The Old Man and the Red Kettle

The old man sat behind the hanging red pot, ringing the same old bell. The same bell that has been rung for over 120 years, collecting money for people in need in our communities. He looked our way as we headed his direction. I had rummaged through my change purse in the car a few minutes prior to find enough coins so that all four of my kids would have something to put in the kettle. They dutifully took turns happily pushing the money through the small slot. The old man looked up at me, and said, "Thanks for teaching them to give." And we walked into Walgreens.

That was it. But truth be told, I haven't been able to get what he said out of my mind since that day almost two weeks ago. "Thanks for teaching them to give," he had said. I hadn't thought of that. I wasn't trying to teach them anything. It was just a little bit of change after all.  I gave them the coins to put into the kettle because I grew up putting coins that my mom gave me into the kettle.

And then it hit me - EVERYTHING we do with our kids IS something we're teaching them.

I try so hard to just be an average mom - keeping my kids busy in baseball, basketball, art, music, dance, playdates. Because that's what every "good" mom does, right? We're just trying to do what we're supposed to do. Give the kids opportunities, keep them busy, not feel guilty because "Sue" down the road let's her kids do more activities than I let mine do. Trying not to hold them back "just in case" they might be a prodigy in something!

But am I missing it? We're teaching, every day, every minute. What are we teaching them?

The old man reminded me that it's time to slow down. To slow down and teach on purpose the important things in life. It's time to STOP being  "average mom" and be "on purpose" mom. Time to stop overfilling our time so much with things that won't matter in ten years, and filling it with things that will. Things that make children into great adults. Things that build great habits.

We put money into the kettles we pass because my parents taught me by putting coins in my hand as a child that that's what we do. It's a habit they instilled in us. I have to sneak past a kettle now if I don't have money to put into it because I feel guilty!

Small things, on purpose.

All of the sudden I'm glad my living room is a mess. It's a mess because we're filling Operation Christmas Child shoe boxes with the things we've collected all year long. We have everything spread out all over the floor. The fact is,  I would be embarrassed if someone stopped by. But we're building "habits:"

I'm also glad for the glue that is permanently embedded in my nice black shirt. I still wear the shirt, and every time I do, I remember the parachutes that we put together to send radios into countries that are closed to the Gospel. It's a reminder to pray for those people. And we're building "habits."

I choose to be glad when money is tight, and it's time to send our sponsorship funds to a tiny girl in Indonesia. I'm glad because it's teaching my kids that there is so much more to the world than their world. It's teaching them to be compassionate, to care for others, to give.... To build "habits."

Every day, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, on purpose finding purpose in the every day. Giving our kids purpose, Teaching them to give, to care, to be compassionate, to notice the world around them. And may it become a habit!

May we not be so busy keeping our kids busy that we don't take the time to teach them the small important things that someday will grow into beautiful.

This Christmas I'm thankful to the old man that sits behind the red kettle at Walgreens for reminding me to slow down and teach my children to give.

Oh Church, Arise!

I love the Church in America. I'm not talking in particular about "my church" or "your church," but the Body of Christ as a whole. I love the idea of the family of God, of fellowship, of learning, worshipping, growing, you know - the Church - here, as we know it.

Sometimes I wonder, though, why certain things go on in the church. I wonder why there's so much time spent in "discussions."

 I understand that people are different, and that our understanding of Scripture can be different, but WHY do we waste time trying to convince someone else of our beliefs about the Bible when the world is LOST?

I think we've forgotten who we are and what the Church is supposed to be about.

You know the "discussions" I'm talking about. There's the pre-destined or not discussion, the post-tribulation or pre-tribulation discussion, the once saved always saved or lose your salvation discussion, the what to wear, what to listen to, and where not to go discussion, the follow the law or live under grace discussion.

I'm not implying that it's terrible to talk about these things and express opinions, but doing it in the name of God, and then splitting churches over it is a problem. And it happens all the time - friendships lost, pastors fired, churches split, Christians walking away from God out of frustration all because of disagreements about what the Bible "really" says.

And the widows are lonely, the orphans are fatherless, the poor are starving , and the world is dying lost.

Dying, lost.

I don't have a doctorate in theology, but I have been a Christian a long time, and the more I read the Scriptures, the more I realize I could defend most of the major disagreements Christians have from both sides.

To me, that means that those things aren't the most important things in the Bible.

What is then? 

May I be so bold as to suggest it's The Gospel. The pure, unadulterated Gospel of Jesus Christ.

That's what we're to be about, Church. We're to be about the Gospel. The beautiful Gospel of redemption  And we need to stop wasting time on the things that don't. really. matter.

Let's spend our time instead telling the world that there is hope, that Jesus Christ came to save them. That someone does care. Let's let the orphans know by our actions that someone is there for them, the widows that someone remembers them, the poor that they are not alone, and the lost that there is salvation!

