A Sacred Echo for Allyson

Last Sunday, I brought Allyson to a monthly worship service at a local church. It was my second time to attend this service, called Habitation, and I knew that Allyson would love the music. Still, it was hard to convince her to come along because the only other time she'd been to a branch of this church, she had not enjoyed the Sunday School.

"This time, you'll be in the service with me," I explained.

"I just really hate that church," she said. But she grudgingly agreed to come along.

When we arrived, I was thrilled to see that my friend Wendy had brought her daughter Hayden, who is about the same age as Allyson. All through the service, when the two of them weren't standing with hands raised to heaven, they were huddled together in their seats, heads together.

The worship was just as thrilling as I'd remembered, but this time it was even sweeter with my mom on one side and my daughter on the other.

This was a special presbytery service, which included words of encouragement and prayer over individuals in the congregation. Even though no one in our group was singled out, I still enjoyed hearing the words given to others, having received permission to "steal" any message that resonated with my own spirit. But as time wore on, I feared that Allyson would become bored with all that talking.

After the service, Allyson begged to visit the gift shop because she said she had some money she was just itching to spend. It was getting late, and we still needed to drive Mom home, but Allyson managed to wear me down.

After five or ten minutes of shopping, she selected a scripture journal for the low, low price of $9.99. She jubilantly explained that she'd initially passed this journal by, thinking it would be too expensive, but it turned out to be cheaper than the one she'd planned to settle on. "What a blessing!" she said.

We hadn't even left the parking lot before she discovered another blessing. "It has my favorite verse on page one!" she announced. "See? 'I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.' It's Psalm 139."

"That's wonderful, baby!" I answered, grinning over the joy of sharing my favorite Bible chapter with my 8-year-old daughter. It's no wonder, since I've been quoting it to her since she was a toddler. As soon as she could speak, she began quoting it with me.

Allyson exulted over that verse most of the way to her Aunt Emily's house, where Mom had left her car. When we arrived, she talked me into going inside for a drink of water even though it was after 9 by now.

Inside, Allyson's eyes fell on a picture on the kitchen counter, a Sunday School paper belonging to her little cousin Charlie. She read the verse at the top of the page aloud: "God made me wonderful."

"Hey! Isn't that...?" She snatched the paper off the counter. "Yes! That's Psalm 139. I thought it sounded like the same verse."

I smiled, touching her shoulder. "Allyson, do you know what this is? It's a sacred echo!"

"Yes, it is a sacred echo," she agreed. "It's my very first one!"

On our way out the door, Allyson told Aunt Emily and Uncle Paul some of the stories we'd heard about prophecies fulfilled. She was still calling out last words over her shoulder as I led her to the car.

"Wow, you were really paying attention," I said.

"I wasn't just sitting there, Mama," she answered.

I laughed. "I figured you might have been bored."

"No, it was awesome. I loved all of it," she said. "I want to go again next month."

Allyson exulted over that sacred echo all the way home. "I know God must have led me to that book," she said. "I didn't even think I could afford it."

"I'm glad you found it," I said.

"God must really want me to think about that verse," she continued. "What does He want me to know?"

"Yes," I agreed. "He must be telling you something,"

She was silent for a mile or so.

"Maybe He wants me to know... Well, you know how sometimes I wonder if I am pretty enough?"

I bit my tongue, afraid to interrupt. No, I did not know my daughter was already wondering that in third grade. "Mmm hmm?" I murmured.

"Well, I think he wants me to know that I am beautiful because He made me just the way He wants me. I am beautiful on the inside."

It was all I could do to keep from pounding the steering wheel and hollering, "YES!!!" Instead, I said, "Yes, Allyson. You are so beautiful. It's not because of how you look, even though you are very pretty. It's your heart. God made your heart so beautiful."

"Yes," she said. "God made us all beautiful."

After another block or two of silence, she said, "I'm so glad that I went tonight. If I hadn't gone, I would have missed the scripture journal and the sacred echo. I was so set against going to that church, but I was wrong. God knew I needed to be there."

At home, she wrote her very first journal entry. She wrote out a prayer, asking God to help her be willing to try things more than once, even when she thinks she doesn't like something.

It's so exciting to see my little girl learning such vital truths about herself and about her maker. I pray she continues to have a heart to hear God's voice.

First Day of School and a Few Other Stories

After two weeks of school, I'm finally posting first-day-of-school photos. Enjoy....

Allyson with Mrs. D, already dearly loved

Wearing her thrift-store sequined blouse and the vest from her birthday

First-Day-of-School ice cream, which Ethan likes almost as much
as Last-Day-of-School ice cream (but not quite)

Ethan, Bill, Allyson, Meggie

I was proud that Allyson chose her thrift-store blouse, a souvenir from our recent Hill Country vacation, for the first day of third grade. She's most excited about the after-school clubs this year, including art and drama, as well as theater class once a week. I'm sure her acting career will really take off this year. 

Can you believe little Ethan is now a senior? Neither can I. He's growing up so fast. Last week he announced he wanted to apply for a job. He'd heard that a favorite hamburger joint was hiring, and I drove him over one evening to apply. "What should I say?" he asked.

"Just say, 'Hello. Are you accepting applications?'" I advised.

So that's what he did, while Allyson and I watched from the car. Every day, Allyson asks if he has turned in his application, and I tell her, "No, he hasn't filled it out yet." One step at a time.

A Little Arwen News

And now for an update on our sweet kitty, Arwen. She has become much more social, wonderful company for me. She no longer hides from all visitors, and occasionally she even lets them pet her for a moment. 

She is also an accomplished hunter. It's not uncommon to find dismembered bug parts in random spots. I always cringe but then wonder why it's not that gross to see a bug leg on the ground. Any other kind of leg would be revolting or even horrifying, but when I see a bug leg, I think, "Oh good. It's dead." And, "Where's the rest of it? Ugh." 

I shudder to think what's down my shower drain. Every chance Arwen gets, she nudges the shower door open and knocks the cover off the drain. Then she crouches over the hole, standing guard for up to an hour at a time. 

My shower isn't quite as dirty as it looks.
Let's say it's the bad lighting and the shadows.
And the cheap plastic floor that's impossible to clean. 

Sometimes she pokes a paw down there, and sometimes she puts her nose into the opening.

One morning a few weeks back, I came across a small grass snake in my kitchen and almost fainted before I realized it was dead. I left it there, waiting for Ethan to wake up and dispose of it for me. In the meantime, Arwen carted it off to the garage. 

When Ethan woke up, he said no way was he going to touch a snake. So my cousin Jenny, who was visiting from Indiana, bravely knocked it into a dustpan and threw it away in the kitchen trash. Ugh!

30-Second Hero

Lately, I've gotten into several scrapes, so much so that I'm beginning to think there's no point making plans because my day so often goes nothing like I planned it. For example, a couple weeks ago at 11 PM, my garage door wouldn't close. This was a true disaster because Arwen's litter box is in the garage, and we want to keep her an inside cat. My kind neighbors Neil and Steve came and screwed in a loose bolt, and then Neil fixed the garage door opener the next day. And then this past Sunday, Neil jump started my car... twice. (It turned out to be just a dead battery, thankfully.) 

