A Response to the Baxter County Courthouse Nativity Ruling

I woke up early this morning. It's one of the few mornings that I see the sun rise, and it's beautiful. The whole world is lit up orange and pink.  It's December10th and the Christmas season is swirling by me. I want everything to go into slow motion. I love this time of year and I want each to day to be long so I can enjoy every minute of it.

When I say I love this time of year, it might be a slight understatement. We're the family that starts listening to Christmas music in October. We put up our decorations mid November, and our house is the most lit up house in our neighborhood. I still do a massive amount of Christmas baking, and we drive around just to look at Christmas lights.

I love it.

Most of all though, I love that every Christmas, what God did for us so long ago is renewed in my heart. I fall in love with Jesus all over again because we stop and REMEMBER that He came to earth as a baby to save us. Yes, it's very important to remember.

Which brings me to the subject at hand - There is a war on Christmas because it's about Christ and some people don't want it to be about Christ. They want to change every "Christmas" word into "Holiday." You know, "holiday trees" or "holiday gifts." Somehow they think that it's not about Jesus anymore if we change the name.

So, every year here in Baxter County we have a tree lighting ceremony on the lawn of the courthouse. Lots of people come to this event. There is singing and hot chocolate and a parade. They light up the tree and the beautiful life sized nativity set that sits on the lawn in front of the courthouse. A lovely Christian couple in our community sponsor this event by heading it up and providing the nativity set. A few years ago someone decided that this was an issue. It was too Christian..... The issue went to court, and this year it was decided that the tradition we'd had for years would  no longer be. No more nativity on the courthouse lawn. No more Jesus in Christmas.

I was irritated to say the least. My thought was, "I guess we'll show them. There'll be no lighting of the Christmas tree ceremony this year! No more singing. No more hot chocolate. They will all be sorry they ruined our tradition."

It was final in my mind.

But then, (There's always a "but then" it seems.)  I heard that the same family that always did the tree lighting WAS DOING THE TREE LIGHTING. "What?!" I thought. "Why are they doing that? How can we show everyone what they are missing if we do it anyway?? And besides, aren't they offended their Christmas gift to the community has been rejected?"

But then, (There it was again.) my heart was broken. "You want to keep Me in Christmas?" Jesus spoke to me. "Then you be Me in Christmas." "But God," I argued, "Don't you want us to have symbols of you everywhere so the world can see that Christmas is about Jesus?! It feels like they are taking our freedoms away!" "Sure," God said to me, "But, I told you that would happen. It's far more important to Me that the world see you being Christ in Christmas than having a fake Jesus in your yard."

Then I figured it out.

 Christmas isn't about a symbol or a bumper sticker that says, "Keep Christ in Christmas," or a button, or saying, "Merry Christmas vs. Happy Holidays," or a silly red Starbucks cup, or even HAVING A NATIVITY on the courthouse lawn. It's about that special Baby who is living, breathing, walking EVEYWHERE in our community. Through me. And you.

That's what keeping Christ in Christmas is. Being Christ in Christmas. It's something no one can shut down. The judge can rule that we can't have a nativity in front of our government buildings, but he can't stop the family from being gracious to the community and still leading the tree lighting.

I read this quote somewhere, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head, "Want to keep Christ in Christmas? Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the unwanted, care for the ill, love your enemies, and do unto others as you would have done unto you.”

I can a wear a "keep Christ in Christmas" shirt all December, stick a bumper sticker on my car, and deliberately say, "Merry Christmas to anyone who dares say," Happy Holidays" to me, but it's meaningless if I'm impatient with the over abundance of shoppers and the slow cashier at Walmart, or I'm not kind to my neighbors or my in laws, or I don't stop and see the real needs in our community, or I forget about the child who has nothing for Christmas when my own have so much.

That's the Christ in Christmas that will NEVER go away. That's the Christ in Christmas that's going to show our neighbors that Jesus loves them. That's the Christ in Christmas that's actually going to feed the hungry and care for the orphan. That's the Christ in Christmas that is gong to change the world.

It's not just a symbol or something we say, it's who we are.

So this Christmas, I will say, "Merry Christmas," and I have a lovely nativity that lights up my front yard, but most importantly I want to teach my children that Christmas really is all about Jesus. I want them to see me being Christ in Christmas, and I want them to see that it's so beautiful that they want to be Him too.

Our community will no longer drive by the courthouse and see the beautiful nativity that used to sit there, but I hope our community will see Jesus everywhere else so much they that they fall in love with Him this Chirstmas because -

they can't help it.

Fighting Normal

I get up in the morning. I snuggle with my babies. I make breakfast. I teach four children their school lessons. I make lunch. I do dishes. I teach more school. I do a frantic cleaning of my house before my piano students arrive. I give piano lessons. I make dinner. I clean up dishes. I go for a walk. I work on projects that didn't get finished or play with my family. I read a biography to my children before bed. I put my kids to bed. I sit on the couch, stare at my husband, and wish I wasn't so tired. I go to bed.

And then I start over.

Normal. That's what my life is. Way too normal, and I don't like it. Normalcy plagues me!

We just finished reading the biographies of George Mueller, Amy Charmichael, and Gladys Aylward. They all have fascinating lives, and did amazing things for God! And the little voice inside my head starts to say, "You don't really do anything for God, you're just....normal. And I know it's true. Basically my whole life right now can be summed up in one paragraph. (See the first paragraph of this post!)

Just normal.

I've been fighting this all summer. I don't even have a "claim to fame!" I don't have an amazing college degree I can bring up, I haven't started a local ministry, I don't travel around proclaiming the Gospel, I don't even have an Etsy account! Some days as I barely drag myself to bed,  I wonder how I would have time or energy for anything else anyway.

Just normal.

And normal equals not pleasing to God, right? That's what my head's been telling me. Why would He want any of us to just be normal? I must be doing something wrong.

In my morning devotions I'm reading through the Old Testament. I thoroughly enjoyed Genesis, and the first part of Exodus. And then.......came the instructions for building the temple. I kept thinking of reasons to skip this section. (Sacriligious right??) I'm just going to flat say it -it's boring, especially in the good ole KJV. I can so plan my whole day out while reading the details on how to hang the curtains in the temple. I'm pretty sure the only ones that find this section fascinating are Biblical history teachers! And I'm not. (Remember the no exciting college degree part....) But, I'm reading it anyway. I am determined to read through the whole Bible again. (Without skipping genealogies this time...And without planning my day out through the boring parts....) If God truly inspired the Bible, then it's all there for a reason. I don't want to miss what He might want to say to me if I just listen.

So, there I am fighting normal and reading Exodus 31, and BAM! There it is. My new Bible hero. He's got a weird name. I've never even noticed him before, but there he is. Bezalel. Not a household Bible hero name, right? Never heard of him? That's because he's NORMAL!! But there he is - right there in the God inspired Word.

Exodus 31:1-5 says, "The Lord said to Moses, ² “See, I have called by name Bezalel the son of Uri, son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, ³ and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with ability and intelligence, with knowledge and all craftsmanship, ⁴ to devise artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, ⁵ in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, to work in every craft."

Here was this guy who was really good at crafty things. He did fantastic work in gold, silver, bronze, stone work, and wood carving. I'm just speculating here, but I would almost guarantee this was his J-O-B. He was good at it, he was artistic, people liked his work, and it's probably how he made his living. Normal alert - Bezalel has a normal job, doing what he's good at. Because for some reason he's really good at this stuff. He probably did this back in Egypt; maybe he helped carve the Sphinx. Maybe he was a little bored in the desert without as much carving to do.

All I know is he's a pretty normal guy with a normal job.

