Couldn't Be Aunt Sarah

Some of you may want to sit down for this one....

About six weeks ago a thought occurred to me that I never would have expected. Out of the blue, I decided I wanted a tattoo. I don't mean that I wanted a cool tattoo to make myself feel young and hip and a little dangerous. I mean I wanted a particular tattoo, not as a decoration, but as a declaration.

This was no small decision for me; I have to admit that in the past I'd been guilty of judging people with tattoos, especially women. I thought it was a little on the trashy side, to be honest. So I prayed about it for a few weeks before I mentioned it to anyone. Most of all, I wanted to honor God with my body, his temple. I didn't find anything in the Bible to discourage me; in fact, while I was praying about the decision I ran across a scripture in Isaiah about the Israelites writing on their hands, "The Lord's,"--a label remarkably similar to what I had in mind. How did they write it on their hands, I wondered. Could they have used tattoos?

After a few weeks, I felt confident in my decision, and I began to make preparations. I asked my ex-husband where he and his wife had gotten their tattoos, and then I called my sister, a gifted artist whose usual medium is cakes.

"Emily, I need a favor."

"Sure, what?"

"Brace yourself.... I want you to draw me a tattoo."

"What??"

"A tattoo."
"For you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure about this?"

After I assured her that I'd thought this through and prayed about it, she said she'd be happy to do the drawing. I told her I wanted a cross--rugged, not ornate--with a banner draped over that said "His."

She said she'd get it ready as soon as possible, and she also agreed to keep this to herself.

Her 15-year-old daughter Hillary saw her drawing and asked what she was making. "It's a tattoo design," she said.

"Who's it for?"

"I can't tell you."

When Hillary saw the design, she immediately thought of me. "That reminds me of Aunt Sarah. But it couldn't be Aunt Sarah. She would NEVER get a tattoo."

Emily just smiled.

So when Hillary saw me slink out of their house a few days later carrying the tattoo in its photo envelope, she was utterly shocked. And so was the rest of my family when they saw it yesterday, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

This past Thursday I showed up at the tattoo parlor with a canteen of water, Emily's drawing, and my husband, for moral support. Once the artist, Jamie, had set everything up, he invited me to climb up on the table. "You do know this is going to hurt, right?" he asked.

I smiled grimly. "Yes, I know."

"This your first one?"

"Yes."

"It won't be so bad. Imagine getting a bad sunburn and then having someone draw on it with a ballpoint pen."

That's not so bad, I thought.

Bill interjected, "No, it's more like a cat scratch."

"On a sunburn?"

He nodded. I decided I liked Jamie's analogy better.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. "Well, I've been through natural childbirth with absolutely no drugs," I said, both to impress him and to reassure myself. "It can't be much worse than that."

"You'll be fine, then," Jamie said. "This should be a piece of cake."

He started by applying a template to my foot, the site I'd chosen because it will give me the option to cover it up if I want to.

As we waited for it to dry, I sat trembling on the table.

Trying to Be Brave

He turned on the tattoo needle (gun?). "You're going to remember that buzzing," Bill said.

"Yep," Jamie said. "I dream about it at night."

It reminded me of buzzing bees, and it felt a lot like a bee sting--a bee sting that lasted 40 minutes! I think it hurt worse than I expected, but I took it like a woman. I didn't cry, or whine. I just gritted my teeth and clutched Bill's hand. Sometimes I almost got used to it, but then he would go over a bone and I would drawn in my breath and clench my teeth. Apparently the top of the foot is one of the most painful places to get a tattoo, definitely not recommended for your first. But as this is my only, I couldn't save it for the second.

About 5 Minutes In, No Turning Back Now

Here's a mystery. Even though the pain was relentless, a combination of generalized stinging plus sharp sticks moving randomly over my foot, the time went by fairly quickly. We made small talk and listened to stories from Jamie's 20 years of tattooing. Another mystery was that I could never tell where he was tattooing unless I looked, which I tried not to do. He'd be down near my toes, but I'd swear he was up at the top. Bizarre.

Anyway, I made it through. I had no choice once he got started; no way I was going home with a quarter of a tattoo.

He did a phenomenal job, exactly like Emily's pencil drawing but in beautiful color. "Sweet!" Bill said as he took a picture.

