Patch

Had Scott been looking yesterday morning, this is what he would have seen coming toward him:

However, he wasn’t looking, and that adorable little finger of which you’re getting a close-up went into his eye, unimpeded by any flinching or blinking or other creative ways God has designed for us to protect our eyes. Consequently, today he is sporting a rather dapper eye patch over his moderate-to-severe corneal abrasion, courtesy of his doctor. (Side note: his doctor’s name was Ace. I thought that was cool.)

Poor guy. He’s in a lot of pain today. Pray for him, please.

Oh, and as another random side note, I want to say here that it was on the same day – August 30th – three years ago that Scott was struck by lightning.

Lightning, people. A bolt of lightning.

Do I have any authority whatsoever to just scratch August 30th from the calendar? Would they let me do that?

Eli Update

Dear friends, I am so sorry I haven't given an update on Eli in a bit. There hasn't been much to tell.....but now there is.......and it's very, very good news.

All I can say is that PRAYER WORKS.

The folks at the Children's Medical Center did more ultrasounds to see if there is a cyst or an abcess or anything in his abdomen......and they saw NOTHING. What had been there before was gone. GONE.

He's at home now - thank you, Lord - and doing well, as far as I know. He does have to go back to the hospital for the next couple of weeks for follow-up ultrasounds just to make sure nothing weird is going on, but for now, he's fine. No surgery. No other complicated procedures.

Thank you, sweet friends, for praying. It means the world to my family and me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Daddy’s Voice

On Sunday mornings, Leah spends a good bit of time in the nursery at church. With both of her parents actively involved in both services, we all have to be there all. morning. long; this was getting to be a bit much for her when she, too, had to sit through two services. She would much rather roll around on the floor with her noisy toys than sit confined in Mommy’s lap with one of her “quiet” toys for a couple of hours. I know, right? I don’t get it, either. Beats me.

In any case, she is always in the nursery for the second service, and recently has been allowed to play during the first service, too. (She is becoming increasingly vocal. It’s adorable, yes, but not good for maintaining the sanctity of worship.) I stay with her during the first service on most mornings, because once I finish with my welcome spiel and prayer, I’m not required to be in the gathering and let’s face it – two services, with a sermon and music and communion and everything in both – is a bit much for one morning. Besides, if I should choose to hear the sermon in the first service, I can do so through speakers that were recently installed in the baby room for the convenience of the workers and other moms.

This past Sunday, when I went to pick her up after worship, one of the nursery workers told me of her time in the nursery that day.

“She played very well. She was rolling around on the floor and we were all watching her when all of a sudden, she just stopped. She stopped everything and was just looking around and smiling and “talking” and all. We didn’t think much about it, but then we realized that she heard your voice over the intercom. She heard you talking in church and was trying to figure out where you were!”

I don’t think I have to tell you how that warmed this mama’s heart.

The nursery workers told me it was adorable that she recognized and responded to my voice that way. (I have to agree.) What is more interesting, to me, is that none of the other children in the nursery responded at all to my voice. They didn’t seem to even hear it, and it certainly didn’t get the same reaction from them that it did from Leah.

Why? Because I’m not their mommy, and they don’t know my voice. To them, my voice was just another noise contributing to the cacophony of nursery rhymes and bells and rattles. To them, my voice was nothing special. Nothing worth paying attention to. Nothing worth stopping for.

As I thought about it, I was struck by how profound this could be.

Really. How does Leah know my voice? Is it intuitive? No. It comes from hearing it day after day, all day every day. She knows my voice because she spends time with it. (She probably hears it in her sleep, as much as I talk to her throughout the day about nothing and everything all at once!)

I want to know God’s voice that well. I want to know God’s voice in a way that when I hear Him speak to me, I stop dead in my tracks, halting whatever I was doing, and listen. I want to know His voice in a way that when I hear Him speak, nothing is more important than hearing what He has to say to me right that second and heeding whatever it might be.

I want to stop everything to listen to Him. I don’t want anything to preoccupy me from hearing Him and really listening to what He says. I want my reaction to His presence to be so sudden and startling that everyone around me wonders what I could be doing. I want everyone to wonder what I’m listening to, and what is making me act that way. I want my reaction to His voice to touch others and make them want to listen, too. I don’t want anything I’m doing to get in the way of that.

And what's more, I think He would be pretty delighted for His child to respond that way.

Then Eli realized the Lord was calling the boy. So Eli told Samuel, “Go and lie down, and if he calls to you, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

The Lord came and stood there, calling as at the other times, “Samuel! Samuel!”

