"Jesus said yes"

Today I went to a nursing home with some ladies from my Bible study group. Two of us took our children with us. We took doughnuts and business cards from church. I didn't really want to go, as I feel a little emotionally fragile sometimes after the loss of my Dad and my Grandma last year. I've never had any emotional baggage about visiting nursing homes, but suddenly this year it seemed difficult. However, the lady who arranged our little field trip lost her dad (who had been living in this nursing home) last week. So...I couldn't really wimp out when she was being so strong.

We learned from the nurses which patients were allowed to eat doughnuts, and we went room to room, just saying hello. In one of the last rooms we met a blind man. He didn't seem to be familiar with the word "doughnut" but he told us he had been praying for a "man of God" to visit him. He felt that we, five ladies with six children, were an answer to his prayer. He told us that he prayed for each staff member of the nursing home ("from the general manager to the housekeepers") and then he said "last week they put my wife in a grave." One lady stayed and prayed with him while the rest of us moved on.

On the way home, I talked with my kids about this man, because I didn't know if they had realized that he was blind, and I knew that my 7 year old had been a little worried about "the sad man". My 4 year old said, "That man prayed and Jesus said "yes!" to his prayer and He sent us! He was so sad and now he is happy." Of course at 4 she doesn't understand the sorrow of losing a spouse, but she does understand that Jesus answers prayer, and she felt that she was part of that answer. She felt that Jesus used her today.

The kids knew that they were going to "give gifts" (doughnuts) to the residents today. We didn't know that we would receive the gift of being used by Jesus.

I miss blogging

I started blogging just over a year ago. I was in a high stress period of life, which led to a grieving period. My blog was my outlet, my place to yell about the stress or chatter about something completely unrelated to it. Now the stress and the grieving have levelled off, and I'm just....tired. And forgetful. I think about my blog, and I wonder if I actually have something meaningful to say. I think of some silly chatter to blog while I'm doing dishes, but I forget it by the time I turn on my laptop.

I miss my little blogging outlet. Perhaps I can come back this afternoon.

Red Envelopes & Tea Bags

Last week I received an e-mail urging me to send an empty red envelope to the White House on a specified date as an anti-abortion message to the President. Today another e-mail recommended that we all mail tea-bags to Obama. I am wondering if I can save postage and put the teabag in the red envelope.

Seriously, though, what do the people behind these e-mails think they will accomplish with these wordless messages? It's certainly an easy way to feel that one has accomplished something, but it requires so little effort, and sends a rather uncertain message.

To be honest, I haven't sent any messages to Washington lately. But I am unconvinced that these teabags and envelopes will accomplish anything or even articulate their sender's desires for our country.

Gifts from God

What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead of a fish? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him?" (Luke 11:11-13)

Did you ever notice that Jesus didn't say that fathers always give their children fish when they ask for fish?

Sometimes when my children ask for Captain Crunch cereal mid-afternoon, I think about the cheerios they had at breakfast, the sandwich they had at lunch, and the popcorn they had for a snack--and I give them an apple instead of yet another starchy food.

God gives good gifts--they just aren't always what we were expecting.

Precious New Birth

I've been reading about St. Paul's conversion on the road to Damascus, and thinking about conversions in general. Some people (like Paul) met God in such a spectacular way, and others (like me) met Him in rather ordinary circumstances. I wondered why we don't all get the bright light and the voice from the sky.

Today I was talking to a pregnant mom, and of course the conversation turned to birth, and I shared with her a few details about one of my children's births. On the way home I thought about how precious birth stories are to women--whether the story includes a dramatic intervention at a hospital or woman's own quiet bedroom. The moment your child enters the world is unforgettable.

The Lord must see it that way too. Whether we are "born again" with bright lights or a whispered prayer, He loves and treasures each of us. Perhaps our earthly definition of "dramatic" is different from His.

Psalm 116:15 tells us that the death of a saint is "precious in the sight of the Lord". I'm guessing the new birth of a saint is just as special to Him.

vomit and Kmart

Yesterday my four year old Rose said her tummy hurt but she was running around, eating normally, and I began to think "my tummy hurts" was an attention getting device. So we planned to go to church as usual, and we stopped at KMart on the way. Suddenly in the check out line she said "Oh, I just want to sit down! My tummy HURTS! I'm going to throw up!" And she did, all over the end of the checkstand. The cashier stared at us. I asked for paper towels but he did not respond. Another customer brought me two paper towels. Still the cashier just stood there. And he asked "Is she sick or something?" (What should I have said? "No, she's allergic to unhelpful cashiers"?)

Two paper towels were not enough to wipe off Rose's church dress, and I tried to use plastic bags to clean up both my daughter and the checkstand. The cashier rang up the next customer and said "Don't worry, I won't get your stuff in THAT," glancing at the vomit and glaring at me.

