
I talked--a lot. About a lot of things.
I bought gifts for upcoming weddings.
I found $2.99 shirts for Daniel.
I proved 1 and a 1/2 hours to be the perfect amount of time for relieving myself of all my pent-up thoughts.
I decided I needn't be stressed any more. Not about Gabriel. Not about money. Not about house projects. Not about a summer schedule that involves Daniel being gone and traveling a whole lot. Not about discipline tactics or mothering failures.
I ate a Twizzler. (Or two... or three, actually.)
I discovered that I finally have a baby who likes being in his stroller even inside a mall.
I purchased plaid shorts for Gabriel. And two dresses for Bronwyn.
I remembered one of the reasons I love being married: having Daniel as my best friend.
I shopped.
I talked--a lot. About a lot of things.
I bought gifts for upcoming weddings.
I found $2.99 shirts for Daniel.
I proved 1 and a 1/2 hours to be the perfect amount of time for relieving myself of all my pent-up thoughts.
I decided I needn't be stressed any more. Not about Gabriel. Not about money. Not about house projects. Not about a summer schedule that involves Daniel being gone and traveling a whole lot. Not about discipline tactics or mothering failures.
I ate a Twizzler. (Or two... or three, actually.)
I discovered that I finally have a baby who likes being in his stroller even inside a mall.
I purchased plaid shorts for Gabriel. And two dresses for Bronwyn.
I remembered one of the reasons I love being married: having Daniel as my best friend.
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