Showing posts with label 2010. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2010. Show all posts
Saturday, September 29, 2012
A Little Sweetness to Brighten Your Day
I ran across this old video of Allyson the other day, and it brought me such joy I thought I'd share it with you. It's from November 2010, when she was four. She was rehearsing for her Christmas program. Enjoy!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
He Gave Her Laughter
Last week I told you about Laura, my inspiration for doing the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure walk. With her permission, I'm going to tell you our story....
I met Laura and her son Samuel, then three years old, on April 11, 2010. Our first words were about the devastating diagnosis she'd recently received: the breast cancer that had been in remission for 20 months had metastasized to her lungs and brain. "I'm so worried for my son!" she said.
At that moment I had no words of encouragement for her. In fact, I immediately started to cry because Allyson was the same age as Samuel, and I couldn't fathom the thought of leaving her and Ethan behind. I held her hand and prayed with her through my tears, but I just didn't know what to say. I'm sure I prayed something involving Psalm 139, and I don't know how she reacted, but I walked away feeling that I'd failed her.
Thankfully, God had other plans for us. When I got home from church, I started to sit down to lunch, but I just couldn't eat. I couldn't think about anything but Laura. Bill had taken Allyson with him to do some work at my sister Emily's house, and Ethan was in his room playing a computer game, so I had the house to myself.
On my closet floor, I poured out all the words that I wished I'd been able to say earlier. I prayed for her healing and her comfort. I prayed every scripture I could think of relating to healing, blessings, and love. Still, I felt no relief from the burden that had settled on my shoulders.
I laid my face on the carpet and wept. "Oh, God!" I cried out. "What can I possibly pray for her? Please, Holy Spirit, tell me what to pray. Pray through me."
Almost immediately, I thought of laughter. "Laughter?" I repeated. "How could she possibly have laughter right now? That doesn't make sense." But I felt a certainty that laughter was exactly what I should ask for.
"Okay, God. Please give Laura laughter. Let her be so filled with joy and peace that she can laugh in the face of her enemy. Let your joy be her strength." As I prayed, my own tears turned to laughter. I laughed out loud with joy. It was crazy! It was beautiful!
I laughed until I was gasping for air, and then I realized that the burden had lifted. I got up off my creaky knees and walked down to the kitchen to do what I usually do after I pray for someone: I got out a card and wrote down all the verses I'd prayed for her, and what I'd felt God telling me. But when I started to write about the laughter, my pen froze over the paper. How could I write that? What right did I have to tell her she needed to laugh when I couldn't possibly understand what she was going through? Would she be offended?
I shook my head and plowed on. I had to tell her what was in my heart. After I'd addressed and stamped the card, I hesitated again, seized by an anxiety bordering on panic. Don't send it! She'll be angry. I set the card aside. I'll pray about it, I decided.
At our home group meeting that evening, I shared my dilemma--not the details of Laura's situation, but my indecision about sending a card that could be misunderstood, that might even cause offense. Their response was unanimous. "If you feel God leading you, you have to mail it," they said. And we prayed that God would help Laura to receive the message as it was intended.
The next morning, I handed Bill the card to mail on the way to work. That evening, I called Laura to see how she was doing, and to see if there was any way the church could help her--bringing meals, running errands, etc. I was so terrified about calling that my fingers shook when I dialed, but the conversation was actually very enjoyable. We talked for maybe 30 minutes, and I promised to arrange some meals for her family and to stay in touch.
The next day, Tuesday 4/13/10, I received an email that changed my life:
You have no idea how you have made a difference to me. Last night after we spoke on the phone I felt an amazing feeling of peace, and somehow I felt empowered. I had not had a night of peace like last night. I felt this calling from God, so much so that I actually moved out of my bedroom and into the guest bedroom, where I have on a shelf and walls various images of angels and Jesus. I felt this was my safe place, closer to God. I then read a comic book (from page 1 until the end) called Cancer Vixen, a gift from a co-worker who is also a breast cancer survivor. I had not read the comic book, it had just sat on my table for weeks, because I felt too depressed and didn't feel right reading something funny. But, last night was different. I couldn't put the book down and read it until 2:30 this morning. I laughed out loud like I had not done in years, and ever with a book. Then, I woke up this morning happy, upbeat, not dragging my self to work, and for the first time in two weeks I actually got to work on time, not 1 hr late. I had a good day today. I came home to realize my son doesn't have school tomorrow, so we played all afternoon. Then I got your card in the mail, and it made me weep, for I now know why I felt so much joy and had so much laughter last night. Thank you for praying for me, and for asking God to bring me joy and laughter! I have no doubt your prayers and sacrifices for me have moved the holy spirit within me. There are no words to express my gratitude. I trust in the Lord that he has a plan for me, and will pray for healing.
I fired off an ecstatic response the moment I finished reading. "I believe God is using this experience to call both of us to a closer relationship with him," I said. "I don't think I have ever prayed so fervently for anyone, but I've believed for a long time that God is calling me to intercession. This certainly inspires me to heed that call."
I wanted to call her the next day, but she phoned me first. "We attended a training seminar at work today," she said. "You'll never guess what the topic was... It was on the power of laughter!" During the seminar, they had shared a case study of how laughter improved the recovery in cancer patients.
"I think God is making sure His message gets across!" I marveled.
Since that time, Laura has become one of my closest friends. I've enjoyed spending time with her and her family, and getting to know her better. The more I learn about her, the more she inspires me with her courage and her strength.
You wouldn't have time to read about all the other amazing things God has done in us and through us, so I'll just say that God has given us a very powerful connection. When she needs me, I always seem to KNOW. I'll pray for her, and then I'll send her a card or a text message, or pick up the phone. The timing is always perfect.
God has answered many of our prayers, and He's given me an assurance that she is already healed. Once, while I was praying for her, I said, "I'm going to dance with joy when Laura is healed." Immediately I heard a voice in my thoughts: Dance now! She's already healed. So I danced for joy, all alone in my closet, and then I ground her defeated cancer under my feet.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme...
...No, make that parsley, rosemary, sage, and thyme. Here's one of the many things I've been meaning and meaning to tell you about...
If you know me very well, you surely know that I am one of the most disorganized, cluttered people around. Honestly, it really doesn't bother me that much. Because I know it bugs Bill, though, I do occasionally consolidate all my little piles and throw away some of my junk, but I inevitably backslide after a day or two. Still, there are tiny pockets of organization in our house. Like the shoe organizer that has now kept my bathroom vanity clean for nearly two years.
And then there's my spice rack. Once upon a time, it was a jumbled mess that caused me untold stress. I'd be putting the finishing touches on dinner, only to realize at the most crucial moment that the thyme (or the ginger or the ground mustard) was nowhere to be found. Stirring the sauce with one hand, I'd frantically toss all the spice jars onto the counter with the other. Sometimes I'd be so rattled that I had to go back through all the jars again, putting them back in one at a time, until I found what I was looking for--or realized that I we were out.
On one of our anniversaries, Bill bought me a decorative spice rack with labeled glass jars. It was both pretty and practical. But there was one problem: it only held my dried herbs. All the other spices and seasonings were still a wreck. Each time I slid one of the glass herb jars into its slot, I thought, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if all my spice jars were uniformly sized, and perfectly visible?"
It seemed like an impossible dream--until my friend Jenny featured one of her craft projects on her blog. She washed a big batch of baby food jars and painted the lids with a metallic silver paint, and then she stuck on hand-lettered labels. The result was simple, elegant, and very functional:
"Hey, I could do this!" I thought. But where would I get all those baby food jars? Allyson had long since graduated to table food. That's where my friend Kristina came in. About a month after Jenny's entry, Kristina posted a blog entry about her own spice jar project. Turns out she had given her old jars to Jenny, but she found a bunch more that someone was donating on freecycle.org. Even better, she gave all her leftover jars to me.
Since we already had some silver paint and polyurethane spray, this meant the whole thing would cost me nothing! Within a week, I had my new spice rack. Is this gorgeous, or what?
My handwriting isn't nearly so graceful as Jenny's, but I still love my jars. I like seeing my own handwriting because it reminds me of one of my few successes at bringing order out of chaos.
I can't tell you how much more relaxed I am when I'm cooking. What if I need cream of tartar? Easy! Right between the cloves and cumin. It's been eight months, but I still feel a little thrill each time I put a jar back into its designated space. Now, I almost never run out of anything, nor do I buy duplicates; I always know what I have and what I need.
My next project was supposed to be the bigger items on the next shelf:
I collected glass peanut butter jars for a few months, but they're still sitting in the garage--unless Bill threw them in the recycle bin. I just never had the energy to follow through for some reason. Maybe it'll be my spring project.
Have I inspired you to reorganize your own spice rack? If so, check out the links above to Kristina's and Jenny's blogs for some specific instructions. I'll add these tips:
If you know me very well, you surely know that I am one of the most disorganized, cluttered people around. Honestly, it really doesn't bother me that much. Because I know it bugs Bill, though, I do occasionally consolidate all my little piles and throw away some of my junk, but I inevitably backslide after a day or two. Still, there are tiny pockets of organization in our house. Like the shoe organizer that has now kept my bathroom vanity clean for nearly two years.
And then there's my spice rack. Once upon a time, it was a jumbled mess that caused me untold stress. I'd be putting the finishing touches on dinner, only to realize at the most crucial moment that the thyme (or the ginger or the ground mustard) was nowhere to be found. Stirring the sauce with one hand, I'd frantically toss all the spice jars onto the counter with the other. Sometimes I'd be so rattled that I had to go back through all the jars again, putting them back in one at a time, until I found what I was looking for--or realized that I we were out.
On one of our anniversaries, Bill bought me a decorative spice rack with labeled glass jars. It was both pretty and practical. But there was one problem: it only held my dried herbs. All the other spices and seasonings were still a wreck. Each time I slid one of the glass herb jars into its slot, I thought, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if all my spice jars were uniformly sized, and perfectly visible?"
It seemed like an impossible dream--until my friend Jenny featured one of her craft projects on her blog. She washed a big batch of baby food jars and painted the lids with a metallic silver paint, and then she stuck on hand-lettered labels. The result was simple, elegant, and very functional:
"Hey, I could do this!" I thought. But where would I get all those baby food jars? Allyson had long since graduated to table food. That's where my friend Kristina came in. About a month after Jenny's entry, Kristina posted a blog entry about her own spice jar project. Turns out she had given her old jars to Jenny, but she found a bunch more that someone was donating on freecycle.org. Even better, she gave all her leftover jars to me.
Since we already had some silver paint and polyurethane spray, this meant the whole thing would cost me nothing! Within a week, I had my new spice rack. Is this gorgeous, or what?
 |
| Note the perfect alphabetical order--of course! |
My handwriting isn't nearly so graceful as Jenny's, but I still love my jars. I like seeing my own handwriting because it reminds me of one of my few successes at bringing order out of chaos.
