Last Post For Awhile

This will be my last post for awhile. To be honest, I've been struggling with pride and ambition about my writing, and even though I pray about it almost daily, I can't seem to shake it. I do believe God has given me a gift for writing and stories to share, but for now I need to take a break.

Many times over the last few months the thought has crossed my mind, "What if God wants me to stop blogging?" Each time, I've dismissed the thought. In my quiet time this morning, I once again asked God to help me let go of my pride. Immediately, the thought about giving up blogging recurred, but I tried to shrug it off.

"How do I know if this thought is from You, or if it's just me?" I asked. And then I remembered this devotional from Joyce Meyer: (from New Day New You, May 2nd)

"For many years, I wanted God to talk to me, but I wanted to pick and choose when to obey. I wanted to do what He said if I thought it was a good idea. If I didn't like what I was hearing, then I would act like it wasn't from God. God has given us the capacity both to hear Him and to obey Him. He does not require a higher sacrifice than obedience..." 

I know that I can't ignore this nudging any longer. I'm still not sure whether it's God talking to me, but I have to be obedient. So I'm taking a break. I don't know how long it will be, or how I'll know when it's time to pick up the pen again. I was feeling very afraid and anxious about it today, but I had a good talk with God tonight, and I'm feeling at peace about it now.

If God lays it on your heart, please pray for me. Pray that he shows me any offensive ways in me and leads me in the way everlasting (Psalm 139:24). Pray that He teaches me to incline my ear to his leading, and to obey without question--to delight in his commands, and to delight in his presence. I know if I learn to do that, He will give me the desires of my heart, but those desires might well be different from the desires I have now.

I love you guys. Thank you for reading.

The Carla Incident

A few months ago I referred to a future blog entry that might need a melodrama alert. Well, it's been a lot more than "a couple of weeks," but here's that story. Consider yourself warned....

It's been over a month since I shared the last chapter in my love story with Bill, the one in which he FINALLY proposed. Maybe you were thinking we just lived happily ever after from that point. Or maybe you know me better than that. In any case, I guess that's what I thought--not that everything would be perfect, but that my major struggles with insecurities would be over. Ha!!!

I greatly enjoyed our six-month engagement, now that I knew exactly how long the wait would be. I took delight in all the wedding and honeymoon decisions, which I analyzed in a spreadsheet of my own design. (Yes, I'm that anal.) We decided on a destination wedding, far from us but close to Bill's family, on Vancouver Island. We found a kind and personable minister over the Internet. Most importantly, my mom and my sister Emily helped me find the perfect dress, a flowing, rather ethereal gown that was neither too formal nor too casual.

So by December 2002, the only thing left to do was to savor the last couple of months until our March wedding. We'd planned our usual trip to Vancouver around Christmas, at which time we would apply for our marriage license and Bill would go for his final tux fitting. But just before that trip, Bill flew to Chicago for two weeks of training.

I'd been suppressing a mild sense of dread over his trip for months because I knew he'd be traveling with an attractive coworker whom I'll call Carla. She was cute, outgoing, and funny, and she was admired by many of the men at our office. [Carla, if you happen to read this and recognize yourself, please forgive me. This story is not about you at all, but about me and my insecurities.]

Now Bill had never given me any indication that he would be unfaithful; in fact, I'd never even seen him turn his head to look at a pretty woman. But as I pictured the two of them in Chicago, the place we'd fallen in love, that niggling fear grew into a cold, tight fist that constricted my heart and threatened to suffocate me. I imagined them talking endlessly in the rental car, visiting the same sites we'd frequented, staring into each other's eyes over dinner each night. I just knew she'd be inexorably drawn to Bill's warm brown eyes and his little boy laugh--and his muscles!

For nearly three days, I kept my crazy in the bottle. I chatted with Bill cheerfully each night, telling him about my day at work and Ethan's latest antics, and I tried to avoid questioning him too closely about who all went to dinner and who hung out at the mall.

But on the third night, Tuesday, I fell apart. Bill left a message that he'd probably be out late but would call when he got in. I waited up until 11:30 or so, but there was no phone call. I finally went to bed but couldn't sleep. Where was he? By 12:15, I had really worked myself up. I was angry and hurt, and I couldn't talk myself out of calling. Maybe he was back but was thinking I was asleep, I reasoned. There was no answer, and I fought the urge to leave a snotty message. Instead, I lay in bed and sobbed.

At 12:23, the phone rang. I dried my tears and tried to put a smile in my voice. Bill explained that the group had gone to the 10:00-12:00 special at Gameworks, a huge arcade, and he'd just now gotten back. Relief surged through me, but only for a moment. Next he mentioned that they hadn't really done anything the night before.

"You didn't do anything?" I asked. "Then why didn't you call?"

He explained that he and Carla had been playing cards in a classmate's room, and they wanted to go out, but the others refused to budge. So Carla asked Bill to drive her to the mall, where he followed her around for an hour or so while she shopped.

My stomach felt sort of queasy, but I kept quiet. Then he said they'd gone to the Cheesecake Factory afterward. My stomach was twisting in knots, but I bit my tongue. Then he said they'd sat around talking until 11:00! Since the mall usually closes at 9:00, I figured they must have been talking for two hours! (Actually it closed at 10:00, and he later told me they were there under an hour.)