I realize it's not a fun experience to have vomit on your checkstand, but I've worked retail. It's part of life. The stores I worked in had maintenace employees or courtesy clerks who had to come running with paper towels and cleaning products to take care of this sort of thing. I used to be one of those courtesy clerks. Glaring at customers was not part of the cleanup process.

dinner out

Last night my husband and I went to a restaurant that we can't afford very often. It is an environment where we always feel special, and the tone of the restaurant has always been pleasant and cultured. Last night the food was fabulous as always, but at the next table were five very loud uncultured men. One especially annoying man kept boasting about business deals and from the way they were ordering drinks and multiple appetizers, he was planning on spending quite a lot that night. He also admired a woman he could see sitting at the bar. He asked the waiter to find out what the woman was drinking, order another drink, and tell her it was waiting for her...at his table! After several messages sent via the waiter, it seemed the woman was a sensible intelligent person who was going to stay far away from the raucous individuals at the next table, but eventually she walked past on her way to the restroom, then came back and sat at their table! Four of the men suddenly had to go have a smoke, leaving the boasting millionaire alone with the woman who I was no longer considering an intelligent sensible person.

My husband and I tried to consider the next table as a vaguely amusing glimpse of an unfamiliar culture, but it was annoying to have this going on during what we'd thought would be a quiet dinner. We did overhear a waiter asking them to tone it down a little for the sake of the other patrons. We didn't complain, it didn't seem very couth to pick up our plates and move across the restaurant in the middle of dinner, so we stayed put.

But when our bill arrived... it was brought by the manager rather than the waiter, and he said, "we're going to take care of your check tonight. We apologize for the next table--they get a little out of hand sometimes, and it may have detracted from your dining experience." The bill folder was empty. He also gave us his business card and asked us to call if we had any concerns.

Wow. If we hadn't already been very loyal fans of this restaurant, we would be now!

on my ipod today...

...I am playing Celtic Thunder's Heartland over and over.


lyrics here:

http://www.lyricsreg.com/lyrics/celtic+thunder/Heartland/

being a doormat

Today I am thinking about the character quality of humility, which I understand as having a correct view of your own identity and position. I remember hearing "humility doesn't mean being a doormat." Come to think of it, this "doormat" phrase comes up in discussions about submission and meekness too. I've heard over and over again that I don't have to be a doormat. But...is it such a bad idea?

A doormat may be beautiful or practical, colorful or plain, seasonal or year-round. But when you think about it, a doormat's main function is to draw attention to the door. No one ever stays outside your home just looking at the doormat. No, the doormat is there to provide beauty and practicality and to say "Welcome, please come in". A doormat doesn't distract from the door, it just points the way and makes you feel welcome. Without a door, a doormat would be pointless.

I am the door.

If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved and will come in and go out and find pasture.

John 10:9

(I realize the metaphor is imperfect...in the spiritual life it is Jesus (the door) who removes the grime of the world when you enter. )

Housecleaning Help

Housecleaning does not come naturally to me. Other women seem to have a little inner voice that reminds them to do laundry or do the dishes after dinner. I don't have that voice. In times of stress or discouragement all thoughts of housekeeping fly away.

My skills have improved over the last few years...I'm caught up on laundry every week or two, and the dishes do get done every day, but not always put away.

When we left on our five-week vacation this summer, we left the house in pretty good condition...laundry caught up, counters cleared off, clutter under control. However, to reach that goal, we had tossed a lot of "stuff to sort out later" into boxes, placing them in the school room and the garage.

We came back home in August and I was determined to jump in, sort out the "later" boxes, and keep the house in a "drop in any time" state. I woke up the first morning at home with a terrible neckache. When I recovered, I'd lost a week, and I got the news that a good friend back in Oregon had passed away. Various physical and emotional stresses followed over the next two months.

Now I'm beginning to feel that I've climbed out of the tunnel, but just trying to keep up with the routine chores and my napping needs has kept me from taking care of the "later" boxes or much of anything else.

So....on Wednesday I have help. Three ladies will come for an hour and a half to scrub and dust and mop and vacuum. Yes, I am paying them. I've been de-cluttering in preparation for this and I am excited!

about Fireproof

I wanted to say something about Fireproof, but this guy has already expressed my thoughts.

It's great that someone is making Christian movies. It's great that there's an audience for them. I'm just tired of the "you must see this"attitude from other Christians, and the idea that a few action scenes will allow you to trick your husband into attending a venue that will include two hours of preaching. My friend tried this. Her husband was very angry with her.

