If you've been reading my blog very long, you've heard me talking about my dear friend Gentle. Well, something wonderful has happened to her, and I want you to know about it. Even though I already knew the story, I had tears streaming down my cheeks this morning as I read about it on her blog.
Her story just might make your Sunday:
Whispers In My Ear
If this story moves you, please pass it on to others. I believe Gentle has experienced a real-live miracle, and I'm so excited for her.
Have a blessed Sunday.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Pedal-Pedal-Pedal!
When our girl turned four, it was like flipping a switch. Suddenly, she's a grownup. She sleeps in her own bed all night (almost every night). She buckles her own seat belt, though I have to check it for tightness and position. And... last week she decided it was time for her training wheels to come off.
I secretly figured there would be a few days of whining and skinned knees, and then the training wheels would go back on. But apparently I didn't know my little Allyson. She was determined to ride that bike, and she never got discouraged. Instead, she celebrated every milestone, no matter how tiny: when Daddy ran with her for 100 yards, and she pedaled by herself for three feet, she cheered, "I did it!"
Bill worked tirelessly with her for two evenings, during which she seemingly made little progress. Each time he let go of the bike, she immediately put her feet down or rolled up against the edge of the grass. After all that hunched-over running, he complained that his back wasn't cut out for this. Meanwhile, I was happy to just watch and clap from the front porch.
My Turn
On Wednesday the 16th, however, I got my turn whether I wanted it or not. Allyson and I were meeting my friend Laura and her son Samuel at the park, and Laura phoned to see whether we were bringing her bike.
I answered without thinking, despite the fact that it was already over 90 degrees (32 Celsius) at 10:00 in the morning. "Sure! That's a great idea."
It wasn't until I was wrestling the bike into the trunk that I remembered there were no training wheels. "This will be a disaster," I thought gloomily. "There's no way I'm getting her up on this bike, and she'll be bawling when she sees Samuel zipping along on his training wheels."
At the park, we wheeled the bike between us. I had my purse over my right shoulder and two cheap water bottles clutched under my left armpit, their condensation providing a bit of relief from the sweltering heat. But with the awkwardness of our height difference, I kept getting whacked in the thigh by the handlebars.
We were the first ones there, so that gave us a chance to practice without an audience. I held onto the back of her tiny pink seat and clomped along behind her, waiting for her to gain her balance so I could let go. At that millisecond when the bike stopped swaying, I quietly released my hold... and Allyson immediately put her feet down. "I did it!" she proclaimed, though the wheels had made only a couple revolutions.
This went on for about 15 minutes, as rivulets of sweat coursed down my legs and into my eyes. An elderly man passed by on his walk and smiled at me in sympathy. When I turned to call out a greeting, the bike lurched off the sidewalk and into the grass, nearly throwing Allyson off. "You're not doing it right, Mama!" she complained, and I agreed heartily. "Daddy's much better at this stuff," I whined.
Just then, Laura arrived with her mother and Samuel. Naturally, the first thing Samuel wanted to do was ride bikes. "My bike is super fast!" he said, and tore off down the sidewalk to prove it.
"Help me, Mama. Quick!" Allyson cried, throwing her leg back over the seat. I sighed and gave her a little push. She pushed those pedals with all her might, and I had to let go or be pulled over.
"You're doing it!!" I shouted. She turned back to look at me and then veered into the grass. Laura and I both clapped our hands."You went far!" we exulted.
Allyson muscled the bike back around to face Samuel, who was barreling back down the sidewalk. "Let's try again, Mama!"
I helped her push the bike back onto the sidewalk, and she was off. I didn't even have to run with her. Her back contorted to the left and then the right as she fought to keep her balance. After about 30 feet, she rolled off into the grass--and kept going! She put her feet down just as she was about to collide with a tree.
"You should let her try it in the grass," Laura suggested. "Then she won't be afraid of falling."
She rode around in the grass for a few minutes, careening wherever the bike chose to take her. But she soon discovered that she could go much faster on the pavement. She chased Samuel back and forth, back and forth, cheerful even though she never could catch him. Laura snapped a few photos.
Meanwhile, the elderly man came back around. "Look at you!" he exclaimed. "You're riding."
"I can ride without training wheels," Allyson replied.
"I can ride, too," Samuel interjected. "My bike has extra wheels."