I'd been determined to keep my insecurities to myself, but the angry words just spewed forth of their own accord. "That sounds like a date to me," I spat out.

Bill made a shocked noise and protested, "No it wasn't."

"Lingering an hour or two over cheesecake in a restaurant with a pretty girl seems like a date to me," I retorted.

He argued that she was happily married with three kids, and that all she'd talked about was her husband and family. I didn't really think any of that mattered, but I could feel that he was telling the truth, that nothing had happened.

I started crying and apologizing over and over. He didn't seem too upset, only surprised, but I had the sinking feeling that irreparable damage had been done. It wasn't that I thought something inappropriate had happened, I explained, but that I felt jealous of the time he'd spent with her. When he could have come home and talked to me on the phone, instead he was out talking with Carla.

Things slid downhill for the rest of the week. I was up each night for hours thinking and sobbing and thinking some more, and occasionally trying to pray. But my brain was too muddled, and the anxiety was relentless. I worried that Bill was having doubts about getting married, and then I started having my own doubts. I feared that I was incapable of having a healthy relationship and wondered if I should call the wedding off.

Somehow I made it through the long, lonely weekend and the following week. I wore a cheerful mask each time I spoke with Bill, and I was actually relieved when we missed each other and had to leave messages.

Bill didn't come home but flew straight to Vancouver, where I'd join him after a couple more days. By the time I climbed on the plane on Wednesday 12/11, I was utterly drained, and my heart felt bruised. I was fearful about the inevitable Relationship Talk, but I was too exhausted to worry any more. Instead, I spent most of the four-hour trip praying and reading my Bible.

I reviewed these scriptures, which God had given me earlier in the week:

Psalm 112:1, 7-8
Praise the LORD. Blessed is the man who fears the LORD, who finds great delight in his commands.... He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD. His heart is secure, he will have no fear; in the end he will look in triumph on his foes.

What a perfect passage, now that I was ready to meditate on it! I knew that my foes were fear, depression, anxiety, and doubt. I didn't feel quite triumphant, but I did feel at peace.

I also studied the following passage, which my counselor Debbie had recommended that I memorize. (I didn't memorize it for several more years, but now I realize how powerful these verses are in combating anxiety. I could have spared myself a lot of agony if I'd heeded her advice immediately.)

Philippians 4:6-7
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

"Okay, Lord," I prayed. "I'm finally ready to give you this burden.... I surrender my hurts and fears and hopes and dreams. I ask you to work it all out for my good. And I ask for that peace that you promised. I'm tired of leaning on my own understanding.... I'm giving up on solving this problem, and I'm coming to you with a thankful heart...."

I read on and on in my Bible, about how God's strength is made perfect in my weakness (Hebrews 4) and about how real love keeps no record of wrongs [real or imagined] but rejoices in the truth (I Corinthians 13). At last I sank into a peaceful, restful sleep.

When Bill picked me up at the airport, I was nervous and uncertain, but he was affectionate and happy, and everything felt normal. Still, I knew we had to talk. On my second day there, on the way back from the tuxedo shop, I asked Bill to stop in a parking lot so we could talk.

I was determined to be rational and logical, but naturally I started crying on the first sentence, which was, "I'm so sorry for the way I acted."

I couldn't seem to collect my thoughts and put them into words. [Imagine that!] I tried to explain why the Carla Incident had hurt so much, and how my own reaction had bothered me even more--I couldn't believe the jealous person I'd become. I told him I wasn't even sure we should go forward with the wedding because I was afraid I'd make him miserable, and I loved him too much to do that.

"Dear," he replied tenderly, "I'm not worried. I knew you were a basket case when I met you." He kissed my lips and my wet cheeks and asserted, "I know exactly what I'm getting into, and this is what I want to do."

My heart swelled with love for him. I'd never been this vulnerable with anyone, never allowed anyone to see the extent of my craziness. But he loved me anyway! In fact, I felt closer to him now than ever before, though I still regretted my immaturity--and the hours and hours of missed sleep and frenzied worry.

We spent the rest of that trip laughing and planning for our wedding, even visiting the hotel where we'd be married. But that's another story.

 Happier Moments During Our Vancouver Visit

  A Practice Run on Wedding Hair and Makeup

So now you know where the "Basket Case" in my blog title comes from. Maybe you're wondering why I chose to share this story. Well, I always knew that I would, though I'm still cringing at the thought of clicking the Publish button. This is part of my story, and I hope that sharing it might encourage someone else who struggles with insecurity and anxiety. I wish I could have let God transform me much more quickly, but that's just not how it happened. The really wonderful thing is that all those struggles I inflicted on myself ultimately drew me to God and made me love Him more when I finally allowed Him to set me free.

What I'm Reading These Days, Vol. 2

I just finished reading a delightful book called Wesley the Owl, by Stacey O'Brien. It's the true story of a young woman who adopted a barn owl when he was only a few days old. She kept him for nearly 20 years, letting him sleep in her bedroom. The story is very funny in a quirky sort of way. I loved reading about Stacey's adventures and embarrassing moments. It was also very educational; Stacey is a biologist, so she has both book knowledge and practical experience with owls. I had no idea barn owls were so intelligent and sensitive, nor that they eat absolutely nothing but mice.

Wesley's  loyalty to Stacey was inspiring, as was her dedication to his care. For example, she had to kill six mice per day to feed him, and she says she never got used to that. And for awhile she was never able to go away on vacation because she was the only person he would allow close to him.