I can't tell you how much more relaxed I am when I'm cooking. What if I need cream of tartar? Easy! Right between the cloves and cumin. It's been eight months, but I still feel a little thrill each time I put a jar back into its designated space. Now, I almost never run out of anything, nor do I buy duplicates; I always know what I have and what I need.
My next project was supposed to be the bigger items on the next shelf:
I collected glass peanut butter jars for a few months, but they're still sitting in the garage--unless Bill threw them in the recycle bin. I just never had the energy to follow through for some reason. Maybe it'll be my spring project.
Have I inspired you to reorganize your own spice rack? If so, check out the links above to Kristina's and Jenny's blogs for some specific instructions. I'll add these tips:
- The labels should come off pretty easily if you soak them in soapy water for a few hours, and then scrape them with a Pampered Chef scraper or a razor blade.
- Buy some little circle stickers before you fill the jars. As you transfer the spices from the old jars, write the expiration dates on the stickers and put them on the bottom of the new jars. (I was shocked at how many expired spices I had!)
- My jars are sitting on an expandable riser that I got at either Target or Walmart. The rows are the perfect height to keep the labels visible.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Your Dreams Come True
For the week leading up to Allyson's Christmas dance recital, we made her practice every evening to a video I had made at one of her class sessions. The tap routine, Let it Snow, was the hardest. After watching her struggle with the choreography, I decided to study the steps and tutor her at home. How hard could it be?
On our first evening rehearsal, I found out it's a lot harder than it looks. "Front-front, side-side, back-back, STOMP!" I hollered, but our feet weren't listening, and we kept stumbling over each other. Ethan rewound the video for us over and over, and gave us pointers as to what we were doing wrong. "Hey, it's a lot harder than it looks," I whined. "Why don't you try it?"
"Nah," he said.
"Mama, how can you help me if I'm better than you?" Allyson asked.
"That's a good question, baby. Just keep practicing."
She moaned and griped, and did very little actual practicing, but when the day of the recital arrived, some sort of Christmas miracle occurred. Maybe it was the glittery tutu or the feather boa. Anyway, Allyson became a ballerina. You could see it in her eyes; she believed.
Her first dance was When You Wish Upon a Star, which couldn't have been more appropriate. Right there before our eyes, Allyson's Dreams Came True. My eyes filled with tears as I saw her sheer joy, but then I laughed when I saw her little "Hi, Mom!" wave. (Or maybe she was waving at Grandma, who happens to be her biggest fan.)
Later in the show came the dreaded tap number, and of course it all came out just fine. She wasn't perfect, but she had fun, even with the brush step--remember how she asked Jesus to help her with that one? And she NAILED the tough part that Ethan had helped us with. I was bursting with pride, and so was he when he watched the video a few days later.
Here are a couple of excerpts from the video Bill made. I tried to cut some of the ballet song, but I just couldn't; it was all too precious. See for yourself....
Did you see how perfect her third position was at the end of the first song? (Or maybe it was second position. Or maybe fourth. Anyway, wasn't she graceful?)
When the recital was over, she changed back into the regular Allyson:
Yep, that's our little ballerina.
Merry Christmas to you, and may all your dreams come true.
Note: If you are reading via Facebook or email, you'll need to visit the blog site to watch the video. Just click the link to the original post at the bottom of the message.
On our first evening rehearsal, I found out it's a lot harder than it looks. "Front-front, side-side, back-back, STOMP!" I hollered, but our feet weren't listening, and we kept stumbling over each other. Ethan rewound the video for us over and over, and gave us pointers as to what we were doing wrong. "Hey, it's a lot harder than it looks," I whined. "Why don't you try it?"
"Nah," he said.
"Mama, how can you help me if I'm better than you?" Allyson asked.
"That's a good question, baby. Just keep practicing."
She moaned and griped, and did very little actual practicing, but when the day of the recital arrived, some sort of Christmas miracle occurred. Maybe it was the glittery tutu or the feather boa. Anyway, Allyson became a ballerina. You could see it in her eyes; she believed.
 |
| She Flourished That Boa Around the House for Days |
Her first dance was When You Wish Upon a Star, which couldn't have been more appropriate. Right there before our eyes, Allyson's Dreams Came True. My eyes filled with tears as I saw her sheer joy, but then I laughed when I saw her little "Hi, Mom!" wave. (Or maybe she was waving at Grandma, who happens to be her biggest fan.)
Later in the show came the dreaded tap number, and of course it all came out just fine. She wasn't perfect, but she had fun, even with the brush step--remember how she asked Jesus to help her with that one? And she NAILED the tough part that Ethan had helped us with. I was bursting with pride, and so was he when he watched the video a few days later.
Here are a couple of excerpts from the video Bill made. I tried to cut some of the ballet song, but I just couldn't; it was all too precious. See for yourself....
Did you see how perfect her third position was at the end of the first song? (Or maybe it was second position. Or maybe fourth. Anyway, wasn't she graceful?)
When the recital was over, she changed back into the regular Allyson:
Yep, that's our little ballerina.
Merry Christmas to you, and may all your dreams come true.
Note: If you are reading via Facebook or email, you'll need to visit the blog site to watch the video. Just click the link to the original post at the bottom of the message.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
That's Ethan On the Cymbals!
We attended our third Christmas band concert the week before last, and it was the best one yet. It's amazing to see how the kids have progressed--and how they've grown. Just look at Ethan, who has morphed into a young man while I wasn't looking.
Here he is with his dad after the concert:
and with Grandma, his biggest fan other than Allyson:
Ethan plays percussion in the honors band, and he's quite talented. But he wasn't too enthused about this concert, where he'd be playing "only the bells and the wood block."
He didn't mention that he'd be starting out the first song with a solo on the bells, or that he'd end the second song with two triumphant clashes on the cymbals. I listened breathlessly, almost biting my nails. Would he make a mistake? Was he as nervous as I was?
I needn't have worried; he was cool as a cucumber.
Here are a few snippets. On the first clip, part of "Snow Day Celebration," listen for the tinkly bells at the very beginning (punctuated by a baby's shrill scream). On the second clip, from "You're a Mean One Mr. Grinch," watch his precision on the syncopated rhythms of the wood block. And then listen for Allyson's proud realization that her brother was playing the cymbals. Her "Woo-hoo, Ethan!" was even louder than mine.
All the way home, Allyson gushed about how much she loved the Mr. Grinch song, and how the cymbals were the best part. "I'm gonna play the cymbals when I grow up," she said. "And then I can bang them next to Ethan's ears and wake him up in the morning." (Not a bad idea, by the way.)
He pretended to shrug off her praise, but I could see his grin in the rear view mirror. When we got home, he surprised me by asking to watch the video of Allyson's Christmas dance recital (video forthcoming, I promise), which he had missed because he was at his dad's. His praise was just as glowing as Allyson's had been, and soon my heart was glowing as well. Though it's hard to tell sometimes, they really do love each other!
Note: If you are reading this post via Facebook or email, you can only view the video from the blog website. Just click the link to the original post at the bottom of the message.
Here he is with his dad after the concert:
and with Grandma, his biggest fan other than Allyson:
Ethan plays percussion in the honors band, and he's quite talented. But he wasn't too enthused about this concert, where he'd be playing "only the bells and the wood block."
He didn't mention that he'd be starting out the first song with a solo on the bells, or that he'd end the second song with two triumphant clashes on the cymbals. I listened breathlessly, almost biting my nails. Would he make a mistake? Was he as nervous as I was?
I needn't have worried; he was cool as a cucumber.
Here are a few snippets. On the first clip, part of "Snow Day Celebration," listen for the tinkly bells at the very beginning (punctuated by a baby's shrill scream). On the second clip, from "You're a Mean One Mr. Grinch," watch his precision on the syncopated rhythms of the wood block. And then listen for Allyson's proud realization that her brother was playing the cymbals. Her "Woo-hoo, Ethan!" was even louder than mine.
All the way home, Allyson gushed about how much she loved the Mr. Grinch song, and how the cymbals were the best part. "I'm gonna play the cymbals when I grow up," she said. "And then I can bang them next to Ethan's ears and wake him up in the morning." (Not a bad idea, by the way.)
He pretended to shrug off her praise, but I could see his grin in the rear view mirror. When we got home, he surprised me by asking to watch the video of Allyson's Christmas dance recital (video forthcoming, I promise), which he had missed because he was at his dad's. His praise was just as glowing as Allyson's had been, and soon my heart was glowing as well. Though it's hard to tell sometimes, they really do love each other!
Note: If you are reading this post via Facebook or email, you can only view the video from the blog website. Just click the link to the original post at the bottom of the message.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Santa is Sure on the Ball
You know those crazy product caution labels you see sometimes, like this one on a stroller: "Remove child before folding"? You have to assume there is some rational reason for those words of caution, but usually it's pretty hard to imagine.
Well, at my family's Christmas celebration on Saturday, we came across a label we had no problem understanding. From Aunt Emily's family, Allyson got a "Fur Real" pet that loosely resembles a bunny, makes crazy noises, and zips across the floor like a mouse.
Ethan found a red sticker on the box that made me laugh out loud: "Caution: Keep away from children's hair!" I wanted to take a picture of the sticker, but Bill threw the box away already. (He has a compulsion with scurrying around behind us and tidying up.)
There's also a permanent warning on the bottom of the bunny, but we didn't really need all that explanation.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a clue.
Anyway, Allyson has been giving that bunny's wheels a wide berth--but having SO much fun with it that she's all but forgotten her original Fur Real Pet, her beloved Allum. I'm sure they'll be best buddies again as soon as little Lulu's batteries wear out.
And In Other Allyson News...
Here is Allyson's latest craft project, which she thought up and executed entirely on her own while I was making dinner. After studying one of Ethan's early-reader science discovery books, she made a model of the solar system out of Bendaroos, complete with the sun and nine planets of varying sizes. (Is it supposed to be only eight planets now? I didn't have the heart to tell her.)
I remember making a model of the solar system in grade school, but not by choice. I bet the rest of my family remembers it too. It was a family project, which might have been fun if we weren't so frantic to finish it by the next morning.
I have a feeling the solar system project will be a lot easier with Allyson.
Well, at my family's Christmas celebration on Saturday, we came across a label we had no problem understanding. From Aunt Emily's family, Allyson got a "Fur Real" pet that loosely resembles a bunny, makes crazy noises, and zips across the floor like a mouse.
 |
| See Her Pretty Nails? Daddy Painted Them! |
Ethan found a red sticker on the box that made me laugh out loud: "Caution: Keep away from children's hair!" I wanted to take a picture of the sticker, but Bill threw the box away already. (He has a compulsion with scurrying around behind us and tidying up.)