And then it happens. God wants to dwell with His people, and he can't because of their sin. He needs a place, a holy place, where He can meet them. He gives instructions to Moses to make a the tabernacle. AND THEN HE SAYS, " You know Bezalel? That guy that's really good at making things. Truth is, I put my Spirit in him and gave him that talent for JUST THIS TIME. That guy, that NORMAL guy that spends every day making things for a living, HE is going to handcraft the place where I will meet My people. Because he's really good at it." (My paraphrase.) And Bezalel says, "Yes, LORD, I will put aside my "normal" and work for You." (Also my paraphrase.) And then he begins to handcraft the ark of the covenant. The ARK OF THE COVENANT! God used a normal Joe to handcraft the thing that was so holy no one else could even touch it or they would die! This ark was to be set in the Holy of Holies, and God would actually come down to the mercy seat (that normal Bezalel made) to communicate, and be with His people. He could have had the great leader, Moses make it, but you know what? That's not what Moses was good at. Moses was good at shepherding. He spent forty years, yes, forty! being a smelly "normal" shepherd before God said, "Now is the time to use your shepherding talent. You're going to shepherd millions of My people through the desert to the Promised Land. But, Bezalel is going to make the most holy thing. The place where I will dwell.


And it was beautiful, because Bezalel was good at making things.


In reading Exodus that day, I realized "normal" is ok. God has placed inside each one of us something that we are really good at. And we go around feeling guilty because we spend our time doing that "thing" we're good at and enjoy. We feel badly because we're just normal. We're not doing great exploits for God, so we must be doing something wrong. We like to "make things" (fill in the blank), but we are surely wasting our time because nobody's getting saved because we're "making things."


Friend, may I be so bold as to suggest that if you are a child of God, that there will be a time when God will call you out of the ordinary and into the extraordinary?


My sister, Krista, works as a graphic designer. She's never been to school for this, she's just good at it. Naturally. This is how she spends every normal day, making a living. But then, one day our church puts on an evangelistic event for the community, and we need flyers and mail outs. Well done, catchy ones. Not ones like I would make that nobody would even look at twice. But good ones. Who do we call? We call Krista because she's good at that. People come to these events and hear the Gospel because of those flyers. A local adoption group needs things designed and printed to promote the need for children to be adopted. They call Krista because she's good at this. Children are adopted through these efforts.


Krista steps out of the ordinary and into the extraordinary. She answers the call to serve God doing the exact "normal" thing that the Spirit of God placed in her, and she's really good at it!


My friend, Karla, is really fantastic at taking pictures of people. She can make a normal person look stunning in a picture. This is a talent. My sisters will ask a stranger to take their pictures before they will ask me. I can make a beautiful person look terrible in a picture. I'm good at that. So when an organization that helps foster children needed their portraits taken, they didn't call me - they called Karla. Karla took beautiful photos of these children to help them find families. Karla takes pictures for people all the time, she's good at it, she likes it, but when the call came to do something for God using the gift He gave her, she said, "Yes."


She stepped out of the ordinary into the extraordinary.


I could go on and on! My aunt makes quilts. Lots of them. She loves quilting so much her husband bought her a quilting machine. She has a whole room devoted to quilts. And you know what? For some "strange reason" she's really good at designing and making them. She quilts for fun, she quilts for work.......and then every year, she makes quilts that are sold to raise money for a children's home in Missouri.


Ordinary becoming extraordinary.


Normal people using their gifts to worship God. Because that's what it is. When we are doing the things God gave us talent to do, it is a form of worship. We're giving back to Him the gift He gave us.


Even if it's just normal.


So, Bezalel is my new hero, and I'm embracing normal. I'm getting on my knees, and with my hands lifted, this is my prayer, "God, I'm so normal, but I really like doing _________. I'm going to stop feeling guilty for doing this every day. I want You to know I'm ready, I am so ready, Lord. Whether it's forty years away like Moses' was, or today, I'm ready to use my normal for You. I'm ready for Your call. I'm ready to build the ark of the covenant, or make flyers, or take pictures, or quilt, or talk, or write, or teach, or crochet, or garden, or cook.  All for the purpose of my ordinary talent to explode into the extraordinary that You created me for."


My life is normal. And it's ok.

A Crooked Adventure

We woke up on a Saturday morning with nothing on the agenda. A strange phenomenon at the Van Patten house. Dan rolled over in bed and said to me, "You wanna float Crooked Creek?" We'd often talked about floating Crooked Creek, but never had actually done it. "Why not," I replied, "We don't have anything else going on."

We got the kids out of bed and kicked preparations into high gear. "How far are we going to float?" I asked Dan as we drove towards the river. "From the bridge to the park," he said. "How far is that?" I asked. "Not sure," was his confident reply.

We have this problem. We love adventure, but we forget sometimes that small children are involved and bite off more than we can handle. I didn't want this to be one of those times. I felt a little relieved as the drive from the park to the bridge was only about 12 minutes. "It can't be that far by river, " I thought to myself.

Dan pulled off onto the side of the road near a small creek. "We're paddling that?" I asked. I was pretty sure we would be walking in that trickle. "No," he said, "that's where we're putting the canoes in. It will meet the river eventually, I think..." "Oh," was my heartfelt reply. We drug the canoes down a long steep embankment to the creek. And by drug, I literally mean "Dan is the only one of the Van Pattens that's actually strong enough to carry a canoe farther then, oh say, five feet. So we push, pull, and drag." That's how we roll, and I vow to workout more every time I do it.

We put the kids in the canoes and Dan and I "drug" the canoes down this small trickle toward what he said would be the river. After we had been doing this awhile, I had my doubts and started committing to more exercise if I made it home again. We passed a dead snake. I don't mind snakes, especially dead ones, but Dan doesn't like them at all. He informed me that if we came across a live one, he and his canoe would be sailing across the water at high speeds past me. "Every man for himself," were the words I think I heard him mutter.

Thankfully this crick did eventually empty into Crooked Creek, which was fairly high and flowing quite nicely. We were all glad to see it, and gratefully hopped into the canoe to float instead of drag.

The float started out perfect! It's a beautiful float, and I hoped it wouldn't be too short. The wildlife  was abundant. It started out with a bald eagle flying right over us. Then there were deer, fish, turkey, lizards, snakes, turtles, and the most exciting of all - a black bear! My first sighting in Arkansas.

After we had been on the river about three days, I decided that the float was definitely not too short, and may never end. Crooked Creek got it's name for a reason! That 12 minute drive by road was absolutely NOT a good judge of the distance on the water! I was getting a little agitated because the child in the front of my boat was not pulling his weight with the paddling. Understandably so though, because we had been paddling for so many days by then. I think he was tired, and he wasn't the only one.

 Every few minutes he would decide to rest from paddling and fish. Fish! I was happy to let him fish when we set out days ago, but by this time all I wanted to do was paddle down this crooked river to the end. Why fish when you can paddle to your car and comfort and real food! But, fish he did, and I tried to humor him. He threw his line in the water as I paddled furiously to try to keep up with Dan, which if no one has noticed is twice my size and has four times my strength. It equals to one paddle stroke to my fifteen..... Zack was in no real hurry to help as he relaxed in the front of the boat and slowly reeled his line in.

"Mom, stop!" He shouted seconds after he begin to fish for the forty-third time. "My line is stuck." "Really? Now?' I thought. Dan was too far ahead to paddle back and help. I was going to have to be a big girl and paddle back up stream to save the line and lure. I was not happy about it. "What did you do that for?" I asked harshly. He looked at me like I might be a crazy woman. "J=
Please just paddle, Mom," he said. We got somewhat close to the stuck line, and he jumped into the river to see what he could salvage. I got out of the boat to hold it in place against the current. As I watched my son wade out into the middle of the river, I heard a commotion on the bank across from us. It sounded like a large animal lumbering through the woods. "That can't be a deer," I thought to myself. I was quite distracted watching the bushes bend under the weight of this creature while Zack was still busying himself with the fishing line. All of the sudden it burst through an opening in the trees - a black bear! I couldn't believe it! Right there, on the other side of the river! Excitement turned to fear as I realized there was a black bear right there on the other side of the river!