Let's put it into action, Church! The whole Bible breathes the Gospel of Jesus, and He is longing for us to share it. To DO it. James 1:22 says, "But be ye doers of the Word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves." If we're just hearers (discussers) and not doers, we're going to be deceived. We're going to lose sight of what we're about and then Satan wins. He wins because we end up not. doing. anything.

Preach the gospel. If you're not a bold, John the Baptist type witnesser, that's okay. Find someone who is and help them. If you're not a ministry starter, that's okay. Find someone who already has started one and so desperately needs help and help them. If you don't think you are called to adopt, that's okay. Give someone who is called the support they need to do it. Visit a widow, pass out a tract, encourage your pastor, support a missionary, talk to your neighbor, donate food to the hungry, pray for the persecuted church, help the helpless.

Live the Gospel, Church.

We want to see a revival in this land?

The spreading of the Gospel is the revival. Let us not just pray for the revival, let us be the revival.

What Oxen and Kids Have in Common

Proverbs 14:4 says, "Where no oxen are, the crib is clean: but much increase is by the strength of the ox."

I never would have thought that this particular verse would stand out to me so much. I don't have oxen and I don't have a crib. Truth be told, I don't want either.

But I love this verse. I love it because every time I read it, this is what I hear:

"Where no children are the house is clean, but much joy is by the increase of children."

I have children, and I have a house.

My house is a mess, mess, mess. I always thought I would be one of those immaculate house keepers. You know, in my mind. When I was younger. Much younger. Before kids.

And my house was clean before kids. I still even did a great job with just one kid. But with each additional child those ideals ran right out of my head, and my house. Most days I feel like I'm fighting to just get the basics done.

But, oh, the joy! I never thought I could be so happy. Beautiful little people running around, making all kinds of messes. Not cleaning them up.

Then I have choices. After schooling my children all morning, I have so much to do, yet my heart yearns to play with my kids, to read to them, to cook with them, to put on the music and dance with them.

And the house is a mess. And I'm stressed. And I'm trying to be THAT person in my mind so long ago.

I think, "What kind of person do I really want to be? What do I want my kids to remember about their childhood?  A crazy neurotic woman running around insisting everything be spotless, or a crazy fun mom that kept everything somewhat neat and had time to be with them."

One of these days they won't be here anymore.

The house will be clean.

But, the joy will be gone. The silliness, the laughter, the childlike faith, gone. And somehow, I don't think the spotless house will mean so much then.

I'm trying to enjoy every moment in the now. Every moment. Even the messy, not so great moments.

Like Elijah's moment the other day.

We were at church, (of course) and he came walking down the hall playing with a little brown ball. He was rolling it around in his hands, when it dawned on me he didn't come from home with a little ball. "Elijah, what is that?" I asked. "Poop," was his quick, matter of fact reply. It was one of those moments I wanted to go crazy. Thoughts spinning around in my head, "Why at church? Where did he get it? Who's poop is it? Do I really want to know???!! WHERE IS THE HAND SANITIZER??!! I stayed calm and asked, "Where did it come from?" (I figured it was better to know up front.) "Out of my pants," he answered in a sweet voice, obviously not bothered at all by the fact that he was playing with a poop ball. (Did I just say poop ball??) "Elijah! Where do we poop?" I asked emphatically. "In the potty," he replied.  After all that's where he was headed with the ball in tow.....

Moments. Moments that make us laugh later. Memories. Memories that are cherished, but so easily forgotten. Children, the greatest gift God gives us as parents.

And I paraphrase,

"Where no children are the house is clean, but MUCH joy is by the increase of children." Proverbs 14:4

Enjoy every moment, and don't sweat the small stuff.

Hiding

My husband just tried to come into the bedroom to say hi to me after a long day. The door was locked, and I informed him I would not be coming out until the children were in bed. He asked if I didn't want to see him. I calmly told him it had nothing to do with him, and when the children were asleep I would come out of hiding.

Hiding. It seems like the most logical thing to do at the moment.

It's been one of those days...

You know those days....

At least I hope you do; I hope I'm not the only one.

So many crazy things going on at the same time in your life, and yet you look around and you still have little faces looking up at you. Little faces that have nothing to do when any of the craziness, yet there they are in the middle of it. And you're trying to keep sane.

Then it happens. In the midst of all the outside things going on in your life, one of those sweet faces informs you he is not doing his school work today. In fact he's going to do nothing, he tells you.

It happened today. I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "Do nothing? You're not serious?" I said. I came back in 15 minutes to find that he was. There he was on the couch. Still doing nothing.

"All day, you're going to do nothing?" I asked. "Yes," he replied.

A little part of me wanted to freak out. (Maybe it was a big part of me....I'm not sure.) Not so much because of the sweet face (that didn't look so sweet at the moment) looking up at me, but because of everything else. You know the stuff we moms carry around in our brains that have nothing to do with the situation at hand.

I wanted to make a scene. I wanted to jump up and down and yell, "How am I supposed to get everything done that I need to get done if you won't do anything!!"

God's grace prevailed. I calmly said,  (without jumping) "You are right. You will not be doing anything today, anything that you WANT to do, that is. You will be doing your school, with some chores thrown in." 