Then Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” (1 Samuel 3:8-10)

Shady

Dear Creepy Guy in WalMart Wearing Sunglasses,

You are not blind. I know this, because you were reading that package of cheese. Cheese packages don't come in Braille, so I thereby make this assumption and can proceed with the rest of my note to you without worrying that I'm going to offend you.

You are obviously aware that sunglasses provide you the ability to stare at people without them knowing it. What you apparently do not realize, though, is that this only works if your face is not pointed directly at them, and if you aren't stalking them through WalMart. It also only works without raising suspicion if you're wearing them in a place where sunglasses are needed.....namely, not WalMart.

Sunglasses only cover your eyes, my creepy shopping companion. I can't see your eyes, no, but I do see that your head is pointed in my direction every. single. time. I look in your direction.

Unless I have the uncanny ability to always be standing in front of what you want to look at, I'm going to have to ask you to stop it. For the love of all things, stop it.

You might be a very nice and normal person. If you are, please end the injustice you are doing yourself and take off the creepy glasses.....and stop staring at other shoppers. It gives the impression that you are creepy and sketchy and to be avoided. And if you're not nice and normal, please let me know when your normal shopping days are so that I can arrange my schedule accordingly.

Sincerely,
Me

When you can’t reach your toys…

…sometimes your pajamas will do. However, I must warn you…

…sometimes they don’t play fair.

“When We Were Little” Wednesday

When I was little, my sisters and I watched very little television. Very little. The little bit of TV we did watch was – for the most part – on PBS. We watched Sesame Street and Mister Rogers and Pinwheel…..classics. We didn’t get up and watch Saturday morning cartoons, and I don’t remember there ever being an issue of prying us away from the TV to go do our homework. We weren’t allowed to watch MTV or even Nickelodeon, because my parents didn’t like the content of the shows on that type of channel. (I hesitate to write this for fear of getting someone in trouble…..but sometimes we snuck and watched those when my parents weren’t home. Let’s be honest, though…..I think my parents knew. They weren’t nearly as clueless as we imagined.) I still claim to have been a PBS Kid. So much so, in fact, that when people find out about my love for Kermit the Frog, I have to correct them; they automatically assume I love Kermit from The Muppets…..but my love of the silly green guy comes from Sesame Street. (Seriously. A frog in a trench coat? What’s not to love?)

Looking back, I’m not sure how my parents kept us away from nonstop TV. My sisters and I were content with reading or playing outside or listening to music or playing with each other. I just don’t think we felt an overwhelming need for the “idiot box” (as my dad called it) to stimulate our minds. (Good thing……because how stimulating is it, really?)

I hope I can carry on this tradition with Leah. Scott and I talk all the time about how we don’t want her to have tons of video games and movies and things like that, because we want her – like us – to learn to entertain herself in other ways. We want her to grow up with dirty, calloused feet from running around the back yard. We want her to read, read, read. We want her to learn about her interests and develop them into hobbies and refined skills. I want her childhood memories to be of sunshine, storybooks, and silly games. I want her childhood memories to be as happy as mine are…..and not confined to one room of the house, in front of a box.

Note on Mister Linky (below): This is a feature that allows you - the reader - to participate in "When We Were Little" Wednesday. All you have to do is enter your name and information in the boxes, and a link will be displayed, showing you as a fellow reminiscer! (Is 'reminiscer' a word?) A link to your post on your blog will be displayed here! How fun is that?! You can also save and use my WWWL Wednesday logo, above. Thanks for playing along!

Please Continue Praying for Eli

Eli is on his way to the Children's Medical Center here in town. Apparently yesterday's antibiotics aren't doing the trick, and they aren't sure what he has. His doctor (who is wonderful and Leah's pediatrician, too) is thinking right now that he has a cyst somewhere between his belly button and his bladder. When Eli's bladder is full, the cyst would drain outward; when empty, the cyst drains into his bladder. If this is what it is, he will have to have emergency surgery. They're going to see if they can do an MRI to diagnose it, either way.

The little man is just a month old......he shouldn't be going through this.......

A Holy Rumble

This morning I was straightening my hair when, over the static white noise of the nearby baby monitor, I heard an incredible rumble as something drove by my house. I rushed to the window and although I could still hear the sound, the vehicle responsible for making the sound was gone. The noise lingered long after the vehicle was gone, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the truck (or whatever it was) had been nearly as impressive as the racket it created. As I repositioned myself and resumed working on my hair, I thought about what I had heard and was reminded of something from when I was probably about 17 years old.