There's also a permanent warning on the bottom of the bunny, but we didn't really need all that explanation.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a clue.
Anyway, Allyson has been giving that bunny's wheels a wide berth--but having SO much fun with it that she's all but forgotten her original Fur Real Pet, her beloved Allum. I'm sure they'll be best buddies again as soon as little Lulu's batteries wear out.
And In Other Allyson News...
Here is Allyson's latest craft project, which she thought up and executed entirely on her own while I was making dinner. After studying one of Ethan's early-reader science discovery books, she made a model of the solar system out of Bendaroos, complete with the sun and nine planets of varying sizes. (Is it supposed to be only eight planets now? I didn't have the heart to tell her.)
I remember making a model of the solar system in grade school, but not by choice. I bet the rest of my family remembers it too. It was a family project, which might have been fun if we weren't so frantic to finish it by the next morning.
I have a feeling the solar system project will be a lot easier with Allyson.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The One He Loves
A few of weeks ago, I started thinking about starting a new memory passage. It's always hard to let go of the old one, even though I know I'll keep reviewing it forever. I think my main hesitation is trying to discern what the next passage should be. There's always that niggling fear that this time God won't confirm my choice--this despite the fact that He has confirmed all ten of my previous passages, usually more than once.
Anyway, I've been leaning toward a passage in Ephesians:
So this morning I reminded God that I was still waiting for my confirmation. "Is this the right passage, or do you want me to learn another one?... I really love this one! But I'm getting a little frustrated. Hasn't it been over a week since I asked you about it?" [Because a week is SUCH a long time, I know!]
Feeling a little pouty, I sat down with my stack of memory cards and quoted them, one by one. As the scriptures flowed off my lips, I kept sensing connections with the Ephesians passage. When I read about Jesus humbling himself and becoming obedient to death--even death on a cross (Philippians 2:8)--I was in awe of how much he loves me. "Oh, Jesus," I breathed. "You know how I have feared death in the past, and if I could get out of dying I would. Yet you took on human form, subjecting yourself to death, on purpose! And you did it because you loved us so. Help me grasp that love, Jesus!" Immediately, I thought of being rooted and established in his love, and grasping how long and high and deep is his love.
Then there was Psalm 103:11: "For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him." Again I thought of the Ephesians passage.
Isaiah 43 reminded me that he has summoned me by name, for I am his; I am precious and honored in his sight, and he loves me.
Next was John 15: "As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Now remain in my love.... Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
I paused after Romans 8:39: "...neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Again I prayed, "Jesus, help me really understand this love. Let it get down deep inside me and change me forever.... I need to be rooted and established in your love, don't I? Is this you talking to me, God??"
I wasn't expecting anything from Isaiah 61, but verse 3 brought a thrill of recognition. "...They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor." I closed my eyes and imagined the oak tree in our front yard, which isn't huge, but is growing so slowly and steadily. "Oh, Lord, make me strong like a mighty oak. I want to display your splendor." My thoughts turned to the oak tree's roots, spreading out and reaching down, down to the life-giving water. "I need to be ROOTED and established in your love," I repeated.
I smiled as I restacked the cards, keeping the current passage on top and scrambling the rest. "Lord, did you just confirm my passage through all my other passages? Or am I just imagining all these connections?"
I thought back to Bible study the day before, and I remembered something I had said during our discussion. I asked whether Jesus had a special love for certain people, like his mother Mary, Mary Magdalene, and the apostle John. "After all, doesn't John refer to himself over and over as 'the disciple Jesus loved'?" I asked. We talked it over and decided that Jesus did have a special love for John, maybe because of the relationship that John cultivated with him. Still, we agreed that Jesus didn't love everyone else any less because of it. For the first time, I passed from having a teeny bit of resentment for John's apparent arrogance to wanting to emulate him. "I think it would be good if all of us could be like John," I said. "I want to be able to say, 'I'm Sarah, the woman Jesus loves. I want that assurance to be at the core of me, what defines me.'"
When that conversation came back to me this morning, I recognized my own words as one more confirmation of my choice. "That's cool," I thought. "God has never used ME to confirm a memory passage before." But do you know what I said next? Maybe you know me well enough to guess.
"God, I feel pretty sure you've confirmed my passage, but in the past you've always confirmed it externally somehow. How do I know you've really been talking to me, and it's not just random thoughts? Could you please confirm the passage for me one more time?" I almost cringed at my own lack of faith. I felt like Thomas, who said he'd have to touch Jesus's scars before he could believe he had risen.
Well, I don't think God was mad at me. He might have been disappointed, but I'm sure he wasn't surprised. After all, he knows everything I'm going to say before a word is on my tongue (Psalm 139:4). In fact, He was already at work fulfilling my request, though I wouldn't know it for a couple of hours.
At the start of my 10:30 Pilates class, Karen led us through several pliés and lunges, showing us exactly how to stand. "Make sure your foot is deeply rooted," she said, and I was so shocked I almost lost my balance.
"Was that my sign, God?" I thought. Immediately the other voice spoke in my ear. "It's a coincidence. She's just giving instructions." But thinking back over six years of practicing Pilates, I couldn't think of a single time an instructor had used those words. "It's NOT a coincidence," I told myself, and I smiled all through Pilates, even through some pretty intense exertion.
After class, I hung around and told Karen about my morning, and how her words had confirmed what God was speaking to me. Her grin was even wider than mine. "Ephesians 3, right?" She explained that God had led her to that passage this morning while she was praying for a friend who was donating a kidney to his son today. "I prayed that the kidney would be deeply rooted and established, and that the family would be grounded in God's love today."
I stomped my foot in triumph. "I knew I felt something spiritual when you said, 'deeply rooted'! So that passage was for your friend, but maybe it was for me too."
"Oh, I'm sure it was," she agreed. "You need to start believing that God speaks to you."
Now I ask you, how does God do this? I don't know. All I know is, I'm Sarah, the woman Jesus loves.
Anyway, I've been leaning toward a passage in Ephesians:
14 For this reason I kneel before the Father, 15 from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. 16 I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, 17 so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, 18 may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, 19 and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.I feel most drawn to the verse about being rooted and established in the love of Christ; this is my prayer for myself and my children and my friends.
20 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
So this morning I reminded God that I was still waiting for my confirmation. "Is this the right passage, or do you want me to learn another one?... I really love this one! But I'm getting a little frustrated. Hasn't it been over a week since I asked you about it?" [Because a week is SUCH a long time, I know!]
Feeling a little pouty, I sat down with my stack of memory cards and quoted them, one by one. As the scriptures flowed off my lips, I kept sensing connections with the Ephesians passage. When I read about Jesus humbling himself and becoming obedient to death--even death on a cross (Philippians 2:8)--I was in awe of how much he loves me. "Oh, Jesus," I breathed. "You know how I have feared death in the past, and if I could get out of dying I would. Yet you took on human form, subjecting yourself to death, on purpose! And you did it because you loved us so. Help me grasp that love, Jesus!" Immediately, I thought of being rooted and established in his love, and grasping how long and high and deep is his love.
Then there was Psalm 103:11: "For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him." Again I thought of the Ephesians passage.
Isaiah 43 reminded me that he has summoned me by name, for I am his; I am precious and honored in his sight, and he loves me.
Next was John 15: "As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Now remain in my love.... Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
I paused after Romans 8:39: "...neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Again I prayed, "Jesus, help me really understand this love. Let it get down deep inside me and change me forever.... I need to be rooted and established in your love, don't I? Is this you talking to me, God??"
I wasn't expecting anything from Isaiah 61, but verse 3 brought a thrill of recognition. "...They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor." I closed my eyes and imagined the oak tree in our front yard, which isn't huge, but is growing so slowly and steadily. "Oh, Lord, make me strong like a mighty oak. I want to display your splendor." My thoughts turned to the oak tree's roots, spreading out and reaching down, down to the life-giving water. "I need to be ROOTED and established in your love," I repeated.
I smiled as I restacked the cards, keeping the current passage on top and scrambling the rest. "Lord, did you just confirm my passage through all my other passages? Or am I just imagining all these connections?"
I thought back to Bible study the day before, and I remembered something I had said during our discussion. I asked whether Jesus had a special love for certain people, like his mother Mary, Mary Magdalene, and the apostle John. "After all, doesn't John refer to himself over and over as 'the disciple Jesus loved'?" I asked. We talked it over and decided that Jesus did have a special love for John, maybe because of the relationship that John cultivated with him. Still, we agreed that Jesus didn't love everyone else any less because of it. For the first time, I passed from having a teeny bit of resentment for John's apparent arrogance to wanting to emulate him. "I think it would be good if all of us could be like John," I said. "I want to be able to say, 'I'm Sarah, the woman Jesus loves. I want that assurance to be at the core of me, what defines me.'"
When that conversation came back to me this morning, I recognized my own words as one more confirmation of my choice. "That's cool," I thought. "God has never used ME to confirm a memory passage before." But do you know what I said next? Maybe you know me well enough to guess.
"God, I feel pretty sure you've confirmed my passage, but in the past you've always confirmed it externally somehow. How do I know you've really been talking to me, and it's not just random thoughts? Could you please confirm the passage for me one more time?" I almost cringed at my own lack of faith. I felt like Thomas, who said he'd have to touch Jesus's scars before he could believe he had risen.
Well, I don't think God was mad at me. He might have been disappointed, but I'm sure he wasn't surprised. After all, he knows everything I'm going to say before a word is on my tongue (Psalm 139:4). In fact, He was already at work fulfilling my request, though I wouldn't know it for a couple of hours.
At the start of my 10:30 Pilates class, Karen led us through several pliés and lunges, showing us exactly how to stand. "Make sure your foot is deeply rooted," she said, and I was so shocked I almost lost my balance.
"Was that my sign, God?" I thought. Immediately the other voice spoke in my ear. "It's a coincidence. She's just giving instructions." But thinking back over six years of practicing Pilates, I couldn't think of a single time an instructor had used those words. "It's NOT a coincidence," I told myself, and I smiled all through Pilates, even through some pretty intense exertion.
After class, I hung around and told Karen about my morning, and how her words had confirmed what God was speaking to me. Her grin was even wider than mine. "Ephesians 3, right?" She explained that God had led her to that passage this morning while she was praying for a friend who was donating a kidney to his son today. "I prayed that the kidney would be deeply rooted and established, and that the family would be grounded in God's love today."
I stomped my foot in triumph. "I knew I felt something spiritual when you said, 'deeply rooted'! So that passage was for your friend, but maybe it was for me too."
"Oh, I'm sure it was," she agreed. "You need to start believing that God speaks to you."
Now I ask you, how does God do this? I don't know. All I know is, I'm Sarah, the woman Jesus loves.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
My Mama is a Tightwad!