He told me I was a very mean mom. I wanted to be.

It wasn't the end of it. It was a long battle today. I really wanted to give in. When the big yellow bus came by our house, I wanted to tell him to get on it.

Parenting is not for the weak.

It's so hard not to let the stresses in my life affect how I parent. Especially when they push me to the limits.

Then I remember -

I love that stubborn child more than anything. I think every day that if we can make it through these molding years, he is gong to be an amazing adult. If we both survive, I can't wait to see how God is going to use him and his unique quirks. It will happen. He will grow up. He will have his own kids, and he will remember these days. I mostly want him to remember though, that I love him. Even when he's unlovable.

Because sometimes I am unlovable too. Especially in weeks like this week. Weeks where my world affects my momminess. I don't like it, but it happens.

Just a bit ago he looked up at me with his sweet face with a look that reminded me how much he loves me too. And how sorry he is for the day. I reminded him that tomorrow is a new day.

But for right now, I'm still hiding...

ERNO!!!!!

We recently took an amazing trip to the Grand Canyon. It far exceeded any of my expectations, and I highly recommend it to anyone. I would go back in a minute.

Except for the fact that it's a loooonnnng way there. We traveled 3,760 miles to be exact.

3,760 miles in a Suburban with boys.

Need I say more?

Traveling with boys can be a trip in itself. They come up with things I would never think of. I looked back at one point to see my 6 year old son with six crayons sticking out of his face. Yes, his face. How he was breathing, I'm not sure. But he was smiling.

And then there's the gas. Not the kind that goes into the Suburban. The kind that floats around the Suburban making everyone rethink the whole trip. It mostly comes from boys.  I'm just sayin' it like it is, folks - boys and gas seem to go together. And they are not the least bit bothered by it. It's the rest of us that suffer.

We have one son with an abnormal amount of gastronomical issues. (I won't mention any names here to protect the innocent, err guilty.) We have deduced that he is a bit lactose intolerant. Why someone kept feeding him dairy on this trip, I'll never know!! But alas, he kept eating it. And tooting. He's quiet though, you never know what hits you until it's too late.

The only saving factor was that for some reason every time he tooted he would yell, "Erno, Erno, roll down the windows!" Which we did as fast as we could.  Where he came up with the word "erno" we may never know, but we were extremely grateful for the warning.....

It quickly became a standing rule for anyone who was going to "offend" the rest of the vehicle to yell out, "Erno, Erno, roll down the windows!"  And this cry was heard more than I care to admit here.  I'm not sure what the other people on the freeway thought of our Suburban going down the road at 80mph with everyone's head sticking out the windows. (You're starting to realize how long 3,760 miles can be, aren't you...)

Finally on the way home Dan leaned over to me and whispered, "You have got to get that toot cry on video." I'm not sure if he was afraid we would forget the misery or the erno...., but I thought I would humor him.

Our particular "unnamed" son who made an hourly or so erno cry was sitting right behind me, so I kept the video camera close and waited.

I didn't have to wait long and happened to catch him in the very act. I quickly pulled out the camera and pointed it in his direction. I held my breath (literally) and waited......nothing. No warning, no erno, nothing. First time in 3760 miles. Nothing, but fumes. I prompted him - "What do you say when you toot?"

He looked up at the camera meekly and said, "Excuse me??"

Whoever said, "The journey is the destination," didn't travel with boys.

These are the Moments

These are the moments. The moments we don't see coming, and yet we are waiting for them.

We were at a wedding this weekend. It was a beautiful event of a dear friend. The guests were all in the reception area waiting for the bride and groom. There was food to eat and friends to catch up with. The lights were dim and the music was playing.

I was standing by a table of friends chatting when a little hand reached up and took mine. It was my youngest child. I turned to see what he needed, and he looked up at me and said,

 "Mommy, lets dance."

A thousand thoughts entered my head in a split second. "That's the most precious thing he's ever said." "Where did he come up with that?" "We don't dance much at home." "Maybe we should." "No one else is dancing." "We can't be the first ones on the dance floor." "That's for the bride and groom." "Where will we dance?" "Did my 2 year old child just really ask me to dance?"

Just a split second, and then.....

I took his hand and we walked out by the cake in the middle of the room.....and danced....

"Are we finished?" I asked him after a few minutes. Two year olds usually don't last long on the dance floor, and we were the only ones dancing. "No, Mommy," he said, "let's dance more." "Okay," I answered, "let's dance more."

A moment. That's all it was. A moment in this crazy, spinning world we live in. It didn't last long, and, oh, how my heart knows it won't last long.

In another split second he'll be ten, then twenty.

I have to take the moments. The moments I don't see coming, and live them now. Every day, live in the now, and love the moments in the midst of the living.

And dance, when no one else is.

Blood and Onions

I was never meant to be a nurse. I don't like blood. In fact that's a little bit of an understatement. My hypochondrism kicks into double time when there's blood involved. I can almost faint over a paper cut. On myself.