The book really made me think about the intelligence of animals. In that regard, it reminded me of another book--which I borrowed from Christina, the same friend who loaned me this one--called When Elephants Weep. That book has a completely different style. It's more of a scientific book, and not such an easy read, but it's quite fascinating. It explores the emotional lives of all sorts of animals, from rats to elephants. I'll tell one story from that book that made me laugh so hard. Somehow, experimenters discovered that a particular type of rat has a strong instinct to rescue babies. They found that it would rescue over 50 rat babies from different mothers and try to cram them all into its nest. Then they tried putting babies from other species out there, and it tried to rescue them as well. It was absolutely determined to drag squawking ducks and scratching kittens into its nest. Bizarre! 

If you decide to check out either of these books, I'd love to know your thoughts. If you read Wesley the Owl, be sure to read the acknowledgment section at the end. As an aspiring author, I found the story of the book's publication to be very encouraging.

First Harvest

I've been remiss in chronicling our garden's progress these last few weeks. Here's what you've missed....

When our seedlings outgrew the tiny cells in their big grid, Bill painstakingly transplanted them into slightly larger pots, and they flourished in our kitchen window seat for a couple more weeks.

Original Planter

Ready for the Garden

In mid-April, we finally transferred them into the little garden plot in the corner of our backyard. It was an idyllic day with warm sunlight and a gentle breeze that felt like God playing with my hair. Just across the fence, the neighbors were playing soft, summery music by the pool--something by Eric Clapton, I think. The music had that dreamy, echoey quality that reminds me of drifting in the lake on a float, hovering on the edge of sleep.

Allyson Sporting Her Gardening Gear
A Gift From Nana (Bill's Mom)

Unlike last year, I decided to go ahead and get my hands dirty. I was surprised at how satisfying it was to plunge my hands into the moist, clumpy earth. Working alongside Bill and Allyson, I tenderly cradled the green bean seedlings, easing them into the shallow indentations Allyson had made and mounding dirt around them. (Ethan had long since lost interest; he was lurking in the front yard watching the girls who'd gathered across the street.)

We planted pumpkins, carrots, green beans, summer squash, bell peppers, cantaloupes--they did finally sprout--and lots of tomatoes.

Allyson's Idea of Helping

It's been a couple of weeks, and all the veggies look happy. On Sunday, we had our first harvest: seven utterly perfect green beans.



Allyson and my nephew Sam got to pick them, and I steamed them along with a big batch of green beans that we'd gotten from the co-op.



Just as I remembered from last year, our beans had a luxuriant downy feel, and we thought they were just a hint more crisp to the bite than the beans we'd bought. I served all of them with a touch of real butter and freshly chopped dill from my hanging baskets, which Bill planted for me a couple weeks ago.

My sister Emily and her family came out to pick up Sam, and they stayed for dinner (cabbage rolls, my first!). I was afraid I'd made too many green beans, but we made short work of them. Sam kept begging for more the way Allyson begs for candy.

We were grateful for our tiny harvest, and we're optimistic that there's more to come. The tallest tomato plant has eight yellow blossoms, and I'm checking each morning for those first tomatoes. Maybe I'll actually get to make my own sauce this year!

40 and Fabulous!

There's something about turning 40 that makes you realize how OLD you are.

On my birthday, Sunday the 18th, I couldn't help noticing the wrinkles around my eyes, and the deep furrows on my forehead. I woke up feeling just a little blue, but I made it a point to praise God for giving me 40 beautiful years.

It was a nice, low-key day. I enjoyed lunch of fish tacos with my new friend Laura while Bill and Allyson made me a cookie cake. We had a delectable chuck roast for dinner, which I'd prepared in a marathon cooking day (6 hours straight) with a friend the day before. After that, we tucked into the cookie cake. This was probably the indulgence that knocked me off the wagon I've been on since January; I couldn't stop cutting off little pieces to "even it out."



Bill presented me with what we hope will be a lovely blue wisteria vine, the kind with pendulous flowers that resemble grape clusters. This doesn't exactly replace my poor cypress, but it has the potential to make my heart glad. He and Allyson planted it next to the pergola, wrapping it around one of the supports.



About a week prior, Bill had planted the pathetic banana trees pictured below. He got them from a coworker and brought them home from work in a garbage can. The rest of us found that absolutely hilarious for some reason. When I laughingly inquired whether these were supposed to make up for my cypress tree, he replied, "Spoken with confidence by the woman who ate all the Easter truffles."

I protested that it had taken me nine days to eat eight truffles. If he was too lazy to help himself to one in all that time, he wasn't worthy of the truffles. (They were sooo good.)

Anyway, Bill planted the banana trees in front of Lola's ugly chain-link dog run. We're hoping they'll take root and beautify her little corner. Lola danced around Bill's feet the whole time he worked, eying up this latest delicacy.



See that little log-looking thing? That's one of the insidious cypress roots that Bill was able to wrest from the ground. Bill put it in front of the little trees to discourage Lola from molesting them--ha!!

I guess she decided they weren't worth the trouble. They're still hanging in there, and maybe they'll perk up eventually. Meanwhile, she's been digging around the base of the wisteria vine. Bill had to put an ugly black cage around it to keep her away. Sigh...