My parents and I went to a festival at the army base near our home. We had heard of the festivities that would take place, and my parents (and the others at the event) seemed especially excited about a flyover that was scheduled for that morning. Apparently, it had been arranged for a B-1 bomber to make an appearance. As a skeptical teenager, I was neither excited when the plane appeared on the horizon nor impressed when it flew low over the crowd. Everyone around me ooh-ed and aah-ed as it went past, and I thought, “Good grief. These people need a life. What’s the big deal?” As we watched it disappear as quickly as it had come, the excitement in the crowd didn’t diminish….nor did my enthusiasm increase.

In just a few seconds, though, the sound of what had passed moments before finally reached us. My hands flew to my ears, my eyes became round and watery, my heart rumbled in my chest, the air was sucked from my lungs, and I became seriously concerned about the barbecue sandwich I had eaten for lunch. The noise, though it lasted only a second or two, was incredible. In the conditions for which the bomber was created, this feature was essential. Obviously, if an enemy heard such a noise they would know something was there; the plane had been designed in such a way that it could do its damage and be gone before its sound reached the ears of its target. The bomber that had caused the excitement had long since disappeared into the haze of the Georgia summer sky, but for several minutes after its mayhem had passed, I was awestruck. For the rest of the day, I talked about little else, as excited as a child on his first trip to the circus. I couldn’t get over how something that had at first done nothing to impress me could leave such an effect after it was gone. It was amazing to me.

Reflecting on this, I am reminded of my reaction, many times, to what God is doing in my life. So often, I am unimpressed by my circumstances and am consequently blind to the bigger picture. I don’t see all that God is doing – the people He is introducing, the events He is orchestrating, the tools He is implementing – until much later. In His wisdom, He remains invisible as He works, allowing me to make choices on my own and to live my life as I will. Once His work is finished, though, if I take the time to look, He allows me to see how He worked it all out and how it fits into a bigger picture for my life and His kingdom. The events of my life are unimpressive until the after-effects reach my awareness. His fingerprints are all over my life as I look back, and again I am awestruck.

I would love to have the same attitude about what God does in my life as a child does about his day at the circus, or as I did at a younger age when I witnessed an impressive piece of war equipment. I would love to remain in awe, amazed at how it all worked out and yammering on to anyone who would listen about the God who made it possible. I want to remember to look back frequently, allowing myself to again have my breath taken away and my stubborn skepticism erased by the face and handiwork of a sovereign Lord.

Then Moses said, “Now show me your glory.”

And the Lord said, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But,” he said, “you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.”

The the Lord said, “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.” (Exodus 33:18-23)

Update on Eli

Good afternoon, ladies, and thank you so much for praying for Eli.

We found out today that apparently, what Eli has is "your average, run of the mill staph infection," treatable by a round of antibiotics. Apparently it's not MRSA, as they had originally suspected.

This is terrific news.

He is being treated at a local hospital by IV antibiotics, and should be going home on Wednesday.....or at the very latest, Friday.

Thank you so much for praying. God is taking care of this little man as He does even the sparrows.

Urgent Prayer Request

I don’t know if anyone will read this tonight or in the morning before I get a chance to post again, but I had to post an extremely important prayer request.

Please, please, please say a prayer for our nephew, Eli, and his family. We don’t know a whole lot at this point, but he has been in the hospital since Friday. The little guy is a month old today.

What we know: His umbilical stump fell off a couple of weeks ago, but on Friday began bleeding uncontrollably. The pediatrician said it was a ruptured cyst that had gotten infected (or something like that), and sent them to the hospital. Since then, they have taken blood samples and cultures and all sorts of lab work, and we now know that it is a MRSA staph infection. There are apparently two types of this kind of infection: one of which is treated by antibiotics, the other of which would involve a more complicated procedure and a transfer to the nearby children’s hospital. We won’t know which it is until sometime tomorrow, at the earliest.

Please pray for him, his parents (Craig and Michelle), and his two older sisters (Jesse and Carlie). His parents are very concerned, tired, and stretched pretty thin while trying to take care of the girls and spend as much time as possible at the hospital. I’m not sure, either, how much the girls understand (they’re 4 and 3). Also please pray for Scott’s parents, as they fill in gaps where needed and take care of their daughter’s family as best they can.

Thank you all for your prayers. I’ll update when I know more.

The Things I Never Thought I’d Love

I never thought I would love baby’s breath, or understand why that name was given to such a beautiful and simple little flower.

I never thought I would love sitting and watching someone do not much of anything for hours at a time.