The biggest emergency happened yesterday. Somehow, my master bathroom door got locked with no one in it. At first I blamed it on Allyson, but then I remembered going in the bathroom after I'd dropped her at school. So the culprit had to have been me. 

I wasn't too concerned at first. In fact, I saw it as an opportunity to learn new skills, remembering my friend Gentle's encouragement about that when I was newly single. First I poked a paperclip into the hole on the knob, and then the tip of a ball point pen, and then a small screw driver (at the suggestion of a coworker that I was having a phone meeting with). 

Nothing I tried worked, and I was getting anxious because I needed to brush my teeth and change clothes before a lunch date with one of my neighborhood friends. (My closet is inside the bathroom.) So I texted Kim and asked her to give me a couple more minutes.

I raced over to Neil's house and rang the bell, Thankfully, he wasn't busy and was happy to rescue me yet again. He'd had plenty of experience with picking inside locks, so this would be a piece of cake. Only it wasn't. He worked on it for 15 minutes with several implements he'd brought over, including an even smaller screw driver. 

Kim was on her way over, so we agreed to try again when I got back from lunch. While we were eating, Neil sent a text about locking himself out of his own bathroom, which had the same type of knob, and then easily opening it with a homemade slim jim. "I want another opportunity to be a 30 second hero," he said. "Call me when you get in."

He worked on the knob another 20 minutes or so while I worked at my computer. He even took apart another doorknob to reverse engineer it and figure out how to pop that lock. All of his efforts were to no avail, though. 

"You know," I mused. "I've always wondered if it's as easy to break a door down as it looks on TV." 

"You don't want to do that," he said. "The door would be expensive to replace." 

"Oh, come on," I urged. "It would be fun." 

"No, I'm not going to break your door." 

His next idea was to call our other neighbor over. Steve had the "key" that had come with his own bathroom lock. Yay! 

...But it was the wrong size. Steve took off to get ready for work, and Neil tried all the tools one more time before admitting defeat. Finally, he asked if I'd mind him knocking the doorknob off if he promised to replace it. 

"Go ahead," I said. "I really need to brush my teeth." (By now it was 2:00 in the afternoon.) 

So I covered my ears and watched him bludgeon that stubborn knob with my pink hammer (compliments of Gentle, who had painted it for me and put it into a cute little toolbox which she'd decorated with an S). 

Neil apologized several times and said he felt like a failure for not being able to open that door, but I assured him that this had been quite an adventure, though I rather wished I'd been the one to smash the doorknob. 

Not only did Neil replace the doorknob a couple of hours later, but he even went to Home Depot to buy it for me. Now that's a good neighbor, and a two-hour hero. 

One Beautiful Moment at a Time

As always, I've been saving up so many stories, but there's only time for one. Here it is....

The week of July 20th (over a month ago now), we set off on our first family vacation since the divorce (unless you count our giant family vacation to Oklahoma the spring break before last). I was nervous about a lot of things, like packing up the car without Bill's expert help, and planning the itinerary on my own. I chose a remote cabin in the Texas Hill Country, but beyond that I left it a little loose, figuring each of us could choose an activity from the Texas vacation magazine we'd borrowed from Bill. There were so many activities in the Hill Country region, all clustered around our little dot on the map, a town called Kyle. 

I put the most planning into our meals. We had a limited budget, and I didn't want to blow the bulk of it on restaurant meals. Over the course of the preceding week, I'd made three oven meals for the freezer so that we could have dinner at the cabin each night. The frozen meals would keep the cooler extra cold for the eggs, milk, and fruit that I'd bought for our breakfasts. I felt so clever, and thrifty! Surely I would have made Dave Ramsey proud. But I'd forgotten what often happens to the best laid plans....

The Saturday before we left, Allyson was with Bill and Ethan was with his father, Byron. I picked up my niece, Savannah, that morning so that she could help me get ready for the trip and also help with some housework. We worked hard all that day, checking off one cleaning task at a time from the giant list I had made. Savannah was a huge help. I enjoyed spending a whole day with her, and especially going to the Saturday service with her. What a joy to worship together! 

I spent most of Saturday evening packing and going over all my lists. Sometime around 11, Allyson and I sat down at the computer to map our route. We could scarcely contain our excitement as we looked at pictures of the cabin and read about the amenities, including a river running right through the ranch. But then I discovered something really awful: there was no kitchen, just a "kitchenette" including a tiny antique sink, a dorm fridge, and a small microwave. What? No oven? Nooo!

I ran to the kitchen and put two of the meals into the oven, and then pulled the frozen broccoli chicken casserole out of the deep freeze to thaw in the refrigerator overnight. Now I'd have to get up an hour and a half earlier to bake it and let it cool a bit before packing it in the cooler. Argh!!

It was around 1 when I collapsed into my bed. After what seemed like only a moment, the alarm went off and I woke up cranky and stressed. I quickly hit my next snag. There was no way to fit all that food into our rather petite cooler, and now that the meals weren't frozen, I didn't feel good about leaving any of them out of refrigeration for the four-hour drive. I ran to a neighbor's to see if I could borrow a mini cooler but had no luck. So I thought hard and arrived at a great solution: 

...a cake carrier and a Ziploc bag full of ice. It was the perfect size for the meatloaf and the casserole. Who says I don't have any common sense? 

After I'd put together the makeshift cooler, Savannah helped me cram the real cooler, the camp stove, the electric griddle, our bags, and a few other things into the tiny trunk. It took a couple of tries, but we managed to get most of it in. Allyson and Savannah had to keep their bags under their feet, and the plastic bin of dry food took up the little space between them in the backseat, with the cake cooler perched precariously on top. (We soon learned that the cake cooler wasn't watertight. As I rounded a curve, the carrier tipped, and out poured a greasy yellow liquid, right onto Savannah's zebra blanket. Ugh!)  

By the time we picked up Ethan, who was about 40 minutes in the wrong direction, it was nearly 11, and Allyson and I were already getting hungry. And that's how we ending up stopping just past the edge of the Metroplex, under an hour after we'd started out from Byron's house. 

"This is the nice thing about not traveling with a man," I thought. "We don't have to worry about making time. We can stop whenever we want, and we don't have to leave at the crack of dawn." (Actually, when my dad was in charge we often left well before the crack of dawn.)

As I pulled off at a poor excuse for a rest stop, Ethan's indignant voice interrupted my reverie. "What?? We're stopping already? We're barely even out of town!" 

"I know, I know," I said. "But we're hungry." I pressed my lips together to hold in the laughter; I'd forgotten that Ethan is a man. 

"I'm staying in the car," he grumped. And that's exactly what he did. Unperturbed, Savannah, Allyson, and I sat at a cement picnic table and ate our tuna sandwiches and cheezies while Ethan pouted in the car. 