The Big Party
We had my big celebration a week after my birthday, on Saturday the 24th. Bill threw a big party for all my family and a handful of friends. We wished we could have invited more people, but our house was bursting at the seams as it was. Bill catered in fajitas and all the fixings from On the Border, and oh my was it good. And the cake was delicious, too. I should know; I had four slices in four days. (I told you I fell off the wagon. And I haven't even started on Ethan's giant "Oreo cookie cake," whose irresistible aroma is even now wafting up the stairs from the oven.)

Surprisingly, my favorite moment was the "Happy Birthday" song. Of course, I had that sheepish feeling I always get when I'm the center of attention, like the way I feel when all the waiters sing to me in a restaurant. At the same time, though, tears pricked my eyes as I looked around at all these people who love me, who had gathered around me to celebrate my 40 years of life.

I also enjoyed playing cards with Mom, Aunt Judy, my niece Hillary, Bill, and friends Ben and Karen. I'm always begging to play games, and this time they couldn't say no since it was my birthday.

My New "40 and Fabulous" Glass A Gift From My Friend Marie

Yes, there's something about turning 40... that makes you realize how BLESSED you are. Here are just a few those blessed moments, which Bill compiled into a slide show for my party....

See My Red Hair!

Hard To Believe This Isn't Allyson (Age 3)


Melody, Me, Amy, Rick


Age 3 or So--Looks Like Allyson


Rick, Dad, Mom, Melody
Amy, Me (Age 6?), Emily


Age 7 or So--Looks Like Ethan


Extended Family, Dad's Side, Circa 1977
I'm On Front Row, Second From Left
Between Aunt Carol and Dad


Making Deviled Eggs
Emily, Me (Age 14 or so), Amy


High School Graduation (1988)


Me And Sister Emily (Both Expecting 1st Babies)
Emily's Mother-In-Law Mary (1996)

'Cuz I Know You Like It

Every day, I find more reasons to be amazed at how much Allyson is like me. For one thing, she LOOKS so much like me that people who've known me forever find it uncanny. And she acts like me, too--curious, sensitive, and very headstrong.

But in some very important ways, she's not like me at all. For example, she has taken joy in sharing from an early age, whereas I've struggled to become more generous as an adult. My secret impulse is to snatch the last cookie and gobble it up before anyone can challenge me, but I've gradually learned to consciously consider others' needs before my own. Allyson, on the other hand, makes sure the rest of us get our share before she eats her portion. I see her father in her, and I love them both for it.

Tonight was a perfect example. Allyson was getting into her cranky stage just before bed, demanding to watch Noggin, her preschool channel (actually called Nick Jr. now). But Bill didn't turn it on for her right away because she hadn't asked nicely.

Meanwhile, I was passing through the TV room with some laundry, and a program caught my eye--Say Yes to the Dress. The show featured three beautiful brides who were trying to decide on wedding dresses. I plopped onto the floor and started folding my load, riveted to the screen for some unfathomable reason. Allyson sat nearby on the couch, watching the show with me and adding her own commentary: "Ooh, lots of sparkles!"

A girl named Sarah burst into tears when she found out the dress she'd fallen in love with was priced at $12,000. At first she said there was no way she could spend that much, but it was easy to see that she was weakening. Next, they cut over to a frequent beauty pageant contestant who said she wanted a "Pamela Anderson style that [would] knock the guests over" when they saw her walk down the aisle. She'd certainly found that dress--a sequin-studded mini dress with a transparent panel from just below the bodice to just above the buttocks. It was an eye-popping style, and a large entourage of friends were trying to dissuade her from her choice. The third girl had purchased a form-fitting white gown with startling black trim nine months previously, and now that it was nearly time for the wedding she realized she'd gained several pounds; it was now so tight that she couldn't sit down. She said she would do whatever it took to get into that dress in a couple of weeks.

When the show went to a commercial, I raced around putting away folded clothes. "Tell me when it's back on," I called over my shoulder.

"Mama! Come back quick!" she hollered a minute later, and I settled beside her on the couch just in time to see Sarah agree to spend the $12,000. "No more mani's and pedi's until after the wedding," she rationalized, her face once more radiant with reflected glory from the amazing dress.

As the scene returned to the Pamela Anderson pageant girl, Allyson asked, "Mama, are you cue-ri-ous about which dress she wants?"

"Yes, I am. Are you curious?"

"No, not really. I actually don't like this show so much."

"Then why are you watching it?" I asked in surprise.

"It's 'cuz I know you like it so much."

"Oh, baby, you are so sweet!" I exclaimed, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek. Suddenly the show wasn't half so interesting. "Do you want to watch Noggin now?"

"Yeah!"

I was still grinning when Allyson started singing along with one of her favorite shows: "O-livia! O-livia!"

Again I ask you, what did I ever do to deserve this sweet child?

Two Scores, Two Scores!

For the last few weeks, Allyson's been switching off between her ballet slippers and her soccer cleats. I love that! She's a girly girl AND a tough little athlete.

The first couple of soccer practices and games were about as hopeless as we expected as she's playing on a three- and four-year-old coed team, and this is the first year for all but one of them. One little boy was a powerful kicker, but had no concept of direction; he just kicked the ball along its current trajectory--usually either out of bounds or into his own team's goal. Other kids, including Allyson, just turned around in slow circles studying the clouds, or perhaps scrutinizing a lady bug on a blade of grass. Some of the kids even lay on the ground squirming or stretching lazily.