God gave me three sons. There is almost always blood in my house. Someone is always bleeding and always needing me to take care of it. But, I have developed a skill. I have become an expert at treating wounds without ever looking at them. If I look I get light headed. And if I'm lying on the couch fanning myself I'm of no good to anyone. I can almost stitch up a wound without ever seeing it. I'm almost. that. good......

If my sons are not bleeding, they are getting ready to bleed as they explore, discover, create, chop, dig, hide, etc. They love all kinds of activities, but blood must be involved. I really think they like to watch me walk around with my eyes closed. My daughter has the talent to be involved in these things without the blood.

 I wish she would teach her brothers.

The other day they were all four playing outside. They came to the door excitedly yelling that they had discovered onions in the yard. It was insisted upon that I come out and see these amazing yard onions.

I remember the joy of discovery as I pulled up wild onions out of the yard as a child, so I went out to take a look. Much to my surprise these onions were HUGE!! Much bigger than the green onions I buy at the store. The kids were ecstatic. "We're going to find more!" they said as they scampered off. I briefly wondered where they found these tall wild onions. Dan keeps the yard mowed quite short. It was a fleeting thought though, and I just let them go. They were having fun and no one was bleeding....

After their "harvest" they asked if we could eat them. I didn't see any reason why not, except for the dirt on them. I told them to leave them outside and we would ask dad to make sure it was okay to eat large wild onions.

Rylie snuck a few in and washed them in the bathroom while I wasn't looking. I later discovered the pretty white onions on the bathroom floor washed clean. I thought, "Why not? I'll cook them up for the kids in something." No reason to kill the joy of discovery. Right?

A couple hours later my botanist sister came over. She saw our onion harvest and asked me about it. "They're wild onions." I said. She just looked at me. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Well, what else would they be?!" I replied a little indignantly. Like I wouldn't know an onion when I saw one!

"They look a little like daffodil bulbs...." she said slowly. "Daffodil bulbs???" I repeated. "Those look like onions!" "And daffodil bulbs," she said. "What were you going to do with them." "Eat them," I slowly admitted. "Daffodil bulbs are poisonous," she stated.  "I knew that," I lied. "How poisonous?"  "You don't want to eat them," she said.

"Well, maybe they are just really big, wild onions," I said without much confidence. "Kids," I hollered. "Where did you pull up all these wild onions." "In the flower beds," came their quick, happy reply.

"Explains the lack of tall onions in the freshly mown yard...." I thought to myself.

As I sat there looking at the "poisonous onions" that I almost fed to my children, a second thought came through my mind - "My kids just pulled up my daffodils!!!!  I fight the deer all year in my flower beds, and now my kids pull up the only thing the deer won't eat!" (Because they are poisonous, I'm assuming....)  Relief at not poisoning my kids and frustration over pulled up flower bulbs were working side by side in my brain.

My sister suggested I replant the "clean" daffodil bulbs in the chance they would grow again.

"At least it was poison instead of blood this time," I told myself as I gathered up the bulbs.

Shopping F-U-N

We were in Branson the other day, and after a fun outing at Silver Dollar City had a little extra time to kill. I hinted to Dan that I had received a 30% off coupon for Kohls in the mail just recently. (Of course I had forgotten it at home...) And after almost 12 years of marriage Dan's getting better about figuring out hints and immediately turned the car towards Kohls. Luckily for me there is a big sport's store in the same shopping center which keeps the boys busy for awhile. Dan dropped Rylie and I off to go shopping and headed down to the more manly store. We were happy, just the two of us without the boys to tell us they were bored, or to hurry up. I really love shopping with my daughter! The only thing that put a damper on the moment was the fact that I was shopping for a swimsuit.

This used to be a joyful occasion for me....before I turned 35 and changed shapes..... Now, not only is the challenge to find a decent swimsuit that is not ugly, but one that the size isn't mismarked!  My sister insists that it's not the swimsuit company that is mismarking their sizes, but I'm sure it has to be! They can't get it right! And every year it gets worse. My sweet daughter loves to help though, and since I was trying to make this a good experience for her I didn't fuss about mismarking swimsuit companies too much as I pulled 3 different sizes off the rack.

"Why THREE?" you ask. I'll tell you - The first one is the size I used to wear, the second is the size I think I wear, and the third is the size I actually wear.

After trying on several that I wouldn't wear to a private pool party in my own backyard, I finally found one that I was happy with. The swimsuit company even got the size right!! It was in the second category - the one I think I wear, which at this point in my life I'll take any day. I was standing in the dressing room, happily admiring my suit in the mirror when Rylie came up behind me.

"What do you think, Rylie?" I asked. She loves to be included in the deciding process no matter who the clothes are for. I thought she would be thrilled I asked her opinion. "Ummm, Mom," she started slowly. "I like the suit, but you look a little F-A-T in it." she spelled out in a low voice. "Rylie!" I said a little startled. "I know how to spell!!" "I know," she replied. "You know, it just doesn't sound so mean when I spell it."