On Friday we went to the most anticipated social event of Allyson's season: her friend Olivia's birthday party. It was held at an indoor inflatables place with giant, very unique bounce houses. There was one that looked like a pirate ship with a huge squid on top and a steep slide that ran straight down the middle. There was a bouncy basketball court and an obstacle course with a 12-foot Batman guarding the entrance. And there was a little Sesame Street "neighborhood" for the small kids.
All the kids and a few of the parents came in their pajamas, and Allyson wore a brand-new set that we'd bought for the occasion. With all that running and jumping, she got really sweaty in those fleece jammies, but do you think she minded?
Here are all the guests posing with Batman's knees:
Not pictured are Ethan and his friend David, who were skulking around trying to escape notice at the "five-year-old birthday party."
After the hour of jumping was up, we all trooped to the Blue Room for pizza, cupcakes, and ice cream. Actually, I turned down the cupcakes and ice cream but then drooled over Allyson's, which she barely touched. Man, that frosting smelled good!
In the party room, there was an inflatable throne where the birthday girl sat with each of her friends. Here she is with Allyson. See their matching rosy cheeks, and the way their hair styles are almost identical? (We sometimes get them confused when we see them from the back.)
After Allyson posed with Olivia, Bill nudged Ethan. "Why don't you and David go get your pictures made? We can upload them to Facebook and tell all your friends you were at the five-year-old birthday party."
"I don't care," Ethan said around a bite of fluffy purple frosting. "It was fun. They'd all wish they were here." But David sank lower into his seat.
When it was time for gifts, I thought back to the last few parties, at which Allyson practically sat in the laps of the birthday kids and even helped unwrap the paper in some instances. I pulled her into my lap and whispered in her ear, "Now give Olivia some space. Don't sit too close, and let her open her own presents, okay?"
"Can I get kind of close?" she whispered.
"Kind of," I said.
When Olivia got started, I was too busy chatting with my friend Carla to see if Allyson was following my instructions, and it's a good thing. I would have been MORTIFIED.
On the way home, I asked Bill how she did.
"Pretty well," he said. "She stayed back with the other kids. But did you hear what she said when Olivia opened her first present?"
"Noo....?"
"She yelled, 'Ooh! We saw that at the store. But Mama said it was too much!'"
"No! She didn't! Did anyone hear?"
"Well, maybe no one was paying attention."
What Allyson didn't explain was that we had been shopping for a $5 fill-in gift; we had already picked out a lovely illustrated story book for Olivia. Thank goodness I was oblivious to the whole thing.
After the gifts came the goody bags. Since there were several extra, Olivia's sister asked Ethan if he wanted one. Sensing the possibility of candy, he said, "Sure." He grabbed a balloon too, while he was at it.
When she offered a goody bag to David, he ducked his head and said, "No!" But then Ethan whispered, "Want me to get one for you?", and he nodded sheepishly.
Back at the car, Ethan stuffed his balloon into the trunk. For some reason, Bill found it hilarious that he'd taken a balloon. All the way home, he threatened to pop the trunk and let it float away. "No!" Ethan shrieked over and over.
"You better hope we don't hit a red light," Bill warned.
In our driveway, Bill put the car in Park and said, "Ready, set, go!" Ethan threw open his door just as he hit the trunk release button. Ethan dove into the trunk and rescued his balloon, but then the trunk came down on his shoulders.
All of us laughed hysterically. He wasn't hurt--much. His relief at saving the balloon probably overshadowed the pain.
I'm glad Ethan isn't too cool to play with balloons and jump in bounce houses. That time will come soon enough, I'm sure. In the meantime, I'm loving times like these.
All the kids and a few of the parents came in their pajamas, and Allyson wore a brand-new set that we'd bought for the occasion. With all that running and jumping, she got really sweaty in those fleece jammies, but do you think she minded?
Here are all the guests posing with Batman's knees:
Not pictured are Ethan and his friend David, who were skulking around trying to escape notice at the "five-year-old birthday party."
After the hour of jumping was up, we all trooped to the Blue Room for pizza, cupcakes, and ice cream. Actually, I turned down the cupcakes and ice cream but then drooled over Allyson's, which she barely touched. Man, that frosting smelled good!
In the party room, there was an inflatable throne where the birthday girl sat with each of her friends. Here she is with Allyson. See their matching rosy cheeks, and the way their hair styles are almost identical? (We sometimes get them confused when we see them from the back.)
 |
| Allyson, Olivia |
"I don't care," Ethan said around a bite of fluffy purple frosting. "It was fun. They'd all wish they were here." But David sank lower into his seat.
When it was time for gifts, I thought back to the last few parties, at which Allyson practically sat in the laps of the birthday kids and even helped unwrap the paper in some instances. I pulled her into my lap and whispered in her ear, "Now give Olivia some space. Don't sit too close, and let her open her own presents, okay?"
"Can I get kind of close?" she whispered.
"Kind of," I said.
When Olivia got started, I was too busy chatting with my friend Carla to see if Allyson was following my instructions, and it's a good thing. I would have been MORTIFIED.
On the way home, I asked Bill how she did.
"Pretty well," he said. "She stayed back with the other kids. But did you hear what she said when Olivia opened her first present?"
"Noo....?"
"She yelled, 'Ooh! We saw that at the store. But Mama said it was too much!'"
"No! She didn't! Did anyone hear?"
"Well, maybe no one was paying attention."
What Allyson didn't explain was that we had been shopping for a $5 fill-in gift; we had already picked out a lovely illustrated story book for Olivia. Thank goodness I was oblivious to the whole thing.
After the gifts came the goody bags. Since there were several extra, Olivia's sister asked Ethan if he wanted one. Sensing the possibility of candy, he said, "Sure." He grabbed a balloon too, while he was at it.
When she offered a goody bag to David, he ducked his head and said, "No!" But then Ethan whispered, "Want me to get one for you?", and he nodded sheepishly.
Back at the car, Ethan stuffed his balloon into the trunk. For some reason, Bill found it hilarious that he'd taken a balloon. All the way home, he threatened to pop the trunk and let it float away. "No!" Ethan shrieked over and over.
"You better hope we don't hit a red light," Bill warned.
In our driveway, Bill put the car in Park and said, "Ready, set, go!" Ethan threw open his door just as he hit the trunk release button. Ethan dove into the trunk and rescued his balloon, but then the trunk came down on his shoulders.
All of us laughed hysterically. He wasn't hurt--much. His relief at saving the balloon probably overshadowed the pain.
I'm glad Ethan isn't too cool to play with balloons and jump in bounce houses. That time will come soon enough, I'm sure. In the meantime, I'm loving times like these.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
He Longs, Too
In just two weeks I'll be finished with my Bible study on the book of John, Called More Than This. I've so enjoyed this study, just as I knew I would. Shortly before I found out we'd be studying the book of John, I posted an entry about the amazing revelation in the first chapter of John: that Jesus is the Word, the same Word that created the entire universe, and when we meditate on the Word we can access the very power and authority of Jesus Christ.
When I posted that entry, my Aunt Carol sent me an email about it that so moved me. She shared the story of her own revelation through the book of John, which occurred decades ago when she read the entire book in one sitting. She said:
After I read her message, I decided to read the book of John again. I couldn't manage to read it all in one sitting, but I read it quickly, as I would read a fascinating novel. I remember distinctly the day when I read John 17. In it, Jesus prayed first for himself, that He would bring glory to God by completing the work He was sent to do (to die on the cross for our salvation). Next he prayed for his disciples, that God would protect them by the power of His name, and that he would set them apart by the truth of God's Word. As I read Jesus's prayer for his disciples, I wished that I could have been one of them, listening as Jesus prayed over me.It was like a personal revelation from God just for me. He loved me! Everything I read had new meaning. I would read and pray, read and pray and I could feel the power of God spiritually and physically. It colored all my life. This mountain top experience lasted not hours, not days or weeks but months. I can't think about it now without weeping. But what I want to say was that John's revelation of Jesus as the Word of God, present from the beginning, the Creator of all things took on new meaning. The Bible is the Word of God, Jesus. And as I read the Gospel of John, it was so exciting. John's teachings that Jesus is the Word, Jesus is the Bread of life and Jesus is the Vine are all related and intertwined.
And then I came to Jesus's third prayer. Guess who he prayed for? Me!! Here's what He said:
“My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, 21 that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. 22 I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one— 23 I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.I can't express how thrilled I was that Jesus looked down through generations of believers to all who would believe in him, and prayed for us. At the moment when I read this, I could feel the unity with Jesus and the Father and all believers. It was glorious.
24 “Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.
25 “Righteous Father, though the world does not know you, I know you, and they know that you have sent me. 26 I have made you[e] known to them, and will continue to make you known in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them.”
John 17:20-26 (emphasis added)
Chapter 17 was just as thrilling four months later, when we covered this chapter at Bible study last night. But this time something different captured my heart. At the end of the evening, we watched a segment of the movie The Gospel of John, a word for word enactment of all 21 chapters. I've been enthralled each week as I've watched the story come to life. But until last night, I could never really imagine that I was watching JESUS. It was just a movie.
I'm not sure what was different last night; probably it was the power of Jesus's words. Anyway, I forgot I was watching a movie. I heard Jesus praying for me and all the women around me, praying for our unity. When He said, "I want those you have given me to be where I am, and to see my glory," tears of wonder slipped down my cheeks.
For the first time, I realized that Jesus longs to be face to face with me just as much (more!) than I long to see his face. Of course, He can see me already, inside and out. He knows my very thoughts before I think them (Psalm 139:2, 4). But it's clear that He is longing for our reunion, and I think the reason for that is that He wants to watch as I behold his glory for the first time. Can you imagine?
When the movie clip ended, I didn't want to return to my puny "reality." I wanted to hear it again, and I will. I'm going to buy the movie and watch it with my family during this blessed Christmas season, when we celebrate our Savior's birth.
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, November 27, 2010
He's a Strange, Strange Man (And I Love Him)
Are you one of those fearless shoppers who venture out at 3:00 in the morning on Black Friday for all the doorbuster deals? Well, we're not that brave. In fact, until this year we had never even considered going out on Black Friday--especially Bill, since he doesn't enjoy crowds. But there's a first time for everything.
Several months ago, our big screen projection TV (only about five years old, I must mention) abruptly shut itself off and wouldn't come back on again. Bill researched the symptoms on the Internet and figured he could fix it with a $35 part. The only catch was the danger of electrocution from opening the set. We weighed the options and decided it wasn't worth the risk. It was the worst possible timing as we had just committed to our new budget, but I figured Bill would consider this a true emergency, and that we'd break into the sacred Emergency Fund.
Even after ten years, he can still surprise me. He made no mention of buying a new set, just moved his ancient 13-inch TV/VCR combo into the TV room. It looked so ridiculous sitting on Allyson's play table in front of our broken 47-inch set.