We were expecting more of the same last Saturday. I drove in after a meeting, arriving 20 minutes late, frazzled and grouchy from battling the soccer traffic. Just 30 minutes prior to that I'd been rude to Ethan when he called my cell phone during the meeting--even though I hadn't warned him that I'd be tied up. So I was wallowing in mommy guilt as I picked my way across the parking lot. I was so intent on composing my apology that I narrowly missed being run over by a golf cart; I had to leap up onto the curb, and the guy never even saw me.

I greeted Bill with a kiss and sank onto the grass just as the second quarter was ending. "How's it going?" I asked.

"About like it usually does, only worse. The other team has a couple of superstars who really know what they're doing--see?" He pointed at number 2, a tall boy who effortlessly carried the ball all the way down the field and kicked it into our goal. "That's how the whole game's been going. I think they're winning 12 to 0, give or take a few."

Allyson raced over and plopped in my lap when the whistle blew. "Mommy, you're here!" She showered me with kisses while Bill regaled her with instructions.

"Watch the ball," he admonished. "Just run up and take the ball. And then run, run kick! All the way down to THAT goal. Just like when we practice in the backyard. Can you do that?"

Bill, Ethan, and Aunt Amy in Background

Allyson nodded distractedly as she headed back out on the field. Our kids milled around aimlessly while they waited for the kick, half of them (including Allyson) with their backs to the ball. I noted with relief that number 2 was on the sidelines, but that made no difference because number 6 was there to take his place. Twice in a row she took the ball and kicked it purposefully to the goal.

The parents on the other side cheered wildly, as if each goal was the game-winning goal in overtime. Bill and I exchanged sour glances. "You'd think they could tone it down a little," I whispered, shifting on the damp ground and worrying that I was getting grass stains on my favorite jeans. "Of course, if it was our daughter, you know there's no way we wouldn't cheer for her," I acknowledged.

Just then, number 2 came back out and immediately scored a goal. A man on the other side of the field shouted, "Way to make sure! I like that!" My blood pressure shot up a couple of notches. The score--supposing they actually kept score--was now around 15 to 0! I started to say something uncharitable, but then I caught myself because I didn't want to set a bad example for Allyson, who was grinning cheerfully. "Are we winning?" she asked when she came over for a drink.

"You're all playing well and having a good time," I said.

As the last quarter started, I was counting the minutes until we could go home. The other team probably scored a couple more goals, but I scarcely noticed. I had gone to my happy place. I pulled myself back to attention, though, when Allyson kicked the ball from the center line.

"Great kick!" I hollered. "Kick it again. Kick it! Kick it!" I watched in utter amazement as she deliberately kicked it all the way to the goal--and IN!" I was on my feet in an instant. "Woo hoo!" I screamed. "Yay, Allyson!" I could hear Bill hollering from the other end of the field. Suddenly it didn't matter that we were losing 17 to 1. Our daughter had scored her first goal, and I was now absolutely exhilarated.

Allyson trotted back to the center line, throwing a shy smile over her shoulder. Number 6, the talented (and cute) little girl on the other team, had the ball and was making a beeline for our goal, but Allyson ran up beside her and stopped the ball, then carefully turned it around. "Yes, Allyson!" I screamed, on my feet again. "Kick it! Kick it!" And she did. Right into the goal. I clapped until my hands hurt, and I grinned when I heard the other parents say, "Wow, Allyson's turning into a little superstar, isn't she?"

Yep, that's my girl! I thought, but I tried to keep a humble face. Allyson didn't bother trying to be humble at all. She jogged by the sidelines, waving to her adoring fans. "I got my first scores!" she exulted. "Those were my first scores!"

The game ended a few minutes after that, and we headed to the ice cream store. Bill had promised her each game that we'd go out for ice cream if she made a goal, and now we got to make good on that promise. Even I ate some, despite my usual ban on sweets.

Back at home, she asked if we could take some pictures to celebrate the goal. "We'll take one with me looking back, like this," she instructed. "That way they can see my number 5."



A couple hours later, I heard her singing on the stairs. "I goed and I goed and I ran so fast! And I got two scores, two scores!" she sang.

"Yes, you did!" I called from the kitchen.

"Now cheer and clap for me," she said, and I did. "No, louder!" she ordered.

"You mean like I cheered at the game?"

"No, even louder!"

"It's not possible to cheer any louder than that," I explained. And I had the sore throat to prove it.

Nobody Would Notice...

Tonight while Bill took Allyson to soccer practice, I hurriedly put together a fabulous meal of shrimp and angel hair pasta with homemade Alfredo sauce. While I was chopping onions for a green bean side dish, my eyes watered so profusely that I had to dry them on a dish towel. I noticed the dark mascara smudge on the towel, but I didn't have time to deal with that as I scurried around getting the sauce, shrimp, and pasta ready.

Over dinner a half hour later--which everyone but Allyson loved--Allyson asked, "What are those black things on you, Mama?"

"What black things?"

"Under your eyes."

"Oh, yeah. I was cutting onions and they made me cry, and I guess I smeared my mascara."

"Oh, do you mean like in the rat story? [Ratatouille: I Smell A Rat]"

"Yes. Sometimes people really do cry when they chop onions."

Since no one else said anything, I thought, How bad could it be? But I was enjoying my buttery, cheesy sauce too much to get up and check.