I chose purple for royalty (because I'm a daughter of the King, of course!).

Here it is the next morning, after my foot had swollen considerably.

Now, on day four, the swelling is mostly down and my foot is only a bit tender. So far I have no regrets. Someday when I am old and wrinkled, and I'm embarrassed to have a three-inch cross on my foot, I figure I'll put on my orthopedic shoes and no one will be the wiser. In the meantime, I will savor this reminder that I am HIS, every day of my life.

Shocked?

My New Look

On Saturday I did something I've half wanted to do for years, but was afraid. I got all my hair cut off! I love it, I think, though I'm still getting used to it. Here's how it looked when I came home from the salon:

I was really nervous about fixing it myself, but it's easy. All I have to do is run my fingers through it, and it takes less than five minutes to blow dry. Nice!

Good thing it's easy, because there will be no more waking up and just running a brush through my hair. I've got some major bed-head going on each day!

Can you believe I posted that picture? Me either. Enjoy.

Treasures of Darkness

Over the last few weeks, I have struggled daily to submit to God's will for my life, to press close to him with every disappointment. I've cried bitterly, raged at the injustice, feared for my sanity. But through it all, I've turned to Jesus. Every morning I've woken at first light and headed down to the back porch to spend time with God. And He's been so faithful to meet with me there, and in my prayer closet, and in my bed at night--and everywhere else that I have cried out to Him.

What I've wanted most is a steadfast heart. I get so frustrated when I'm buffeted back and forth by every circumstance, and the hard-won peace is ripped away yet again. A week or so ago, God led me to this verse in Isaiah:

This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says: “In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength, but you would have none of it." (Isaiah 30:15)

When I found the verse, I immediately added it to the sticky note collection on my bathroom mirror. Every day I look at it and ask God to make that rest, quietness, and trust a reality in my heart.

This week, I've felt that rest. I've reveled in the quietness and trust and rejoiced that God has been teaching me through my struggles. I've relaxed. I've told him each morning that I would gladly receive whatever comes from His hand.

And then came yesterday, when I was knocked flat on my face by something totally unrelated to the struggles I've been facing. I was confused, heartsick, broken yet again, and without hope. I spent most of the day whining. "Why now, God? Can't I just get one break? It's too much. It's not fair."

I still felt the same way at bedtime. I wept on the floor of my closet, but I couldn't really pray because I couldn't even put into words exactly why I was crying, or why irrational anger surged through me.

But oh, this morning! I crept down to the porch around 7 and wrote it all out in my journal. I asked God to forgive me for my self pity, asked Him to give me that quietness and trust I need so desperately. I sat and watched a tiny bird enjoying our overgrown garden. I listened to birds' chirps, to the wind, and to Lola's grunts as she chased the birds around the yard. I felt the gentle warmth of the rising sun. I looked at the photinia hedge that is slowly turning green again after being ravaged by some disease.

And my heart was still. I saw myself as a sheep nestled against my Shepherd's side.

At last I turned to Isaiah and asked the Holy Spirit to teach me. I almost missed the message at first, had to do a double take and read it again:

I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the LORD, the God of Israel, who summons you by name. (Isaiah 45:3)

Tears of joy washed away the tears of pain that I'd shed just minutes before. Oh, oh, oh! The treasure of darkness! Would I ever have discovered the secret riches of God's love and peace if I'd never walked in the darkness? Would I have known my desperate need for Him if my life was always cozy and comfortable and safe?

"Thank you for the darkness," I breathed. "Thank you for allowing me to find you here. Lord, I submit to you. Not my will, but yours. Keep working on me, conforming me to your image."

Now, nothing has changed in my situation, but my heart overflows with thankfulness. And I believe that hope is coming. I believe I'm going to "overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit" (Romans 15:13).

So be it.

The Never-Ending Birthday

It's been nearly a month now since Allyson's sixth birthday, and I've been meaning to post some pictures. I'm not so remiss, though, because she just had her last celebration this past Friday (her third).

On her actual birthday, Bill's parents drove in from Canada--one stop on a road trip that would take them all over the continent. We were so tickled that they made it in time for the big day because it was hard to predict exactly when they would arrive.

That evening we had Allyson's favorite yellow rice and chicken and an ice cream cake that turned out not to have any ice cream in it.