After a few days Bill commandeered Ethan's 30-something-inch set, a hand-me-down from my sister Amy. "Hey!" Ethan protested, but then he watched the 13-inch set without any complaints.
All was good until a few weeks ago, when the picture on the replacement TV started blacking out periodically. A firm stomp on the TV room floor brought it back each time, but it was rather jarring to hear all that stomping going on upstairs. The intervals gradually got closer and closer together, and soon we had to start rapping the TV smartly on the side or top. Still, Bill didn't say a word about buying a new TV.
I started thinking about how compliant he had been with the budget--my idea, by the way--and how he'd never once gone over, though he does occasionally mix some of the envelopes together, which drives me nuts. Then I started thinking about all the sales going on after Thanksgiving, and how it would be smarter to buy a TV now if we're going to buy one soon anyway.
So one night last week I surprised Bill by casually suggesting that we buy a TV on Black Friday. He immediately launched into hours of research into the different brands, prices, and technologies. This went on for over a week, and then he made his final decision on Thanksgiving evening: a Vizio LCD flat screen. The cheapest price was at Walmart, of course, and he grimaced at the thought of braving the crowds in the chain where people have literally been trampled to death on a Black Friday in the not-too-distant past (not in OUR store, thankfully).
"The sales last all weekend," I said. "You don't necessarily have to go out on Friday."
"We'll see," he said.
He did go out around noon yesterday, hours after the serious shoppers hit the stores. An hour later, I heard the garage door opening as he backed his truck up the driveway. "I think we have a new TV, Allyson!" I said, an unexpected grin stretching across my face.
Bill was smiling too when he walked in from the garage. "What did you get?" I asked eagerly.
"A TV stand," he said.
"You went out on Black Friday to get a TV STAND??"
"Well, it was a good price. And I need to get the TV room organized and move out the old shelves before I can bring in a new TV," he explained.
This made perfect sense, but still.... How could he go without a big-screen TV for this many months and then come back with just a TV stand? I shook my head in wonder. "You are a very unusual man," I said. He just smiled.
He worked on the new setup for hours, clearing out old CDs and DVDs and rearranging the ones he meant to keep, stringing wires, and hanging the speakers that used to sit on the shelves. It reminded me of an expectant mother in the nesting phase, lovingly making a place for her new arrival.
When everything was in place we all sat on the couch admiring his handiwork. "It looks great!" I said. "And doesn't our little TV look snazzy on that big new stand?"
He gave me a sidelong glance. "You do realize I'm probably going to sneak out and head to Walmart around midnight?"
"I wouldn't be surprised, Bill."
He didn't make a midnight Walmart run after all (due to his poor, aching back after all that work). But he was up this morning just as the weak morning light began filtering through the heavy curtains. I squinted up at him and strained to see the clock over Allyson, who had crept into our bed in the wee hours of the morning. "What time is it?" I mouthed, gesturing at the clock that was still out of view.
"Seven forty-five," he replied without making a sound. He held his arms out in front of him and pantomimed turning a giant steering wheel. "I'm going to the store."
A knowing smile pulled at my lips. He was like a kid on Christmas morning! I traced a large rectangle with my hands. "You're getting the TV?" I mouthed. He grinned sheepishly and waved on his way out the bedroom door.
Three hours later, after visiting two Walmart stores, he returned with the Vizio. I have to admit it looked pretty darn good on our Black Friday TV stand. Can you guess what we watched first? Allyson's "Noggin" preschool channel, of course! Wow, Dora and Swiper look awesome in high definition.
When Allyson had moved on to other things, and Bill was contentedly adjusting all the settings while watching a football game, I said, "Are you happy, husband?"
He nodded and gave me a quick peck on the lips. "Happy early Christmas," I said. And it did feel like Christmas.
One More Bill Story
Last night Bill and I spent a half hour finishing the latest chapter in the marriage study that we're doing with our home group from church. We snuggled on the couch and answered questions about how well he makes me feel loved and how well I make him feel respected. For him, it probably ranked right up there with getting his teeth cleaned, but it made me feel very loved (ka-ching!) to know that he would do the study with me.
The last question asked us to evaluate the current state of our marriage. I answered first. "It's good," I said, and we both laughed at the unaccustomed brevity of my answer.
" 'sgood," he echoed, mimicking Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty.
"But what do you think about our marriage?" I pressed.
"It's better than I could have imagined," he said with a cocky grin and a tongue-in-cheek tone.
I pursed my lips and lowered my brows in mock disapproval.
He went on in a very serious tone. "I love you. I've always loved you. I always will love you."
My heart begin to pitter-patter. "Oh, Bill..." Then I saw that he was chuckling.
"Braveheart," he said, and I stared at him blankly. "It's a line from Mel Gibson in Braveheart."
"Say it again," I demanded. "I don't care where it came from."
"It would be better in a thick Scottish brogue," he protested.
"Just say it."
He looked in my eyes. "I love you. I've always loved you. I always will love you."
I kissed him, wincing when his bristly chin scratched my lips.
"I'm writing this down in the study book," I said.
"Of course you are."
"And I'm going to read it out loud at the home group meeting."
He rolled his eyes. I'll let you know how that goes.
Several months ago, our big screen projection TV (only about five years old, I must mention) abruptly shut itself off and wouldn't come back on again. Bill researched the symptoms on the Internet and figured he could fix it with a $35 part. The only catch was the danger of electrocution from opening the set. We weighed the options and decided it wasn't worth the risk. It was the worst possible timing as we had just committed to our new budget, but I figured Bill would consider this a true emergency, and that we'd break into the sacred Emergency Fund.
Even after ten years, he can still surprise me. He made no mention of buying a new set, just moved his ancient 13-inch TV/VCR combo into the TV room. It looked so ridiculous sitting on Allyson's play table in front of our broken 47-inch set.
 |
| Bump-Bumpity-Bump... Down to the Garage |
After a few days Bill commandeered Ethan's 30-something-inch set, a hand-me-down from my sister Amy. "Hey!" Ethan protested, but then he watched the 13-inch set without any complaints.
All was good until a few weeks ago, when the picture on the replacement TV started blacking out periodically. A firm stomp on the TV room floor brought it back each time, but it was rather jarring to hear all that stomping going on upstairs. The intervals gradually got closer and closer together, and soon we had to start rapping the TV smartly on the side or top. Still, Bill didn't say a word about buying a new TV.
I started thinking about how compliant he had been with the budget--my idea, by the way--and how he'd never once gone over, though he does occasionally mix some of the envelopes together, which drives me nuts. Then I started thinking about all the sales going on after Thanksgiving, and how it would be smarter to buy a TV now if we're going to buy one soon anyway.
So one night last week I surprised Bill by casually suggesting that we buy a TV on Black Friday. He immediately launched into hours of research into the different brands, prices, and technologies. This went on for over a week, and then he made his final decision on Thanksgiving evening: a Vizio LCD flat screen. The cheapest price was at Walmart, of course, and he grimaced at the thought of braving the crowds in the chain where people have literally been trampled to death on a Black Friday in the not-too-distant past (not in OUR store, thankfully).
"The sales last all weekend," I said. "You don't necessarily have to go out on Friday."
"We'll see," he said.
He did go out around noon yesterday, hours after the serious shoppers hit the stores. An hour later, I heard the garage door opening as he backed his truck up the driveway. "I think we have a new TV, Allyson!" I said, an unexpected grin stretching across my face.
Bill was smiling too when he walked in from the garage. "What did you get?" I asked eagerly.
"A TV stand," he said.
"You went out on Black Friday to get a TV STAND??"
"Well, it was a good price. And I need to get the TV room organized and move out the old shelves before I can bring in a new TV," he explained.
This made perfect sense, but still.... How could he go without a big-screen TV for this many months and then come back with just a TV stand? I shook my head in wonder. "You are a very unusual man," I said. He just smiled.
He worked on the new setup for hours, clearing out old CDs and DVDs and rearranging the ones he meant to keep, stringing wires, and hanging the speakers that used to sit on the shelves. It reminded me of an expectant mother in the nesting phase, lovingly making a place for her new arrival.
When everything was in place we all sat on the couch admiring his handiwork. "It looks great!" I said. "And doesn't our little TV look snazzy on that big new stand?"
 |
| Bill's Black Friday Find |
He gave me a sidelong glance. "You do realize I'm probably going to sneak out and head to Walmart around midnight?"
"I wouldn't be surprised, Bill."
He didn't make a midnight Walmart run after all (due to his poor, aching back after all that work). But he was up this morning just as the weak morning light began filtering through the heavy curtains. I squinted up at him and strained to see the clock over Allyson, who had crept into our bed in the wee hours of the morning. "What time is it?" I mouthed, gesturing at the clock that was still out of view.
"Seven forty-five," he replied without making a sound. He held his arms out in front of him and pantomimed turning a giant steering wheel. "I'm going to the store."
A knowing smile pulled at my lips. He was like a kid on Christmas morning! I traced a large rectangle with my hands. "You're getting the TV?" I mouthed. He grinned sheepishly and waved on his way out the bedroom door.
Three hours later, after visiting two Walmart stores, he returned with the Vizio. I have to admit it looked pretty darn good on our Black Friday TV stand. Can you guess what we watched first? Allyson's "Noggin" preschool channel, of course! Wow, Dora and Swiper look awesome in high definition.
When Allyson had moved on to other things, and Bill was contentedly adjusting all the settings while watching a football game, I said, "Are you happy, husband?"
He nodded and gave me a quick peck on the lips. "Happy early Christmas," I said. And it did feel like Christmas.
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| That's Better! |
One More Bill Story
Last night Bill and I spent a half hour finishing the latest chapter in the marriage study that we're doing with our home group from church. We snuggled on the couch and answered questions about how well he makes me feel loved and how well I make him feel respected. For him, it probably ranked right up there with getting his teeth cleaned, but it made me feel very loved (ka-ching!) to know that he would do the study with me.
The last question asked us to evaluate the current state of our marriage. I answered first. "It's good," I said, and we both laughed at the unaccustomed brevity of my answer.
" 'sgood," he echoed, mimicking Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty.
"But what do you think about our marriage?" I pressed.
"It's better than I could have imagined," he said with a cocky grin and a tongue-in-cheek tone.
I pursed my lips and lowered my brows in mock disapproval.
He went on in a very serious tone. "I love you. I've always loved you. I always will love you."
My heart begin to pitter-patter. "Oh, Bill..." Then I saw that he was chuckling.
"Braveheart," he said, and I stared at him blankly. "It's a line from Mel Gibson in Braveheart."
"Say it again," I demanded. "I don't care where it came from."
"It would be better in a thick Scottish brogue," he protested.
"Just say it."
He looked in my eyes. "I love you. I've always loved you. I always will love you."
I kissed him, wincing when his bristly chin scratched my lips.
"I'm writing this down in the study book," I said.
