I’m being featured on a dear friends professional blog tomorrow and Friday. I’m so full of excitement I can’t stand myself and neither can just about anyone else. So take a look see and sample my handiwork over yonder on the morrow http://www.littlepageturners.com/

Just as a quick by line to the previous blog posting, I am suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhhhh a procrastinator. But the ideas are still coming for a revamp. I’m just fleshing them out and weighing the options. I know I should jump in both feet but that usually produces trouble for me.

So to the subject at hand. As a woman, I am prone, as most of my married female colleagues, to take the temperature of my marriage periodically to see how it’s doing, how I’m doing, how the kids are affected by how it’s going and so on and so on. This is usually preceded by some irritable phase I have been in that has caused me to behave poorly and winds up with poor results on the husband end that I focus on more than my own foibles. Still with me?? So in an effort to better myself as I am the only one I can truly change, I picked up a book that has been REPEATEDLY recommended to me and read it on our trip down to Fl.
Now lemme preface this with the fact I have read many books upon the subject of marital matters and as of yet have been really unimpressed. Two samples I’ll give you are Love Languages and Love & Respect. My issues with the first are that we in some form give and receive love in all those languages so I found all points to be moot and half way through the book “donated” it to “good will” I hope whoever bought it saw something better in it than I did. My issues with the second were specific to the marriage I enjoy. We don’t get into the crazy cycle that that book is pretty much centered around. From the first days of our marriage I have enjoyed for 12 and 1/2 years of mutual respect and servanthood from my husband. He’s pretty laid back and awesome, I’m pretty high strung, we kind of balance each other out in a weird way. I think that’s allowing God the reigns of this endeavor. It’s not perfect all the time and we screw up with each other. But there is a willingness to yield, apologize, ask forgiveness and seek the other’s own good above our own. An unspoken agreement to be happy rather than to be right. So for us, not such a good book. However, I think many couples caught in the wheel of craziness could benefit from the advice written inside the binding of that particular book and know that many have and it has changed lives as well as marriages.
So I cracked open the pages of “Sacred Marriage” by Gary Thomas with a load of skepticism. He blew me out of the water. What I found beyond the psychobabble of a therapist, and the preachyness of a pastor, was the layman’s terms of a husband and father in the trenches of real life experience relating his walk. He poses the question very astutely of whether or not our marriage was meant to make us more holy than happy. I firmly agree with him that in pursuit of holiness, by default our marriage becomes a happy, comfortable, trustworthy partnership. Much of which Fred and I have pondered over the years about what makes our relationship solid was covered in the pages of this remarkable read, but much more was presented and my brain has been reeling with the thoughts.
In addition to having read this, our pastor has begun a new series and today’s installment was about building your house upon a rock. How many times growing up in church did you hear about the wise man and the foolish man, sand and rock, songs of the parable and so on and so on?? For me it was TONS of times, and yet today it took on a new ring, a new perspective. My life over the last 12 and 1/2 years certainly has not looked at all the way I’d imagined it would. No rose colored glasses here and certainly enough storms to threaten my very existence let alone the strength of the bond between my husband and I. So it got me to thinking, yet again, about this marriage of mine and how after all these years it is standing solidly.
Here’s my perception of it’s stability. When Fred and I met, lo those 13 and some years ago I’ve made no secret that I was a less than desirable human being on all fronts. Loathsome in fact I think is a more accurate description. You don’t need the gory details, just trust me that it’s true and there are all too many witnesses to attest to it. But what you may not know, aside from the very first time I laid eyes on him, is the countless hours we spoke on the phone in the middle of the night while he worked third shift and I should’ve been sleeping. For some unknown reason all of the darkness in me spilled into Fred’s ear. Every dastardly, slovenly, wicked, unimaginable misdeed I ever had the misfortune to make came tumbling out of my mouth and into our conversations. On several occasions I can very clearly recall the silences that followed such dissertations and a few times in person, I can very vividly recall the look of disgust on his face. Beyond all of that, was an overwhelming compassion in his eyes and often tears as I laid my soul bare before him. God for some reason had made Fred my confessor and Fred in my darkness was a light pointing straight to the One who would bear my burdens and cleanse my heart and make me a new creature. He was God’s earthly evidence of unconditional love. Fred knew literally every detail of evil in my heart and yet somehow found a child of God in the midst of it and he loved me in spite of and I think because of who I was and who I became.
So 9 months after we began dating and Fred proposed it was with awe in my heart that I accepted him. He had already proven trust and unfailing love to me and I knew that with him I was safe. Early into our pre-marital counseling we agreed that marriage was worth nothing if it was not based on and entirely given over to the Lords leading. We have striven every day of every year to be honest and true and faithful to that promise to each other. And as a testament to the covenant that we made, we are still standing and standing together. Life has hit us with some pretty awesome storm and Satan has taken every advantage to shake us, but here we are.
I cannot imagine what the days and years ahead of us hold. I can believe harder and tougher trials as a certainty lie before us. But if we continue as we have begun, if we are dilligent to allow God the reigns, if we are transparent and willing to serve each more than ourselves, then our years ahead are looking pretty good even in spite of the forecast. Oh, and it is a total bonus that he’s just as good looking now as the day I first saw him round the back of that volleyball court mere moments before he drove a volleyball into my throat.