I came home and ordered size number three online. The swimsuit company wins again.

Lessons Learned From a Tornado

A tornado can change everything in a split second. I was never afraid of tornadoes, even as a child. Don't get me wrong, I never wanted to see one up close, but the thought of a tornado didn't bring fear. That all changed in 2011 when an F5 tornado hit Joplin, MO. The images on tv still haunt me. The foundations swept clean that were once homes. The realization that the safest place in your house may not be safe at all. Understanding that you may not be able to protect your family. I have been scared of tornadoes since that time

We were under a tornado watch last Sunday. I was concerned, but hopeful that it wouldn't turn into anything. By God's grace it didn't. I was very thankful when I put my babies to bed that night that all was safe. I went to sleep peacefully.

Then I woke up to the news reports. I didn't know that my neighbors in central Arkansas had been hit by a terrible tornado. The images started rolling in again. Homes, gone. People, dead. Disaster, everywhere.

And then stories. Stories of some people's survivals and other people's tragic losses. I get sucked in. I start reading them as people repost them on Facebook. My heart aches for these people. To not only lose every, single possession you have, but to lose a child or a spouse on top of it.

 Unimaginable losses.

One story stuck out to me more than the others though. It was about a mom and a dad, who even though they were broken and hospitalized, had somehow survived the storm. But even though they had survived, they lost their entire home, and their two sons.

Unimaginable.

The story was written by the mom's friend who had gone to visit her in the hospital. Why this story stood out to me more than the others was what the woman in the hospital bed, now childless had to say.

"She said her son has always talked about heaven. She said He looked at her Sunday afternoon, before the storm, and told her he was ready to go to heaven. "Will you miss me?" he asked her. "Well yes," she said, "but let's not talk like that now." "How long will you miss me?" he persisted. And she just smiled and said, "I guess until I see you again."" *
Her two boys knew Jesus. They had led a friend to Christ just a few weeks earlier. They had the faith of a child.

I was touched by this story. Not just because of the faith the mom has shown in the midst of loss, but because my faith is challenged by the testimony of the children.

First, these children were witnessing. How often do I pass up an opportunity to share my faith? How often do I only choose Christian friends, and thus have very little opportunity to share my faith.
Second, there was no fear in death. This boy knew beyond a shadow of a doubt where he was going, and Who he was going to be there with.

Here is where conviction sets deep in my heart. I. Doubt. God. More than I care to admit. I'm not talking about doubting what God can do, I'm talking about doubting His very existence! It looks very shameful on paper, and it is. But I do.

Sometimes I let the knowledge in the world get in my head and I wonder if there is even a God. If there even can be a God. (I know, shock, right?)

Then I read the story of these two boys that were too young to die, yet faithful to trust in their Savior. They knew, not only heaven, but God is very real. And I know that today, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they are in Heaven with Jesus. Seeing Him with their eyes for the first time.

You see, I didn't need to see the movie to know that "heaven is for real". I just needed to read a story about two boys that went there last Sunday.

Someone commented that God has a purpose for each one of us to accomplish here on earth before He takes us home. He said that these boys were able to accomplish theirs in a short period of time when it takes others 100 years. I thought that was a good point. He's right. We're all here for a reason. And we need to be about doing His business.

If I'm wasting time doubting God, I'm not fulfilling my purpose.

God used the story of these boys to bring renewed faith into this ole heart. Their lives (and deaths) are still at work for  their Savior. I am challenged by two children to live a life of faith and action for Christ.

I know my God is real, and I cry out at the same time with the father in Mark 9:24 - "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief!

* Excerpt was taken from this blog post; you can read the story in it's entirety here - http://thehodgepodgedarling.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-cheerleader.html?m=1

Herding Chickens

We have a large convertible. It's a 1966 Pontiac Bonneville. It's as long as a school bus. Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but just slight. It's very long.  And extremely heavy too. I know this for a fact. I know this because I ran over my son's bicycle with it the other day. Didn't even know I was running it over until I felt the last "thump." Whenever you feel a "thump" under your car and you have no idea you've run anything over, panic sets in. Panic as in - "Where are all the children???!!" I was never so grateful that I ran over a bike! I quickly hid the very damaged bike from my son because he was not going to be the least bit grateful it was the bike I ran over.....

You might wonder how this can happen. Me, running over items in my own garage. Well, let me tell you. Getting out of my house by myself with four kids in tow is an extreme sport. By the time I'm backing the car out of the garage I'm so exhausted that I can't see straight.

Don't get me wrong, they're good kids, but something happens the minute I say we have to be somewhere at a certain time. They turn into chickens. Literally. It's like herding chickens. Have you ever herded chickens? They don't herd, they scatter.