Funny, Ethan wasn't complaining when we stopped in West an hour or so later for world-famous kolaches at the Czech Stop. Not even when we had to wait in this line that stretched along two sides of the large convenience store: 

Sweet Savannah

 We all agreed it was worth the wait when we tasted these:

Well, all but Allyson, who thought her kolache tasted "weird." I was only too happy to take it off her hands. 

Near Austin, we stopped at Natural Bridge Caverns, where we all marveled over the stalactites and stalagmites, and over the unnerving sensation of total darkness. 

When we came back out, we found that the ice in the cake cooler had turned to hot water. My stomach lurched. What if the food had spoiled? After all that work? 

"It'll be fine," Ethan said.

And he was right. We ate all of it, and we lived to tell about it. But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

After we'd driven through tiny downtown Kyle and down a two lane road that tapered to gravel, and after Allyson had opened and re-latched two big gates, at last we came to our 1840s log cabin. All the females squealed with delight. (I'm not sure if Ethan made any sound because I was too caught up in the rapture.) See for yourself:

 After we'd exclaimed over the tiny living room, kitchenette, and master bedroom and bath, Allyson asked, "But where's the second bedroom?"

Oh boy. Maybe an oven wasn't the only thing missing in this quaint cabin! That church bench in the picture above was the only semblance of a couch.

"Oh, here it is!" Allyson said. Indeed, tucked in the corner was a wooden box of sorts, and inside that was a scary cross between a ladder and a stair case. Each step was a narrow slat of wood that creaked under our weight.

In this sharply peaked room, the original cabin owner had raised 17 children over the course of three marriages! 

Despite the inconvenience of the impossibly tiny fridge (concealed behind a curtain that kept getting shut in the door), the shallow sink, and the tiny microwave (behind the green shutters below), I had to admit I could see the appeal of this authentic 1840s kitchen.

I imagined myself cooking for 17 children in that fireplace (though I'm sure they didn't all live here at the same time). Her kids must have been way, way more helpful, I concluded.

Allyson was pretty helpful!

Allyson insisted on the bonnet and apron,
though I'm pretty sure they were just for looks. 

One of my favorite moments came while I rocked in the cane-bottomed chair, wondering if that other mother ever felt as hopelessly worn out as I do most days. Just then, Allyson coiled herself on my lap, knees touching her chin, arms wrapped around me, with her cheek pressed against my heart. Did that mother ever experience such sharp sweetness when a little one crawled in her lap? A lump gathered in my throat as I recognized this as one of those moments that I always pray to enjoy, one at a time [in the Serenity Prayer, which I recite each Tuesday while we all hold hands in a giant, misshapen circle].

Allyson and Savannah's favorite moments were probably feeding the funny donkeys that followed us everywhere. Savannah even forgave this cheeky one for accidentally biting her hand while she fed it grain that the cabin owners had left for us. 

We convinced ourselves that the one below was pregnant, though I bet she was just fat. We all pressed a hand to her side each day, feeling for donkey kicks, but we never felt anything. We did get to watch another mama nurse her adolescent baby, which was funny because when she wasn't in the mood for nursing, she nipped her big baby's bottom. Even funnier was the time when the cheeky donkey squeezed through the chained gate and into our cabin yard, and then all the others followed. 

Aside from an amazing day at the giant Schlitterbahn waterpark, which even I enjoyed immensely, the rest of the vacation did not go as planned. Turns out that the Hill Country region of Texas is way larger than I'd imagined. Many of the attractions clustered so closely around the town of Kyle were actually two to three hours away! 

It didn't really matter. It wasn't really the "memorable" touristy things that I will cherish. No, it was the odd, unpredictable moments: 

• Dozing on two grassy beach towels in the shade of towering cypress trees at Blue Hole while the kids jumped in and out of the bone-chilling, spring-fed water. Only half hearing their muted shrieks, I savored the gentle sun as I remembered the jolt of that water after they convinced me to jump off the dock, and after I made myself jump off the rope swing just to prove that I could. 

• Walking along the dry river bed and attempting to skip rocks in the brackish water that remained in one small hollow. And then laughing nervously over all three kids' fear when they ran from a boar that was rooting in the brush. (They all abandoned me, for the record.) 

• Forcing the kids to help me wash dishes in that tiny sink. We made a great, if reluctant, team. 

• Playing Dutch Blitz at the antique table by pale lamplight. Allyson wanted to quit after Savannah and I won the first two games, but after she won the third, she wanted to play again to break the tie. I said no; now we were all winners. (Ethan was up in the loft. He's too cool for games.) 

• Reading the Bible aloud in the loft while simultaneously scratching both Ethan's and Savannah's backs, with a bit of help from Allyson. 

• Window shopping in the picturesque town of Wimberley. I couldn't believe that even Ethan enjoyed that. I was even more surprised when he and Allyson enthusiastically dug through the clothing racks at a thrift shop and walked away with some crazy-cheap treasures. I'm glad they aren't too proud for thrift shop clothes. 

• Sitting alone on the front porch in the mornings, with lowing cattle and joyous birds for company, surrounded by more trees than my eyes could drink in. God met with me there in the stillness, and He quieted me. The only fly in the ointment was being deviled by all the bugs in the great outdoors. On the last morning, I almost fell out of my chair at the approach of a whirring insect nearly the size of my fist... that turned out to be an exquisitely delicate hummingbird! As I watched breathlessly, it drank nectar from a bush just off the porch and then hovered over a bloom in the hanging basket above my little table. I don't think I'd ever seen a hummingbird in person, outside a zoo, and I was enthralled, warmed by this kindness from my Father. Again, I wanted to store up this one beautiful moment. 

• Ethan's amazing helpfulness as we packed up on the last morning. He kept us on schedule for our 11:00 checkout and effortlessly loaded the trunk, with room to spare. 

The best moment of all may have been a quick prayer that last morning with my sobbing daughter. Everyone else had gotten to choose a day's activity, but we couldn't do what she wanted to do because there just wasn't time to drive to the lake, and the rest of us didn't want to drive all the way home in soggy bathing suits. I held Allyson close on that church bench couch and prayed that God would lead us to an activity we could all enjoy, and that He would help us to appreciate this last day together. I asked that He would help Allyson let go of her disappointment so she could enjoy His plans for us. 

In the car, I told her to choose between McKinney Falls (her original choice) and the Austin Nature Preserve, which was Ethan's suggestion. She pondered the choice soberly and then graciously agreed to the preserve. I was so proud of her.

I can't imagine anything we would have enjoyed more. There was a tiny, fun museum with hands-on science experiments and fossils we could touch. There were displays of rescued animals including an adorable raccoon and several birds of prey. There were rugged nature trails with amazing views. And it was all free! 

Here we are atop a brick ledge overlooking downtown Austin, far below. 

Do you see that? Even Ethan is smiling! And sweet, gracious Allyson is having the most fun of all. 