Two days later, on a Saturday, we had a swimming party with her cousins, aunts, uncles, and both sets of grandparents. We had lasagna and a beautiful cake made to order by Aunt Emily.

An Artist Cake, Allyson's Request (My Dad in Background)

On the following Monday, Nana and Grandpa took Allyson on a shopping trip. She came home with a bike helmet, hats, flip-flops, a Happy Napper stuffed animal/pillow, and a hula hoop that lights up. (By the way, I'm pretty sure that hula hoop is broken, but it seems to work just fine for Allyson. Okay, so the lights work, but it just won't spin on my hips. Weird.)

For her last celebration, she wanted to take three friends to the movies and have a little party at home. So this past Friday we took Cadyn, Paige, and Olivia to see Madagascar 3, which was hilarious and actually held a spiritual meaning for me: Don't be satisfied with your comfy, safe old life (the zoo), when God has something new and scary and exciting out there for you (the circus).

After the movie Bill bought the girls McDonald's Happy Meals that they didn't eat and served cupcakes he and Allyson had made the night before.

The highlight of the party was getting glitter "tattoos" from Allyson's Shimmer Body Art kit, one of her favorite gifts. Daddy expertly applied a peace sign, a unicorn, hearts, and a dragon.

For once, something off an infomercial actually lived up to all of its claims. Easy and cute!

Allyson's Dragon

The next day I asked Bill to put one on my shoulder. It turned out great.

All in all, I think Allyson had a very special birthday season.

Deeper Than We Can Understand

On Sunday morning I woke up early to spend some time with God and Lola on the back porch. I prayed for several minutes about the internal battle I've been struggling with the last couple of weeks, and I meditated on scriptures about how God's glory is being revealed through my suffering. I enjoyed sitting in the morning sun, eyes closed, listening to the birds--which always reminds me of how God takes care of me.

But on this particular morning, the pain in my heart wouldn't go away. It was there underneath everything, a heaviness, a dull aching.

"Why can't I feel your love this morning?" I asked. "Why won't you come to me like you did last week when I was awake during the storm?"

I heard nothing.

After a few more minutes of relaxing, I went inside to wake the family for church, and then I put on a pot of Cream of Wheat, Allyson's favorite. I had just poured the cereal into the boiling water when Allyson came down with her daddy.

"Mommy, I made a surprise for you!" she said. "Come and see."

"Just a minute, baby. I can't leave the Cream of Wheat right now."

"Please? I want to show you now."

I started to put her off again, but then I remembered the feeling I had on the swings last week, the realization that there is nothing more important than spending time with my family.

"Bill, will you stir this?" I asked. "I'm going up to see Allyson's surprise."

Beaming, she took my hand and led me up the stairs. At the top, she made me cover my eyes as she led me to the master bathroom. "Now you can open them, Mommy."

It took me a moment to spot the surprise, there among the sticky notes and snippets of paper that I'd been sticking to my mirror. Nearly every day I've been adding another scripture or encouraging word that God has given me through the Bible and through friends and family.

At the bottom, Allyson had added a sticky note of her own:

I was sobbing before I finished reading the note aloud: "God's love is higher and deeper and wider than we can understand."

I could tell from her crazy phonetic spelling that she had done this all on her own.

"Why did you do this?" I asked.

"I don't know, Mommy. It's a song we sing at church. I just wanted you to hear it."

"It was God who gave you this idea," I said as I folded her into a hug. I marveled at how she'd written a portion of my most precious memory passage, the one about being rooted and established in God's love.

Like a hundred other times when I have held her while she cried, she clung tightly to me, rubbing my back with tiny gentle hands.

I leaned my forehead against hers. "I love you so much, sweetheart."

She rubbed her nose against mine and we laughed.

All through the day I could feel God's love, and I saw signs everywhere. I cried all through the worship service because it seemed God had hand picked every song just for me. And the sermon! Every word of it was for me, right down to the pastor's "digressions."

Oh how He loves me.

Kisses From God
Speaking of Lola, I have to tell you a quick story. If you've been reading a really, really long time, you might remember the time God sent me a dolphin, or the time he told a horse to give me a kiss. Well, the other day he gave me some kisses I wasn't sure I wanted at first, but they really were sweet!