"Zack! Zack! Get in the boat!!" I shouted a little frantically. If the bear didn't know we were there before, it did now. I had just made sure of it with my shouting. I was pretty confident that fat black bear was going to come down to the river and eat my child as he collected his fishing line. "Now!!" I yelled, 'There's a bear!!" Of course Zack stopped what he was doing to look because, who doesn't want to see a bear? That made me a little more frantic and caused me to do a bit more yelling. I finally got my son, the fishing line and the pole in the canoe. I grabbed my paddle and took off with the renewed energy that comes with the knowledge that there is a bear swimming after your boat and about to eat your children. If the Olympic committee had been there, they would have signed me up, no questions asked.

Of course, the bear was nowhere to be seen by this time, but I wasn't taking the time to turn around and make sure. I had already let him know that we were on his river, and I was going to do my best to get off of it.

I caught up with Dan quicker than we all thought possible. He was extremely disappointed to have missed the bear sighting altogether, and was much more calm about the whole affair. He suggested we paddle back up the river to take a look. I gave him a "look" that promptly made him decide heading on down the river was by far the best idea he could come up with.

We paddled for another two or three days when we finally came upon the first pull out we had we seen. A road! People! I was excited. "Dan," I asked, "do you know how much farther it is to the car." "No idea," he answered. I was determined to find out. I found a couple of paddlers that looked like they might know the river, and asked how much farther we had to go. "Oh, it's about four more miles," they said nonchalantly, "should take you about another four hours." The look on my face must have been something because they immediately offered to give us a ride out. I didn't hesitate. "We'll take it!" I said. I walked over to Dan to give him the joyful news that we had an out. He wasn't thrilled at all. "No, we can do it," he said. My heart sank as the canoers drove off in the comfort of their car, leaving us to paddle four more hours.

I looked at Dan with the attitude of a martyr. I took in the situation, and came up with what I thought was a fantastic idea. I suggested we ditch my canoe and all six of us ride in his. He looked at me like I was a crazy woman. I was beginning to feel like I was one! "I'm tired," I whined, "I want to go home. I don't want to paddle four more miles with a non paddling helper!" "Why not? You used to not be so wimpy," was the only reply he could come up with.

Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands. I thanked God for cell phones, and called my sister and begged her to drive over and bail us out. I even bribed her. I admit it.

She came. God bless her.

We've talked about finishing Crooked Creek ever since that day - it has yet to happen. Maybe when the children are older and the bears are gone.....

Why I Homeschool

"Why do you homeschool?" someone asks me. I stop, stammer a bit, and gave some kind of not very real answer.

"Why do I spend all this time homeschooling?" I think to myself later.

This is what I want to say: "Because beyond a shadow of a doubt God has called me to it! I must raise my children up in my home giving them a wonderful, godly education. It's a calling." And smile sweetly after it.

The truth is though, that that's not the truth. I have never felt an overwhelming "calling" to homeschool. In fact there were several (many) school days last year, that I felt very "called" to stick my 6th grader on that big yellow bus and send him away to school.

So, why do I spend most of my year homeschooling my children?

After much deliberation (with myself) I finally figured it out:

I homeschool because I want to.

It's not very holy, but it's true.

I want to.

I want to get up every morning in a relaxed environment with them. We eat breakfast together and read Bible stories together.

I want to know what they are learning every day. I'm very nosy.

I want to handpick their subjects and their curriculum.

I want to learn right along with them. Do you know how much 7th grade math I have forgotten! I'm learning it again. I can almost say, that, "Yes, I am smarter than a 5th grader!"

I want to be there when they learn something new. I want to see the excitement in their eyes when the light bulb comes on.

I want my children to be good friends with each other. It helps when you don't have a lot of options.

I want to teach them things that they won't learn in school. I want our life to be a part of their schooling.

I want them to be done with their school day earlier than if they went off to school, so we have time to do more together.

I want to teach them lots about Jesus every day. And I want it to come from me. Not because God told me that's how it has to be, because that's how I want it.

So, I figured it out this year. After 8 years of homeschooling, I finally know why I do it. It has a lot less to do with holiness than I had hoped, but it's still nice to know.

I'm doing it, not because I have to, but because I want to.

Happy 2015-2016 school year, Everyone!

Hope

We were sitting in church on a Wednesday night. My son leaned over to me and whispered, "Mom, do you want to play Hangman?" I was a little surprised. This child is my struggling learner - word games are not his thing. I whispered back, "Sure." He wanted to go first. He is seven, but there are very few words he can write from memory. I knew it wasn't going to be too hard. He drew his hangman's noose, and made four spaces. I guessed a few letters off just for fun. It was his name, and I knew it before we even started. The next word he picked had three spaces. I guessed e and a. The first letter was e and there was no a. "T," I said. He put the T in the last spot. E _ T.....hmmm.. I kept guessing random letters, all of which he said were not there. He finally looked up at me and whispered, "Mom, why can't you get this? I read it in my reading all the time!" It hit me like a brick. "H," I said. "Yes!" he whispered excitedly, "E-H-T - 'the', Mom, it spells 'the'! Didn't you know?"

No, I didn't. But, suddenly I did. Suddenly everything started making sense. This child who has had such a hard time in school -  this momma who the last two years has felt like a complete failure, feeling like I have absolutely NO CLUE how to teach my child after successfully teaching two others.

I quickly grabbed a piece of paper, leaned over to him, and whispered, "Write me any words you can think of." He could think of three, and could write none of them from memory correctly. I no longer felt like I was in church, my mind was running so fast I couldn't keep up with it. "That's it! He has dyslexia," I thought. "I don't know anything about dyslexia. What are we going to do? How am I going to teach him? I know NOTHING about dyslexia!" I took the paper from my son and put it in front of my husband, who was actually trying to listen to the sermon. "Look," I whispered. He took the paper, looked at it, then up at me.

We had both discussed this child many times. We realized that learning was hard for him, but weren't sure why. Many times I thought it was me. In a way it was - I don't know how to teach how he thinks.

That night we went home and became students of dyslexia. I learned more about it in the next 24 hours then I would have thought possible. I had websites marked, curriculum to look at, people to call, and classes to try to get into. And I felt overwhelmed. Relieved and overwhelmed at the same time. Relieved that I had an answer and overwhelmed because I've never walked this road before.

But here I am.

This is what parenting is about isn't it? Each child that we have is so beautifully unique, and we must become students of that uniqueness. Some are much harder than others. One of mine is dyslexic, other parents have children that have tougher challenges - Autism, Down Syndrome, disease, and others that I don't even know about. Then there's the child with anxieties, social issues,  and even plain ole strong will. (I have one of those too!)

We find out something about our child, maybe at birth, two, four, or, like me, seven, and we feel discouraged, and overwhelmed, sometimes very alone.

And then there is......

Hope.

 You find you are not alone. There is hope in community. Community made up of parents that have already been there. They care because they know. They pass on the hope.

There is hope when you become a student of your child. First it's little bits of light shining through, but the more you learn, the light begins to grow.

There is hope because you learn to be strong. A boldness in you comes out of nowhere. I found myself making phone calls and asking for help from places I never thought I would.

There is hope because you actually find answers. You start putting into place the things you're learning and you see that same hope come onto your child's face as things start to make sense to him. And it is a glorious moment.

Don't get me wrong - there is discouragement also. The discouragement comes in knowing that you cannot change what your child is. That some things will always be different. Harder. More time consuming. Difficult to explain.