As hard as it was to let go of our too-short vacation, it was a gentle joy to return to my beloved home and wonderful neighborhood. I am blessed beyond anything I could have imagined. 

Why Am I Here?

My Bible study homework this morning was to spend an hour with God praying about my purpose, and to write down what He revealed to me. As I sat down on my back porch, I thought of Ephesians 2:10: "For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."

Clearly, I was created with a specific purpose. So, I asked, "Why am I here?"

I'd been dreading this exercise, worried that God might not tell me anything. But what I discovered was that He didn't have to tell me anything because I already knew. My pen flew across the page as the passions He has put in me over the last 12 years poured out of their own accord:

• I am here to love others as Jesus has loved me, to let His deep love cover over a multitude of sins in myself and others. 
• I am here to serve God by using my gifts of writing and teaching, to help others discover and experience the love of Christ. I want to continue to share my testimony boldly, to tell the truth about God's grace in my life. 
• I am here to live life to the fullest, to enjoy one moment at a time, to live with eyes wide open so that I don't miss the blessings and treasures God has planned for me. I don't want to miss a single opportunity to love and serve another. 
• I am here to bring glory to God in all I do and all I say. I am a planting of the LORD for the display of His splendor. (Isaiah 61:3)

And most importantly:

• I am here to love God with all of my heart, soul, and strength, to enjoy sweet fellowship with my Beloved. 

I want to live today, and each of the rest of my days, in sharp focus. I need to look at my way too busy life and prioritize my activities. I don't want to waste my time doing things that don't move me toward God's purpose for me. I certainly don't want to waste a minute feeling sorry for myself or wishing that my circumstances were different. I want to really live, and to me, that means loving with all of my heart. May it be so.

Now I ask you to pray and ponder: WHY ARE YOU HERE? Can you tell me? 

Thankfulness - Especially in the Darkness

I ran across an old journal tonight when I was looking for something else. I sat down in a plastic storage tub, on top of an ancient comforter that now serves as a drop cloth. Immediately I was transported back in time. First, I relieved my friendship with sweet Laura, and how God allowed me to love and serve her and her family in her last days and beyond. That experience forever changed me and opened my heart to love others. How God has enriched my life by bringing me so many dear friends after I took a chance and let myself love Laura!

In one of those entries, I wrote about Laura's cousin, who had told me how God worked during her separation from her husband, and how both of them were drawn closer to God through it. I saw the glory of God shining in her eyes as she recounted that story, and I wanted that kind of joy and peace for myself. But I shuddered at the price of it.

I wrote this prayer on July 11, 2011 (11 months before my marriage fell apart, almost to the day):

Lord, have mercy.... What might that mercy look like? Am I strong enough to survive it? Please prepare me for whatever the future will bring. Let me be so rooted and grounded in your love that I'm not shaken by the hard times, but instead send my roots down deeper.

Tonight, tears of joy and wonder streamed down as I realized how faithful God has been to answer that prayer. When I wrote it out (with trembling fingers), I had no idea what was coming. But God did, and He already knew how He would use it all for my good.

Fast forward one year and four months, to November 2, 2012. This was about three weeks before Bill and I separated, when I was in the deepest despair I'd ever known. In that entry, I wrote a list of everything I was thankful for. I didn't say why I was writing it, but probably it was to help me focus on what is pure and lovely and excellent and praiseworthy (Philippians 4:8).

I'm thankful for my health. For sleep. I'm thankful for morning walks with God. For sunsets and sunrises, and eyes to appreciate them. I'm thankful for trees, flowers, birds. I'm thankful for chocolate peanut butter banana smoothies, for homemade bread from freshly ground wheat. I'm thankful for food on the table and for my family together at dinner each night.

I'm thankful for Allyson's laughter, her hugs, and her kisses. I'm thankful for Ethan's musical talent, his intelligence, his love of learning. For our home, our yard, our dog, our pool. For heat and air conditioning and clean water. 

I'm thankful for a peaceful home because Bill and I try to treat each other with respect..... 

I'm thankful for God's love that never fails me, even when I fail Him. I'm thankful for peace that surpasses my understanding, not a peace that the world gives. 

I'm thankful for second chances and hundredth chances. I'm thankful for mercy and compassion. And music. I love to sing praises to my God. 

I love morning snuggles and bedtime songs with Allyson, back scratches for Ethan, reading Scripture to my children.

I'm thankful for Bible study, for the ladies who love me and encourage me and pray for me. I'm thankful for the truth of God's word and for a heart that longs for God. I'm thankful for the storm I'm in! Because God is using it for my good. I'm 42 years old and I'm changing and growing and learning. 

I'm thankful that I don't need to worry because God is in control. He loves me, and his plan for me is good. He ordained all of my days before one of them came to be. He guides me with his light. He knows where we're going because darkness is as light to Him [Psalm 139].

I'm thankful that I am never Forsaken, always Beloved. That I can nestle under His wings and be carried against my Shepherd's heart. I'm thankful that He sees me, knows me, takes delight in me. He rejoices over me with singing! He quiets me with His love [Zephaniah 3:17]. He redeems my life from the pit. He crowns me with love and compassion. He satisfies my desires with good things. [Psalm 103].

He heals me with His Word. He never leaves me or forsakes me. My heart is steadfast when I trust in Him.This is His book, and He is the author of my salvation. It's going to be a good story, one that brings Jesus glory. 

I am thankful to be alive, thankful for a grateful heart. May I ever be so, Lord. 

Amen! May I never forget my Father's faithfulness. His mercy is beyond my comprehension.

They Don't Miss Nothin'

Disclaimer: This story might shock a few of you. Feel free to bail out if you feel uncomfortable at any time. However, chances are that none of you is more of a prude than me, and if I survived the  actual experience, you can probably survive reading about it. I'll go easy on you, which is more than I can say for my masseuse yesterday. But I'm getting ahead of myself....


On Friday we celebrated my sister Amy's 50th birthday. True to form, I didn't even think about what I might buy for Amy until that morning. On the way to Allyson's summer day camp, I asked her for ideas.


"Gently used kids' tattoos?" [Leftover from her belated birthday party the night before; more on that soon.]


"Um... no."


I thought about it off and on through the day, but all I could come up with was a massage. The only problem was that, according to Amy, I promised her a massage for another birthday a couple years back and then forgot about it. So how could I promise her another now?


I prayed about it, but still came up with nothing. Before long, I was off to the party empty-handed.


While Amy opened the presents that other people so thoughtfully purchased or even made, I stood around feeling like a pretty crappy little sister. Okay, so I'd offer her a massage, and we'd schedule it right on the spot. But when? The next several weekends were booked....


Just then, I tuned into a conversation between my sister Melody and her friend Dana. They planned to go to the King Spa the next day. Melody and her husband Joe had been talking about this Korean bath house for years, and I'd always been curious about it, but not curious enough to spend the money.