I also found this review, which states:

Fireproof isn’t merely preaching to the already converted; it’s helping to
further alienate the unconverted and the skeptical. I doubt that was the
intention, but it pretty much is the result with films such as these. The
simplistic and often self-righteous tone is off-putting.

In the blogging world today....

I appreciated reading a love letter at We are That Family,

a story of worshipping while weary at Harvesting Hope from Heartache,

a three-year-old's horror at finding ants in the bathroom at Rocks in My Dryer,

and thoughts on a culture war at Donald Miller's blog.


Now I will leave the blogosphere and re-enter the world of dishes and laundry.

rewards of service

Last week I attended my Grandma's graveside memorial service. It was a perfect autumn day in the Pacific Northwest with glimpses of blue sky between tall evergreens. Grandma was buried in a little country cemetery near the home she had shared with her husband in the 1930s. Her husband's family were pioneers in an area that remains rather rural: a few homes, a school, a tavern, a church (without a pastor at the moment), and a Bible camp make up the community.

As we left the service, my best friend said to me, "Your family is here because of you." We were walking towards the Bible camp where a luncheon was being held for Grandma's family members and friends. I had to think awhile about what my friend meant.

When I was thirteen, I was asked to volunteer in the kitchen at Bible camp. The hours were long but I found it fun, and I returned the next summer for several weeks, and by the time I was eighteen I spent the entire summer at camp, volunteering in various capacities depending on the week's guests. The rewards of working at Bible camp were obvious: fun times and good friends. (In fact, I met both my best friend and my husband at camp.) I had to move on to paid employment when I was nineteen, but my dad retired that year and suddenly he was interested in volunteering at camp.

When my mom died, my dad was lonely and went to camp every chance he could. A new manager came to camp and my dad adopted the manager's family when my husband and I moved far away. Last spring, that manager and his family helped my dad with his final move to an assisted living center. When my dad died, the camp manager spoke at the graveside service, and offered the camp as a location for the memorial service. My dad's family was impressed with the service and my two organized aunts got the camp manager's phone number, saving it for a future need.

That need was last week's service. The same camp manager spoke at Grandma's memorial service, sharing the good news of Jesus with my family--many of whom have never shown much interest in spiritual things.

Without the contact with the camp manager, who would my family have called on for the service? Where would we have gathered for lunch (none of us live in the area)?

When I was thirteen, I didn't think I had much to offer. I didn't think I had any talents, and when I worked at camp I was just the kitchen "go-fer", not even a cook--yet the choice I made to serve that week eventually resulted in fifty people sitting in a sunny cemetery hearing about Jesus.

Lord, remind me to keep serving You.

Works for Me Wednesday

Rocks in My Dryer hosts Works-for-me Wednesday, a chance for bloggers to share helpful hints on many subjects.

My bathtub is my favorite place to take a mini-vacation. Today I'm sharing a simple way to keep the bathtub clean. As your bathtime draws to a close, grab your bath puff and put a little shampoo on it (I use a natural shampoo with tea tree oil and lavender). Quickly wipe off the edges and the sides of the tub. After you exit the tub, add a little water to your puff, a tiny bit of shampoo, and wipe the bottom of the tub. This works well in my jetted bathtub (which does not have a shower attached).

Check out this week's book give-a-way.

answering questions

A recent comment asked me "what is an HP gal?"
I'm a member of the Hannah's Prayer forums at hannah.org, a ministry for women who have experienced infertility, pregnancy loss, SIDS, and adoption loss. HP is "Hannah's Prayer." This was certainly confusing to me when the Homeschool Forum I belong to was discussing Harry Potter, and referring to him by those same initials!

In the book giveaway, if you mention the person who referred you, I will give them another entry in the contest.

Remembering Robin

Our oldest child is an 8 year old named Robin. Robin was due September 9, 2000, but the Lord took Robin to heaven sometime before February 4, 2000. I remember the joy and excitement of that first pregnancy--dancing around the kitchen with my husband when I told him we were pregnant (with LeeAnn Rimes in the cd player, singing "You Light Up My Life"). I remember the naive confidence that because I saw two lines on a pregnancy test, I would soon hold a baby in my arms. I always pictured this baby as a girl. I still do... I always imagine Robin dressed in a red dress, skipping through red and yellow tulips in heaven.

Losing Robin--and another baby, Hope, a few months later--sent me into a dark tunnel that Faith's birth brought me out of in late 2001. Life has gone on to a new chapter, and my grief for Robin and Hope is no longer a huge wound to be bandaged daily...but I will always have a scar.

Today I was thinking about Robin as I drove the kids home from church, and listening to a CD I hadn't heard for awhile. "Come Unto Me" began to play, and I remembered listening to that song and being comforted by it eight years ago...and then I heard Faith singing along. "I love this song, Mama," she said. And I was comforted.