While Bill finished up the last of the dishes, I got ready to drive to Braum's to buy some milk--meaning, I put on some flip flops. About halfway to the car, I turned sharply on my heel and hurried back inside.

"Were you seriously going to let me go to the store with mascara smeared under my eyes?" I demanded.

"Nobody would notice. It's not so bad with your glasses on. Besides, they never make eye contact there," Bill replied.

I ripped off a sheet of paper towel and went into the downstairs bathroom. Oh boy! There was a centimeter-wide crescent of black under each eye. After I'd laboriously washed it off with the paper towel and a bit of hand soap, I stomped back to the kitchen.

"That was terrible!! I can't believe you would let me leave the house like that. They would too have noticed!"

Bill's glance swept over me with a mixture of amusement and derision. "No one would have noticed your eyes," he assured me.

I looked down at my clothes in consternation. I was wearing the flip flops, my black "Pray" T-shirt, and some blue jean shorts that Bill's sister passed down to me recently. The shorts are only moderately faded, not nearly as faded as the identical ones that I wore out before Lisa so kindly gave me hers.

I stared at him blankly.

"Your fly's open," he explained.

Ethan's raucous laughter followed me out the open door and all the way to the car.

For the record, the clerk at Braum's looked me right in the eye when she smiled and thanked me for my purchase. I wonder how she would have reacted if I'd gone in with my raccoon eyes? Whew! Bill's going to get a kick in the pants.

Bill and I in July 2009
Hell's Gate, Over Fraser River in British Columbia

This Message is For Unka Rick

Have you noticed that I tend to procrastinate? About everything? Thankfully, Allyson didn't take after me in that regard--though Ethan is an even worse procrastinator than I am, if that's even possible. No, Allyson is quite the opposite; her philosophy is: "It's never too soon to start planning." This is especially true when it comes to fun events like parties.

She started planning her June birthday party several months ago, and she talks about it intermittently. She started by dictating the (very extensive) guest list, a proposed menu, and entertainment. Periodically, she makes invitations or has me write them out. Usually I can distract her from the issue of actually mailing them, but sometimes she takes matters into her own hands; we had to install a lock high on the front door because she was sneaking to the mailbox and "mailing" her drawings, accented by random letters and numbers.

A Typical Card, Perhaps for Cousin Savannah

At the end of January, she dictated the most hilarious birthday invitations, which I transcribed as faithfully as possible on her big easel. I was laughing so hard I had tears rolling down my cheeks. Here are just a few of my favorites....

For Cousin Savannah
(Picture of a Dinosaur--Allyson Drew That, Not Me!)

No Slobber Cake
(Portrait of Our Dog Lola)


Games for the Geriatric Guests

I was going to try to describe Allyson's sweet little voice composing these invitations, but then I decided to let you hear it for yourself. You'll have to excuse the video quality; the lighting was so bad that Ethan couldn't see what he was doing. You might even try "watching" with your eyes closed.



I'll Just Leave a Message
More recently, Allyson planned an impromptu pajama party for just one very special guest: Uncle Rick. She laid out all her princess regalia and then crowed, "Everything is all ready for my pajama party!"

"Honey, I really don't think those princess costumes will fit Uncle Rick," I explained gently. I didn't add that he probably wouldn't come to a pajama party to begin with.

She wasn't fazed. "We have to make sure he knows about the party!"

"Uncle Rick is working right now. We can't call him, sweetie."

"That's okay. I'll just leave him a message." She trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen, stopping in front of the answering machine. (Are we the only family left who still has an old-fashioned answering machine instead of voicemail?)

From upstairs, where I was probably puttering on the computer, I heard the man on the answering machine say, "Answering is... OFF.... Answering is... ON." I could picture her randomly punching buttons.

Next I heard Allyson's voice, slow and clear: "This message is for Unka Rick. Please come to my pajama party. It's tonight. There will be cupcakes. And tea, but only pretend tea. We can wear my princess costumes. But you'll have to sleep on the floor because my bed is too little for you. Goodbye!"

I tried very hard to explain that the answering machine only takes messages, doesn't deliver them, but Allyson could not be convinced. She kept asking, "Do you think Unka Rick got the message?"

I guess he didn't because he didn't show up in his pajamas. Allyson didn't take it too hard, though. She just started planning her next big event: a Valentines party. (Valentines was already over, but that didn't bother her one bit.)

Maybe she'll be a party planner when she grows up. And then I can procrastinate all I want while she does all the work.

Why Is This Night Different From All Other Nights?

Easter was so much more relaxing this year than last year. There was no mad dash for Easter candy and gifts, no frenetic stuffing of Easter eggs in the bathroom on Easter morning. Did I suddenly become organized and do all of my preparations ahead of time??

As Bill would say... "Seriously!" No, I didn't even think of Easter baskets until we saw my friend Gentle at church on Saturday night. After she'd admired Allyson's Easter dress, she asked, "Are you ready for the Easter Bunny?"

Bill and I exchanged glances. No, we hadn't done anything at all.

On the way home from church, we concocted a plan. We tossed the big trip to Walmart back and forth: "I'll go"... "No, I'll go." Finally, I said, "Okay, I guess you can go. You're better at that kind of thing anyway. Besides, as I recall, I was the one to do the Easter shopping last year."