That's what my kids do - scatter. I feel like the farmer's wife with her hands outspread trying to coax the chickens into the coop. As soon as they get close to the door they all go in different directions. And squawk! Don't forget the squawking. There's a lot of that going on right before we go somewhere. I must admit, most of it is coming out of my mouth. "Get your shoes on!" I squawk. They squawk back, "We don't know where they are." "Just wear your brother's shoes. We're going to be late," I say. "He can't find his either," is the squawk I hear. "Nobody has shoes??" I ask incredulously. Nope, they're all gone. Right before we need to be somewhere. No shoes. I began searching for shoes. "Here are two shoes; put them on," I say as I hand them to one of my chickens. "They don't match," he squawks. "Wear your long pants, no one will know," I reply. "I can't find my pants," he squawks back.

The farmer's wife is about to lose it. We're running late again and no one is even in the car.  I look around at my mismatched children with a sigh, stretch my arms out, and start herding towards the door. "I didn't brush my teeth!" one squawks. "Just keep your mouth closed." I say. "The whole time?" he asks. "Yes," I answer. "I might get hungry, I better go get a snack," one says as she veers out of the herd. I grad her shirttail and pull her back in. "I have to go to the bathroom!" another says desperately. "Make it quick or hold it." I say unsympathetically.

Finally I get all four of my chickens out the door. Ahhh, success. Almost. Now we have the mini van shuffle. I thought that the two sliding doors were a great invention when mini vans came out with them, but now that I have four chickens, err, I mean children, they're not so great. I have just spent 10 years of my life getting them out the door, and now they're going through the mini van like someone yelled, "Chinese Fire Drill!" In one side, out the other. Just like chickens. And they're quick!  I can't catch them! I know I used to be faster. My baby climbs in the car and goes to the very back corner and sits smiling at me. "Come here right now," I say as I reach my arms toward him. He sits and smiles. He's just out of my reach even with my dramatic stretching and waving of arms trick. I start squawking again, "You better come here right now, or I'm going to climb back there and get you!" I know what he's thinking, he's thinking, "I want to see her crawl across all the baby seats and car seats into the very back and get me. I'll just wait here."  I finally coax him into his baby seat. Then I hide outside one of the doors and one by one catch the Chinese Fire Drillers.

We're already a half hour late, but we're finally on our way. When we pull into our destination my daughter pipes up from the back seat, "Mom, I forgot my shoes...."

My friend sees me and tells me I look tired. "Oh, I've just been herding chickens," I reply.

And one wonders why I run over bikes.....

I'm "Pooped" Out!

"Honey! Can you come in here?" My husband yelled from the bathroom last Sunday morning. (It always happens on Sunday, you know.) "What's going on?" I replied. "Elijah pooped in the tub!" He said.

"Hmmmm. I'm really busy," I said. "I don't think I can make it in there right now."

"He's picking it up and putting it out of the tub!" Dan said with a little more urgency in his voice.

"I definitely can't make it in there for that one," I gagged, as I quickly busied myself in some non-urgent activity. So glad he picked Sunday to do that instead a day Dan's at work! Whew, close one...

Don't get me wrong, I've done my share of "duties....."

Some days it seems never ending. If the mess is not coming out of them, they are creating it.

Elijah came down the hallway the other day running towards me with a clean diaper in his hand. He was exclaiming, "Wet, wet, wet!" as he ran to me swinging the diaper in the air. "Are you wet, Elijah?" I asked him sweetly. "Do you need your diaper changed?" He just kept repeating, "Wet, wet, wet!" As I reached out to the get new diaper from him, I realized that that was what was wet.

"How did this get wet?" I tentavely asked him. He's not quite three feet tall, so there's not that many places he can reach water. That was what scared me.

He didn't seem overly concerned with trying to tell me how it got wet, so I tried the "show momma" method. He liked that idea and headed back down the hall. Toward the bathroom... "Of course," I thought. "Of course, he got it wet in the bathroom." He happily showed me how he had dunked the diaper in the potty and than shook it all over and down the hall.

I wonder if they make locks for those things....

And then....

We were headed to my sister's house recently to celebrate a birthday. Unbeknownst to us, my sis and her husband were using this event to get both sides of the family together to announce that they were expecting their first child. What a special occasion in anyone's life, right?

When we showed up Elijah was a little fussy saying that his belly hurt. I was holding him, trying to comfort him and keep him calm. We were there barely five minutes when he decided to relieve his belly ache by throwing up all over Pam's kitchen, and me, and my brand new cowgirl boots. Yes, you heard me right, my cowgirl boots.

This is the part where vanity comes back to get you. I know it's strange for me to own cowgirl boots in the first place, but I saw them, I loved them, and asked Dan to get them for me for Christmas. I like them so much, I could almost become a cowgirl! (This is the part where my sisters are rolling with laughter at me.) Okay, so becoming a cowgirl is stretching it a bit, but I do love the boots.

So, there I stood. In my sister's kitchen with puke all over my new cowgirl boots (and her kitchen), seconds before the "big" announcement. The only congratulations I could offer as we quickly cleaned up the mess and left was, "Welcome to parenthood, this is what you have to look forward to!"

And I love every moment of it.

More Thoughts on Hailey Owens

I can't get Hailey Owens off my mind. Even without the news and Facebook reminders, I still daily think of her and her family.