The gears spun in my head for a moment. Hmm. What if Amy and I went along? It could be a sisters' day. A sisters' and friends' day. But I could hardly buy Amy a massage and not also buy myself one. What would I do while the rest of them got pampered?


"It isn't in the budget," I thought.


"Be quiet, Dave Ramsey," I answered. "Amy only turns 50 once. And I could use a massage, too."


"...and it's pretty cheap," Melody told Dana.


Those were the magic words, though I later learned that "cheap" is all a matter of perspective.

So Long, Hope and Laughter

If you were paying close attention, you may recall that I promised to tell you about our hermit crabs, way back in February. Time to make good on my promise....


Last September, when we got Arwen, Allyson started lobbying for her own pet. When our beloved hamster Fluffy passed into glory in November, she became even more insistent. What she really wanted was a cat of her own, but I told her we'd have to get used to taking care of one before I'd be ready for two. So she tossed around several ideas: bird? guinea pig? snake? (just kidding; that was Ethan's suggestion, promptly nixed).


I was as noncommittal as possible as she pitched each option. "Yeah, maybe.... Sure, honey, one of these days."


When Christmas rolled around, she came home from Canada with a pocket full of money from Uncle Jack. She'd scarcely kissed me hello before she announced breathlessly, "I know what I want with my Christmas money! A hermit crab! Can we go today?"


"Maybe tomorrow," I hedged.


A cursory Google search told me what I needed to know: Hermit crabs are cheap, easy to take care of, and don't live that long. Yes, yes, and yes.


Allyson did an online search of her own. She'd decided to name the crab Laughter, but she thought that sounded weird, so she looked up the Spanish translation: Larisa.


"That's a weird name," Ethan said.


"Not as weird as Arwen," Allyson retorted.


"Why would you name a crab Laughter?"


"She can name her crab anything she wants," I said. "You got to name Arwen, remember? And I think Laughter is a great name."


We hit Petsmart the next day. We purchased the $20 starter kit, an $8 crab, a couple of extra shells, small bottles of salt water and fresh water, and a little bottle of food pellets. Back at home, Allyson immediately dumped the half inch of gravel into the tiny plastic cage and leaned the metal climbing rack against one side.


She gingerly transferred Larisa from her Styrofoam cup into her new home, while I took pictures, which I've inexplicably lost. [Argh!!!]


"This house looks too small for her," Allyson said, and I agreed. "How often are we supposed to feed her?" Allyson asked.


"I forgot," I answered. "Let's look it up online."


For the next two hours, we read all about the care of hermit crabs. Guess what? They aren't nearly so easy to take care of as I'd thought. And guess what else? When properly cared for--which they usually aren't--they can live up to 30 years! (I'd be in my 70s!) The reason they usually die within a month or so is that they are slowly asphyxiated outside their natural tropical environment. They can die even more quickly if the temperature falls below 70.


It turns out that the little kit all the pet stores sell is wildly inappropriate for hermit crabs. They need a much larger space, and they need high humidity because they breathe through modified gills. Their habitat (or crabitat, as crab lovers affectionately call it) needs to be between 70 and 85 degrees Fahrenheit. Also, they need a deep substrate that they can burrow into. And that sponge that comes with the starter kit is a breeding ground for germs.


That's why, one day later, we marched back up to Petsmart and returned that $20 starter kit. We replaced it with a 10-gallon fish tank and coconut husk substrate, a mister bottle, and a realistic log for Larisa to climb on. Let's just say all of that added up to a wee bit more than Allyson's Christmas money.


But it was worth it to see my little girl's joy as she hydrated the coconut husk brick in a mop bucket and then arranged all the accessories just so. After that, she affixed several beach themed pictures to the outside of the crabitat, "to make her feel at home." [Sure wish I could show you the pictures I took that day.]


It reminded me of what she did for her ill-fated goldfish back when she was 5.


Larisa seemed very happy in her new crabitat that evening. After that, we could only guess... for two reasons: 1) Hermit crabs are nocturnal, so she only came out to eat when we were sleeping. 2) Like all hermit crabs, Larisa loves to burrow. Every now and then we could spot her pretty shell along the side of the glass. And once we got very excited when we realized she'd exchanged her original shell for one of the shells Allyson had brought home from White Rock Beach after summer vacation last year.


Beyond that, there was very little excitement. Okay, no excitement. Allyson got it in her head that what Larisa needed was a playmate. According to all that we'd read online, hermit crabs are social creatures despite their name. Maybe if we bought another crab, Larisa would come out and play.


So I forked over another $8 for Esperanza (Spanish for Hope). Hope was a bit bigger than Laughter, with a very impressive purple pincer that we were both afraid of.


Within an hour or so, we had two buried crabs that we never saw. Allyson promptly lost interest, and I was left to care for our seemingly imaginary crabs. (It reminded me of the time Bill told Ethan there was a hamster in the empty hamster cage, shortly before we bought Fluffy.)


And it was really a pain in the neck, because:

• They didn't much care for those convenient food pellets. Instead, they preferred itty bitty chopped up bits of fresh fruits and vegetables, tiny dabs of peanut butter, bits of beans, laboriously cut-up sunflower seeds, etc. And those bits of fresh food got moldy quickly in their warm, moist crabitat.
• Maintaining the right humidity level was a crapshoot. When it got too high, mildew was a constant problem. A bit of mildew was actually a good sign, but it had to be removed daily because it could make the crabs sick. When I removed their moldy food shell at night, I often felt I was really just feeding the mildew. If the humidity dropped, the mildew went away, but it would be only a matter of time before the crabs strangled. If the temperature got too low, they would sort of hibernate and might be in danger of dying, but if we used the heat lamp, the moisture dried up. One solution would have been to raise the temperature a few degrees for the whole house, but I wasn't willing to pay higher gas bills.
• Their water bowls tended to get slimy, and I wasn't supposed to use soap to wash them (nor tap water, for that matter). So I rinsed and rinsed them under the tap and then tried to dry them with paper towels, which left bits of paper that were probably toxic for them.

The one advantage to taking care of them was that they were hardy little creatures who could go for many days without food and fresh water. I tried to feed them every other night, but that was hard to remember. Sometimes it was three days, or four. And the time I forgot to ask Bill to feed them when we went camping, it might have been a total of five days. Sometimes their water bowl was stone dry. But they clung to life stubbornly.


As the months passed and I continued to chop produce for these pets that we didn't see for literally weeks at a time, I became resentful. I didn't mind scooping Arwen's poop and feeding her twice a day because sometimes she'd let me pet her. But what was the point of putting food in a cage that might as well have been empty?


I complained to God about it now and then, and I suppose part of me hoped they would join Fluffy in heaven.


A couple of months back, I asked Allyson if we could give the crabs away to some true crab lovers. At first she refused, but then she realized she might be able to get a different pet. "Sure," she said.


I asked several neighbors for advice on getting rid of crabs, to which they replied that I shouldn't say that out loud. "Seriously," I said. "I'd like to put them on Craigslist, but I'm afraid to have a stranger come to our house to pick them up. And if I take their tank out some place to meet someone, what if they don't want them? That would be a big hassle."