"Of course you are."
"And I'm going to read it out loud at the home group meeting."
He rolled his eyes. I'll let you know how that goes.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Just Don't Cuddle With Dora
As you may recall from previous posts, I tend to hit my afternoon slump around 3:00 most days. This past Tuesday was no exception. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I drove home from my parents' house, but luckily Allyson was there to help. After I confessed that I was sleepy, she screamed "Ai-yah! Ai-yah! Ai-yah!" over and over. It was quite effective.
Back at the house, I immediately collapsed into a heap on my favorite green chair and ottoman. Allyson snuggled with me for about 30 seconds and then hurried upstairs to seek out some mischief while my eyes were closed. Just as I was sinking into blissful oblivion, I heard Allyson's Dora the Explorer toy singing a familiar tune: "See everyone can dance, dance. Yeah, everyone can dance, dance!" I smiled drowsily, relieved that she had found a tame way to entertain herself.
I'm not sure how much time passed, but it felt like only a moment later when Allyson's plaintive cries penetrated my dreams. "Help me, Mama. I can't get Dora out of my hair!"
I rubbed my eyes and laboriously brought her into focus. Her 18-inch Dora doll dangled from her hair, about six inches from her scalp. I rubbed my eyes again and pulled her onto the chair with me for a closer look. An inch-wide strand was wrapped around one of the plastic wheels on the bottom of the doll.
I rolled the wheel first one way, then the other. Dora ascended and descended the strand. I was able to roll out two or three inches of hair, but then the wheel wouldn't budge.
"Oh, Allyson," I said, breaking into snickers. "How did you... manage to... get Dora stuck in your hair??" Tears rolled down my cheeks. "I'm sorry, honey. I know it's not funny, but..."
Ethan, paused from his daily drum pad practice. He didn't even try to restrain his laughter. "Yes, it is funny!"
"Get it out!" Allyson pleaded.
"I don't know if I can, sweetie. I hope we won't have to cut it; it would be pretty short." I futilely continued to roll the wheel back and forth. I glanced at the clock and realized Bill should be on the way home from work by now. "I know, let's call Daddy. He'll know what to do."
Ethan brought me the phone, and I managed to get the story out without laughing, a challenge with Bill laughing so hard on the other end of the line.
"Maybe you can take Dora apart when you get here."
"No, don't hurt Dora!" Allyson interjected.
Bill said he'd be home in about 15 more minutes. "That's a long time," Allyson whined.
"I really need to start on dinner," I said, and Allyson's mouth drooped. "Why don't you and Dora lie on the couch and wait for Daddy?"
A few minutes later, the front door opened and in came Bill, singing cheerfully, "Doo-d-d-d-d-Dora! Doo-d-d-d-d-Dora!"
"Daddeeee!" Allyson wailed, smiling in spite of herself.
Bill settled onto the couch next to her. "Now let's see what you've done to your hair."
I hovered over him. "Can you take it apart?"
"No. It's all one piece." He rolled Dora up and down the strand, just as I had done.
I watched with a sinking feeling. "Maybe we'll have to cut her hair." I wondered if this was my punishment for vanity over her gorgeous golden tresses.
"Or maybe..." said Bill, as Allyson let out a little shriek like Lola does when you step on her tail, "I'll just reef it out."
Allyson rubbed her temple ruefully. "That hurt, Daddy!"
"Yes, but it's all over now. And we didn't have to break Dora."
That evening Allyson asked if she could watch a little Noggin before bedtime. "Didn't you watch TV this afternoon?" I asked suspiciously. "No, wait a minute. I guess you were lying on the couch with Dora while I was making dinner."
Bill turned the channel for her, and she sighed with contentment as she sprawled out on the couch, covering herself with a fleece blanket. "Just don't do any more cuddling with Dora," Bill warned.
Allyson giggled. "Oh, Daddy! I won't."
One More Allyson Story
Today Allyson told Bill to sit very still while she drew his picture. He obediently held his pose, and his silly smile, for five minutes while she sketched away. She handed the finished portrait over with a flourish.
"It's a great picture!" I said. And it was. She had captured a fair likeness of Bill's black spiky hair and his cute little ears. There was only one problem.
"Why are my teeth green?" Bill asked.
"Because I couldn't find the yellow crayon," Allyson explained.
"But aren't my teeth actually white?"
"Well, sort of."
Must be time to schedule another cleaning!
Back at the house, I immediately collapsed into a heap on my favorite green chair and ottoman. Allyson snuggled with me for about 30 seconds and then hurried upstairs to seek out some mischief while my eyes were closed. Just as I was sinking into blissful oblivion, I heard Allyson's Dora the Explorer toy singing a familiar tune: "See everyone can dance, dance. Yeah, everyone can dance, dance!" I smiled drowsily, relieved that she had found a tame way to entertain herself.
I'm not sure how much time passed, but it felt like only a moment later when Allyson's plaintive cries penetrated my dreams. "Help me, Mama. I can't get Dora out of my hair!"
I rubbed my eyes and laboriously brought her into focus. Her 18-inch Dora doll dangled from her hair, about six inches from her scalp. I rubbed my eyes again and pulled her onto the chair with me for a closer look. An inch-wide strand was wrapped around one of the plastic wheels on the bottom of the doll.
I rolled the wheel first one way, then the other. Dora ascended and descended the strand. I was able to roll out two or three inches of hair, but then the wheel wouldn't budge.
"Oh, Allyson," I said, breaking into snickers. "How did you... manage to... get Dora stuck in your hair??" Tears rolled down my cheeks. "I'm sorry, honey. I know it's not funny, but..."
Ethan, paused from his daily drum pad practice. He didn't even try to restrain his laughter. "Yes, it is funny!"
"Get it out!" Allyson pleaded.
"I don't know if I can, sweetie. I hope we won't have to cut it; it would be pretty short." I futilely continued to roll the wheel back and forth. I glanced at the clock and realized Bill should be on the way home from work by now. "I know, let's call Daddy. He'll know what to do."
Ethan brought me the phone, and I managed to get the story out without laughing, a challenge with Bill laughing so hard on the other end of the line.
"Maybe you can take Dora apart when you get here."
"No, don't hurt Dora!" Allyson interjected.
Bill said he'd be home in about 15 more minutes. "That's a long time," Allyson whined.
"I really need to start on dinner," I said, and Allyson's mouth drooped. "Why don't you and Dora lie on the couch and wait for Daddy?"
A few minutes later, the front door opened and in came Bill, singing cheerfully, "Doo-d-d-d-d-Dora! Doo-d-d-d-d-Dora!"
"Daddeeee!" Allyson wailed, smiling in spite of herself.
Bill settled onto the couch next to her. "Now let's see what you've done to your hair."
I hovered over him. "Can you take it apart?"
"No. It's all one piece." He rolled Dora up and down the strand, just as I had done.
I watched with a sinking feeling. "Maybe we'll have to cut her hair." I wondered if this was my punishment for vanity over her gorgeous golden tresses.
"Or maybe..." said Bill, as Allyson let out a little shriek like Lola does when you step on her tail, "I'll just reef it out."
Allyson rubbed her temple ruefully. "That hurt, Daddy!"
"Yes, but it's all over now. And we didn't have to break Dora."
That evening Allyson asked if she could watch a little Noggin before bedtime. "Didn't you watch TV this afternoon?" I asked suspiciously. "No, wait a minute. I guess you were lying on the couch with Dora while I was making dinner."
Bill turned the channel for her, and she sighed with contentment as she sprawled out on the couch, covering herself with a fleece blanket. "Just don't do any more cuddling with Dora," Bill warned.
Allyson giggled. "Oh, Daddy! I won't."
One More Allyson Story
Today Allyson told Bill to sit very still while she drew his picture. He obediently held his pose, and his silly smile, for five minutes while she sketched away. She handed the finished portrait over with a flourish.
"It's a great picture!" I said. And it was. She had captured a fair likeness of Bill's black spiky hair and his cute little ears. There was only one problem.
"Why are my teeth green?" Bill asked.
"Because I couldn't find the yellow crayon," Allyson explained.
"But aren't my teeth actually white?"
"Well, sort of."
Must be time to schedule another cleaning!
Monday, November 15, 2010
You Will Get a Sentimental Feelin'
For about three weeks now, Allyson has been impatiently awaiting her big moment: practicing for the upcoming children's Christmas choir (or Christmas "require" as she calls it). I can only imagine how ecstatic she'll be about the actual concert.
Yesterday she came home from Sunday school with a lyric sheet and a practice CD. She practiced her two songs about six times as soon as we got home from church, and four more times this evening after she got home from the babysitter. (No, I'm not exaggerating.) She's still struggling with the words and the very rapid tempo, but she's holding her own with the dance steps. I suspect that she's thrown in a few tap dancing steps that might not be part of the choreography, but it all works.
See for yourself...
I tried to put in a caption but couldn't make it work.... Toward the end of the video, Allyson makes an aside. She's saying, "I'm 'tending I'm puttin' up holly."
Did you giggle at the "ooh-ooh-ooh" part at the end? Bill and I have to avoid eye contact then to keep from laughing.
Is she not the cutest little performer?
Note: If you're reading this via email or Facebook, you'll need to click the link to the original post to play the video. The link appears at the very bottom of the window.
Yesterday she came home from Sunday school with a lyric sheet and a practice CD. She practiced her two songs about six times as soon as we got home from church, and four more times this evening after she got home from the babysitter. (No, I'm not exaggerating.) She's still struggling with the words and the very rapid tempo, but she's holding her own with the dance steps. I suspect that she's thrown in a few tap dancing steps that might not be part of the choreography, but it all works.
See for yourself...
I tried to put in a caption but couldn't make it work.... Toward the end of the video, Allyson makes an aside. She's saying, "I'm 'tending I'm puttin' up holly."
Did you giggle at the "ooh-ooh-ooh" part at the end? Bill and I have to avoid eye contact then to keep from laughing.
Is she not the cutest little performer?
Note: If you're reading this via email or Facebook, you'll need to click the link to the original post to play the video. The link appears at the very bottom of the window.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Snow White and the Scary Guy
Hard to believe another Halloween has passed. It seems like yesterday when Ethan and Allyson looked like this:
On Wednesday, Bill and the kids carved pumpkins.
Ethan carved his own again this year, which always reminds me of the story about Bill's sister Lisa almost cutting her finger off when she carved a pumpkin as a kid. To make matters worse this year, Ethan and Allyson actually joked about someone cutting off a finger. "Stop it! That's not funny," I scolded. But Allyson kept bringing it up again every few minutes.
After the kids went to bed, Bill carved one more pumpkin for a contest at work. Can you believe he didn't win first place?
Last night we took Allyson trick-or-treating in her Snow White costume. Ethan missed it this year because he was at his dad's, but he was back in time to help eat Allyson's candy.