"Why yes, it does," the man answered. "That looks like a very fast bike."
"Yes, see?" Samuel raced down the sidewalk again, with Allyson in distant pursuit.
The kids could have ridden all day, but the adults were ready to get out of the heat after about an hour. We headed over to Chik-Fil-A to enjoy the air conditioning and a few waffle fries.
After dinner that night, Allyson couldn't wait to show her daddy what she could do. I was glad to let Bill help her out while I filmed some video. Because the battery was dead as a doornail, I was tethered to the porch, and my field of vision was pretty limited. Still, hopefully you can get an idea of how cute she looked. This was her fourth run out of about 20....
Since then, Allyson hasn't missed a single night of practicing. After two days of riding, she began to work on starting herself out. It took about two more nights, but she did master it. Now she's fine-tuning her steering--she still terrifies me when she rounds the corner--and stopping.
Tonight I remarked that I couldn't believe how quickly Allyson has learned to ride a bike, and at such a young age. "I was seven when I learned to ride," I said, "and then it was only because Dad threatened to spank me if I didn't ride my new bike."
Bill smirked at me. "She may LOOK just like you, but she does have a little of me in her," he gloated. "I guess she got her athletic abilities from me."
"Yes, she did," I agreed. I'm so glad!
I secretly figured there would be a few days of whining and skinned knees, and then the training wheels would go back on. But apparently I didn't know my little Allyson. She was determined to ride that bike, and she never got discouraged. Instead, she celebrated every milestone, no matter how tiny: when Daddy ran with her for 100 yards, and she pedaled by herself for three feet, she cheered, "I did it!"
Bill worked tirelessly with her for two evenings, during which she seemingly made little progress. Each time he let go of the bike, she immediately put her feet down or rolled up against the edge of the grass. After all that hunched-over running, he complained that his back wasn't cut out for this. Meanwhile, I was happy to just watch and clap from the front porch.
My Turn
On Wednesday the 16th, however, I got my turn whether I wanted it or not. Allyson and I were meeting my friend Laura and her son Samuel at the park, and Laura phoned to see whether we were bringing her bike.
I answered without thinking, despite the fact that it was already over 90 degrees (32 Celsius) at 10:00 in the morning. "Sure! That's a great idea."
It wasn't until I was wrestling the bike into the trunk that I remembered there were no training wheels. "This will be a disaster," I thought gloomily. "There's no way I'm getting her up on this bike, and she'll be bawling when she sees Samuel zipping along on his training wheels."
At the park, we wheeled the bike between us. I had my purse over my right shoulder and two cheap water bottles clutched under my left armpit, their condensation providing a bit of relief from the sweltering heat. But with the awkwardness of our height difference, I kept getting whacked in the thigh by the handlebars.
We were the first ones there, so that gave us a chance to practice without an audience. I held onto the back of her tiny pink seat and clomped along behind her, waiting for her to gain her balance so I could let go. At that millisecond when the bike stopped swaying, I quietly released my hold... and Allyson immediately put her feet down. "I did it!" she proclaimed, though the wheels had made only a couple revolutions.
This went on for about 15 minutes, as rivulets of sweat coursed down my legs and into my eyes. An elderly man passed by on his walk and smiled at me in sympathy. When I turned to call out a greeting, the bike lurched off the sidewalk and into the grass, nearly throwing Allyson off. "You're not doing it right, Mama!" she complained, and I agreed heartily. "Daddy's much better at this stuff," I whined.
Just then, Laura arrived with her mother and Samuel. Naturally, the first thing Samuel wanted to do was ride bikes. "My bike is super fast!" he said, and tore off down the sidewalk to prove it.
"Help me, Mama. Quick!" Allyson cried, throwing her leg back over the seat. I sighed and gave her a little push. She pushed those pedals with all her might, and I had to let go or be pulled over.
"You're doing it!!" I shouted. She turned back to look at me and then veered into the grass. Laura and I both clapped our hands."You went far!" we exulted.
Allyson muscled the bike back around to face Samuel, who was barreling back down the sidewalk. "Let's try again, Mama!"
I helped her push the bike back onto the sidewalk, and she was off. I didn't even have to run with her. Her back contorted to the left and then the right as she fought to keep her balance. After about 30 feet, she rolled off into the grass--and kept going! She put her feet down just as she was about to collide with a tree.