The answer - You must not live in the discouragement. You will be discouraged, but don't stay there! To dwell there is to fail the beautiful child God has given you. To dwell there robs your joy.

The phonics curriculum I own and know does not work with my child. Teaching him to read and write well is not going to be easy.  His little brain thinks way beyond what mine does. I am learning to try think like him, so I can learn with him. I am buying new curriculum - stuff I've never heard of before. I'm taking a class, watching dvds, talking with other parents, and researching.

I have become a student of my child. And our relationship has grown. When we pass a sign that has a flag on it and my son says, "Look, Mom, it's the ASU flag!" I say, "It sure is." I've stopped correcting all the time and started learning a better way.

We are both finding hope.

Five Ways to Help an Anxious Child

I am 7, my family has traveled to a big city and we are about to ride up an elevator in the mall. My heart starts beating faster and I begin to sweat. My parents assure me that it's perfectly safe to get on the elevator. I am sure it is not. The thoughts start swirling in my head - "We're going to get stuck in there." "Forever." "It's going to be dark; the lights are going to go out." "I'm going to be thirsty!" "If the dark doesn't kill me, the thirst will." "No one will ever find us." The more irrational thoughts I have, the more the anxiety builds. I'm a wreck by the time we actually step into the elevator. I don't think I will survive the ride to the third floor.

I am 10, my little sister is 4 and is playing in the yard. She has been outside for 20 minutes when my mom sends me to check on her. I don't see her in the front yard. My heart starts racing. I don't see her in the side yard, I start sweating. I don't see her in the backyard, I go into hysterics. Real live, uncontrollable hysterics. I am sure she is kidnapped. We will never find her and our family will never be the same. I am sure of it, and the only response I can muster is hysterics.

I am 12, my mom leaves me at home while she runs up to the grocery store. I am in the yard and I am panicking. My heart is racing and I am shaking. I watch my mom drive off and the irrational thoughts in my head start swirling - "My mom's leaving me." "She's never coming back!" "What will I do?" "I can't stay here by myself!" I begin to cry, and the shakes become violent.

These are not isolated incidents. Things like this happened frequently during my childhood. I'm laying it bare, and I didn't realize how hard it would be for me to see it in black and white. These are the things I try not to remember. Tears are in my eyes and my heart aches as I think of that little girl and the fears that held her captive. Held me captive.

That's how it feels - like captivity. When you are in captivity, everything is out of your control. You don't want to be there, but there you are. You wish it away, but it doesn't go away. Sometimes it's too much to bear. You wish someone could help you, but no one really knows how.

I am no longer that anxious child.  I am an adult who still fights fear at times,  but I am not held captive by it. Fear does not overcome me anymore. There is hope for the anxious child, and there are ways we can help -


1. Be very patient. There is no overnight fix for anxieties. It most often takes lots of time and maturity. Realize this and accept it. This is very important. If you are constantly frustrated with your child for "not just getting over it" this will hurt your relationship with your child and do NOTHING to improve the anxieties. A child with anxieties requires lots of patience and kindness. And time. I was a teenager before my anxieties improved. But they eventually did.

2. Never make fun of a child with anxieties. Do not laugh at them. ever. This can be hard because irrationalities can be funny. The anxious child needs to know that you are on their side, and that you are the one person not laughing at them. It feels like the world is against you when you are fearing something, and a parent who can calmly say, "I understand, I am here for you and we are going to walk through this together" is invaluable to that child. Hold them. Hug them. Be there for them.

3. Give your child opportunities to be in the situation that causes them anxieties with a protector. If your child is deathly afraid of water, don't throw them in alone and tell them there's nothing to be afraid of. Walk in with them. Small steps at a time. Let them feel the water while holding your hand. If your child fears strangers, don't make them go to that birthday party alone, or drop them off at Bible school where they don't know anyone. Go with them. Don't stand by their side the whole time, but make sure when they look around, that they can find you. This may seem like coddling, but for a child with true anxieties it is not. It is training. It is learning that the thing that causes them fear is not as dangerous as they believe in their mind. I would have probably had a heart attack if my parents had made me ride an elevator alone as a child. But they didn't. Each tine they went with me to assure me of the safety of it. And guess what? It's not my favorite activity, but I do get on elevators by myself now.

4. Tell them truths. Over and over and over. Anxieties are most often very irrational. The thoughts in a child's head become more and more irrational the more worked up they become. If you can counteract these irrational thoughts with truths, it will help. My daughter has anxieties over storms. We've never been in a tornado, but she is sure every time it begins to rain that we are about to be blown away by one. Taking the time each time to tell her the truth about the situation helps curb the anxious feelings. We talk about the safely of our home, how to watch for the kinds of storms that are actually dangerous, what the plan will be if we have a bad storm, etc. She has started reminding herself of these truths when a storm starts, and it helps keep her calmer. Do NOT tell your child their fears are irrational. They know that, but they can't help it. In a calm voice tell them the truths about the thing they fear.

5. And most importantly, don't ever, ever, ever leave God out of the equation. The Bible promises that "perfect love casts out fear." The only One with perfect love is God. And He is the only One that can make true lasting changes in your child. Pray for your child daily. Encourage your child to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Knowing God as I grew up is one of the only things that have helped me overcome my anxieties. Quote Scripture to your child. This is vital. God's Word will not return to Him void, and it is true and living. I believe that because I have lived it. Every time I would have anxieties my mom would say to me, "Remember what God says, Honey." And then she would quote, "What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee." I've said that verse so many times until I've lived it true in my life. And true it is. Introduce your child to the One that calmed the storms and conquered death.

Don't give up. It will take time, but there is hope for an anxious child.

A Story 19 Years in the Making

The year was 1996. I was 17. It was my first overseas mission trip. I was in Russia. I was young. Very young. Sometimes I wonder why God allowed me, so young and dumb, to do His work.

I'm realizing now it was a journey. A part of my growing up. Just like now. It doesn't stop. As long as you're seeking God, God is changing you.

There are certain things from that trip that stick out in my memory. Some of them, I can't shake. Some are seemingly trivial, but they're there none the less and I think about them often.

This one is an untold story. Mainly because it's not really a story. Just a blip in time. But it's come full circle and now it must be told.

I was living in an orphanage of sorts, and we all had Russian roommates (mostly students that were going to school there). I was assigned to a small room with just two beds and an early teen girl who barely spoke English. My Russian was worse than her English, so conversation between us was minimal. She didn't own a lot. But, as I soon learned, neither did any of the other ordinary Russians. Small flats that they lived in, minimal possessions, no cars - the list was short. I had more "stuff" in that room that I had brought over the sea in my two oversized suitcases than she probably owned.

One of the rules for the Americans that lived there was that we weren't supposed to share clothes. Simple and silly, but not the point of this story. Everyone shared clothes anyway, without much regard to the "rule." Everyone but me anyway. I was (and still am if you ask Dan) a rule follower. To a T. I try not to be such a stickler, but my conscience works overtime. To put it plainly, it never sleeps.

My roommate came up to me one day and asked in broken English if she might borrow one of my skirts for the day. I quickly explained to her that that was not allowed, and I was sorry, but, no, she couldn't. She quickly turned away in embarrassment and never asked again. She knew that all her Russian friends were borrowing clothes from the Americans, and she wanted to develop that camaraderie with me. I really have no clue if she even understood my lame explanation.

That was it. That was the untold story. The story that won't leave me alone. It's been 19 years since that day. And I am still plagued. For the first 10 years the guilt I felt every time I thought of it was for not just breaking the dumb rule and letting her borrow my skirt. You know, learning to follow the spirit of the law and not the letter. Developing a sweet friendship with another soul.