I never thought I would love the bonding that diaper changes afford.

I never thought I would love having my schedule dictated by someone who couldn’t even speak to tell me what she wanted me to do.

I never thought I would love hearing a baby scream cry.

I never thought I would love making silly faces and doing generally silly things over and over again just to get a laugh.

I never thought I would love a bald, toothless, pudgy, drooling person.

I never thought I would love tiny little fingerprint smudges on my glasses.

I never thought I would love having to consider carefully what to wear or not wear, because of little fingers that like to pull and probe and wander.

I never thought I would love having someone lick my leg or arm or neck and leave an extremely wet slurp mark behind.

I never thought I would love the need to keep my house clean (well, the floors, at least) because someone might come along and decide to destroy eat saturate play with everything.

I never thought I would love getting my hair ripped from my scalp pulled.

I never thought I would love being interrupted countless times a day by a shriek or a cry, because that simply means that I am needed.

I never thought I would love giving sponge baths.

I never thought I would love singing to someone, and love having that someone love me singing to her.

I never thought I would love wrestling with a baby to get her dressed or go to sleep or eat.

I never thought I would love having to pack bag upon bag to go to the grocery store.

I never thought I would love endlessly reinserting a pacifier into a sleeping mouth in a sleepy haze.

I never thought I would love being bit.

I never thought I would love the sound of someone playing the arm harp with their mouth.

I never thought I would love loving someone so much….especially someone who cannot reciprocate in ways I can understand.

I never thought I would love having someone sneeze mashed peas on my face.

I never thought I would love doing an extra mountain of laundry weekly……much of which requires soaking and/or pre-treating.

I never thought I would love washing a mountain pile of bottles and bottle parts and nipples every day.

I never thought I would love shelling out money for formula that might or might not be used….or might come back out as soon as it goes in.

I never thought I would get happy and excited over buying clothes for someone else.

I never thought I would love moving in to kiss someone and getting licked instead.

I never thought I would love cold, slimy, clammy hands smacking me on the face.

I never thought I would love getting excited over diaper coupons.

I never thought I would love getting a night off……only to miss the work and the one who causes it when the time came.

I never thought I would love getting unsolicited advice from strangers.

I never thought I would love someone so much it hurts.

I never thought I would love not fitting into most of my clothes.

I never thought I would love stretch marks.

I never thought I would love any of these things, but I do because of what that means. It means that I have a wonderful little blessing – a tiny little person, my daughter – who has entered my life and turned everything upside down so wonderfully. The demands mean that I am needed…..the pokes and prods mean I am adored…..the gazes mean I am someone’s world. I am her world, and she has become such a huge part of mine. Thanks to her, I love life just a little bit more.

Daddy’s Favorite Expression, and Other New Things – 7 1/2 months

Scott just loves it when Leah makes this face. What you can’t hear is that she’s blowing a rather impressive and drool-filled raspberry. Her daddy seems to enjoy making the face back at her to try to get her to keep doing it. I have a feeling I’m going to have to break them both of the habit at the same time.

Leah is really on a roll. Literally. If I put her down on the floor for even a second, she’s gone. She sets her sights on something – anything – across the room and just rolls, rolls, rolls until she gets there. It’s really cute, even though it is taking some getting used to for me. I forget every time how quickly she can move like that, so when I leave the room for even a second I have to baby proof. (Pillows and cushions line the coffee table (because she ends up underneath it) and the fireplace (because I’m terrified of an unpleasant meeting between the two). Last night I was sitting on the floor eating supper – it was the only place she was content with me sitting – when I got up to get more from the kitchen. My cup was sitting right there, and I thought, “I’ll be right back. It’ll be okay.” Nope. I should have known better. When I got back, my lemonade was soaking into the carpet, Leah’s little foot tap-tap-tapping on my overturned cup. Not again. She’s also surprised me when I looked up by smiling at me from atop a pile of her books that moments before had been on the shelf.

She loves bathtime! I give her a bath every night, whether she really needs one or not, just as a part of her bedtime routine. I definitely recommend this – she plays hard in the warm water, gets all snuggled up in a towel, massaged with lotion, dressed in some soft pajamas, fed a bottle, and she’s out. She really loves the water, though – splashing and sucking on her washcloth and fighting me for the cup I use to rinse her hair. I just sit back once she’s clean and let her play until the water starts to cool off.