A ton of my friends recently have joined the world of professional blogging. There are innumerable themes and subject matter to encompass and channel their creativity and they write up to 3 times a week. I was beginning to get inspired and then came face to face with my procrastinatory self who said, “3 times a week?? Ambitious are we? And what subject shall you choose o’ audacious blog creator? Can’t pick one can you??” So I turned away from the mirror a bit dejected and tried to push the matter under the carpet. Trouble is, all my friends are bloggin along and creating quite their own following for their little niche in the writing world. And I’m pea green with envy.
I have too many hobbies and interests to choose just one to run with. I know too many people and am involved in too many activities to pick just one to create a subject line. So what on earth would my professional blog look like?? I can’t even think of a title to encompass it all. Or wait, perhaps I can. A little over a year ago I started a blog to purge out my soul. It’s an invitation only kind of place as I can only trust what’s there to a special few who know me well and I feel I can be vulnerable with and safe in it. But the title of that blog just sums up my life. I think I am going to and clean it out and create a little place for myself to try a little professional journaling with an underlying theme to be a catch all for me. I may even have days specifically set aside for one subject matter.
As for this blog, I will try to keep it to family matters. Funny things those crazy kids of mine do and the moments that being their mom fills me with wonder and awe.
We’ll see. But knowing me, I may procrastinate, and it could be next month before I get it up and running or next year before I remember I even wrote this blog about it. And sheesh, two blogs to keep up with may just fry me all together. Who knows.

I have rewritten this about a hundred times and still don’t feel I’ve adequately captured the wonder of this Christmas to be able to share with you. There was so much worry and anxiety and just plain dejection anticipating the day that I hadn’t the slightest hope of actually experiencing anything happy about it at all really. But there was such a peace and a calm to our morning. Even in the midst of their excitement the boys were beyond patient waiting to get pictures taken and opening things at a more slow pace than we usually do. Each of the boys was equally delighted at what the other had gotten in addition to the gifts they’d recieved themselves. There wasn’t the usual chaotic shredding of paper and squeals and hyper craziness that usually ensues once we hit the floor. It was just beyond joy to spend the morning delighting in our family and the opportunity to share it together.
This year more than most I felt the importance of what the season meant. Not the gifts under our tree, not the decorations, or the lights, or the parties, or the food, but the baby in the manger who was a gift for us all. I truly felt the magnitude of what Christ has given to me in Himself and the bonus of the love of my family and friends as an added measure just because He loves me so much. I pray your holiday was as full and that the year holds for you constant reminders of Christs ever lasting, ever pursuing, ever faithful, ever constant love of you.

Merry Christmas and Happy New year!