"You should let her try it in the grass," Laura suggested. "Then she won't be afraid of falling."
She rode around in the grass for a few minutes, careening wherever the bike chose to take her. But she soon discovered that she could go much faster on the pavement. She chased Samuel back and forth, back and forth, cheerful even though she never could catch him. Laura snapped a few photos.
Meanwhile, the elderly man came back around. "Look at you!" he exclaimed. "You're riding."
"I can ride without training wheels," Allyson replied.
"I can ride, too," Samuel interjected. "My bike has extra wheels."
"Why yes, it does," the man answered. "That looks like a very fast bike."
"Yes, see?" Samuel raced down the sidewalk again, with Allyson in distant pursuit.
The kids could have ridden all day, but the adults were ready to get out of the heat after about an hour. We headed over to Chik-Fil-A to enjoy the air conditioning and a few waffle fries.
After dinner that night, Allyson couldn't wait to show her daddy what she could do. I was glad to let Bill help her out while I filmed some video. Because the battery was dead as a doornail, I was tethered to the porch, and my field of vision was pretty limited. Still, hopefully you can get an idea of how cute she looked. This was her fourth run out of about 20....
Since then, Allyson hasn't missed a single night of practicing. After two days of riding, she began to work on starting herself out. It took about two more nights, but she did master it. Now she's fine-tuning her steering--she still terrifies me when she rounds the corner--and stopping.
Tonight I remarked that I couldn't believe how quickly Allyson has learned to ride a bike, and at such a young age. "I was seven when I learned to ride," I said, "and then it was only because Dad threatened to spank me if I didn't ride my new bike."
Bill smirked at me. "She may LOOK just like you, but she does have a little of me in her," he gloated. "I guess she got her athletic abilities from me."
"Yes, she did," I agreed. I'm so glad!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
There's Dog Poop in the Pool
Yesterday while Allyson played in her new waterfall pool from Nana, Bill gathered bits of lumber and laid them out in a rough oval on the ground. Then he dragged a patio chair over to the near edge and sat down, deep in thought.
Allyson paused in her splashing and ran up beside him. "What are you doin', Daddy?"
"I'm imagining that I'm sitting in front of the pool," he replied.
For the last few weeks, we've been trying to decide on a design and a builder for our new pool. Bill's been very scientific about it. Last weekend he chalked out his favorite design, using a pretty accurate scale, so that he could envision the finished pool and see the clearance on both ends. The main thing that I noticed was the three trees encompassed within the perimeter. It would seem Bill has it in for ALL my trees.
This week he was focusing on the deck, trying to determine whether there would really be room for lounge chairs between the pool and the iron fence that will separate the pool from the rest of the yard.
Allyson climbed onto the closest piece of wood, balanced for a moment, and jumped off.
"I'm imaginin' that I'm jumpin' in the pool," she explained. She splashed around in the imaginary water for a moment and then drug herself back out. Then she jumped back in, landing precariously close to a pile of doggy doo that Bill had missed on daily poop duty.
"Watch out for that-"
"Hey, why does the pool have dog poop in it?" Allyson demanded indignantly.
"Well, it's only a pretend pool," Bill laughed.
At that, Allyson went back over to her inflatable (poop-free) pool, and Bill resumed sunning himself in front of his imaginary pool.
Allyson at the Lake Last Summer
Allyson paused in her splashing and ran up beside him. "What are you doin', Daddy?"
"I'm imagining that I'm sitting in front of the pool," he replied.
For the last few weeks, we've been trying to decide on a design and a builder for our new pool. Bill's been very scientific about it. Last weekend he chalked out his favorite design, using a pretty accurate scale, so that he could envision the finished pool and see the clearance on both ends. The main thing that I noticed was the three trees encompassed within the perimeter. It would seem Bill has it in for ALL my trees.
This week he was focusing on the deck, trying to determine whether there would really be room for lounge chairs between the pool and the iron fence that will separate the pool from the rest of the yard.
Allyson climbed onto the closest piece of wood, balanced for a moment, and jumped off.
"I'm imaginin' that I'm jumpin' in the pool," she explained. She splashed around in the imaginary water for a moment and then drug herself back out. Then she jumped back in, landing precariously close to a pile of doggy doo that Bill had missed on daily poop duty.
"Watch out for that-"
"Hey, why does the pool have dog poop in it?" Allyson demanded indignantly.