Meal time is, um, fun. She’s a really good eater – has been since we started solid foods – but recently she has been getting really excited during meals, which makes it hard for Mommy to get that tiny spoon in her mouth as her head spins from side to side. Plus, she sometimes wants to help me feed her, and her idea of “helping” isn’t what I would like it to be. When she helps me, we never know which facial orifice the spoon will enter, but we do know that once it gets there it won’t have much food on it, having lost most of it on her hands, bib, and tray on the way. Of all the foods we’ve tried, there aren’t any that she downright doesn’t like. She loves – and I do mean LOVES – her green vegetables, sitting with her mouth wide open before I can even get the spoon reloaded. (Thank you, Lord in heaven.) Meats are questionable unless they’re mixed with something else – like turkey and sweet potatoes, for example. If I had to name a least favorite food, I’d say bananas. Anything with bananas in it elicits some pretty funny faces, and she never seems to eat as much at those meals. We’ve attempted some table food with her, but that hasn’t gone well. We try it, fail, and wait a few more days before trying again. It won’t be too long.

Of all her toys, there is something that stands out as her favorite, and fortunately, it is a part of everything she owns. Tags. She loves them. No matter what I put in front of her, her eyes gravitate right for the tag and in her mouth it goes. I guess she likes the way they feel on her tongue, but it’s become something of a joke for us. My mom even bought her a Taggie, a new kind of toy that has ribbons as tags all over it, and she loves it. Tags, tags everywhere!

For now, she’s Mommy’s girl. She’s developed a serious attachment to me; while it warms my heart, it has definitely made things more complicated. When we’re at home during the day, it’s all I can do to leave the room without her crying. If she sees me walk away, panic ensues. At night, when Scott is home and I’m desperately in need of a break, he can hold her for only a limited time before she wants me back. If he is trying to get her to go to sleep, I have to hide or she remembers that I’m there and then wants me again. I feel really bad for Scott, but he doesn’t seem to mind that for now, I’m the preferred parent. Besides, we’ve heard from several people that in about a year, she won’t want much to do with me, preferring Daddy over everyone else. I’m enjoying it, in a way, while I can.

Four years ago today.......

........I became the happiest married lady in the world, all because of God's divine providence and, of course, this wonderful man. I'm one lucky lady.

Nervous Nellie Becomes a Mom

If you know me (or have been reading for awhile), you know that I am an anxious person. This isn’t just about being a little bit jumpy or stressing easily. I have what they call “generalized anxiety disorder,” basically meaning that in a sense, I have faulty shock absorbers when it comes to my emotions, causing me to feel anxiety and panic in situations that probably wouldn’t faze most people. I’m not afraid or ashamed to talk about this, nor will I hide the fact that I am on medication and see a psychiatrist. It’s part of who I am. I have seen a counselor off and on, and by working with her I have been through cognitive behavior therapy. I’m a million times better than I was a couple of years ago, when I struggled with agoraphobia because of my anxiety, but I do not consider myself healed. This is a thorn in my flesh, and through it God is teaching me how to trust in and rely on Him.

As a clinically-diagnosed anxious person, motherhood poses considerable challenges to me. It’s not easy for anyone, to be sure, but the anxieties of my normal state of being are nothing but compounded when added to the anxieties of motherhood (which, obviously, are considerable).

Learning how to be a mother AND an anxious person has been an interesting adventure. Here’s what I mean.

I think every mother knows this situation: You’re sitting and watching TV while your newborn baby sleeps. The monitor is on, she’s only in the next room, you just laid her down a few minutes ago…..yet you feel the need to check on her. You must decide: let it go, or go in. Shrug it off, or satisfy your motherly need for peace of mind.

Here enters the issue of “motherly intuition.” When trusting one’s motherly intuition, the sudden need to check on a sleeping baby should be fulfilled. Check on the baby, by all means. However, when motherly intuition becomes tainted by generalized anxiety, it becomes difficult to differentiate between the two. This “need” I’m feeling to check on the baby…….is it my motherly intuition telling me something might actually be wrong, or is it my overactive anxious imagination creating a reason to worry?

Does anyone else know what I mean?

Bed Sheet Kitty

This made me laugh out loud.

“When We Were Little” Wednesday

When I was little – in the third grade – my parents received a phone call from one of my teachers, Mrs. Brosier. (I can’t believe I remember her name. She wasn’t my teacher for very long.) Mrs. Brosier told my parents that she thought I might need to have my eyes tested, because although I would always listen in class and knew the answers to questions when asked, I would rarely look at her or the slides or the blackboard or whatever she was using to teach us. She figured, through her teacherly experience and wisdom, that I probably couldn’t see the front of the class. She had moved my seat, and that wasn’t enough; the next logical step was to send me to an eye doctor.