"Where is God in all this?" "How can a loving God allow such things to happen?"

How many times have we heard these questions, or asked them ourselves.

As I have pondered this situation a different perspective has come to my mind. May I be so bold as to write it down in black and white:

There is no good in this world, EXCEPT for God. If it were not for God all of our children would be murdered and kidnapped. We would be so overrun with crime that we could never leave our homes. So I say again, "There is no good in this world except for God."

Did anyone notice that it was ONE man that took the life of Hailey Owens, and it was TEN THOUSAND that showed up in support for her family? What about the FIFTEEN HUNDRED bikers that rode in honor of her? Or the MULTITUDE of prayers, money, food, and other donations that many people have made to this family. ONE evil vs. THOUSANDS of good.

Instead of questioning God's goodness, maybe we should be thankful for His presence.

The Bible says, " Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights,"

When Jesus was on earth He never ceased doing good. He healed, He fed, He comforted, He taught, He loved. He was on this earth for a short 33 years, and when He left He said it was our job to do as He did. We are to BE Jesus on earth.

And this is what it looks like - people rallying around a family in the midst of an atrocious tragedy.
People going out of their way to reach out to someone that they don't even know. People caring enough to watch out for their neighbors.

So, while I say this is a horrendous thing that has happened, I say also that God IS still here, and He IS still good, and He is showing His heart through the thousands of people in this community.

May we never cease to do good, and in so doing may the world know that God is real and that He is good.

A Mom's Thoughts on a Kidnapping.

I'm a mom.

A mom.

 Days like today I don't want to be a mom. I almost wish I wasn't. I don't want to be responsible for the welfare of four young children. I don't want to have to make the decisions that might not turn out. I. Don't. Want. To. I want to lie in my bed and scream. Scream that it's not fair. That it should not be.

Life shouldn't be like this.

You see, I have a friend, and she had a niece. A niece that was kidnapped in a town not far from me yesterday and murdered. A beautiful 10 year old girl who will never turn 11.

 It's not fair.

I'm scared. I don't want my children to leave my sight. I don't want them to sleep in their own rooms. I don't even want to let them out in their own backyard to play. My son may never ride his bike down the street again. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm spilling my gut here. And this is what I'm feeling.

There's a lump in my throat and a sickness in the pit of my stomach. I want to move. Get away from.... the world.

Then I have a reality check: We live here.  Here on this earth. There's nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. No guarantees.

Maybe we could all hide in a room. With the door locked. And no windows. Maybe one of those bomb shelters from the sixties. No one could get in, and we couldn't get out. No one could even see us or our children. We could stay there until, I don't know, forever? And hide. In the dark.

Sounds good at the moment.

"But, what kind of existence is that?" I think. "It's not," my heart says. "There's no living in the hiding. There's no freedom in fear."

"Why did this happen?" Everyone wants to know. "I HAVE NO IDEA!!!"  I want to scream. And I don't. And the lump comes back to my throat.

I do know we live in a fallen world. One that's not perfect and never will be until Christ comes and makes all things new. I also know that no matter what I do, I can't guarantee my children will survive tomorrow, or tonight, for that matter. In my heart I know that keeping them in a bomb shelter will only stifle their lives instead of strengthen them.

We were meant to live in the light. We were meant to spread our wings. To try new things and discover. To experiment and explore. To live up to our full potential. To be what HE created us to be.

You can't do that while you're hiding from "what might happen." Neither can your kids. Or mine.

Sometimes "things" do happen. Terrible things. We do our best to teach and prepare our kids, but sometimes they still happen..... Sin reigns on this earth we live on. But the truth is, that's exactly where Satan wants us to be. So scared of the bad that we can't do any good.  That we aren't any good.

I don't want that to be me. I want to let my kids enjoy the "sunshine" of this life. I want to trust in Someone greater than myself. I choose to trust that even in the midst of the heartache and craziness  of this life that God is still working, and that I have a purpose greater than hiding.

There is NO living in the hiding.

I keep reminding myself that, and I keep praying for this dear family.

A Dramatic Hypochondriac

If you are thinking of traveling to Tanzania to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro..... Think again. It's not there anymore. It has left Africa and planted itself on  MY lip!!

In the form of a cold sore, of course....

I asked Dan if he thought it was very noticeable. "Noooooo," was his lying reply. Dan's a terrible liar!! He told me it was really okay, just looked like a Botox job gone bad. Then he laughed. I didn't think it was funny at all. Not only is it a monstrosity on my face, it's extremely painful. I'm talking childbirth level pain. All in one concentrated spot!

Okay, so maybe that whole, "you forget what childbirth feels like" just might apply here.

None the less, I'm thinking a lipectomy might be in order. No lip has got to look better (and feel better) than the one I currently have!

Dan thinks I'm a bit of a dramatic hypochondriac. I beg to differ. I'm just extremely cautious. Extremely.