"No, I don't think so," Bill countered.

"No, I know I did. I have the blog entry to prove it."

"Humph," he replied. But after an incredibly delicious dinner of chicken pot pie, he cheerfully set off for Walmart while I tucked Allyson in. He came back in much less time than it would have taken me, carrying a Barbie tablet with a Magic Revealer marker for Allyson and a Nerf gun for Ethan. He stuffed all the eggs while I sat idly next to him on the couch, enthralled by a Discovery Channel documentary on the chemistry and genetics of sexual attraction--fascinating! Just before midnight, Bill hid ten "A" eggs and ten "E" eggs.

I had almost as much fun as Allyson in the morning, trying to spot all the cleverly hidden eggs. Allyson's favorite was one of Ethan's eggs, which was nestled in the dining room chandelier. (Ethan didn't get to hunt for eggs until he returned from his dad's house in the evening, at which point we had to threaten Allyson with a time-out because she kept excitedly pointing out all of his eggs.)

Bill apparently did very well with his shopping because Allyson kept exclaiming, "The Easter bunny gave me all chocolate! All my eggs have chocolate in them! And how did the Easter bunny know that I love Barbie?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure the Easter bunny knows all about you," I said slyly.

Yep, this Easter was sooo much less stressful--for me, at least!

Easter Morning

Our First Passover Meal
Okay, so I did make one contribution to this year's celebration. We actually started our Easter celebration on Good Friday, when I put on a little Passover meal (Seder) for our family. I wasn't trying to become Jewish, nor was I trying to transform a Jewish ceremony into a Christian one. Instead, I wanted to celebrate the heritage of our faith and explore the connection between the Passover story and the crucifixion.

I did my best to include all the major elements: Matzoh bread, bitter herbs (parsley sprigs), horseradish, vinegar (substituted for the traditional saltwater), charoset (apples, nuts, cinnamon, honey, and grape juice), and "wine" (sparkling grape juice, Allyson's favorite drink in the world). Everything but the juice and bread was arranged on a deviled egg plate, not very authentic, I'm afraid.



Before we began, Ethan and Allyson hunted for some slices of bread hidden in the kitchen. They put it in a basket and carried it into another room. I explained that the bread contains yeast, also called leaven, and part of the Passover tradition is removing all leaven from the house. Leaven symbolizes sin, and removing the leaven is an act of obedience to God's commands.

I started by lighting two candles and saying a little prayer. We all washed our hands in a decorative salad bowl and dried them on a tea towel; I explained that this represents purifying our hearts. Then I had Ethan and Allyson ask the traditional question, "Why is this night different from all other nights?"

I replied that this was the night we were celebrating God's deliverance--both the deliverance of his people from Egypt over 3000 years ago, and his deliverance of all of us from sin.

I'd had high hopes for this meal--the first time we'd ever done something like this--but Ethan quickly dashed them. "When are we gonna eat?" he demanded. Bill shushed him, but the aroma of the freshly roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy proved too much of a distraction for him. Soon Allyson joined in. "Is it time to eat yet?"

I sighed and set aside the thick sheaf of papers that I'd printed off the Internet. "I guess we can eat dinner first and then go on with the rest of the ceremony later," I suggested.

While we ate, I briefly recounted the story of the Hebrews' enslavement. Despite his studied lack of interest, Ethan couldn't resist interjecting a few details--especially about how God saved Moses from the Pharaoh's edict of death for all male Hebrew babies. Even Allyson recognized that story because they learned about it in Sunday school a few weeks ago.

We talked about how the Hebrew slaves toiled endlessly, and how they continued to thrive despite all the harsh treatment they endured. We recalled how Moses was raised by the Pharaoh's daughter and how he eventually led his people to freedom after God sent ten plagues against their oppressors.

I concluded by describing the final plague that caused the Pharaoh to relent--the death angel came to take all the Egyptian firstborn males, but he passed over all the Hebrew houses, which had the blood of a sacrificial lamb smeared on their doorposts.

"But what does all this have to do with Easter?" Ethan wondered.

"Oh, it has everything to do with Easter," I answered. "I'm getting to that."

We went on to sip our first glass of "wine" and then dipped the parsley in the vinegar--symbolizing the bitter tears the Hebrews shed during their slavery. I broke half of the middle piece of Matzoh and hid it away in a napkin--an act that reminds Christians of the death and burial of Christ. Each of us broke off a little piece from the remaining bread, and we put a little horseradish on it, and a little of the apple mixture. This reminds us that our lives are always a mixture of the bitter and the sweet. (Allyson loved the Matzoh bread, by the way, and kept eating it long after we'd finished dinner.)

Next came the kids' favorite part. I explained that a full glass of wine represents joy, but our joy cannot be complete as long as others in the world are suffering. In order to mourn the suffering that brought the Jews their freedom, we dipped our fingers in the juice and let one drop fall on our plates for each of the ten plagues: blood, frogs, gnats, flies, diseased cattle, boils, hail, locusts, darkness, death of the firstborn. We spilled one last drop for the current suffering in the world due to wars, disasters, famines, etc.