I was enjoying my morning quiet time while Lola ran around the yard chasing birds and barking at passing cars. Just as I closed my Bible, she came up to me and pushed her nose into my lap. I pushed her away once, twice, but she insisted on climbing right up onto my lap, gazing up at me with the adoring eyes she usually reserves for Bill.

"Okay, okay," I said, allowing her to put her heavy paws on my bare legs. She licked my chin ecstatically and looked straight into my eyes. "I love you," she said. "And so does God."

I smiled at her. "Thank you, Lola."

You know, I really do love that dog.

Like Nobody Else

As Father's Day approached this year, I knew I wanted to help Allyson shower Bill with gifts as she had done for me on Mother's Day. I wanted him to feel the same warm joy of knowing that your daughter thinks the world of you. The only problem was that I am not at all a craftsy person, and now that Allyson is out of school for the summer she didn't come home with crafts and cards ready made for Daddy. So I arranged with my friend Gentle to go over and make Father's Day crafts with her kids. But then Gentle got sick, so we were on our own.

The main craft Allyson wanted to make was a decorative cemented tile for the garden; she'd seen the idea in an art book. Bill had to gather all the supplies for us and tell me how to mix the mortar, which almost made Allyson give up on the idea as she had wanted it to be a surprise.

It was messy and fun, and we both enjoyed it. Following Bill's instructions, I added just enough water to make the mortar thick like peanut butter, and we slathered it over the back of a spare ceramic tile. We gathered smooth pebbles from around the base of the pool, and Allyson arranged them to say "I U".

She lovingly made him a card that said "A is for Allyson. That stands for love." And on the inside, she said:

She tried to throw that card away because she'd made a mistake on the other inside flap, and then she'd tried to cover it up and made a mess with glue and paper. "You can't throw this away, Allyson," I said. "Daddy will love it because you made it. It doesn't have to be perfect."

She also decorated a picture frame and we put her Kindergarten graduation picture in it. And then she signed the card she had bought when Nana and Grandpa were here for her birthday last week.

We served Bill one of his favorite meals, fettucini alfredo, in the dining room with sparkling cider in wine glasses. Even though he came home with a tummy ache from a greasy burger at lunch, he still ate our fettucini, and I loved him for that.

Watching him open his presents was such a sweet pleasure. I realized with joy that the old feelings of insecurity about Allyson being such a daddy's girl were gone. I am so thankful for the special bond they share.

I saved my gift for last, and I was nervous. Because he's been traveling more lately for work, I bought him a fancy laptop case. It was quite extravagant, and I was hesitant to buy it because Bill is a practical person and he already had a functional laptop case. But this case had his name written all over it.

He loved it! He examined it thoroughly, searching every pocket and flap. "It's so stylish," he said, and I flushed with pleasure.

In the morning, after he'd left for Arkansas (carrying the new laptop case), I went out in the backyard to take a picture of the tile, which he had set next to the one he and Allyson made for me last Mother's Day.

I wondered if I had truly appreciated all the work that went into that stone. And I looked at the garden behind the stones and felt a stab of regret at all the weeds that have overtaken our beloved family garden. I've neglected it this year, just like I have neglected many things that needed my attention. I realized in a moment how self-absorbed I've been, wrapped up in unimportant things like baking bread and making muffins and running all over creation instead of spending time with my family.

That's why when Allyson asked me to sit next to her on the swing, I said yes even though it felt like it was already approaching 90 degrees (32 Celsius) at only 10:30 in the morning. I sat on the swing next to her and closed my eyes, enjoying (briefly) the warmth of the sun settling over me like a blanket. I felt the fragile beauty of this life God has given me with startling sharpness, and it took my breath away.

Allyson came and sat in my lap. "I think we're too heavy," I warned, but I couldn't push her away. I snuggled her close and swayed in the swing, breathing in her familiar scent. And then... we started to fall, seemingly in slow motion. Down we went in a pile on the ground. The swing had split!

Thankfully, neither of us was hurt. We had a good laugh together. "Maybe this swing set needs to go," I said.

"No, I love this swing set. Daddy and Grandpa built it for me when I was two. And even Ethan helped."

The Garden
You know what's funny about the garden? Even though it's been sadly neglected, this year we are getting a bigger harvest than ever. There are lots of flowers, promising cantaloupes and cucumbers. Bill has picked green beans three times, and once we got over 20 of them!