This is the first year I’ve forgotten. Usually the date stands out on the calendar for me. You would have been 5 this year. I wonder who you were and if you were another son or a daughter. I was so excited when I realized you were coming and had planned a special way to tell everyone at the holidays. Even your dad. It was the first time I’d ever been able to keep that kind of secret. Usually I see those 2 pink lines and I can’t contain myself and have to tell the whole world. But nearly as soon as I knew, at 9 weeks, you were gone . I had to take John with me to the doctors office and call your Uncle Matt to get hold of your dad to meet me there. And I had to tell your dad that you were coming and then you were gone all in the same moment. It was so awful. It was emotionally and physically one of the worst days of my life. And until this year, the day comes and I remember you and wonder about you and find myself jealous that God has you up there with Him and you can’t be here with us and your brothers. But this year it’s nearly a week past and I’m not sure what finally reminded me. I wonder if you’ve met your grandaddy up there already and if you two get to play with each other. He’s an awesome guy and you get to have him exactly as he ought to be. I’m really jealous of that too. You two get to share this Christmas together for the first time. How great is that?? It’s hard not to be sad missing you both so very much, but I have great peace knowing the hurt will be a little less as the years go by and as the years pass I am closer to meeting you and being reunited with all of the family I love that has gone on. I miss you little one. Momma loves you. Merry Christmas

It has not felt like Christmas this year. My heart full of dread since Thanksgiving, wondering how I”m going to put a face on for the boys and pull myself into holiday cheer for their sakes when not one fiber of my being feels the least bit celebratory. Lights have gone up early everywhere, Christmas music has been playing since October it seems and people are bustling about baking and shopping and anticipating. Everyone but me. I have been procrastinating. Putting things off til I can’t possibly ignore it anymore and the kids are begging. I have at least 3 meltdowns privately a day. Where my heart breaks and the tears come spilling out in floods and I cannot stave them off a minute more and find a quiet place to let them run as I hide it. No one wants to see you down at the holidays. I don’t wanna constantly remind people of the losses this year and become a constant pitty party. But grief is an arduous and long process that seems never to have an end in sight. It isn’t just the first Christmas without dad, this year has been so full of eternal goodbyes, and friends moving away, and family members with major illnesses and tragedy and grief have been a constant procession. Just when I think my heart will get a break or a rest, some new catastrophe rips it open again and I feel I will never break free of the awfulness.
But I look back and realize that even in the midst of the pain of this year, there have been moments of such pure joy that my cup has been full to overflowing. Our children have grown in knowledge and in character and their accomplishments bring me such pride in their achievements. And while they have moments where they don’t listen and you repeatedly have to remind them to do certain chores or homework or other things, they have moments of such tenderness and thankfullness that I stand amazed at who they are becoming. There are moments when Luke prays and the honesty in his heart is humbling and inspiring. When the guitar in John’s hands transforms him as the music envelopes him and he takes flight in the melodies. You can see the greatness he will be, burgeoning inside of him. I walk in in the morning and the delight beaming out of Noah’s eyes is palpable and tangible. He is bright and funny and theatrical, and a dare devil full of mischief and schemes even at this early an age. Every day there is some reminder in them of how much God must love me to have chosen Fred for my husband he and I to be their parents and to have chosen them to be our kids.
I started writing this about a week ago and our shopping is mostly done, we’ve done a bit of baking, attended several Christmas events. But it is two events in particular that have perched the spirit of Christmas into my soul. The first was a concert, an opportunity to corporately worship the Lord and remember the magnitude of what His birth meant. As the music ebbed and swelled my heart was carried to His throne and I could stand before Him and see the tears in His eyes as He wept in remembrance of this year with me. I knew that He stood with me through every terrible and awful minute and authored every good and perfect joy to whisper His love and His faithfulness into my bruised heart.
The other event was a play that a dear friend of mine and her daughters performed in. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, has been my absolute favorite Christmas story for a long long time and last year I bought her girls the book. They saw a flier at their school for a local theater house who was putting it on and insisted to their mother they had to try out. The girls each scored parts and Elaine was given the main role and anyone who knows her wouldn’t find that a shock. She was insanely amazing. The transformation of Elaine to Grace was seemless. But as I sat in the beautiful little playhouse watching the show, listening to the kids explaining to the rag tag bunch of forgotten children the story of Christmas, God was reminding me yet again what this season means to those who believe. I watched the Herdmans discover their own worth in the birth of a child who had every right to come in all His kingly glory and claim every throne on earth and command all the riches contained here, and yet he came so humbly, so relateably, so much like themselves.
A star in the sky announced to the world that our Savior was born and those outside God’s first chosen family were being adopted in to His bloodline, to become His children. Emmanuel come to earth as man to experience our hurts and pain, and to rescue us from every minute of our self destructive behaviors. He came and left homeless, owning nothing, giving everything. He came, the Creator of the universe, not as a great and noble king, but as a cold, hungry, baby, born to parents who were overwhelmed and confused and tired and dirty and who had nothing but themselves to offer Him. He came as a servant to us all. Seeking to heal our wounds, bind our hurts, fill our bellies, cleanse our hearts, and save our souls. And in the end, Santa, the presents, the lights, the cookies, the dinners, the family dramas, the painful memories, the everyday crushing life experiences, don’t matter one iota, because the King of all came humbly to ask me what He could do for me. To single me out, to call me by name, to love me completely, fully, with every breath of His life, death and resurrection, He became mine, and I am His and I strive daily to live in Him so that you see where He begins, and I end.
So I close wishing a Merry Christmas to you all and may you find the Savior in the manger, has come to you, to single you out, to call you by name, to dry your tears, to heal your hurts and bind your wounds, to love you completely, fully, graced with His life, redeemed in His death, and eternal with His resurrection, all to save you, to make you His own, even if you were the only one guided by the star to kneel at the manger,