Then came the part I'd been waiting for. I brought out the hidden bread, the afikomen, and broke it into pieces. As I handed out the pieces, I addressed each family member by name and said, "Take, eat. This is Jesus' body, broken for you." Then we held up our glasses, and I said, "Drink. This is Jesus' blood, poured out for your salvation." (Luke 22:19-20)

Afterward, we talked about the Last Supper, at which Jesus and his disciples shared the Passover meal. At last, I answered Ethan's question by explaining that the blood of the Passover lamb foreshadowed the blood of Jesus, which would cover our sins with God's righteousness so that we would not have to suffer the consequence of sin (death--eternal separation from God).

I felt the same thrill that I always feel when I contemplate the disciples' revelation at that moment. Can you imagine encountering this entirely new level of meaning in the Passover meal they'd been observing since childhood? What must it have felt like to realize that they were breaking bread with THE MESSIAH?? Hallelujah! Oh, how I love Easter!

All in all, I think it was a positive experience, though I don't know if we'll do it again. I wasn't sure how the kids felt about it, or whether they learned anything. I guess it made some sort of impression, though, because Allyson has asked several times, "When are we gonna do that Easter dinner again?"

"Next year in Jerusalem," I guess.

It's God Who Makes Them Grow

We've had so much fun watching our little seedlings grow. I've taken a few pictures along the way, but unfortunately I neglected to write down the dates. According to our camera, all the pictures were taken on 9/20/2053, so that's no help.

They just keep growing...

Approx. Day 4 - Tomatoes on Middle Left, Cucumbers on Right

and growing....

About Day 7:
Column 1 Carrots, Column 2 Squash, Columns 3-4 Tomatoes,
Column 5 Green Beans, Column 8 Pumpkin & Cucumber

Cute Little Tomatoes--Lola's Already Eying Them Up

Maybe Day 13. See How Tall the Green Beans Are!

Can You See the Little Beans Down Low On the Stalks?

There's still no sign of the cantaloupes, which I think sprout after 21 days; it's probably been longer than that already. But we're pretty sure we see a tiny folded over stem trying to break through in the peppers' column.

To show you what amateurs we are, Ethan and I both got very excited the other day when we saw something "new" and very big in column 1. Turns out it was just the pumpkins--Bill had rotated the tray to give the back rows more sun.

Everything is getting so big that I'm afraid the seedlings will die if we don't transplant them soon, but we're expecting a big storm this weekend, so Bill wants to hold off a bit longer. We can't wait!

Another Kind of Seeds
This morning I did a different kind of planting. At our second annual MOPS tea party, I shared my testimony with a group of about 30 women. It's hard to believe it's only been a year since the last time I shared my story. I was a bit reluctant to give my testimony again because about 40% of the ladies heard it last year. But it went really well, I think.

I was a little uneasy in the last few days because last year I had a crisis of faith two days before I was scheduled to share my testimony. I wondered what might happen to me this year, and I asked several friends to pray for me--for my protection and that God would give me the right words that could encourage someone.

It was around bedtime last night that I finally encountered some difficulty, in the form of awful indigestion, of all things. (Actually, that's not so unusual for me, but it really hit me out of the blue; I'd felt fine all evening.) I had planned to turn in early so I'd be well rested, but instead I was propped on a "wedge" pillow long after midnight, fighting severe indigestion and mild nausea.

When 1:00 came and went, I started to get alarmed. I reminded God (!) that I was giving my testimony in the morning, and that I really needed some rest. I guess it was around 1:30 that I pleaded, "God, if anyone is awake, please tell them to pray for me!"

Almost immediately, I felt a sense of peace--and delicious drowsiness--wash over me. Next thing I knew, it was 7:30 in the morning and I was hurrying to put my oatmeal cake in the oven. My stomach still felt a bit uneasy, but I figured it might just be nerves.

When I saw my friend Gentle at the meeting, she asked how I was feeling about the testimony. "Were you praying for me last night?" I asked.

"Yes. Well, actually I was praying this morning," she replied. "I think it was between 1:00 and 2:00."

I was thrilled and amazed. I told her about asking God to prompt someone to pray for me, and how I'd felt such a sense of peace as I dropped off to sleep.

"Funny, I was wondering at the time if you knew that I was praying," she said.

"Oh, I could definitely feel it," I assured her, and I gave her a big hug.

After enjoying a delicious brunch of my cake, Dara's popovers with real whipped cream, Gentle's ginger cookies and homemade shortbread with strawberry jam, Nicki's cucumber sandwiches, and Christina's deviled eggs and meatballs--washed down with Gentle's hot tea--I gave my testimony. I was wearing a tiara and a hot pink feather boa, but I forgot about all that as I got wrapped up in my story.

They only problem was that there wasn't nearly enough time to share all the amazing things God has done in my heart. I talked for 20 minutes and shared bits of these stories...

He Knows Me
Are You Sure You Have the Right Girl?
Streams on the Dry Ground
Forgiven Much

But I didn't have time to share this story:

Crossing the Veil

I told them how God has used ALL the experiences in my life (Romans 8:28) to transform me from shameful to forgiven, from fearful to trusting, from insecure to confident, from unloved and unlovable to precious, honored, and loved (Isaiah 43).

Afterward, a lovely young lady named Amber shared her testimony. It was awesome to see the parallels in our stories--themes of forgiveness and security--despite our very different life circumstances. I love how God works!

It was such a pleasure to tell of God's goodness in my life, and I pray that whatever seeds Amber and I might have planted today will take root and sprout--like the little pumpkins and green beans growing in my kitchen window seat. I know it is God who will make them grow.