May we reap a similar harvest in our family!

Another Walmart Angel

I don't know what it is about Walmart. Remember when my friend Gentle encountered an angel in human form right after our friend Laura passed away? Well last night I met my own angel at the same Walmart.

After work I picked up Allyson and raced over to Walmart to pick up a few essentials before Bible study. I couldn't find some things, and Allyson had to go to the bathroom, and the wait at the deli counter was interminable. So by the time I hunted down the last item, some jalapeno chips for Bill, I was beyond frazzled. 

It has been a hard week as I've been letting go of some things that stand between me and God. I've lost some sleep, and that has been a good thing because I've had some really amazing times of intimacy with God during those wee hours of the night. But last night in the chip aisle, those old doubts began needling me. It's all your imagination. God isn't real. This is all there is. 

"God, help me," I prayed silently. "I can't question my faith right now. I just can't." I heard nothing, felt nothing.

I pulled Allyson's hand and propelled her toward the front, past all the beguiling candies and cereals and toys. "We've got to hurry or we'll be late for Bible study," I reminded her. After a 10-minute wait at one of the "express" lanes, we finally headed out to the car--just 15 minutes before I needed to leave for church. 

I'd just strapped Allyson into her car seat and was climbing into the car when I heard a woman's voice behind me. I turned and saw a blonde-haired woman idling behind my car in a van, with beaded jewelry in her hand. 

I sighed and braced myself for another sob story. I forced myself to smile, but my arms were crossed. She told me she was a single mom of three children, and she had no job but was supporting her family by making jewelry. 

I figured she was probably lying, but I felt a tug anyway. Give. 

I pulled out a five and handed it to her. "I'm afraid I don't have time to pick out some earrings," I said. 

Her smile was dazzling. "May God bless you double for what you've done," she said with an intensity I've never heard before. 

My eyes filled with tears. "I need that blessing today," I said.

And right there in the Walmart parking lot, with the heat of her van's exhaust hitting my ankles, this stranger quoted scripture after scripture to me. She didn't just quote scriptures, she proclaimed them with ecstasy. "God is your rock. Your fortress. Your strength. He's your deliverer, your comforter, your provider. He shelters you under his wings. He protects you on every side."

Although she knew nothing of the doubts I've been grappling with, she gave me the key. "Immerse yourself in the Word," she said. "Pray the scriptures. Say it out loud: 'No weapon formed against me will prosper.'"

Tears slipped down my cheeks. "Thank you, thank you," I kept repeating. "Thank you for being bold enough to talk to a stranger this way." 

She told me a little of her story and how she had come to this boldness because God had been so good to her. When her husband had abandoned her, God had told her that He would always be her husband (Isaiah 54:5), and He had kept that promise.

I could see in her face that she had had a hard life, yet there was a softness and a light in her. For the second time in my life, I wondered if God might have actually sent me a real angel. I have no doubt she was a messenger. Whoever she was, this Rhonda who sells handmade jewelry, she was an angel to me last night. 

Oh how He loves me!

Most Outstanding

Last week Ethan went to a percussion camp at a nearby university, from Monday to Thursday. He got to stay in a dorm, which was a great experience for him. I'm hoping that will inspire him to make goals about going to college one day. He had a great time and made a couple of friends. 

On Thursday all ten ensembles, each a complete drum line, performed for their families sitting up in the blazing hot bleachers. Ethan was center snare for his ensemble, which means he set the pace for everyone else. For two minutes I was back in high school, feeling the boom of the bass drum in my chest as we paraded through the tunnel between the gym and the main building. 

I thought they were just perfect, but he informed me later that it was a dirty performance, which I suppose means it was not clean. 

After the ensembles played, they gathered into one giant drum line of about 200 players. Even from the top of the bleachers, where we were huddled in a patch of afternoon shade, the noise was deafening. I had never heard such a large percussion group, and it was pretty amazing. 

But the best part was when they handed out the awards. Guess who got Most Outstanding Snare in his section? Yes, that's right. It was my boy. I must have screamed really loudly because a man from a couple rows up congratulated us on the way out. 

I wish I had taken a picture of Ethan's grin when we met him down on the field. Instead, you'll have to settle for a video of his ensemble...