We’ve had a lot of difficulty of late with the boys arguing and talking nasty to each other. Luke can be a pest and John is short of temper and there’s just been a lot of snapping even toward Fred and I. So I was talking to the boys about it and explaining to them the importance of being a servant to each other and putting each others needs and wants before their own but not having much luck getting my point across. I hate to lecture ad-nauseum and try to find good object lessons to drive the idea home. It usually involves an analogy that has to do with bodily functions. They’re boys, you have to speak their language, and gas and laughter are generally it. But this time, it just wasn’t cutting the cheese, so to speak.
But I think I’ve hit upon genius if I do say so myself. Last night I sat down with both of them and made lists. Each of the boys had to come up with 10 ideas of something really nice they could do for their brother. Lemme tell you that part alone nearly made me wanna give up the idea. I never thought they would find that so hard. So with a few promptings from daddy about what they would like someone to do for them, we turned it around into something they could do for each other. After about a half an hour we had 20 great ideas. I took each paper and cut out each idea and folded it up and put them all into a jar.
I sat them down again and told them that from now on, when they talk ugly to each other, or are unkind to one another, they will go to the jar and pick out a piece of paper and whatever it says they will do for their brother. The ideas range from putting away each others laundry, to letting someone go first in everything all day, and buying a gift with their own money at the dollar store. Each time they have to go the jar and execute one of the deeds, the deed will be followed by a sincere apology to the offended party.
My hope is that the jar won’t have to be used as punishment for long and that they will come up with other ideas on their own to add to it and that each idea will become a habit and way of life for them in how they treat not only themselves but others around them. They really do get along most of the time and Fred and I often marvel at how much they enjoy and love each other without much of a thought to it. But we want always to encourage them to put other peoples needs before their own and most especially their brothers. I’ll keep you posted on the results of this experiment.

Doodleydoo I ponder anew
The things I should log in
And share with you
But the brain is daft
And the canvas is empty
And words run scarce
Where once there were plenty
The children are awesome
And steadily growing
And daily amuse me
When their wits start a-showing
They frustrate and confound me
In quite equal measure
And some days so much
I lose sight of their pleasure
The baby is chewing
A lamp cord for snack
And my cute little dirge
I’ll fold up and pack
Check in for a spell
Every now and again
I just may surprise
With quips from my pen

Last night whilst making the evenings repast, a horrific sound bounded and thudded down the stairs. Dropping everything in my hands I careen into the front hall certain I will find a bloody massacre. Instead I find Luke at the middle of the stairs chasing his pumpkin from his field trip. Heaving a sigh of relief and biting off the shriek mid breath, I ask if he’s okay and he looks at me like I am the stooooopidest parent on the earth and says, “yeah”. Later that evening Gramma asks Luke why he threw the pumpkin and Luke shrugs and replies matter of factly (and with a bit of incredulity), “It was the fastest way to get it downstairs.” He shall be source of all hairs white upon my head.