"Well, it's only a pretend pool," Bill laughed.
At that, Allyson went back over to her inflatable (poop-free) pool, and Bill resumed sunning himself in front of his imaginary pool.
Lola (The Culprit) Running Through the Deep End
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Courage
I'm going to try to explain why I needed to take a break from blogging, and how God spoke to me during that time....
To say I've always loved to write would be an understatement. I believe I was made to write. There's this word I learned recently that says it all: funktionslust. It means finding delight in doing what you do best, what you were made to do. For cheetahs, it's running. For eagles, it's flying. For beavers, it's building a dam. Funktionslust goes beyond achieving a goal like catching the prey; it's about reveling in the doing, because you're doing what you do best. That's how I've always felt about my writing.
Up until I started blogging, writing was something I did for myself, and very few people ever read what I wrote. But my blog changed all that. I was surprised to learn how many people were interested in what I had to say, and how many people enjoyed my stories. Over the last couple of years, maybe ten blog readers have told me, "You should get paid for this" or "You should write a book."
Writing a book had always been a dream for me, but it was a dream almost on the same level with winning the lottery; I never thought I would actually do it--until I heard other people telling me I should. There was only one problem: I didn't have any story ideas. I prayed about that and gave that desire to God. "I'd love to write a book," I said, "if you'll give me the story."
In January, I had a terrible bout of insomnia due to a nasty cold, and I while I was wallowing in misery and self pity, something amazing happened. A story idea literally dropped into my head out of nowhere. I thought and thought, and soon I was too excited to sleep. This went on for days and days, and I was utterly exhausted. For the next several weeks, I constructed the entire plot in my head without ever putting it to paper.
I finally started the manuscript in March, and I've written six chapters so far. I'll tell you more about the story later, but for now I'm just going to say that it's a story about sisters. Working on the book has been a roller coaster ride. I love the writing part, but I find myself thinking way too far ahead: What if I can't find a publisher? What if no one reads it? What if they read it and they don't like it?
Or... what would it be like to be famous? Wouldn't it be awesome to write the next Great American Novel?
When I have those ambitious thoughts, my conscience pricks me. I don't want to be motivated by pride, or seek my own glory. That's why I needed to take a break from blogging and spend some time praying about God's plans for my writing.
Making the decision to be obedient to God's leading gave me such peace. Sometimes I did worry about when I'd be able to write again and whether I would lose all my readers, but every time I worried I prayed about it. I knew that God had given me a gift and that His plans for me were so much better than my own. For a couple of weeks, I really didn't hear anything at all, but I was able to keep the peace I'd felt at the start. I made up my mind that I wasn't going to make any decisions about my writing until I felt an assurance about what I should do.
Back in March and April, different friends had given me two devotional books. Melissa gave me Whispers of Hope, by Beth Moore, and my prayer group gave me New Day New You by Joyce Meyer. On two occasions, both books had the same message, and the message seemed personally directed to me! It boggled my mind to know that God would lay it on different people's hearts to give me books that would speak to me, and that I would somehow be on the right pages at just the right times for Him to give me the same message twice. The Meyer book has dated devotionals, but the Moore book does not, and I just read it on the days when I have more time. I really don't know how God does that!
Here were some of the verses and commentaries that spoke to me:
The most exciting thing that happened during my time of waiting is that God revealed my next memory passage! The text from a sermon at church really spoke to me, and I felt a tug in my spirit. "Is this for me, God?" I asked. That same day, my friend Kristi commented on my "Last Post For Awhile" blog entry and quoted the same passage! She said she'd thought of me when she heard the passage at her church that morning (a different church). I was so excited that God would give me a passage and a confirmation in the same day, and even though the passage focuses on attitude correction--no, because it focuses on attitude correction--it made me realize how very much the Father loves me. He isn't going to just let me sail along doing my own thing and following my own desires, but he's going to discipline me. And this isn't just a momentary rebuke, but a weapon I can use every time I am tempted by pride. Here's the passage:
To say I've always loved to write would be an understatement. I believe I was made to write. There's this word I learned recently that says it all: funktionslust. It means finding delight in doing what you do best, what you were made to do. For cheetahs, it's running. For eagles, it's flying. For beavers, it's building a dam. Funktionslust goes beyond achieving a goal like catching the prey; it's about reveling in the doing, because you're doing what you do best. That's how I've always felt about my writing.