We decided to go out to eat to celebrate. "Can we go to Subway?" Ethan asked.

"Subway?" Bill repeated incredulously. "Don't you want something better?"

"Yay! Subway!" Allyson seconded.

So we feasted on submarine sandwiches. I'm glad those two can agree on something. And all of us agreed that we were pretty proud of Ethan. Allyson's been telling everyone we meet about her brother's first percussion trophy. I'm glad she does, because it's a lot cuter coming from a 6-year-old.

Do the Work!

Did you notice in my last post how I casually mentioned something hugely significant? That I feel God calling me back to teaching? In case I've never told you, I taught 7th- and 8th-grade English and reading in an inner-city school back in the 90s. Truth be told, I wasn't all that good at it. I think I needed more patience and wisdom, and probably more anointing. After 3.5 years, when Ethan was an infant, I resigned. It was too hard to take care of a baby and keep up with all the lesson plans, grading papers, disciplinary phone calls, etc. I was just plain worn out.

Although I've always figured I might go back one day, probably when I retire from my "real job," I've never had any desire to go back in the near term. But for the last three weeks, a tiny seed has been growing. It started when I was driving past Ethan's high school. As I often do, I prayed for the teachers and the students, and I started to pray that God would raise up strong Christian leaders there. But before I could form the words, another thought interrupted: "You could be there."

My immediate reaction was nervous fear. I didn't even want to ask if that was God because I knew there was no WAY I was going back to teaching. I still have teaching nightmares after 15 years, for crying out loud.

Within three days, I had said, "Yes, Lord. I will do this... if you open the door and show me your plan. But if you want me to do this, I need you to change my heart."

When I have more time, I'll have to tell you all the ways God kept gently breaking up the hard ground in my heart and watering that little seed. One of them was watching Allyson's teacher embracing her students last Friday at the Kindergarten graduation.

As the idea began to take root, I found myself getting a bit impatient as I wondered what the next step should be. Do I go back to school? If so, when? How will I manage that?

Daily, I kept asking God to show me what to do. As I waited for the answer, I found myself reflecting on something our pastor says: "Stop asking God what He wants you to do next when you haven't done what He's already told you to do."

So I changed my prayer. "What have I not done? What have you already told me to do?"

Asking the right questions made all the difference. The answer came one morning when I wasn't looking for it, in I Chronicles of all places. In addition to my Bible studies over the last few months, I've been reading through the Bible as quickly as possible. I have to confess it's been slow going in books like I and II Chronicles. I wasn't looking forward to another list of soldiers or a list of furnishings for the temple that morning, but I prepared my heart as I usually do when I read the Word; I asked the Holy Spirit to help me understand what I needed to learn, and that he would reveal the truth hidden in the Scriptures.

That morning's reading was the story of King David preparing his son Solomon to take the throne and to build the temple in Jerusalem. He admonished him to acknowledge God and serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind.

The next words instantly sent chills up my spine, and I had to read the verse again, aloud, with a tremor in my voice:

Consider now, for the LORD has chosen you to build a temple as a sanctuary. Be strong and do the work. (I Chronicles 28:10, emphasis added)

An overwhelming mixture of conviction and excitement washed over me. I knew what the Holy Spirit was telling me. I thought of my book, languishing untouched on my computer. I'd long since finished typing it up, but hadn't done a single revision. "God, you chose me to write that book," I said aloud. "Please forgive me for being afraid and being too lazy to do the work. Help me be strong and do the work."

At that point I was tempted to stop reading because I knew I'd already received my message for the day, but thankfully I turned the page and read on. Verse 20 was even better:

Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the LORD God, my God, is with you. He will not fail your or forsake you until all the work for the service of the temple of the LORD is finished. 

"Yes, Lord," I said. "I will do the work. Thank you that I don't have to be afraid or discouraged any longer. Thank you that I can trust you to guide me and give me the support I need."

God continued to encourage me in the days that followed. First, my friend Heather emailed and reminded me that I had promised to send my full manuscript so that she and my other writing buddy could talk through what needs to be cut with me, and what needs further development.

And then my friend Anne emailed this after reading a couple of my blog entries about Laura: "The experiences you had are amazing of course because God is amazing but also... you really have a gift for writing!!  Have you thought of pursuing that further?  (Just a thought!)"