Sure enough – after one visit with Dr. Moomey (and I remember his name?! I’m on a roll!), it was clear that I needed glasses. My eyes weren’t awful, but they were bad enough that a little bit of correction was in order.

So I got glasses.

And I hated them.

I was embarrassed, for one thing. None of my friends had glasses, and I didn’t want to be “the only one.” For another thing, there was always that initial revealing of something new. You know what I’m talking about – it’s the first time people see your new haircut or glasses or whatever, and there’s a big reaction. To a self-conscious third grader, any sort of big reaction was to be avoided. With this in mind, I did the most logical thing I could think of. I took Dr. Moomey’s instructions to heart. He had told me that I needed the glasses only when I was looking at something at a greater distance than I could reach; therefore, I decided I would only wear the dread plastic frames when I absolutely needed to. While this seemed to be a pretty good solution, it started causing problems when I would forget my glasses at school. I remember one particular instance of forgetting my glasses on “Wonder Years” night, and I was devastated. “The Wonder Years” was the only show my family watched together on a regular basis, and I just knew that because I had forgotten my glasses I wouldn’t be able to take part in our weekly ritual. Mom consoled me, though, and told me I could just sit a little bit closer that night.

In any case, I eventually decided that it would just be easier to wear my glasses every day. The first day I wore them to school, I remember getting the very reaction I feared. As soon as I stepped off the bus, Delia (I remember her name, too!) ran up to me, called everyone over, and they all raved at how “cute” I looked. It was a positive reaction, yes, but attention was called to me nonetheless. (And now, looking back, I think all of them probably needed glasses, too, because no – it wasn’t cute. You’ll see what I mean in a minute.)

I also remember the first time I actually wore the glasses, out of the store in the mall. I was in awe of the clarity of the world. Until that moment, I had not been completely convinced that I needed glasses; I thought that the way I saw things was the way everyone saw them. I didn’t know that blurry wasn’t normal.

I was at Mom’s house the other day, helping her clean out some old stuff, when we found them. The glasses, in all of their clear plastic glory:

I knew then and there that I would be writing about them this week. And, because I know you’re all itching with curiosity, I dug out a picture of me in the glasses. I can’t believe I’m putting this on the internet. Prepare yourselves for beauty, people.

Oy. Oy, oy, oy.

“The Noticer," by Andy Andrews

I have just finished reading The Noticer, by Andy Andrews. It was a great read!

The story chronicles the life of a man named Jones – no Mr, just Jones – and his encounters with the people of a small Southern coastal town. When Jones enters a life, he brings with him perspective on that life and the person living it; this perspective, more often than not, changes the very life it has observed.

I believe we can all benefit from a change in perspective at one time or another, and the gift that Jones gives people is one we should all be so fortunate to receive. If we all were to take a step back and notice how our lives look through someone else’s eyes, big opportunities and encouragement might await us. Jones and his life made me realize this, and I was also lucky enough to see a little of myself in some of the story’s characters. I got a little bit of perspective, too.

The Noticer is a great book. It is easy to read – though confusing at times, as you may wonder at times (as I did) if it is based on fact or is purely fictional – and does make you think. The Noticer is available through Thomas Nelson Publishers and any of a number of book retailers – check it out!

Deeper

We are in a series at church right now called Deeper: leaving shallow faith. It has been incredibly convicting, as we’ve had conversation after conversation about how shallow and complacent we are in our faiths and how much more of God there is for us to experience. (If you’re interested in listening to any of the messages so far, they’re online on Quest’s website. And, as a side note…….the lady you hear talking in the beginning? Yeah. That’s me.)

This is the stage design for the series. I’m on the Worship Design Team, and several of us spent many hours painting these roots on the backdrop. Fun, fun times. (I'm not being sarcastic. We had a blast!) I just love the image, and thought I’d share!

Card Shark

What Mommy says: “See the colors, Leah? Those are CARDS. Do you like them?”

What Leah thinks: “Hmm…..these look interesting. Wonder what they taste like.”

What Mommy says: “Isn’t that cute? She’s reaching for the cards! You going to help me play, Leah?”

What Leah thinks: “What? I’m not doing anything. Nothing to see here.”

What Mommy says: “Wait, no….Leah……get them out……no, honey……”

What Leah thinks: “Tasty…….”

Stone Houses

There is a village in Iran made entirely of houses and buildings carved out of volcanic rock. It is estimated that some of the houses have been there – as houses – for 700 years, inhabited and re-inhabited hundreds of times through the years. The residents have made themselves comfortable in the rock, making each little cave dwelling their own and building their lives within the stone. Generation after generation has called this mound of rock their home.