But then, something changed, something inside me. Seeking God, growing, changing, seeing the world through Jesus' eyes. And one day when I thought of that incident, the light bulb came on. The guilt was no longer - "Why didn't I let her borrow the skirt?" The revelation was - "WHY IN THE WORLD DIDN'T I JUST GIVE HER THE SKIRT??!!!!" Why wasn't I being Jesus, the very Person, I was in Russia to be?

Why? Because it wasn't even in my radar. That's why.

But it is now. When I think of this, I'm looking at it through different eyes. I think of our closet there in that small room in Moscow, Russia. My roommate had 2 skirts to her name. I remember that clearly. I think I must have had 10, and probably at least 5 more at home. So many clothes compared to this girl, but it didn't even occur to me in my immature mind to give out of my abundance.

The reason this story has come full circle for me is because God is teaching me to give. If I was smarter on the computer I would change the font just on that little word "give" and put it in the most beautiful script I could find because it is beautiful.

I just read a story about a church in Austin, TX  who had a guest speaker on an Easter evening in 2007. Near the end of the service he mentioned that earlier that morning he had spent some time in a homeless community in San Antonio. Their spokesman had told him that their biggest need was - shoes. He said that homeless people spend all day on their feet, and since their shoes are worn out cast offs they have chronic leg and back pain. As people came forward for communion that Easter evening, the speaker gave them an opportunity. He told them if they wanted they could leave their shoes (and socks) at the altar, and they would see that it all got to that homeless community in San Antonio.

Easter Sunday 2007 - 150 people at a church in Texas in their best shoes. So many of them left that service barefoot and smiling. There's something about leaving your gift at the altar. It may have been your favorite pair of shoes, but now it's a gift to the Savior. There was a need and communion called not just for remembering the gift of Christ, but a call to action in giving a gift to Christ.  "For when we give unto the least of these we're giving unto Him." (My paraphrase of Matthew 25:40 inserting the beautiful word - give.) They gave their shoes because they couldn't help it! And they had church that day, the way it was meant to be.

That's where God is taking me. I'm not there yet, but it's my journey. I want it to be second nature to give. When the Russian girl asks to borrow my skirt, I don't want to have to even think about it when I smile and say, "Here, take it, it was for you all along." I want to walk home barefoot because someone needed my shoes more than I did. I want to not be able to help it!

The two things I remember about that sweet young Russian girl so many years ago, is the story I just told, and the gifts she gave me the day I left for home. I still have them. Sweet, generous gifts out of a kind heart. A constant reminder of the beauty of giving, whether it's out of abundance or out of precious little.

 I missed that opportunity 19 years ago, but there are oh, so many more. Everyday, everywhere - opportunities to give in Jesus' name, opportunities to be The Gospel. You don't even have to look to find them. They will find you.

And you won't be able to help it.

Give because it's beautiful.

Floaters in the Tub

Elijah pooped in the tub the other day. I should have seen it coming, but since he's been potty trained for about a year, I had let my guard down. I'm still not sure why he did it. Maybe the relaxing warm water, maybe the beans he had for dinner, maybe it was just time and he didn't want to move... Whatever the reason, there we were with a floater. I yanked him up out of the water as quickly as I could and plopped him on the potty to finish his business. He looked over at the floater in the tub, and then looked at me. "Get it out," he stated. "No," I said, "You did it, you're going to have to get it out." He looked up at me in surprise. "I can't," he said, "I will get my hands dirty!"

Needless to say, I did the deed, but I told Elijah that if he did it ever again he was getting his own hands dirty.

I didn't really mean it, but I hoped that the threat would keep him from a repeat offense.

So, I just walked into the bathroom because I got the yell - "Mom! I'm done!!" I found Elijah sitting on the pot, hiding his face in his hands. All around him were brown streaks. Everywhere. On the floor, on the toilet, on his legs, everywhere. My first thought was, "Oh yippee."

I looked at what looked like smeared poop on the floor, put my hands on my hips, and said, "What happened?" Silence. "Elijah, what happened?" I repeated. Still no response. "Did you poop on the floor?" I ventured.  "Yeth," he said. "Where is it?" I asked fearfully. He looked up, "I picked it up and put in the potty, Mom,"

I guess he thought I was serious. "Did you get your hands dirty?" I asked him. "No, I used toilet paper." He answered. Explains the streaks on the floor.

He's pretty smart for a 3 year old.

Adventures That Must Be Had

The male species was born for adventure. And, when I say that, I mean it in the most dramatized voice I can muster - BORN......FOR.....AD...VEN...TURRRRE.

They were. It's ingrained from the moment they can start exploring. From my toddler wanting to ride his little car down the big hill in the street, to the boys digging up onions, to my grown man white water rafting. The sense of adventure is there - wanting to escape at every possible moment.

Two of my boys decided to take some manly adventure just this weekend. Last year Dan started telling Zack that he would like to take him on his first backpacking trip. They would hike into the woods with everything they needed on their backs. They would pick a remote camping spot in the wilderness, cook their food over a fire, and be engrossed in nature.

A year passed by. A few weeks ago the dreamed of camping trip came up again. "I really think you should take him this year," I told Dan, "He's really looking forward to the adventure, and he's almost 12." Before the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. "Almost 12." Old enough to go backpacking. I've got to stop blinking!

The weather this weekend was supposed to be perfect and we had no previous plans, so the backpacking trip planning went into high gear. Friday evening was spent cooking, packing, and excitedly discussing details. Dan crawled into the attic and dug out the dusty backpacking gear. We only have one "real" backpacking sleeping bag, so Dan did his best to roll an old army one into as small a roll as possible. As if "small" can be in the same sentence as "army sleeping bag."

"Zack," Dan said as they stuffed more and more stuff into the large backpacks, "What would you think about just setting up camp and then hiking into the wilderness instead of carrying everything in?" "Oh no," answered Zack, "We have to carry everything INTO the wilderness and camp there!" Dan looked over at me with a bit of anguish in his eyes. "It was your idea," I reminded him. "It was a moment of weakness!" Dan whispered desperately.

I laughed.

"Where are the matches?" Dan asked me. Zack cut in before I could reply, "We don't need matches, Dad. I have my magnesium fire starter! It will be a real wilderness experience!" "I'm throwing in the matches," Dan whispered to me again. "Just in case...." "Oh, I'm sure you won't need them," I teasingly replied, "You have the magnesium fire starter."

I laughed again.

The backpacks were packed and ready to be tried on. Zack put on his and acted like it would be nothing to haul it for miles on end. Dan put his on and made no bones about the fact that it would be way more than nothing (close to excruciating) to haul that huge monstrosity with the military sleeping bag swinging off of it for miles on end. He suggested the camping and then hiking option again.

I laughed.

The next day, with great anticipation of many adventures my men got in the car and headed off where cell phones don't work, fire is made without matches, and bears and mountain lions roam. I gave Dan a hug and told him to enjoy sleeping on the "soft" ground.

He laughed.

They arrived back home this afternoon with tales of heavy packs, fires that were actually started with magnesium fire starter, killer crows, rain, waterfalls, miles of hiking, and swimming in a cold creek in March.

Adventure. That's what they had. Real live, self made adventure. Memories. That's what they made. Memories that won't ever be forgotten.

The Forgotten

"I don't have time," I thought to myself. "Homeschooling 3 kids with a toddler running around is a job in itself. On top of that I have my piano students, church duties, the Bs (baseball and ballet), the class I'm teaching, not to mention making dinner and trying to keep the house clean. Oh, and then there's the laundry. It never stops. If they would just stop. wearing. clothes.  So much to do, so not enough hours in the day."

"I just don't have time."

"I don't have time to stop and see them."

But then the memories come flooding in -

I've known them since I was 11. They took me into their hearts as soon as they met me, and loved me as much as their own grandchild. They taught me to love church, God's work, and pound cake. I used to hang out at their house, drive their golf cart around, play with their "real" grandchildren, and talk fishing with them. They took me out on the lake and on a three week camping trip to West Texas. I played the piano while he sing and played cards with her. So many happy memories of hours together.