Take the other day for instance -

Dan came home form work to find several windows in the house open and me lying on the couch. It was around 30 degrees outside, so he naturally questioned my actions in the form of,  "Why do you have the windows open, it's 30 degrees outside!!??" "I'm dying of carbon monoxide poisoning, and I didn't want the children to die too." I replied. "You're what?" was his unsympathetic (and unconcerned, I might add) reply. "I'm DYING of carbon monoxide poisoning, and I DIDN'T want the children to die too," I repeated emphatically. He was still very unconcerned about the state of my health. In fact it seemed that he was a lot more concerned that the children were going to freeze to death as evidenced by the fact that he was walking around closing all the windows....... He finally (after the windows were shut) came and stood over me as I lay on the couch and asked why I thought I had carbon monoxide poisoning. "I have a bad headache, dizziness, and I'm sick to my stomach," I told him "Those are all symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning. I read it on the internet" "Don't you think those might all be symptoms of just a simple virus also?" was his still unsympathetic answer. "Maybe," I said. "But I didn't want to take a chance with the kids, I mean, do you want to come home and find us all DEAD??" He walked away shaking his head. "Where are you going?" I asked. "To stoke the fire." he said.

And then there was the night -

"Dan, I think I have a brain aneurysm," I told him in the middle of the night. (My favorite time of day to share important things.) "Why do you think that?" he asked. I'm pretty sure he was humoring me. He doesn't know what an aneurysm feels like though,,,. "My head just feels weird, and I think it might be an aneurysm," I said. "Okay," was again his very unconcerned reply. I was really worried! "I'm afraid it might explode, and I don't want to die in my sleep." I told him. "Mm hm," he said sleepily. "Well, aren't you going to stay awake, and make sure I don't DIE!!!??" I calmly asked him. "Nope," he said as he rolled over. So, I had to stay awake and make sure I didn't die of an aneurysm myself. That was extremely boring. I finally gave up and went to sleep too.

I still can't figure out why Dan thinks I'm a hypochondriac. But, if I die before morning of this cold sore, I'm sure he will be a bit more sympathetic.......

This is part of poor Dan's "Everyday Life."

A Quiet New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve. Not a huge holiday at the Van Patten house. We had sick kiddos and a man that's not excited about large parties on New Year's Eve, so we made our own party. At home with our family and an auntie. We made soup, had a Nerf gun war, ate popcorn in the family room, (this is normally a strict no, no) and had an indoor camp out. It was pretty much a perfect evening. The Nerf gun war went well. We set up forts on both sides of the room and shot foam darts at each other. (A pretty common occurrence in a house of mostly boys.)  We only had two people in tears by the end of the game. (I told Dan if he would stop crying,  I would.)

I picked Disney's "Swiss Family Robinson" as the movie of choice. I thought the kids might enjoy one that I used to like as a child. They did. They got scared, laughed, and talked all the way through it. Oh, and spilled popcorn everywhere. Zack piped up that it could only get better if we drank soda in the family room too. So we did. Memories. We decided we're moving to an island and living in a tree house.

Dan had to work the next morning and Elijah wasn't feeling well, so they opted out of the camp out. The rest of us bedded down in the family room for the night. We watched the ball drop. (Still not sure what all the excitement is about that.)  It's not even much of a drop, more of a really slow slide. None the less, we dutifully watched it before we went to sleep.

As I lay on the couch (I did not dutifully sleep on the floor.) I looked out the window and noticed the stars. I can't see them from my bedroom, so it was nice being able to watch them as I drifted off to sleep. I also noticed that I had no one to talk to in the middle of the night. (Dan had probably thought this one through!) It was New Year's Eve though, a time to make goals and resolutions. I decided since Dan was FAR away in the bedroom, I would talk to God.

Instead of telling God my goals for the new year, I asked Him what He wanted of me. What He wanted me to work on this year, which direction He wanted me to go. Sometimes in the silence, when we take the time to listen, God speaks to our hearts. He gave me one word that night, in the quiet of sleeping children and the stars out the window. He clearly whispered it to my heart, "obedience." "Obedience to what, Lord?" was my quick reply. I like clear direction, tell me when and where, and I'm there! The response was the same. Quietly whispered from His Spirit to my heart, "just obedience."

It's a big word - obedience.

 As I looked at the stars it reminded me of Abraham. I'm looking at the same stars he did that fateful night when God made big promises to him. Promises of a ginormous sized family, and most importantly The Deliverer. Abraham was also given an instruction of obedience from God. Go where you have no clue and do what you don't know. I just love clear directions like those...... But, Abraham had faith. He believed God  And he WENT! With only the stars and God's promise to guide him.

How I loooong for faith like that. Faith to take the unknown step and to fully believe in a God you can't see.

Maybe obedience is the first step to that kind faith. Maybe a promise of obedience is the first step to obedience. Maybe a quiet New Year's Eve is the beginning of a new kind of year for me. A kind of year where God uses me when I obey Him. A year where I'm listening to the promptings of His Spirit and actually doing what He says.

 "Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him for righteousness." Gal. 3:6one