To which I replied: "Thank you! Yes, I have been halfheartedly pursuing a writing career. I’ve written the first draft of a novel but have been too afraid/lazy to do the hard work of revision. God has been convicting me about that, and your words are a confirmation that I need to DO THE WORK."

So I did the work, or at least took a baby step. I finished a bit of research I'd been putting off and filled in some blanks in my manuscript, and then I formatted it for printing. Last night I sent it off to Office Depot, and this evening I gave copies to Heather and Jacque.

I kept a third copy for myself. It will be the first time I've read it through, and I'm excited about that. Having taken to heart Anne Lamott's advice about giving myself permission to write a really crappy first draft, I know there's lots of work to be done. But with God's help, I'm up for the task!

Here's my copy, hot off the press.

I'm so thankful that God speaks to me, that he enables me to hear and understand and that he provides confirmations to build my confidence--even when I don't ask for them. I love it that when I'm not expecting something "good" out of an Old Testament book, he proves me wrong. And I love it that he never gives up on me, that he doesn't get disgusted with all of my waffling.

As the priests and the Levites sang, "He is good; his love endures forever." (II Chronicles 5:13)

#1 Graduate

Allyson's Kindergarten year passed by in a flash.

First Field Day - Friday 5/18/12 

On Friday Bill and I attended her graduation, though she technically has three days left. In the program, her class sang, "If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops, oh what a rain that would be." The girls carried umbrellas and the boys wore top hats.

Allyson's in Front, Wearing Purple (Please excuse our horrible camera.)

They all had such personality. Allyson's grin never faltered, and her exaggerated expressions made me chuckle. Thankfully, no one got poked in the eye with an umbrella.

After all the Kindergarten classes had sung songs about rain and rainbows and sunshine, everyone trooped to the classrooms for the awards ceremonies. With all the parents, grandparents, and younger siblings, we were packed in like sardines.

I was in awe of Mrs. C, who expertly settled 24 little graduates with a simple chant. "Hands on head," she sang. "Hands on knees." After just three chants with accompanying motions, all the excited laughter faded to silent anticipation as Mrs. C explained that she wanted to take a moment to honor each child's accomplishments.

And all of the children sat patiently while she did just that. Each student received a Kindergarten diploma, at least one academic award, and a special "candy" award. There was the Almond Joy award for a little girl who is a joy to everyone, and the Laffy Taffy award for a girl who laughs while she learns (and sometimes does more laughing than learning.) After Mrs. C read each student's awards aloud, she held him or her close and whispered some sort of advice or encouragement.

As I watched Mrs. C embrace every child and whisper her love--even the kids I knew had caused her some grief--tears of thankfulness clouded my vision. Thank God there are teachers willing to pour their energy, creativity, and love into someone else's children. For the third time in a couple of weeks, I felt a strong tug to go back to teaching. If God wills it, may he prepare me to love like Mrs. C.

Allyson was one of two students to receive perfect attendance--woo hoo!--and also received a reading achievement award and a Nerds award for intelligence and hard work in all areas. She didn't get the joke, but most of the adults laughed, albeit nervously. No offense meant, and none taken. (Since then Allyson has told quite a few people about her Nerds award.)

As Allyson recalls, Mrs C told her, "Remember to always challenge your teachers to help you keep learning and growing."

After handing us her awards, Allyson received a handful of Gummi Bears and a little stuffed animal commemorating her graduation.

Allyson Holding Her Stuffed Animal

On the way home, she proudly showed us her tiny lion, whose shirt says #1 Graduate. "Should I name him One?" she asked, "or Graj-oo-ayt?"

"It's graj-oo-it," Bill corrected.

"Okay, I'll call him Graj-oo-ayt," Allyson said.

My Drummer Boy
It's hard to believe Ethan has completed his first year of high school. He's changed so much in the course of that year. He's now taller than both me and Bill, and he's getting more mature by the day. I'm really proud of the way he has managed the demands of band practices and events and still kept up with his course load. It was a rough transition, but he figured it out.

I'm most proud of how he has excelled in band. As a lowly freshman, he spent most of his time playing cymbals, gongs, and wind chimes when he would rather have been playing the snare drum. But instead of complaining, he spent every spare moment up at the band hall, practicing before and after school. And all that dedication paid off. He's earned a slot on the drum line for next marching season, snare #3. He originally qualified for snare #5, but he's already worked his way up two slots. That's my boy!