Up until I started blogging, writing was something I did for myself, and very few people ever read what I wrote. But my blog changed all that. I was surprised to learn how many people were interested in what I had to say, and how many people enjoyed my stories. Over the last couple of years, maybe ten blog readers have told me, "You should get paid for this" or "You should write a book."
Writing a book had always been a dream for me, but it was a dream almost on the same level with winning the lottery; I never thought I would actually do it--until I heard other people telling me I should. There was only one problem: I didn't have any story ideas. I prayed about that and gave that desire to God. "I'd love to write a book," I said, "if you'll give me the story."
In January, I had a terrible bout of insomnia due to a nasty cold, and I while I was wallowing in misery and self pity, something amazing happened. A story idea literally dropped into my head out of nowhere. I thought and thought, and soon I was too excited to sleep. This went on for days and days, and I was utterly exhausted. For the next several weeks, I constructed the entire plot in my head without ever putting it to paper.
I finally started the manuscript in March, and I've written six chapters so far. I'll tell you more about the story later, but for now I'm just going to say that it's a story about sisters. Working on the book has been a roller coaster ride. I love the writing part, but I find myself thinking way too far ahead: What if I can't find a publisher? What if no one reads it? What if they read it and they don't like it?
Or... what would it be like to be famous? Wouldn't it be awesome to write the next Great American Novel?
When I have those ambitious thoughts, my conscience pricks me. I don't want to be motivated by pride, or seek my own glory. That's why I needed to take a break from blogging and spend some time praying about God's plans for my writing.
Making the decision to be obedient to God's leading gave me such peace. Sometimes I did worry about when I'd be able to write again and whether I would lose all my readers, but every time I worried I prayed about it. I knew that God had given me a gift and that His plans for me were so much better than my own. For a couple of weeks, I really didn't hear anything at all, but I was able to keep the peace I'd felt at the start. I made up my mind that I wasn't going to make any decisions about my writing until I felt an assurance about what I should do.
Back in March and April, different friends had given me two devotional books. Melissa gave me Whispers of Hope, by Beth Moore, and my prayer group gave me New Day New You by Joyce Meyer. On two occasions, both books had the same message, and the message seemed personally directed to me! It boggled my mind to know that God would lay it on different people's hearts to give me books that would speak to me, and that I would somehow be on the right pages at just the right times for Him to give me the same message twice. The Meyer book has dated devotionals, but the Moore book does not, and I just read it on the days when I have more time. I really don't know how God does that!
Here were some of the verses and commentaries that spoke to me:
- Galatians 1:10 "Now am I trying to win favor of men, or of God? Do I seek to please men? If I were still seeking popularity with men, I should not be a bond servant of Christ." Meyer admonishes, "Stop trying to build your own reputation, and let God do it for you."
- 1 Cor 10:31: "Whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God."
- Psalm 40:6: Sacrifice and offering you do not desire, nor have You delight in them; You have given me the capacity to hear and obey."
- Philippians 4:13: "I have strength for all things in Christ who empowers me." Meyer says, "We do not need confidence in ourselves--we need confidence in Jesus!... When the devil lies and says, 'You can't do anything right,' your response to him can be, 'Perhaps not, but Jesus in me can, and He will, because I am relying on Him and not on myself. He will cause me to succeed in everything that I put my hand to.'" (Joshua 1:7)
- Psalm 27:8: Meyer's commentary: "I have found that when I seek God's face to get to know my wonderful, loving heavenly Father better, His hand is always open to me."
- Psalm 37:4: "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart." Moore says, "As we make ourselves available to delight in God, He slowly revolutionizes our approach to finding fulfillment. Those who seek to delight in the Lord will ultimately develop a delightful relationship with Him.... Anyone who truly delights in the Lord will one day realize that God has become the desire of her heart. When He is our delight, we begin to want what He wants.... When we struggle with self-seeking desires, we hit our knees in prayer."
- Here's one that was perfectly timed for what I was feeling that day (5/24/10). Moore says, "If our heart's desire is the will of God, we will wait for His timing even when the pause is long and uncomfortable.... Do we truly believe God knows what is best for us? Then we can also believe God knows when is best for for us.... Use every second of the wait to allow the Father to increase your faith and deepen your trust.