Oh, the time they invested in me because they loved a funny looking little girl who had all the time in the world!

When they moved away to be by their children, I was sad. It had been a wonderful 10 years. But, I understood; they needed to be by family as they got older. Besides, I was an adult now and my life was getting busy. Not as much time anymore for long visits and pound cake.

Fast forward twelve more years. They've come home. The gentleman, he's 81 now, but you would never know it. His beautiful wife is suffering with dementia and failing health. They want to spend these years here, in a place where they were so happy.

I'm in my 30s now with four kids, a husband, and the normal American busy life. I'm not that little teenager anymore with hours to kill.

But their life has taken a turn. They aren't busy anymore. No more fishing, boating, mission trips, church activities, or even walks. Because of her health, they can't even make it to Sunday church most days. The lonely long hours creep by for them. This is certainly not what they are used to, or where they want to be, but this is where they are.

I finally find a moment between school and ballet to sneak away and go see them.  I walk in. She looks up at me from her spot on the couch. She doesn't remember a lot anymore, but she knows me. I'm not sure she knows my name, but she knows me. She says, "I sure do like you." I smile, give her a hug, and sit down beside her. She reaches over and takes my hand. She holds my hand for a half an hour while I visit with her husband. It's too hard for her to carry on a conversation, but she wants me to be there by her. We talk about old times, their kids, and the birds outside. Way too soon I get up to go because it's time to take Rylie to ballet class. "I wish I could stay longer," I say. "Please come again soon," she replies, "We love to have you." (It's pretty much the only thing she's said.) "I will," I say, trying to think of when I will be able to make it back by.

As I drive the to ballet, I can't help but think about the love the man has for his wife. At 81 he is caring for her better than any nurse could. He makes her meals, helps her walk, takes her on drives, and is so patient with the ever prevailing dementia that is overtaking her mind and body. He won't leave her side whether it's at home, or when she is in the hospital for weeks at a time. And she doesn't want him to. He meant it over 55 years ago when he said, "for better or worse," and "till death do us part."  He is kinder to her than any young man trying to win a fair lady ever was.

And they're lonely. These are lonely, long days for them.

And they're not the only ones. There are so many elderly at home, with nothing to fill the long, lonely hours and days because of failing health. They need people, but can't get out to see them. Some of them are our parents and our grandparents, some are other people's grandparents. Some have nobody.

We must not forget. We MUST NOT forget these elderly people who paved the way for us. Who made time for us when we were young. Who raised us and invested in our lives. Who still have so much to say, but oftentimes, no one to say it to. Stories to tell, encouragement to share, smiles to give, love that needs a recipient. And they're at home, hoping they are not forgotten. Hoping someone will stop by.

They are easy to forget because you don't see them unless you go to see them. And our lives are so busy.

During the snow Dan took Zack to shovel a driveway of another elderly couple in our church. They couldn't make it to their mailbox because of the snow. Zack asked me why he had to go. I told him because I hoped that when his dad was too old and feeble to shovel our driveway, that some young man would care enough to come and do it for him. If we don't do it, who will? If we don't teach our kids, who will visit us when we are old?

If the hands and feet of Jesus don't visit the elderly, who will?  Who will hug them? Who will hold their hand? Who will listen to what they have to say? Who will take time out of their busy lives to see someone who is homebound? Who will let them know they are still valuable if we don't?

The hands and feet of Jesus, that's who we are. It's His life we claim to have, and He cares about - people. People. From the smallest embryo to the oldest, feeblest man, life is precious in His eyes. And it should be in ours.

And not just in our minds, but our actions also.

Don't forget the elderly. Life is precious. They are precious. They need to be reminded that God thinks they are valuable, and that we do to.

I am convicted by my own actions, for our actions show what we really think.

"You shall rise up before the grayheaded and honor the aged, and you shall revere your God; I am the LORD." Leviticus 19:32

The Sledding Accident that Almost Was

So it almost happened today. That sledding accident that you hope never happens. It almost happened. Almost is enough to make my mom's heart stop, but also make it so grateful.

It snowed most of the day yesterday and then turned to sleet and ice. By this morning our yard was a slick layer of beautiful whiteness. Most of us could crunch right through the layers as walked, but Elijah was not heavy enough to break the ice. He couldn't move without slipping and falling down. It was cute, but I  finally took pity on him, and got a sled out and started pulling him around.

The kids discovered that they could sled right through the empty lot behind our house on the ice. There's not much of a slant in the land, so I wasn't worried about them getting hurt. Elijah watched them, thought it looked fun, and decided that he wanted to try. He lay belly down on the sled and Rylie gave him a little push. He took off. I didn't know a sled could go so fast on a non hill. His light weight sent him soaring over the ice. Rylie realized at once that this was not a good thing as Elijah was hurling towards the road. She began running as fast as she could after him. I was far enough behind that I knew unless I suddenly acquired the Flash's powers, I was useless. My heart was racing because I knew he had enough speed that he was going to fly through the ditch, across the road, and over the other side.

Rylie is very quick on her feet and was running hard behind him. I saw her fling her body outstretched as she reached her arms out to grab the sled. It looked like a slow motion moment on a movie as she just missed the sled and laid face down on the snow. (We later learned that she actually tripped on her boot and fell, but it looked very heroic at the time.)

Elijah kept sailing towards the road. I could do nothing but stand there and watch. Right as he reached the road the sled plowed into a pile of hard snow that the snow plow had left. The sled stopped short and his little body flew out onto the pile of hard snow too close to the road. Dan was there in an instant as Elijah lay there crying. He was ok, and I was filled with relief.

Rylie was really shaken up. We were actually on our way to go to a sledding hill. She promptly decided that we should just all go in the house where it is safe and no one would get hurt. I told her that we were going anyway and that it would be fine.

She looked at me and said, "but, Mom, I worry about Elijah and Kade because they don't know Jesus yet, and if something happens to them they won't go to heaven and be with Jesus." Then she turned to her brothers and started witnessing to them as we all sat in the snow in our front yard.. "You need to accept Jesus," she said. "You don't want to die without knowing Him, and we could die anytime. You don't know when you're going to die!" She was urgent as she kept talking, "Jesus is knocking on your heart door and He wants you to let Him in. Don't you want to accept Him? If you do, you will feel all wonderful inside."

She's 9. I was sitting on the snow with my children watching, listening, and feeling guilty. This child was witnessing to her brothers with a sense of urgency of one who had just faced death. She doesn't want any member of her family to die without knowing Jesus, and she's doing her best to make sure they know the way.

Her words resounded in my head, "You don't want to die without Him, and you could die at any time."

I looked around my neighborhood - "You could die at any time and you don't know Him."

I thought of people in my family - "You could die at any time and you don't know Him."

I see the world - "You could die at any time and you don't know Him."

And I grieved.

I grieved because I don't have a true heart for the lost.

Of course, I want them to know Jesus. But I don't even have the urgency of my 9 year old CHILD who will witness time after time to her brothers because she doesn't want them to die lost!

Who will tell my neighbors and my family if I don't? Who will tell them before they die without Him? They could die at any moment. My little son and my daughter reminded me of that today.

I want the heart of Christ, who gave up everything to die for the lost. I don't have it, but I want it.
. 
I want the selflessness of  Nate Saint and Jim Elliot who had guns, but refused to use them on the Aucas that were spearing them to death because they knew that they were headed to heaven, but that the Aucas, if killed, would go to hell and never have the opportunity to know Jesus. They gave up everything for the sake of the Gospel and a little tribe of Indians who had never heard it.

 I want the heart of my daughter who has witnessed more in the last couple of years than I have.

"Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few;
Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth labourers into his harvest."
Matthew 9:37-38

The harvest is HUGE. Christ died for all. The labourers are few.

I want to rise up from my comfortable "glad I'm saved, hope someone's telling you about Jesus, but it's probably not me" spot on my couch and be a labourer.

The labourers are few, but they could be one more.


 

How to Grab a Teachable Moment with a Tough Child

Children give us so many opportunities to teach, but so often we fall into the trap of reacting rather than raising.

I have a particular child that is a little harder to raise than the others. I love him more than I can say, but some days the raising is tough. He loves to challenge, argue, and push the limits. Frequently. He can get a rise out of me quicker than I can blink my eyes. The parent I thought I would be before I had kids is not always the parent that I am in reality.

We went through a really challenging spell here a few weeks ago. It seemed that emotions were rampant and anger was contagious.

He would get angry at the drop of the hat - at me, his siblings, the world.....  And I would react, "Don't be so angry!" I would say angrily. And then my heart would sink. How can I help my child overcome anger if I get angry at him when he gets angry? That's a lot of angry right there, but that's where we found ourselves.

At one point we (his parents) were feeling desperate about what to do. He felt like we were always on his case, and we were getting exhausted trying to figure out how to help him without always being on his case. It was night and we were sitting on the couch. We just had yet another confrontation, and my emotions were a mixture of desperation, exhaustion, and love. I looked at him and said firmly, "You need to just stop getting mad."  He sat there for a moment and then looked up at me in tears and said, "I can't, I've tried to stop getting angry, and I. just. can't."

And there I had it - a teachable moment staring me in my face. A choice to raise instead of react.

Humanity's response would be to say, "Choose to stop and figure it out," or "Stop making excuses!" or "Just go to bed!"

But what is it I work day in and day out to teach my kids? That they NEED a Savior. That they have a desperate need for God. And here it was, staring me in my face.

By God's grace I was calmer than I had been all evening. Everyone got quiet and I looked at him and I agreed with him as I said, "You're right, you can't stop, but that's why we need God. Where you are right now, is exactly where He wants you to be. He wants you to know that you can't so that He can. He can help you. And He so desperately wants you to ask Him.

Pointing our children to God, that's what it's all about. Dan and I couldn't figure out the answers, that's for sure. We need the same God that our child needs to live this life. And He's there, He's living, and He wants us as badly as we need Him.

My child went to bed that night and asked a living God to help him control his temper. And I felt relief. I had help. Not another parenting book, not an article on the internet, but the knowledge that the Creator of my child would help my child because he asked Him.

We took it to the Word. You know the One that is living, breathing, and changes lives? I did a word study with him on what the Proverbs say about anger. My son is not the only one that started changing. 

You know that Word of God that's been there for so many years and came from the mouth of God? It's still alive. It's still working. Still changing people. It's changing me. I've become less angry. Less reactionary. More patient.

Perfect? Never. Becoming more like Christ? Yes.

And my hard to raise child? God's working in him too. I've seen him be able to overcome a blowup, where a few weeks ago he couldn't. Perfect? No. Changing and growing? Yes.

Find the teachable moments with your kids. Don't let frustration and weariness keep you from seeing an opportunity to share Jesus. It's so worth it.

And I'm praising God.

For without Him, I can't.

Are They Your Chidren?

We were shopping  today at a store our family likes to frequent whenever we visit Springfield. I won't tell you which one, because I'm sure they will remember us for a long time, and I wouldn't want you to mention our names there. They may hire a lookout and put up a "closed" sign when they see us coming. I'm not sure, but it's possible.

This particular store has the option of a ramp or stairs to get to the lower level. Much to Dan's dismay, our kids love the ramp and could spend the whole shopping experience running up and down it at high speeds. This bothers Dan immensely; which I don't really understand. I find it peaceful to shop by myself all the while being able to hear my children's racing games and see their heads bobbing up and down the ramp.  (Especially because there is a bit of a distance between me and them, and no one knows they're mine.....)  (Please don't think ill of me...) Dan is a bit more concerned with the behavior of our children in stores, and the peace of the other customers than I am. Oh, and the sanity of the workers....

I had left the children in Dan's care while I went to try on a few items that I didn't need. The dressing rooms are located right by the stairs to the lower level, but far away from the ramp. As I was peacefully trying on clothes I heard this noise - clunk, clatter, clunk, rattle, clatter, clatter, clank. "That sounds like a shopping cart is being pushed down the stairs!" I thought incredulously to myself. "I can't believe someone would do that! I'm sure glad it's not my kids, they would never think to do that!"

About that same moment, I heard Dan's not so happy (but not so loud) voice, "Zackary!!" he said in a controlled low voice, "You don't push shopping carts down the stairs!"  (As if one should NEED to say that to one's child!) In a bit of a shocked state I decided that I was in the safest place in the store at the moment, and that I would just stay in the dressing room for a little while longer. I figured Dan had it under control, and there was no need for me to try to help out. Plus, truth be told, I wanted the store to clear out before anyone knew that I was the mom......

The shopping cart survived, as did Zackary. There will be no more races on the ramp, and I didn't buy any of the clothing that I spent an abundance of time trying on. Mostly because the sizes are mismarked.....

The clerks smiled at us as we left the store, and I'm pretty sure it was because they were just happy to see us go.

We may, or may not, return. Ever.

Laugh With Those That Laugh

It finally hit us. Like a bomb. A really messy icky bomb.

It's the stomach flu. First real sickness of the winter. And it's a doozy.

It always starts in the middle of the night. "Moooooaaahghhhmmm," was yelled frantically from the bedroom the other night. I sighed a deep breath and thought why don't they call, "Daaaaaaagghhhhddd." Dan looked up at me from what he was doing and said, "Someone needs you." I'm on way," I said reluctantly. Gratefully Zack had his wits about him enough to hit the bucket. "That was a bad one, Mom," he said. "They always are," I replied.

I yelled, "Daaaaagghhhhn" just to make sure he knew I really did need him. "You take the bucket, and I'll clean up the kid," I said. He's a good dad, and took the bucket down the hall to get ready for round 2. There was a stirring in the other bunk bed;  Kade started rolling around and moaning. "Zack, why did you make me sick?!" he asked emphatically. He half sat up; I got worried. "Are you going to be sick too?" I asked. Kade replied, "Zack made me sick!" Then he puked in the newly cleaned out bucket. "Daaaggghhhhnn," I called again, just so he would know I was serious. "You clean out the bucket, I'll take care of kid #2" "You're kidding me." he said.

Now with Kade, you never know if he's really sick or not. He abides by the words, "laugh with those that laugh, weep with those that weep, and puke with those that puke." His stomach is about as weak as they come. And it's not just puke, it's anything that might be considered gross. Once he had the pleasure of stepping in kitty poopy in the garage. As it squished between his toes, he began dry heaving so much he couldn't even call me. I went out there to find him like a statue - that was dry heaving. He couldn't move, he couldn't call, and he was about to puke. "Why isn't Dan home for these kinds of events," I thought to myself as I scooped him up and hauled his stinky feet to the bathroom. I cleaned up between his toes very carefully, sent him on his way, and went to clean the garage. I thought we were through, but, oh no,  I found him intermittently sniffing his feet for the next half hour in search of "leftover odors." And WHY would one do that???

I ended up spending that whole night changing buckets and comforting both boys. (Turns out it wasn't Zack that made Kade sick, he was just plain sick.) The next day I washed everything that could be put in the washer and sprayed Lysol on everything that couldn't. I was determined that TWO would be the end of it.

Last night I made mushroom cheeseburgers and Rotel. It was yummy. As I enjoyed my dinner, I briefly hoped that I would not see it again.