Ethan and Grandma at the Last Band Concert

I have to tell you a little band story. On Friday the 18th, we attended the last band concert of the year. About halfway through, a man a few rows up turned and scowled at the two teenage couples in the row ahead of us. He pointed at them and shook his head menacingly.

I couldn't tell what they were doing, but their heads were bent together. They seemed to be either necking or looking at their cell phones.

At the end the song, the angry man stood up and hollered, "If you want to talk you can just leave! I've got a senior up on that stage, and this is her last performance."

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then a smattering of applause. I clapped a bit myself, but I could only imagine how mortified that man's daughter must have been. The young couples seemed totally unfazed.

And in Tortilla News...
I mentioned in a previous post that I had bought a used tortilla press on eBay. It's a Vitantonio Tortilla Chef, circa 1997. I paid $40 with shipping, somewhat of a gamble I guess.

It makes lovely round tortillas, but so far they don't seem quite as soft and fluffy as the ones I rolled by hand.

The trouble is that there is no instruction manual, nor can I find one online. I don't know if you are supposed to actually cook the tortillas on the press, or just flatten them and cook them in a skillet. It does cook them, but they don't puff up as much. Maybe it's not hot enough. In any case, they are still wonderfully delicious. I'll keep trying.

If anyone has tips (or an owner's manual), I'd love to hear from you.

Sometimes She's a Mommy's Girl

In a previous entry, I shared that Allyson is such a daddy's girl that I sometimes feel hurt and left out. But now and then, Allyson lets me know how I rate. An example was on Mother's Day. 

In the weeks leading up to the big day, Allyson alternated between being very secretive over the crafts she was making for me and begging me to take a peek. "No, save your card for Mother's Day," I kept repeating. 

On Sunday morning, she and Bill made me a big breakfast of Bill's famous French toast (made from thick slices of French bread dipped in a ridiculous amount of egg and fried in a ridiculous amount of butter), yummy bacon, cantaloupe, mango, and pears. 

Just as I speared my first bite of French toast and swirled it in pure maple syrup, Allyson asked, "Are you ready for your presents now?"

"Let Mama eat first," Bill said. 

Allyson was dancing with excitement by the time I'd polished off a slice and a half of toast and four pieces of bacon. (They were little pieces.) She presented me with a large decorated folder she'd made at school out of manila paper. It was overflowing with cards, stories, and crafts.

At school she had made a decorated oven mitt and a framed picture of herself. "Oh, I really needed an oven mitt!" I said--which was the truth. The ones we got as wedding gifts nine years ago are so threadbare that I sometimes burn myself. Also they are VERY stained and ugly. 

Bill had also gotten me an oven mitt as well as a cool silicone-coated glove that I can use to hold hot meat while I slice it. As a young woman I never dreamed I would get so excited over oven mitts, but I'm wise enough now to recognize these practical gifts as a sign of Bill's love. "It's perfect!" I said of the glove. "I never even knew they made such a thing."

"Well, you'd been complaining about burning your fingertips when you cut chicken," Bill said. "I searched everywhere for it."

My heart pitter-patted.

Here's my favorite card that Allyson made:

My love for you gros and gros... Happy Movr's Day

And look at this bouquet she made in art class:

As soon as I find a shadow box in the right size, that one's going up on the wall, right next to these masterpieces by Ethan and Allyson: 

Bill created that display in our entryway recently to showcase the kids' art projects, which we'd been collecting in a box for years. He just spray painted some clipboards black and used them to hang the pictures. 

Looking at these pictures gives me such a lift. As I told Gentle the other day, the rainbow picture on the bottom makes me think of the "bluebird of happiness." 

What About Ethan?

Allyson wasn't the only one who made me feel special. Ethan gave me a card that was funny AND sweet, and very apropos. He didn't get to share our Mother's Day breakfast, but he did come to our family celebration at my brother Rick's that afternoon. We enjoyed Rick's famous smoked brisket, Aunt Judy's rhubarb pie, plus way too many other things. The best part was visiting with Aunt Judy, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Dave, who were visiting from Indiana. And the second best was Emily's cake balls. 

I'm blessed among women.