The space is limited, but they have created an entire world for themselves in the stone. Families live on top of one another, and elaborate stone staircases lead to homes far above the ground. From the outside, it doesn’t appear to be an inhabitable place, but to those who have never known anything else, it is home.

What is interesting about this village, though, is that beautiful, lush, fertile land lies within reach. From their stone balconies, the villagers have a view of rich grasslands and rolling hillsides of fertile soil. For whatever reason, though, these people choose to remain in their sparse, cold, stone homes.

Isn’t it interesting that we look with wonderment at those who are literally living in stone, while we ourselves live quite contentedly in spiritual stone houses?

Don’t we? It’s easy for us to look at people living in conditions that are physically uncomfortable and wonder how they do it. It’s easy for us to wonder why they would choose that over something more cozy to their physical bodies, yet many of us – myself included – live in places that are very uncomfortable and un-cozy to our spiritual selves. Fertile, lush, beautiful land is within our reach, yet we choose to remain in a cold, harsh wasteland.

There is so much more to life than that with which we are content. There is so much more to this existence on this earth. Do we, as God’s children, really believe that what we have is all there is? Do we really believe that an infinitely creative and loving God would have us here for this, and only this? Do we really believe that we have a perfect understanding of God, in His perfection and vastness? Do we really think that Jesus died for us so that we could live such complacent, apathetic lives? Do we really think that we have it all figured out?

It seems that we do. We are uncomfortable and sense, somehow, that there is more, but because this drab place is the only place we have ever lived, we assume that it is the only place for us. We can’t imagine living anywhere but in this confined, cramped, cold place. A vast, warm expanse is within our reach, but rather than move toward it, we are content to stay where we are because this, at least, is familiar and this, at least, is easy.

It is easy to stay where we are. Our parents and grandparents and countless generations before them did just that. They chose to carve into a dead stone instead of building from scratch on a fertile plain. We, too, have chosen to claw and scratch and carve our lives out of a dead rock rather than get up and move to a place more suited to our growing needs. We have lived in a stone cave, breathing stale air and never stretching ourselves as far as we can.

It is time, though, to move on. It is time to become dissatisfied with the small spaces and stale air, and to long for fresh air and the feel of soft grass between our toes. It is time to reach for all that there is. It is time to reach further and deeper and longer than we have ever dared to imagine.

The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by hands. And He is not served by human hands, as if He needed anything, because He Himself gives all men life and breath and everything else. From one man He made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and He determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek Him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us. For in Him we live and move and have our being. (Acts 17:24-28)

Note: I got the pictures and stories in an email today. God spoke to me as I read it, and I didn’t research it further or do any fact-finding. God was working, and I didn’t want to impede Him. =) I hope you understand.

Bottle Rocket

Think she'll still find me this wonderfully entertaining when she's 15? Let's hope.

Angelic

The other day at my mom’s house Leah took a nap – as she always does over there – and we covered her up while she slept.  When she woke up, the blanket *somehow* wound up over her head…and this was the scene.  Could she be any cuter?

Held

I just got home from a baby shower. This was a different baby shower than any other I've ever been to, in that I met the mother-to-be for the first time tonight. Most of us did.

She is in a rather unusual situation, but I won't recount the details here. They aren't important.

What is important is that we showed her love tonight. She might feel alone and scared and nervous, but tonight, at least, she feels loved. Tonight, she knows that she is not alone, that God is here to calm her fears, and that our God is one of peace.

God, be with her. Walk with her as she mothers her baby girl, and teach her what it means to be held in Your powerful, strong, and loving arms. Hold her, God.

“When We Were Little” Wednesday

When I was little, my dad set out one day to explain familial relationships to me. At the time, my grandmother was visiting, and this provided a good example.

“I am Grandmother’s son, and she is my mom,” he explained. “You’re my daughter, and I’m your dad. So she is my mother, and your grandmother.”

“No, I’m Jessica!” I told him, completely confused and concerned that my dad had just forgotten who I was.

Dad loves to tell that story, and I love to throw an innocent, “I’m Jessica!” into the conversation whenever I can.

Jaw Dropping

Yesterday I had my dreaded trip to the dentist. I hate going to the dentist, but not for the reasons most people dread it. I have some pretty intense jaw issues, and having to keep my mouth open for that long - with some humongous hands wedged inside - is not my idea of a fun time. I really struggle with even being able to do it, and usually for a couple of days afterwards my jaw aches. It's no fun, and I therefore dread it when, every six months, my calendar and a phone call remind me that it's that time again.

