In Which I Contemplate the End

My baby girl has been fussy today. As she finally fell asleep in my arms, I breathed a sigh of relief, stood up to take her to her bed, and gently laid her down. Two minutes later, she was calling for me. Nothing too frantic, so I waited to see if she would settle back down.

She didn't. Her wails got louder and louder and with each passing moment her anxiety and frustration at not being heard was increasing. I went to pick her up, and as soon as I did, the cries abated.

It struck me. The cry of my baby girl at wanting to be picked up and held by someone who loves her echoes the cry of my heart for our Lord to take His people home! To be eternally in the presence of our Abba Father.

John 14:1-6 "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going." Thomas said to him, "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

Can you imagine? A room of your own in the very house of God? Some Bible translations use the word "Mansions" instead of "rooms," I'd be happy with either one! A forever home in a place of peace & beauty, where there is no sorrow, sickness, or sin. To exist forever in the physical presence of the God that we believe in but have not seen.

The time is coming soon, friend. We are living in a world that stands on the brink of extinction either by the hand of God or by the hand of ourselves. Our nations possess devastating weapons, and our medical technology is failing us. Illnesses are resistant to our medications and current acceptable sexual standards allow for the rampant spread of debilitating and/or fatal illnesses. I look forward to the day when I will either be "snatched up" to meet Him in the clouds, or at the end of my mortal days when I stand before Him to begin eternity. 

1 Thessalonians 4:15-18 "According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words."

The time is coming soon. Won't you come with me?

I found peace. Have you?

Praying. Searching. Begging, pleading, to the Creator of this world, the ultimate Artist.

I know He's there. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. He's there because I can feel it. His presence is in every detail, in every coincidence that is too coincidental to be coincidence. It's a plan. His plan. His plan for me.

I found peace. Have you?

I found it in stories of Noah and the Ark, of Feeding the 5,000 with a single lunch basket, of the short little man Zaccheus who climbed a tree to see Jesus.

I found peace. Have you?

I see it in my children's eyes. In their bubbling laughter. How can love and laughter exist without someone who IS love and laughter to create it? 

I found peace. Have you?

In the midst of moments of desperation, of aggravation, of overwhelming depression-  I HAVE FOUND PEACE.

Have you?

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His one and only son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but shall have everlasting life." -John 3:16

If you want to know more about the peace that I have found, please let me know. I'd love to talk with you about it.

A Family Project

Moving to a new place brings many challenges. Preparing for a new baby brings many challenges. Challenges can lead to stress and families who get aggravated with each other. The solution? A Family Project!!

We decided to hang some bird feeders in our backyard. Our home backs up to a pine forest, and we see a variety of wildlife on a daily basis, so we thought we'd try to lure attract some of them to our yard, by bribing them with food.

My husband Gareth even let Chris have a turn with REAL TOOLS.

I even passed the camera over to Gareth so that I could not only photograph the event, but participate.

It was a nice way to spend the evening laughing together, with the promise of many hours of bird-watching to come.

In Which "That Kid" learns how to become "A Good Man."

Today, my child was "That Kid."

That Kid that tries to duck under the rope blocking everyone from the dinosaur bone exhibit.

That Kid who was throwing sand where all the other kids were nicely using brushes to "discover" the dinosaur bones.

That Kid who climbed up onto the ledge of the balcony over a 3-story drop.

That Kid who kept running away from the rest of the group and bumping into people.

That Kid who wouldn't let anyone else have a turn at the water pump exhibit.

That Kid who kept sticking his hands all over the glass, making handprints right in front of the rare species of frog so no one else could see it.

Today, I was "That Mom."

That Mom who can't keep her kid under control.

That Mom who never smiles.

That Mom who doesn't speak in soft, quiet, tones, but rather yells and screams.

That Mom who must be clueless.

Today, I was also "That Mom."

That Mom who wanted to enrich her child's life by providing an educational activity with friends, rather than sitting at home in front of the TV all day.

That Mom who is trying desperately hard to instill values, such as obedience, respect, kindness, and self-control, in a rambunctious 4-year old.

That Mom who has to scare her kid with death, because death is the only thing he is afraid of, and there was no other way to prevent him from climbing onto the ledge of a balcony overlooking a 3-story drop, except to tell him that if he fell, he would die.

That Mom who slaps the hand of her child when he touches something he shouldn't, because he hasn't responded to verbal commands to do so.

That Mom who had to put on her "loud voice" because her child ran way ahead of everyone in a large crowd.

That Mom who put her kid in time out when they got home so she could write this blog post and clear her head a little.

Because,

One Day "That Kid" will become a responsible citizen.

One Day "That Kid" will understand how to respect authority.

One Day "That Kid" will realize that he has to be considerate of other people.

One Day "That Kid" will have the self-discipline to keep himself out of dangerous predicaments.

One Day "That Kid" will be "A Good Man."

So if I have to be "That Mom" to teach "That Kid" how to become "A Good Man," it's all worth it.

In Which I Employ An Archaic Method Of Paying For Goods And Services

Every now and then, a series of circumstances come together in such a way to let us know that the universe is trying to tell us something.