Then it started - Rylie, then Elijah, and "Ummm, I'm not feeling so good," I said. Dan looked at me with a look that said you better not be getting sick.  "Don't worry," I said as I crashed on the couch, "the vomiting only lasts about four hours. You'll be okay."

We won't be having mushroom cheeseburgers again for a really, really long time......

Where are the Falls Anyway???

You don't get 60 degree days in January very often, so it's always good to take advantage of it. Dan said we should go hiking.

I agreed.

I suggested we hike the Twin Falls Trail. It sounded good at the time. Hike down a trail along a beautiful rushing creek to two waterfalls at the end. Sunshine, 60 degree weather. Sounded really good.

"You know it takes 2 hours to drive there and the trail is 5.5 miles long?" Dan asked me. "Oh," I replied. It seemed like the best answer at the moment. I didn't want a few minor details to get in the way of our nice day out. Cabin fever and the winter blues had set in at our house, and I was ready to get outside.  "Our kids are 11, 9, 6, and 2," he continued, (as if I don't know how old our children are!) "that's kind of a long walk for them." "Oh," I said again.

"What time are we leaving?" I asked him. "I guess at 8:00," said the guy who likes to humor me.

I made sandwiches and packed snacks while Dan filled the camel backs and loaded the car. It was a beautiful winter morning, and the drive was full of great sights. It was peaceful also - we actually let the kids watch the tv in the van this time. Every once in a while Dan would say, "Look at that view, kids!" To which the kids would give varying degrees of answers ranging from, "cool" to "awesome," to "wow." I don't think they looked outside once, but they've learned they better give a good answer or dad makes them turn off the movie. They're really good at staying perfectly engrossed in their show while giving an extremely accurate response to any of Dan's suggested views.  In fact, I was pretty impressed with the fact that Rylie had convinced me that she had also seen the elk along side the road, when in all actuality she had seen nothing but cartoons. I know this because today I asked her to tell someone about the elk we saw, and she replied with, "What elk?"

We finally made it to the trailhead and got loaded up. When you hike with six people, and four are small, most of the "loading up" means mom and dad were donning heavy backpacks. I carefully weighed my options and chose the lighter of the two backpacks. In my defense, I do have the smaller back.

The kids each donned their camel backs and we set off. We walked at least 100 feet before we hit our first obstacle - the river. At this point I reminded myself that this trail was my idea, and that I don't really mind river crossings in January.....

After our second unseasonably (or maybe seasonably) cold river crossing, Dan informed us that I had led everyone astray and we were no longer on the trail. After being married to me for over 12 years, he should know better than to follow me in the woods!

We decided that since we were already on the wrong side of the river (and no one could feel their feet yet anyway) that we would just hike the river bank, and hopefully figure out what to do later. Again, a great idea with small children.

We begin our trek over boulders and through underbrush. We had hiked maybe another 100 feet when we came upon a hiker headed the opposite direction as us, but on the same (wrong) side of the river. He was wearing blue jeans, had a HUGE overnight backpack on his back and a smaller backpack that he was wearing on his front. (Maybe a front pack?)  He looked exhausted. Knowing we were only 200 feet into a 5.5 mile trail, I lightheartedly asked him in a teasing voice, "Are we almost there?"  He looked at me and said, "Arghhhhuuggghh," and then let out a little maniacal laugh. At this point I became nervous, and again second guessed my decisions of coming on this hike and taking the non trail. He never answered my question, but said, "I just came over that mountain, am I almost there?" I cautiously asked, "Where are you headed?" "The car," came his firm reply.  Dan caught up to us at this point, took one look at the hiker and said, "Did you murder someone and take their pack?" I about blew a gasket! You don't ask a maniacal hiker in the middle of the woods if he's a murderer!! He might murder you! I hurriedly collected the children and headed on down the river bank leaving Dan to deal with the murdering, maniacal hiker.....

After another couple of hours of rough hiking, multiple river crossings, scratches, bumps, and lots of tears we decided we should give up our quest to find the falls and just find the car. I had  come through some underbrush which had pulled my hair in all different directions, and we all had stumbled back across the river in an attempt to find the trail. We thought that hiking on the real trail would be an easier event for the trek out. We were wet, tired, and scratched up. Rylie looked at me said, "Wow, Mom, you look like you've been hiking for days!" "I have," came my maniacal reply.

We did eventually find the trail and headed back. About halfway to the car we met a group of fresh hikers who had just begun their trek to the falls. "Are we almost there?" they asked us jokingly as they skipped lightly down the trail. With a crazed look in our eye we all replied, "Arghhhhuggghhh."

How Jake and Neverland Pirates changed me.

She came in off the street into the Christmas store in Galloway, TN .She was a grandma, but looked much too young to be a grandma." I'm looking for something for my grandkids," she said. She had done various things throughout the year - come to Bible study, do clean up projects, help the mission center - to save "points" which she could now redeem for Christmas presents. Mrs. Karen came right up to her with a big hug and kiss on the cheek. "I love you," she says to the woman. The woman knows this. She knows no matter what that she is loved here. "Merry Christmas," she replies.

I end up being her shopping buddy, helping her pick out things and keeping track of the points she is spending. She's quiet and shy and doesn't reply much to my attempts at conversation. After perusing the tables for a bit, she suddenly looks up at me and asks, "You don't happen to have anything Jake and the Neverland Pirates do you? My grandson loves Jake and the Neverland Pirates." I start to look around. Surely God would have a Jake and the Neverland Pirate's item here among the many donations that have come in. Surely. Not seeing what I was looking for,  I call Rylie and send her to the back store room. "Go see if we have something Jake and the Neverland Pirates back there," I say to her, desperately hoping there will be. Not really sure why it's such a big deal to me that there is a particular toy back there, but it is.

I don't really trust Rylie's looking skills, she can't find her shoes on her feet sometimes. But I wait with the young grandma. And hope. Suddenly Rylie bursts through the door with a box in her hand. "Look what I found, Mama!" she says.

And there it is - a Jake and the Neverland Pirate's play set, complete with a treasure box and a spyglass!

I breathe a sigh of relief and wonder why I doubt my Heavenly Father.

I turn and hand it to the woman. "Will this work?" I ask. She reaches her hand out, looks at it, and tears start rolling down her cheeks. She's crying. Over Jake and the Neverland Pirates. That's a first for me.

This woman who has hardly spoken two quiet words to me looks up at me through her tears and says, "I never dreamed I would be able to afford something this nice for my grandson that he would love so much."

"This nice???" I think to myself. "This is not a PlayStation, an Ipad, or even a bike!" It's a $15 play set! But it's the right play set. It's exactly what she was looking for. It's Christmas for her grandson. and may very well be the only present he is getting.

I can't stop it. Tears start rolling down my cheeks also. I've never cried over Jake and the Neverland Pirate's before, but I am now.

Two women, two different colors of skin, two very different lives, crying together because Christmas just happened - for both of us.

And then I remember, the same God who gave the most perfect gift on that first Christmas is still giving perfect gifts today.

That person in some church somewhere who bought that Jake and the Neverland Pirate's set to send to Galloway didn't know that it was for a certain person, but God knew. He had it all planned it out, and He looked at me and said, "Watch this."  "Watch Me care for the least of these." And then He gently reminded me, "Now go and care for them too."

As the woman prepared to leave, Mrs. Karen came up to her again with another hug, and said, "Tell your grandson it's from His Heavenly Father." "I will." The woman quietly replied.

I watched her walk out, tears still in my eyes. Suddenly I couldn't wait! I couldn't wait for the next person to come in, to see what God had for them. To see what God had for me.

The Bible says, "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights...." James 1:17

Even Christmas gifts.


My friend, don't ever think that your donation to God's work, no matter how small, is not important. God's plans are so much bigger than ours, and even the smallest things given in the name of Jesus mean so much to someone else.