I'd hoped one of the neighbors would take them off my hands, but for some reason after all my complaining, nobody was interested. One neighbor suggested cooking them in a soup, and I shuddered.


I continued to complain/pray about getting rid of them, but I think God knew I needed an attitude adjustment. Each time I trudged to Allyson's room at 11 PM to feed them (because I never thought of it until I was crawling into bed, and my conscience wouldn't actually let me starve them), I'd ask God to help me be a better caretaker to these innocent creatures who were entirely dependent on me.

I'd like to say I learned to love Larisa and Esperanza, but that would be a stretch. Instead, I learned to accept my duty and to serve them without (too much) complaint.


It wasn't long after that when Conrad, the big brother of Allyson's constant companion Ellie, got a hankering for hermit crabs. Allyson enthusiastically offered him the crabs and all of our supplies. He said he'd have to check with his mom. I crossed my fingers and prayed.


Within 24 hours, the crabs were gone... to a much better home where they will be loved and played with and appreciated. I have to admire Conrad and Ellie's mom, who already has two dogs, birds, and two big turtles. I guess the more, the merrier.


It was so fun to see Conrad and Ellie's joy as they set up Allyson's crab tank.

They put tin foil and a towel over the mesh lid, just like we did. 

When I ran into Conrad the next day at Wal-Mart Neighborhood Market, he excitedly described their night-time antics and told me how fun it is to hold them. He's not at all afraid of the purple pincers.


And neither is Ellie:

Ellie and Lisa, a.k.a. Larisa

There, now you've seen Larisa. Now that she's no longer part of our family.

Soon you may be hearing about Allyson's next pet. She's already scheming.

A Daring Adventure

Many times now, I've told you how excited I am about whatever's around the bend. And that was so. In the abstract. When I think about the rest of my life, I have no fear because I know the story God's writing is beautiful. But....

When I think about next week, that's when I worry. Because next week I have to make all sorts of choices that affect me and my children. And what if I make a wrong choice that leads me into more struggles? Yes, next week is pretty darn scary.

But there's something even scarier than next week, and that's today: when the journey begins. I told you just a few weeks back that I was ready to Leave so I could Go. I was ready to leave my past behind and go wherever God would send me--without having any idea where we were going. Again, that was true in the abstract. I didn't get terrified until it was time to take the first step.

For the last few weeks, I've been seeking God's direction for this phase of my life, asking Him to show me what changes He wants me to make and to give me the courage to be obedient. The only problem is I still don't know where we're going. I've prayed and prayed, asking Him to show me the path, but I haven't been able to hear His answer. Probably that's because I'm not good at being still. Instead of listening after I pray, I ponder my questions endlessly, examining them from every angle and trying to solve the dilemmas with logic. It's exhausting!

Just yesterday morning, I was grappling with confusion and anxiety about my future. I felt utterly lost in the darkness, like I was crying out to God and He wasn't answering. No, not that He wasn't answering, but that I couldn't hear Him because I was too far out in the wilderness. The sermon at church seemed to have been written just for me, and it gave me hope. Our pastor shared some darkness his own family is dealing with, and the purpose they are finding in it. He talked about this passage:

Who among you fears the Lord?

Who obeys the voice of His Servant?

Who walks in darkness

And has no light?

Let him trust in the name of the Lord

And rely upon his God.

Look, all you who kindle a fire,

Who encircle yourselves with sparks:

Walk in the light of your fire and in the sparks you have kindled—

This you shall have from My hand:

You shall lie down in torment.

(Isaiah 50:10-11)

Pastor Bill assured us that being in the darkness doesn't mean we're not where God wants us. Isaiah's words show us that we can fear (revere) God and obey His commands and yet still be in the dark. He said God allows us to walk in the dark for a purpose, that there's always something He wants to teach us. He encouraged us to trust God to lead us and to resist the urge to light our own fire. Figuring out our own way out of the darkness, he warned, would only lead us to more sorrow.

At some point, he shared a thrilling quote from Helen Keller: "Life is either a daring adventure, or it's nothing." I was convicted by her courage; both blind and deaf, she focused on life's adventures instead of her struggles.

I felt most encouraged at church, but it wasn't long before I was trying to light my own fire again. All through the day, I mulled over my dilemma. What if I made this choice? Where might that path lead? Or that choice? Oh no, I was afraid to go there. Maybe I could just make no choice at all?

By bedtime, I'd decided that I would just run back to the last place I felt safe and comfortable and forget about this whole Leaving and Going thing. I felt disappointed, confused, worn out, and defeated. On the floor of my closet, I poured out my frustrations to God. "Why did things have to change?" I asked. "I was happy before. Now I'm scared. I want to go back."

And then the Holy Spirit led me in a totally different direction. I realized that I didn't need to run away from the circumstances that were causing me pain, but that I needed to run toward God and let Him heal my pain. Oh, the comfort I found when I laid all of my hurts at the foot of the cross!

I sensed His tenderness then, saw Him cradling my fragile heart in His powerful hands. I remembered how precious I am to my Beloved, and I knew He would protect me from harm wherever I might go.

Only then could I find the direction I'd been pleading for. "Please," I asked. "Hold my hand. Lead me out of here. I'm tired of striving. I can't figure this out, and I don't want to try any more. I don't need to know where we're going or how to get there. I trust you, Daddy."

I drifted to sleep feeling absolutely loved, safe, contented.

Can you guess what happened next, you who know me so well?...

 No. That's not what happened! I woke up this morning feeling just as peaceful, just as settled as I'd felt when I fell into bed last night. I still didn't have specific answers to any of my questions, but I had an assurance that God would lead me one step at a time.

During my morning quiet time, I decided to meditate on Psalm 73, which Christian artist Ellie Holcomb had quoted during the Celebrate Freedom concert this past Saturday. My heart thumped when I read these verses:

Yet I am always with you;
    you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
    and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
    And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
    but God is the strength of my heart
    and my portion forever. (Psalm 73:23-26, emphasis added)

Here was God, answering me back with a sacred echo. Yes, He will hold my hand and guide me! This familiar passage came alive to me in a whole new way.

I thought, I've always wanted to see Rome. But suppose someone dropped me off in the middle of the city with no map and said, "Go explore the city. Have fun! We'll see you back at the hotel tonight." I'm sure there are a handful of you who'd think that a great adventure. Not me. I would probably sit down right there on the sidewalk with my back against a wall and wait for someone to come find me.

But what if there was a tour bus waiting at the side of the road with a guide who'd grown up in Rome? I'd climb on in a heartbeat. It wouldn't matter at all that I didn't know the ultimate destination, nor the route we would take. I'd trust that guide not only to get us where we needed to go, but also to make sure we didn't miss any of the good stuff along the way.

That's an adventure I'd sign up for. And that's the adventure I have signed up for. I realize at last that God is not going to give me the itinerary, because I don't need to know all those details. I don't need to know what's happening next week, or what will happen if I take this path or that path, as long as I don't let go of my Guide's hand.