This happened to me today. My good pal Jessica informed me that there were some big sales going on at our local mall, so I drove on over. Lucky me, two of my very favorite stores were having some pretty awesome sales! I eagerly tried on a few clothing items, and selected my favorites. They fit well, were comfortable, and perfect for summertime. I wait in a LONG line. My child waits in the long line with me and manages not to wreak havoc. I approach the register. I am asked by the sales clerk, "Will you be using your Our Company Name credit card today?"

"Why, yes, of course I am!" I smugly hand over the card. I have been a proud card-holding member at this establishment for nearly ten years. It is my go-to place, the place I know the clothes will fit and will last a long time. The perky sales clerk hands my card back to me and chipperly says, "I just have to call this in." I ask her if there is a problem. "Probably just because of your address change" she replies. (Prior to running the card, she takes my phone number at the register and has me verify contact information, you know, so that Big Brother can keep watch over me they can send me coupons.) After a couple of minutes she hands the phone to me. Apparently, because I haven't used the card in quite some time, it was deactivated. In order to reactivate it, they have to check my credit report again. Fine, fine, I tell them. I hand the phone back to the perky sales clerk. Bless her little heart.

Now she asks me for another method of payment. "It will take a few days to reactivate the card."

Argh.

I hand over a different card. Declined.

I hand over yet another card. Declined. (My face and neck are growing quite red at this point.)

And yes, I hand over a THIRD card. Declined. (It would be appropriate at this juncture to mention that all 3 cards are from the same bank.)

WTH??? I just checked my account balances and everything is in order...

I call the customer service number on the back of the credit card. I hold up the entire line behind me. The perky sales clerk just says, "I'm going to suspend this order while you take care of this with the bank. We'll be happy to ring it up again once it's cleared up." I just smile at her and don't budge. I want these clothes, dadgummit!

One of the many headaches of moving involves updating your address with everyone in the whole world. While we did indeed update our address with the bank, I learn that two weeks ago they mailed me all new cards. To my old address. And deactivated the ones I have in my wallet. The dingleberries. How dare they??!!

I toss my phone into my purse with a hint of self-righteous indignation. Whereupon it lands on my checkbook. I so very rarely write checks anymore, and NEVER at stores, that I completely forgot that it was a viable option.

I wrote my check, which was processed electronically, in exactly the same way my debit card would have been processed,except for the fact that it had been deactivated two weeks ago when they sent me new cards to my old address.

And I brought home my new clothes.

In Which I Break Something

My kitchen has it in for me. Yesterday, my blender stopped working just after I prepared the ingredients to make Giada DeLaurentis' delicious, yummy Mint Cantaloupe Granitas. I've got a blender full of cubed cantaloupe doused with simple syrup which had been simmered with fresh mint leaves, just TAUNTING me in the fridge. I've got to blend it, then freeze it, before I can enjoy it on these nice hot summer days we're having down here. Alas, my blender is no more. It is an ex-blender, has joined the bleedin' choir invisible, and is pinin' for the Fjords. (I pity those of you who are not Monty Python fans and have no idea to what I am referring.)

Now today, as I am washing my dishes, I dropped a wine glass on the floor. It shattered into a zillion pieces. I began to weep. After I recovered my senses, I sweep up the visible bits, then fetch the vacuum cleaner to suck up the tiny little bits that I can't see but would inevitably make their homes inside innocent bare feet.

My vacuum is old and very, very, tired. It can't handle anything much larger than a crumb, or anything that is not soft, like dust or hair. It sucked up those shards, felt the sharp edges, and spat them back out at me. At my ankles. Leaving behind a trail of even smaller glass shards.

After I stopped cursing uttering expressions of disdain, I knew just what would come to the rescue. My Swiffer. (And no. Swiffer has not sponsored this blog post. However, if they would like to send me free stuff for sharing this story, I'll be happy to entertain such offers.)

So. Broken wine glass. Shards everywhere. Swiffer saves the day. Moral of the story?

Stop drinking wine. Stop washing the dishes.

In Which I Write A Poem

I am from sidewalk chalk, from worlds constructed of cardboard boxes where dragons and princesses reside.

I am from the brick house with bay windows, the one where you sit in the backyard with Mom, sipping iced tea, watching the sun go down.

I am from the Redwoods, the Sequoias, the mountain streams along which I sit on a boulder and gaze into the depths, contemplating growing up and fear and uncertainty.

I am from Sunday potlucks, patriotism, and self-respect. From Kales and Beechers and Copelands and Daniels.

I am from the stubbornness which requires that I have the last word, and I am from the humility which makes me admit when my last word was the wrong one.

From "Be smarter than the...(insert whatever object was giving me a hard time)" to be clever and come up with a solution to a problem rather than whining about it, and from the freedom felt when I finally got it through my head that people could only control my feelings if I allowed them to.

I am from the Lord who made me.

I'm from Mississippi and Europe, sweet potato souffle and Key Lime pie.

From the time my grandfather took me to the popcorn shop and bought me a whole big bag of blueberry flavored popcorn just for me, and from the time I thought back on that memory when I was told he had gone on to heaven.

I am from musty photo albums that smell of blueberry popcorn, from mountain air scented with moist earth and the color of lightning bugs. I am from the spiraling, the turning, the constant motion as the second-hand ticks by on my wooden clock.

I am from the sound of my son's voice as he calls "Mommy! Come play with me!" So I shall stop writing now.

(I found the template for this poem over here after reading one over at Adventures in Babywearing. Give it a try yourself, you'll be surprised at the memories that come to you!)