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| Age 4 (2001) |
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| Age 6 Months (2006) |
On Wednesday, Bill and the kids carved pumpkins.
Ethan carved his own again this year, which always reminds me of the story about Bill's sister Lisa almost cutting her finger off when she carved a pumpkin as a kid. To make matters worse this year, Ethan and Allyson actually joked about someone cutting off a finger. "Stop it! That's not funny," I scolded. But Allyson kept bringing it up again every few minutes.
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| Doesn't This Look Like the Shower Scene from Psycho? |
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| No One Lost Any Digits |
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| Ethan's Pumpkin is on Far Right |
After the kids went to bed, Bill carved one more pumpkin for a contest at work. Can you believe he didn't win first place?
Last night we took Allyson trick-or-treating in her Snow White costume. Ethan missed it this year because he was at his dad's, but he was back in time to help eat Allyson's candy.
She wore white tights, sport socks, and her tennis shoes under the costume, but in her mind she was a BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS. It was probably the gold fabric crown that sealed the illusion for her.
We walked around the neighborhood with Jacob, a second-grader from across the street. He wore the same "Scream" costume that Ethan wore two years ago:
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| Ethan in 2008 (age 11) |
At one house, I overheard this conversation:
Woman: Oh, are you Snow White?
Allyson: Yes, and also a beautiful princess.
Woman: Yes, you are beautiful!
Allyson (gesturing to Jacob): And he's a Scary Guy. (Cups hand around mouth and continues in a stage whisper.) I just call him Scary Guy because I don't know what his costume is really called.
Woman: Works for me!
Oh, and Trick or Treat!
We coached Allyson over and over on what to say: first "Trick or Treat!" and then "thank you."
The good thing is that she almost always remembered to say thank you. But she couldn't seem to remember the Trick or Treat part. It usually went something like this:
- Collect candy. Mumble a thank you.
- Run back down walk, candy bag dragging.
- Holler "Have a happy Halloween!"
- Back at the sidewalk, yell, "Trick or Treat!"
Oh well. She must have done something right given the size of her haul--in her words, it was the size of "a small elephant."
Good thing Ethan will eat most of it.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
The Great Pumpkin Fire of 2010
When we were getting ready for dinner the other night, I spotted a couple of black things on the kitchen floor that looked rather like dead beetles. They really stood out, of course, because my floor was impeccably clean as always. (Okay, it's actually only clean for about an hour other week, when I mop it whether it needs it or not.)
Anyway, I didn't want to touch the dead beetles, so I asked Bill to investigate. He knelt and picked one up without hesitation. "Looks like an ember from the Great Pumpkin Fire of '10," he said.
Ethan, who was dutifully setting the table, paused for a moment. "The what??"
"Oh, didn't I tell you about that? I'll tell you over dinner."...
The week before last, I roasted one of the three sugar pie pumpkins I've bought so far this season. While the puree was draining into a bowl, I whirled up my very first pie crust in the food processor. It was easy!.. Until I rolled it out.
Bill, who was doing the dinner dishes while I worked on dirtying the kitchen again, had to listen to a lot of whining at that point.
"Why is it all cracked around the edges?"
"It'll be fine."
"But I can't make the cracks roll together."
"Don't worry, Sarah. It's all good. But hey, it doesn't look like you used enough flour. It's going to stick."
"No, I read that too much flour makes the dough tough."
Even though Bill was the only one who had successfully made a pie crust at that point, he didn't argue with me. He coached me as I wrapped one side of the dough around the rolling pin, and then the other.
As I maneuvered it over the pan, he said, "Now center it over the pan and-"
I plopped the dough down haphazardly.
"...or you could just drop it in any old which way," Bill muttered wryly.
Again, he bit his tongue as I struggled to smooth out the dough and conform it to the shape of the pan. Of course, half of it tore apart. All I said was, "DARN it!", but it could have been much worse.
Now Allyson decided it was time to put in her two cents. "Why didn't it work, Mommy?"
"Because I'm not Daddy. I can't just make a pie crust on the first try without any trouble at all."
"Now, now. No need to get testy," Bill said. "Just roll it out again. It'll be fine."
"Listen to Daddy," Allyson admonished. "He knows how to make pies."
I was sorely tempted to say, "Why don't you do it, Bill? You're better at it." Instead, I squared my shoulders, added a bit more flour, and rolled it out again. This time I almost managed to get it into the pan all in one piece, and I was able to pat the dough back together on the marred edge.
Following some instructions I found online, I brushed the dough with an egg wash, lined the empty shell with parchment paper, and added some dried beans and rice to weigh the paper down. Then I slid it into the preheated top oven, a small one just the right size for pizzas and cookie sheets. Just as I began to worry about the possibility of the parchment paper brushing against the heating element, one side of it burst into flames!
"Oh no, Mommy! It's on fire," Allyson informed me. "This is horrible!"
I started to jerk the pan back out, but I was afraid to dislodge the beans and rice and burn the dough. I carefully slid it out halfway, cascading some rice onto the bottom of the oven, and started blowing on the flame, which flared even higher. I expelled all my air, as if I were trying to blow out 40 birthday candles. The flame flickered. I blew again, so hard that I saw stars, and it finally went out.
Ethan interrupted my narrative at that point with a very good question. "Weren't you worried about the house burning down?"
"Well, maybe a little. But I was really more worried about saving the pie."
"You mean you were more worried about a PIE than our house?"
"Yes. I worked really hard on that crust!"
"It was horrible," Allyson interjected. "I ran out to tell Daddy about the horrible accident."
"It was already out by the time he came in from the yard," I reminded her.
In the end, all was well. I replaced the parchment paper with foil and prebaked the crust for about 10 minutes. Afterward, I agonized over whether I could still use the rice and beans and finally threw them out. At last I poured in the filling and baked it.
Wow! It was fabulous. The crust was flaky and tender even though I used 100% whole wheat pastry flour, and even though I had to roll it out twice. I guess Bill's not the only one who can bake a pie!
Update 10/24/10 12:05 AM: You'll never guess what I found at the foot of the stove right after I published this entry! Yes, it was a black beetle. I kid you not; I can't make this stuff up. It was on its back on my impeccably clean floor (truly--I mopped today), flailing its legs frantically. Bizarre.
Anyway, I didn't want to touch the dead beetles, so I asked Bill to investigate. He knelt and picked one up without hesitation. "Looks like an ember from the Great Pumpkin Fire of '10," he said.
Ethan, who was dutifully setting the table, paused for a moment. "The what??"
"Oh, didn't I tell you about that? I'll tell you over dinner."...
The week before last, I roasted one of the three sugar pie pumpkins I've bought so far this season. While the puree was draining into a bowl, I whirled up my very first pie crust in the food processor. It was easy!.. Until I rolled it out.
Bill, who was doing the dinner dishes while I worked on dirtying the kitchen again, had to listen to a lot of whining at that point.
"Why is it all cracked around the edges?"
"It'll be fine."
"But I can't make the cracks roll together."
"Don't worry, Sarah. It's all good. But hey, it doesn't look like you used enough flour. It's going to stick."
"No, I read that too much flour makes the dough tough."
Even though Bill was the only one who had successfully made a pie crust at that point, he didn't argue with me. He coached me as I wrapped one side of the dough around the rolling pin, and then the other.
As I maneuvered it over the pan, he said, "Now center it over the pan and-"
I plopped the dough down haphazardly.
"...or you could just drop it in any old which way," Bill muttered wryly.
Again, he bit his tongue as I struggled to smooth out the dough and conform it to the shape of the pan. Of course, half of it tore apart. All I said was, "DARN it!", but it could have been much worse.
Now Allyson decided it was time to put in her two cents. "Why didn't it work, Mommy?"
"Because I'm not Daddy. I can't just make a pie crust on the first try without any trouble at all."
"Now, now. No need to get testy," Bill said. "Just roll it out again. It'll be fine."
"Listen to Daddy," Allyson admonished. "He knows how to make pies."
I was sorely tempted to say, "Why don't you do it, Bill? You're better at it." Instead, I squared my shoulders, added a bit more flour, and rolled it out again. This time I almost managed to get it into the pan all in one piece, and I was able to pat the dough back together on the marred edge.
Following some instructions I found online, I brushed the dough with an egg wash, lined the empty shell with parchment paper, and added some dried beans and rice to weigh the paper down. Then I slid it into the preheated top oven, a small one just the right size for pizzas and cookie sheets. Just as I began to worry about the possibility of the parchment paper brushing against the heating element, one side of it burst into flames!
"Oh no, Mommy! It's on fire," Allyson informed me. "This is horrible!"
I started to jerk the pan back out, but I was afraid to dislodge the beans and rice and burn the dough. I carefully slid it out halfway, cascading some rice onto the bottom of the oven, and started blowing on the flame, which flared even higher. I expelled all my air, as if I were trying to blow out 40 birthday candles. The flame flickered. I blew again, so hard that I saw stars, and it finally went out.
"Well, maybe a little. But I was really more worried about saving the pie."
"You mean you were more worried about a PIE than our house?"
"Yes. I worked really hard on that crust!"
"It was horrible," Allyson interjected. "I ran out to tell Daddy about the horrible accident."
"It was already out by the time he came in from the yard," I reminded her.
In the end, all was well. I replaced the parchment paper with foil and prebaked the crust for about 10 minutes. Afterward, I agonized over whether I could still use the rice and beans and finally threw them out. At last I poured in the filling and baked it.
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| Couldn't Stop to Take a Picture Until AFTER We Tried It |
Update 10/24/10 12:05 AM: You'll never guess what I found at the foot of the stove right after I published this entry! Yes, it was a black beetle. I kid you not; I can't make this stuff up. It was on its back on my impeccably clean floor (truly--I mopped today), flailing its legs frantically. Bizarre.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
For Me, It's Birds
The other morning, I strapped Allyson into the dilapidated bike trailer that she's almost outgrown, and we set off for the babysitter's house in the gentle warmth of the mid-morning sun. There was a hint of a bite to the crisp air, and I savored this perfect fall weather, such a sharp contrast from the brutal summer heart that had stretched on and on.
Allyson prattled on behind me, her voice muffled by the plastic rain/wind shield. "Mmm hmm, baby," I answered at intervals, and she replied, "Huh? What did you say, Mommy?"
Finally we both gave up, and I just drank in the beauty all around me. Many of the crepe myrtle trees are still in bloom, especially the bright fucshia ones, and there were many other purple, yellow, and red flowers that I couldn't name. "Beautiful," I murmured, glancing heavenward.
As usual, the ride home was even better. That time alone, with the sun on my face and the profusion of colors all around, and the steady pump of my laboring heart, is like... church. I feel so close to God, alone and yet not alone. It's my very favorite prayer time, though sometimes I have to refrain from moving my lips because of the passing cars.