It's going to be a daring adventure. I don't want to miss a minute of it.

Not Alone

I can't believe I forgot to share this picture in yesterday's post.


About three minutes after the sweet little girl tried to walk with me, I found this chalk drawing. It was blurred from recent rains, but I could still read it.

We are NOT alone... you are NOT Forgotten

I've been meaning to share some of the beautiful messages I've found in the park over the last few months, always by an angel named #carried.

Mother's Day 2014

Mother's Day 2014

When LIFE gets TOO HARD to stand... Kneel.

It's Time to Go

Oh, I've missed you guys. I've thought of you often, and the stack of stories in my head is getting so tall it's about to topple. Here's one of them....

I recently came across an inspiring article in a magazine called Studio G. It's about the difference between leaving and going, illustrated by the story of Abram and Sarai. This is the part that I've been chewing on for weeks:

To leave... means "to depart from permanently; to quit".... We are not walking out our faith correctly if we are not leaving something behind. In fact, it’s impossible to start a faith walk without leaving some things permanently behind us. It’s important to leave.

To go... means "to continue in a certain state or condition; to be habitually".... Going in this sense has nothing to do with where you are going and everything to do with how you are going....

See! Leaving is NOT going. As long as you are looking back at your past you are not going, you are still leaving. Going only happens after you leave (permanently quit) whatever you have walked away from. We leave by obedience, we go by faith!

Remember my word for the year? Forget. Sometimes I think I'm making progress toward that goal of forgetting my past hurts, my past dreams. And then I am reminded of what I had before, and the pain of loss is sharp.

A few Saturdays ago, I met with my new friend Lizzette to do something I haven't done since I was pregnant with Allyson: scrapbooking! With real paper and sticky tape and stickers. (But my fancy pens had all dried up.)

Sorting through stacks of old pictures, I remembered who I was before.... before. Of all the happy photos, this is the one that brought tears.

It was my first (and only) eyebrow waxing, back in January 2010. And it was unaccountably fun because I got to giggle with both of my sisters-in-law. Sheryl, who worked in a classy spa that I couldn't afford, did the waxing while Lisa laughed and took pictures. The whole trip was absolutely delightful.

Looking at this picture in Lizzette's kitchen, it seemed I was looking at an entirely different Sarah, and I missed her terribly. I missed being carefree and seeing my whole life stretched out before me, just as I'd dreamed it. I missed being able to relax and have fun instead of being frantically busy and overtired all the time. I missed all of my beloved in-laws.

And I felt very, very sorry for myself.

On my Sunday walk with Jesus the next morning, I told Him all about my hurts. "I want to let go. I want to forget," I prayed. "But sometimes I just want to go back to where it was comfy. It hurts."

We walked in silence for a few minutes as I took in the beauty of the trees, which never fail to quiet me. And then I remembered the article. "Oh, God," I breathed, tears trickling down my cheeks. "I want to leave. Please, help me leave. I don't want to go back to my past. I know I have to leave before I can go. I want to go. I don't know where we're going, but I trust you."

In that moment, I realized the truth. I don't want to go back. That was a beautiful life, but so is this. In the last two years, I have grown more in my faith than I ever thought possible. I have learned that God never leaves me, that His love alone can satisfy my longings. Oh, how I love Him.

I paused on the path, inhaling the scent of damp earth and honeysuckle. A grin stretched my cheeks then, still wet with tears. I thought back to the most thrilling part of the article: First there's leaving, and then there's going. And in the going is becoming. When Abram and Sarai reached the place God wanted them to be--geographically and spiritually--they became the father and mother of many nations.

"Oh, God," I whispered. "I want to-"

At the very instant when I uttered the word become, a butterfly unfurled its wings literally right in front of my eyes. It was exquisite, with markings similar to the Monarch except that a delicate blue line traced each wing.

I think it was this one, the Pearl Crescent

For a few seconds, it gently fluttered its wings, giving me a chance to admire it before it closed them again and looked like a curled leaf. In those seconds, I thought of its journey from caterpillar to cocoon to this gorgeous flying creature. I'm sure it wasn't comfortable being confined to a cocoon. I bet it missed its life as a caterpillar, inching along the tasty green leaves. Could it have even fathomed floating on the breeze, flitting from flower to flower? Could it ever recognize its own beauty, shining with all the glory of God's creation?

"God, I want to become," I prayed as I walked on. "I want to go wherever you lead and I want to surrender my life and will to you so that I can become who you made me to be. I want your glory to shine in me, the beauty of your character that draws others to you."

At church a couple of hours later, I cried for joy as we sang a song I'd never heard before, something about our home being with God, and wanting to be wherever He is.

Oh, what a glorious day that was. If only every day could be like that.

You probably know me well enough by now to guess what happened next. Just a few days later, something happened that stirred up all of my hurts, fears, and insecurities. It wasn't even a bad thing, just something that upset me and left me balled up on the floor of my prayer closet, shedding most un-joyous tears.

For the next few weeks, I did a lot of crying. I wondered, as I so often do, whether I'd made any progress at all. I felt silly to have believed, even for a moment, that I had really left my past behind. Instead, I felt utterly shackled by it. I felt as if the scab had been ripped off of my incurable wound.

But... my Father loves me so much that He used all of that suffering for my good. In my weakness, I turned to God, over and over. I poured out my pain and frustration, and then I laid it down (several, several times). I thanked God for allowing that scab to be torn off so that He could heal my brokenness. I thanked Him for reminding me that I am His Beloved, and nothing can ever separate me from His love.

One More Story
Tonight, I felt down after a disagreement with Ethan over a driving lesson. [Yes, he is learning to drive, and I am his driving instructor!] I had nothing planned for the evening, and I hoped to walk in the park with a friend. Turns out, one friend wasn't home, another had company, and the third just didn't feel like walking. So I went by myself.

Now the funny thing is, I usually love walking alone in the park. But only in the morning. In my mind, evening walks are for jabbering with friends. I don't know why I feel that way. I just do.

So despite all those green trees that never fail to quiet me, I was... pouting. I felt really, really alone. Ethan wanted nothing to do with me, Allyson was at church camp, and all my friends were busy having fun without me.

"God, I know I'm not alone. I know you're walking with me here, like you always do, but I.... Please, help me to know that you're here."

Just then, two young women and a toddler rounded the bend just ahead. The little blonde-haired girl beamed when she saw me. First she waved, and I waved back. And then she reached out her little arms and hurried toward me.

"Sophie!" her mom called.

Sophie was positively radiant. When she reached me, she held out her hand and turned around.

I laughed. "Oh, are you going to walk with me?"

I didn't want to scare her mom, so I started to walk on. I couldn't resist looking over my shoulder, and sure enough, this sweet little stranger was following me! Her mom caught her hand and dragged her away. "Wave goodbye," she said.

And we waved at each other until I had rounded the bend and vanished from her sight.