Back to School

Today was our first day of second grade for Faith, and the first day of preschool for Rose and Joy. We're using Little Hands to Heaven for preschool, and it uses several Bible story books, introducing the letters of the alphabet through the Bible stories. Today we learned about A-A-Adam. We also listened to a song from The Singing Bible. I encouraged the girls to move around during the music. Rose retreated to the couch to hold her baby (she's tired today due to a nosebleed interrupting her sleep), but Joy and Faith danced and skipped around the livingroom. Joy is 2 1/2 and she kept saying "This is a-fun! This is a-fun!"

We're using A Beka for Faith's second grade. I've tried less traditional programs, but A Beka works best for her. Today we did math, phonics, and writing. Phonics will be every-other-day, alternating with language. Next week we'll add history, spelling, and reading, and the following week we'll start science.

Today we were done with preschool and 2nd grade lessons in an hour and a half.

Faith is sometimes stressed by the thought of trying new activities. This is the year she'll be learning cursive, and I was a little stressed thinking about her being stressed by that. So today I gave her a worksheet to trace. It simply has her name in cursive on one side and the cursive alphabet on the other side, enclosed in a sheet protector for easy tracing (and erasing) with dry erase pens. I told her the alphabet was just for looking at, but she needed to trace her name each day. Amazingly, she did this with no complaints or worries. And after school was done she asked for the "special pens" again so that she could do more tracing. She wanted to work on more cursive letters!

Labor Day

Rocks in My Dryer has questions about Labor on her blog. I borrowed them. You can too; just check Rocks in My Dryer at the preceding link.

How long were your labors?
Good question. With the last two, I had contractions off and on for 3 weeks.

Daughter #1:
I got to the hospital in the early afternoon, daughter was born the next morning at 3:05.
Daughter #2: light contractions all night, one hour of being uncomfortable the next morning, water broke, and 15 minutes later we had a baby. Easy. Fun.
Daughter #3: called the midwife at 6 p.m., daughter was born at 10....something. Or was it 9 something. The pregnancy fog never cleared from my brain.

How did you know you were in labor?
Contractions increased in frequency and intensity.

Where did you deliver?

First daughter: in a hospital, in a birthing tub.
2nd and 3rd: at home. In a birthing tub. 2nd dd would have been born at home whether we planned it or not...so I'm glad we planned it that way!

Drugs?
No. The birthing tub is all I need.

After baby is born, I always have a piece of pie. It's great: the first really enjoyable taste in 9 months.

Who delivered?
Daughter #1: Nurse practitioner midwife.
2 and 3: Home birth midwife.
I loved both of them, and was barely aware of their presence during delivery....all three deliveries were perfect. Actually the phrases "the doctor delivered" or "the midwife delivered" are confusing to me. Perhaps other women have births like the ones I see on tv with the doctor yelling commands. I have not had that experience or the need for instruction during the birthing process. Pregnancy is difficult for me....birth has been a breeze.

timid tastebuds?

I saw an advertisement last week that I found disturbing. On the back of a Time magazine was an ad for a photo-developing website. The picture showed a man and a woman holding a glossy photo book, pointing at a picture of a hamburger. The text below described the couple's joy at finding "the best hamburger in Beijing", thanks to a thoughtful friend who made them a photobook to use when they didn't know the Chinese word for what they were seeking.

I find it mind-boggling that an American couple travelling through China would desire a hamburger. I can understand that if one lived in a foreign country, one might occasionally crave the food of home. But are the culinary horizons of American tourists really that narrow? Are we so arrogant that we expect our national cuisine to follow us around the globe? I cannot imagine seeking out a hamburger (available at dozens of restaurants in my hometown, not to mention easily prepared in my home kitchen) while halfway across the world, surrounded by culinary adventures that are only available in that exotic location.

The only explanation I can think of is that some people have very timid tastebuds.

Daybook Monday

FOR TODAY, August 18, 2008
Outside My Window... 87 degrees, with a few clouds
I am thinking... I need to enjoy my husband's last two days of vacation
I am thankful for... coffee
From the kitchen... biscotti
I am wearing... my pj's. Don't judge me. It's still vacation.
I am creating... a clean desk so I can scrapbook.
I am going... absolutely nowhere.
I am reading... The Elusive Mrs. Pollifax
I am hoping... to clean the school room.
I am hearing... Elmo. One of the more annoying voices in children's television.
Around the house... there is a bongo drum in our living room.
One of my favorite things... a cuddly four year old who at the moment prefers my company to her sisters.
A Few Plans For The Rest Of The Week: I'm still thinking about Today. The rest of the week will care for itself.

Simple Woman's Daybook is hosted here.