On this particular morning, I prayed fervently for a friend who's been very sick. "Give her joy in your strength today," I asked. Remembering Isaiah 12:3, a verse from this week's Bible study lesson, I added, "Let her drink with joy from the wells of salvation. And let rivers of living water flow from her belly."
Just as those words left my lips, a bird flew out of a tree to my left and soared into the sky, passing so close to my face that I could see and hear the flapping of its wings. I laughed with joy because I saw that humble brown bird as my friend, set free of the weights that have held her down and flying up, up, high above her suffering.
Seeing that bird reminded me of another encounter with a bird, about three years ago. I was pushing Allyson in the stroller after walking Ethan to school one fall morning, much like the one I just described. It had rained recently, and I saw a bird drinking from a puddle. As we approached, it fluttered up into the bright morning sun.
"Oh Lord, thank you. It's so-"
I never finished my sentence because at that moment an almost audible voice filled my mind. "Come and drink."
Normally when God speaks to me, it feels like part of my thoughts, and I'm never entirely sure it's really Him. But the way He interrupted me that time, I just knew the thought was not my own.
"Oh God, thank you," I thought. "Tell me more. How do I come and drink? What do I need to do exactly?"
I didn't hear anything else, yet I still knew what He was saying somehow. "That's the whole point, isn't it? I don't have to DO anything, just come and drink like that bird. Oh, help me do that!"
For years, I've sensed God's presence through birds. I think that feeling started when God led me to one of my favorite memory passages, in which Jesus promises to feed and clothe us just as he cares for the birds of the air. Every time I hear a bird sing I remember that promise, and it makes me feel loved and secure. So whenever I see birds, I thank God for them (except when they are tormenting Lola in the backyard).
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| The Trailer Before It Was Dilapidated (8/2008) |
Finally we both gave up, and I just drank in the beauty all around me. Many of the crepe myrtle trees are still in bloom, especially the bright fucshia ones, and there were many other purple, yellow, and red flowers that I couldn't name. "Beautiful," I murmured, glancing heavenward.
As usual, the ride home was even better. That time alone, with the sun on my face and the profusion of colors all around, and the steady pump of my laboring heart, is like... church. I feel so close to God, alone and yet not alone. It's my very favorite prayer time, though sometimes I have to refrain from moving my lips because of the passing cars.
On this particular morning, I prayed fervently for a friend who's been very sick. "Give her joy in your strength today," I asked. Remembering Isaiah 12:3, a verse from this week's Bible study lesson, I added, "Let her drink with joy from the wells of salvation. And let rivers of living water flow from her belly."
Just as those words left my lips, a bird flew out of a tree to my left and soared into the sky, passing so close to my face that I could see and hear the flapping of its wings. I laughed with joy because I saw that humble brown bird as my friend, set free of the weights that have held her down and flying up, up, high above her suffering.
Seeing that bird reminded me of another encounter with a bird, about three years ago. I was pushing Allyson in the stroller after walking Ethan to school one fall morning, much like the one I just described. It had rained recently, and I saw a bird drinking from a puddle. As we approached, it fluttered up into the bright morning sun.
"Oh Lord, thank you. It's so-"
I never finished my sentence because at that moment an almost audible voice filled my mind. "Come and drink."
Normally when God speaks to me, it feels like part of my thoughts, and I'm never entirely sure it's really Him. But the way He interrupted me that time, I just knew the thought was not my own.
"Oh God, thank you," I thought. "Tell me more. How do I come and drink? What do I need to do exactly?"
I didn't hear anything else, yet I still knew what He was saying somehow. "That's the whole point, isn't it? I don't have to DO anything, just come and drink like that bird. Oh, help me do that!"
For years, I've sensed God's presence through birds. I think that feeling started when God led me to one of my favorite memory passages, in which Jesus promises to feed and clothe us just as he cares for the birds of the air. Every time I hear a bird sing I remember that promise, and it makes me feel loved and secure. So whenever I see birds, I thank God for them (except when they are tormenting Lola in the backyard).
How does God speak to you? Do you hear him in your thoughts? Through scripture? Through someone else's words? Is there some special sign He gives you that reminds you of His love?
Sunday, October 10, 2010
So Long, Sweet Paco
Well, that didn't take long. We had planned to walk the neighborhood after church looking for Paco's owner, but the man showed up around 11:00. Though Paco had no collar, he did have a radio frequency chip implanted, and the man just followed the signal to our house, where he found Ethan walking him on the borrowed leash.
We hastened to explain that we'd been on the way to look for his home, but the man eyed us rather suspiciously, as if we'd been plotting to keep his dog.
"We fed him and gave him water," Bill said. "He seemed to enjoy playing with our dog this morning."
"Our dog is big!" Allyson chimed in. "She tried to bite him."
"No she didn't," I assured the man, whose eyes widened in alarm. "They were just playing."
He extended his hand to me and Bill. "Thank you for taking care of him. My wife will be so happy."
"What's his name?" I asked, not mentioning that Ethan had already named him.
He grinned. "Poppy!" (Not so far off from Paco, don't you think?)
"Tell the puppy goodbye," Bill said to Allyson, who leaned against his side, sheltered in the crook of his arm.
"Bye, puppy!" she said in a quavering voice. She broke into sobs after the truck pulled away, her little shoulders heaving. She should have listened to her father: "Don't get attached!"
It hurts my heart to see her sobbing, but honestly this was such a relief. Bill and I passed a pretty difficult night. At bedtime we put Paco/Poppy in the garage in the collapsible carrier that we'd put Lola in on her first night. (She rolled it around like a hamster ball, but Poppy looked lost in it.)
There Really is a Dog in There, Trust Me
Ethan gave him a tiny serving of canned dog food, a free sample we haven't given to Lola for fear that she'll disdain her (cheaper) dry food. That little dog devoured the food and licked the bowl clean! Apparently the reason he hadn't eaten before was that Lola's dry food wasn't good enough for him.
Have you ever wondered how long a little dog can yap and yap? I'll tell you. For hours. Hours. Around 11:00, we tried transferring Poppy to the back porch. We locked Lola in her run again and set up the carrier at the back door. That made her yaps a little fainter, but it stressed Bill since we knew the neighbors would be bothered. The rigid set of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw as we sat watching Seinfeld reruns gave away his frustration.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked meekly.
"Not mad exactly, but frustrated. You guys just don't think things through."
"I'll walk him around myself in the morning," I promised. "It's just one night."
We tried to sleep, but every time we dozed off, Poppy resumed his lament. Interspersed with his high pitched yipes were Lola's deeper barks. I also heard little scritch-scratches at the back door, and I hoped Bill wasn't hearing that too.
Around 1:00, we heard a woman outside, calling frantically for someone or something. Bill thundered down the stairs, and I stumbled down behind him. Could this be the Chihuahua's owner? No, it was the neighbor behind us. Their tiny white Pomeranian mix had gotten away around midnight, and she'd been hoping the yapping in our backyard might be coming from her dog. We wished her good luck and good night.
At that point, Bill let Lola and Poppy out of their enclosures and watched them for a few minutes. They seemed to be best buddies, and now both of them were quiet. Maybe Poppy had just been lonely.
I fell into an uneasy sleep around 1:30 or 2:00, with visions of Lola eating the poor dog, but when I woke up this morning they were both standing at the back door begging to come in.
Please, Please?
I think Lola was a little sad to see him go, but I wasn't so much. Why? Maybe it was the little surprise he left us in the dog carrier (which Bill cleaned up, by the way).
Still, I have to admit it was a pretty exciting 18 hours. It was especially cool getting to return him safely to his owner. Thank you for your prayers and good wishes!
We hastened to explain that we'd been on the way to look for his home, but the man eyed us rather suspiciously, as if we'd been plotting to keep his dog.
"We fed him and gave him water," Bill said. "He seemed to enjoy playing with our dog this morning."
"Our dog is big!" Allyson chimed in. "She tried to bite him."
"No she didn't," I assured the man, whose eyes widened in alarm. "They were just playing."
He extended his hand to me and Bill. "Thank you for taking care of him. My wife will be so happy."
"What's his name?" I asked, not mentioning that Ethan had already named him.
He grinned. "Poppy!" (Not so far off from Paco, don't you think?)
"Tell the puppy goodbye," Bill said to Allyson, who leaned against his side, sheltered in the crook of his arm.
"Bye, puppy!" she said in a quavering voice. She broke into sobs after the truck pulled away, her little shoulders heaving. She should have listened to her father: "Don't get attached!"
It hurts my heart to see her sobbing, but honestly this was such a relief. Bill and I passed a pretty difficult night. At bedtime we put Paco/Poppy in the garage in the collapsible carrier that we'd put Lola in on her first night. (She rolled it around like a hamster ball, but Poppy looked lost in it.)
There Really is a Dog in There, Trust MeEthan gave him a tiny serving of canned dog food, a free sample we haven't given to Lola for fear that she'll disdain her (cheaper) dry food. That little dog devoured the food and licked the bowl clean! Apparently the reason he hadn't eaten before was that Lola's dry food wasn't good enough for him.
Have you ever wondered how long a little dog can yap and yap? I'll tell you. For hours. Hours. Around 11:00, we tried transferring Poppy to the back porch. We locked Lola in her run again and set up the carrier at the back door. That made her yaps a little fainter, but it stressed Bill since we knew the neighbors would be bothered. The rigid set of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw as we sat watching Seinfeld reruns gave away his frustration.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked meekly.
"Not mad exactly, but frustrated. You guys just don't think things through."
"I'll walk him around myself in the morning," I promised. "It's just one night."
We tried to sleep, but every time we dozed off, Poppy resumed his lament. Interspersed with his high pitched yipes were Lola's deeper barks. I also heard little scritch-scratches at the back door, and I hoped Bill wasn't hearing that too.
Around 1:00, we heard a woman outside, calling frantically for someone or something. Bill thundered down the stairs, and I stumbled down behind him. Could this be the Chihuahua's owner? No, it was the neighbor behind us. Their tiny white Pomeranian mix had gotten away around midnight, and she'd been hoping the yapping in our backyard might be coming from her dog. We wished her good luck and good night.
At that point, Bill let Lola and Poppy out of their enclosures and watched them for a few minutes. They seemed to be best buddies, and now both of them were quiet. Maybe Poppy had just been lonely.
I fell into an uneasy sleep around 1:30 or 2:00, with visions of Lola eating the poor dog, but when I woke up this morning they were both standing at the back door begging to come in.
Please, Please? I think Lola was a little sad to see him go, but I wasn't so much. Why? Maybe it was the little surprise he left us in the dog carrier (which Bill cleaned up, by the way).
Still, I have to admit it was a pretty exciting 18 hours. It was especially cool getting to return him safely to his owner. Thank you for your prayers and good wishes!
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