I laughed when I heard this: "You need to teach this girl about stranger danger."

It was one of the oddest things that has happened to me, yet it really lifted my spirits. What did that little girl see in me? Why was she so determined to reach out to me?

"God, was that you?" I whispered. I smiled as happy tears filled my eyes. "Yes, that was you. I am not alone."

Oh, how He loves me!

Beautiful Things

In honor of Mother's Day (which was now over a week ago), I'd like to tell you why my children are my greatest treasures....

Ethan, my 17-year-old:

• Is passionate about learning - as long as it's something he's curious about. It doesn't matter how bad his mood may be, all I have to do to turn it around is ask a question about the time and/or space, like "How did they figure out the speed of light anyway?" Ethan's face lights up as he tells me all about what "we" have discovered about the universe so far. I love it when he teaches me things!
  
  In recent weeks, he's talked of becoming an astrophysicist, which I think is a perfect fit for him except for the 8 years of college. (He only tolerates school.)
  
  "Would they call me 'doctor'?" he asked. "Dr. Ethan?"
  
  "Well, probably they'd call you Dr. O," I said. "That would be pretty cool. I'd say, 'Have you met my son, Dr. O? Actually, he really is a rocket scientist. Did I mention he has a PhD?'"
  
  Ethan beamed, and so did I.
  

• Is a talented musician. Did I ever tell you he's the center snare on his high school drum line? Yes, I think I might have mentioned it once or twice. Seriously, he's worked very hard to perfect his skills, and I am one proud mama.
  

After a drum line performance - Ethan volunteered for the picture!

• Has a delightful sense of humor. He can always make me laugh, especially when I need it most.
  


• Is content with a little. We have a tight budget, and he understands that. He doesn't ask for the expensive clothing brands, and he's thankful for everything I buy him. He says things like, "I don't really need three pairs of jeans. One would be plenty."
  


• Looks out for me. Although he grumbles about helping with chores, he takes care of me in the ways that matter. More on that in a moment. 

Allyson, my almost-8-year-old:

• Loves God with all her heart. It excites me to see a depth in her relationship with God that I didn't find until my thirties.
  
  
• Prays with faith. She trusts the Lord. Period.
  
  
• Loves to learn. She's a thinker, and I'm amazed at the things she knows.
  
  
• Laughs a lot. I know just how to make her laugh, even when she's too tired to open her eyes in the morning. For example, when I tried to take her breakfast order the other morning, her only answer was a sonorous fart. "What was that your bum said?" I asked, tickling her ribs. "I didn't catch that. Was it peanut butter toast?"
  
  "Mama!" she groaned. But she couldn't help but giggle.
  
  She makes me feel funny, and that's a good thing because I tend to be way too serious.
  
  
• Is one strong little girl. I've watched her deal with the heartache of divorce with grace, faith, and strength. She is content with her circumstances. She accepts what she can't change, and she finds joy everywhere. I want to be like her when I grow up. 

Mother's Day 2014

A Big Help

Both kids are a big help with chores, whether they like it or not. It was a real struggle teaching them to do dishes a few months back, so much so that I wondered if it was worth the effort. This is one area where they were ridiculously slow (or obstinate) learners. But now they do make my busy life a bit easier.

Allyson loves to cook, especially any recipe that requires getting her hands dirty. Ethan recently had a how-to presentation for speech class, and she saved both our butts. I was tutoring a friend's daughter in algebra that afternoon, so I got a late start on dinner. Ethan was busy making a multimedia presentation about how to make sausage balls, which I found ironic because he's never made a sausage ball in his life.

So Allyson single-handedly mixed up the ingredients and formed the cheesy sausage balls while I simultaneously took pictures of her progress and worked on a dinner that took so long that I had to admit defeat and take the kids to Subway (at 8 p.m. on a school night!). When we returned, Allyson cheerfully made the last batch of sausage balls while I finished what was now tomorrow's dinner and tried to clean up after the explosion in my kitchen. The wonder of it was that I didn't stress over the blobs of raw sausage and cheese that were ground into the floor and stuck to the "stainless" steel refrigerator door. No, I saw this time as the treasure that it was. I was so proud of my girl!

Ethan was a huge help in a very different way, recently. Some of you may recall that I was the last person on earth who didn't have a smart phone. I was determined to keep my old phone with its slide-out keyboard because I DESPISE touchscreens. (I once had a traumatic experience involving a touchscreen and an alarm system, but that's another story.) Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, my beloved slide-out keyboard gave out, and I was reduced to tap-tap-tapping the number pad to respond to the huge volume of texts that I get on a daily basis. After less than a day, I went out phone shopping.

I was pleased when Ethan agreed to go along, but I thought I was just taking him to keep me company. Turns out, he came along because he knew that without his help, I would "pick the wrong phone." He stuck with me through an entire Sunday afternoon, through trips to three phone stores (plus a second trip to one of them) and Walmart. At a glance, he could tell me all about each of the models in the discount cell phone store: "Droid. Droid. Droid. Windows phone; don't get that one."

He waited patiently while I agonized between the Samsung Galaxy and the LG Rhapsody. He persuasively explained why I really should get the Galaxy but then graciously accepted my decision to get the Rhapsody, which was $150 cheaper.

On the way home from Walmart, after I'd decided to return to Metro PCS for the Rhapsody, I stopped by the snow cone stand to treat him. After that quick break, I started to turn toward the house.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I thought I'd drop you off. Now that I know what phone I'm buying, I thought you might not want to drive across town again."

"Nah, I'll go along," he said.

I grinned from ear to ear.  "Really?" I didn't even bother to try for a nonchalant tone. My boy wanted to spend time with me!

And it was a good thing he did. When I was checking out, he leaned in and whispered. "Ask her to transfer over your contacts."

"I don't think my old phone can do that," I said.

"Yes it can. Ask her."

And he was right. Within ten minutes, all 244 contacts and all of my pictures were on the new phone. I didn't realize at the time how much I'd appreciate that over the next few weeks. My plan had been to learn to use the touchscreen by manually typing in all my contacts. Ha! I am baaaad with typing on this phone. I think I would have needed medication if I'd had to type all those names and numbers!

When we got home, Ethan reapplied the screen protector, which apparently had bubbles that were too small for my over-40 eyes to notice. And then he changed a bunch of settings to make it (somewhat) easier for me to understand. And then he and Allyson stood over me and showed me how to use my new toy.

Beautiful Things

My young friend Meggie said something in a text yesterday that I don't want to forget. She said that when you love yourself, your heart and soul open up to let in more beautiful things that you treasure. But your heart never fills up; it keeps opening up for more beautiful things to find a home in your heart.

When I read that, my eyes filled with happy tears. That is the perfect description of my life over the last few months. Just about every day, something beautiful happens to me, and I store it up in my heart. Sometimes it feels like my heart is positively overflowing with love and joy. I'm learning to let it splash out on the people around me, which begets more joy.

Life is beautiful.