Yesterday was no different. I already had a headache (I've been getting a lot of those lately) when I dropped Leah off with my mom, and I knew that an hour or so of holding my mouth open was only going to make that worse. Consequently, I don't think I was in a very good mood, and I put off leaving for my appointment as long as I could.

I had a pleasant surprise when I got to the office, though. My usual girl was out, and another hygienist was filling in for her. Because I had never seen her before, I kind of had to do a rundown of my history for her. It's not complex - I've always been pretty blessed with good teeth - but I made a point of telling her that she'd probably struggle with getting me to keep my mouth open far enough. She said she'd do what she could to make it more pleasant for me, though, and she wasn't kidding! Several times over the course of my cleaning she stopped to give my jaw a rest, and - get this - MASSAGED MY JAW AND HEAD each time. Hello, dolly. Me likey.

And Then There Were Three

The beach pictures are still trickling in.......and probably will be for awhile. Bear with me.

In keeping with tradition, we took a shadow picture while at the beach. This time, though, there was a tiny addition! (She really, really, really wanted the camera.)

Kimbies

Mom and I went to Salvation Army the other day to wander around and see if there were any treasures to be found. I grabbed up a few books for Leah; at 3 for a dollar, I couldn’t pass them up. On the back of her “Pokey Little Puppy” book was this ad, circa 1980 or so. I had never heard of this brand of diapers, which is apparently the precursor to Huggies, but the whole thing struck me as funny.

My favorite part is where – on the package – it says, “America, we’re about to change your diaper.”

A Bag of Bolts

A few weeks ago, Scott came home and told me that a friend of ours wanted to give us a riding lawn mower that he is unable to use. (The mower used to be ours….but that’s another story.) We have a pretty big yard, and the day-long commitment it requires to mow it is sometimes a lot to swallow. There have been times that we have used two mowers – one of us using each – and it still takes a good while to get it done. Since I got pregnant, though, and since Leah arrived, I have been out of commission when it comes to strenuous yard work, and poor Scott has carried that burden all himself. A riding mower, though, would help, and we were excited at the idea of getting the mower back.

Scott brought the mower home this week and revealed the catch. (There’s always a catch.) When his friend turned the mower over to him, he also turned over a bag of bolts. A bag of bolts, people. He had disassembled the mower and couldn’t get all of the pieces back the way they were. Consequently, we now have a mower and….a bag of bolts.

As I have thought about this more and more over the past few days, I’ve come to realize that really, this situation is not that unusual. It’s pretty common, I think, for things that first appear to be a wonderful solution to a long-standing problem to become more complicated and less ideal than we first believed.

And for me, this is not unlike my relationship with the Lord. I first came to know the Lord as I was in a particularly difficult time in my life. Changes abounded – not all of them good – and I was at a very broken, very desperate place. I had sought my own way of fixing what was going wrong, and in the process had only made things worse. The things that I knew – in my heart – belonged in my life had been edged out in favor of temporary, shallow “remedies.” My spirit was crushed, and I couldn’t see a way to make it through one day, not to mention day after day in the dry and weary land in which I found myself. Once I “became a Christian,” though, it seemed like everything was going to be better. It seemed, at the time, like a miraculous cure-all to all my problems. (You might be familiar with the radiant euphoria of new Christians.) What I soon found, though, was that while I had found a better way to do life, I still had to live. I still had to go to work, I still had to balance my checkbook and pay my bills, and I still had to worry about things like car maintenance and savings accounts. I still had interpersonal issues, and I still had memories of bad choices in the past. I had a better way to deal with all of that, but it was all still there. I still had work to do, but it was better than the way I had been doing it. Like a bag of rusty bolts, there were things in my life that didn’t quite fit anymore, but there were those, too, that needed to find their way into my life. I needed to study God’s Word. I needed to speak to Him in prayer, growing in faith and discipline as a new follower. Changes had to be made, and work had to be done. (Much of that work remains a lifelong project!) The temporary fixes and novice attempts at solving my own problems weren’t going to work any more. I had to get everything back where it belonged, trusting Someone who knew how it was supposed to be to make it right.

So just as we now have a better way to mow our lawn, I have – by God’s grace – a better way to do life. It’s still life, and there are still some missing and out of place pieces, but it’s not quite the chore that it once was.

Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke fits perfectly, and the burden I give you is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Hats

And now, the hats we actually own…..