The most exciting thing that happened during my time of waiting is that God revealed my next memory passage! The text from a sermon at church really spoke to me, and I felt a tug in my spirit. "Is this for me, God?" I asked. That same day, my friend Kristi commented on my "Last Post For Awhile" blog entry and quoted the same passage! She said she'd thought of me when she heard the passage at her church that morning (a different church). I was so excited that God would give me a passage and a confirmation in the same day, and even though the passage focuses on attitude correction--no, because it focuses on attitude correction--it made me realize how very much the Father loves me. He isn't going to just let me sail along doing my own thing and following my own desires, but he's going to discipline me. And this isn't just a momentary rebuke, but a weapon I can use every time I am tempted by pride. Here's the passage:
3Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. 4Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.
5Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
6Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
7but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
8And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to death—
even death on a cross!
9Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
10that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
11and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
I learned the first verse immediately, and I've quoted it to myself more times than I can count--every time I've have a prideful thought about anything.
After a couple of weeks of working on the memory passage and feeling that I had laid my desires on the altar, I started wondering when God would give me the green light to start blogging again. I was anxious to share what I'd learned, as well as many fun stories (like Allyson's first ballet recital!). I kept watching for a sign, but I didn't know how to recognize it. During that time, I received many messages from friends and family to let me know that they were praying for me and that they hoped I'd start writing soon. Many of them gave me journals (nearly ten in all!). Some of them told me how my blog entries had inspired and encouraged them in their faith, and this brought tears to my eyes.
While I was talking this over with my friend Gentle one afternoon, I had an epiphany. The key to overcoming my pride and ambition was to focus on ministering to others. On my next quiet time, I knelt and prayed for all of my readers, present and future. I fervently asked God to speak through me and use me to draw others close to Him. As tears dropped onto the stained carpet on my stairway landing, all traces of pride melted away. I was so humbled, and so ready to serve.
Send Me an Angel
Still, I didn't feel the urge to write; I wanted to, but I didn't feel the time was right yet. Following Beth Moore's advice, I settled in and relaxed as I trusted in God's perfect timing. And I kept watching for my sign.
And it finally came in the most wonderful way! When Bill's mom came down for Allyson's birthday, she brought all the birthday gifts that had been accumulating for me, Ethan, Bill, and Allyson. One of the gifts was from Bill's sister Lisa. She gave me a Willow angel to add to my collection, most of which were earlier gifts from her:
The latest angel had her arms raised in triumph. I loved her right away, but I wondered what she meant. All the other ones had been easy: a mother with a baby, a father embracing his family, etc. I wondered if this angel might have something to do with turning 40. Did this mean I could now let go of fear and accomplish every goal I set my mind to? I decided that's what she would mean to me. Of course, I thought of my writing, and it made me smile.
Turns out, I wasn't far off in my interpretation. Lisa called and asked what I thought of the angel; she wondered if I'd noticed the title of the piece. While I was on the line with her, I trotted down the stairs and turned over the figurine. "It says Courage," I panted.
When Lisa told me she'd thought of my writing when she saw that angel, my heart quickened with excitement, and tears gathered in my eyes. Could this be my sign?
I prayed about it the next day, and all of the scriptures I'd been studying over the past weeks came together for me in a whole new way. I realized that my battle wasn't just with pride, but it was just as much with fear--I was wavering between those two extremes. Pride says, "I can do this--all by myself." Fear says, "I'm afraid I can't do this. I'm afraid I'll try and fail." But courage says, "Through Jesus, I know I can do this."
I realize now that even my fear was a form of pride because I was relying on my own strength to overcome the obstacles instead of trusting God to show me the way. Since that time, I've still had fearful thoughts, but I'm choosing to keep my eyes on God. I am making myself available to Him, and I know whatever plans He has for me are good.
Thank you to everyone who commented, emailed, called, or spoke to me with words of support and encouragement. Thank you so much to everyone who has prayed with me and for me about my writing. Please keep praying! I love you guys.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
On a Plastic Horse I Ride
Hello again! It's been only three weeks since I decided to take a break, but it feels much longer to me. I have so much to tell you, but I'll start by sharing just one of the many stories I've been saving up...
Tuesday was the last night of Bill's mom's visit from Canada, and my parents had come by to spend a bit of time with her. All of us sat on the back porch enjoying the relative cool of the evening while Ethan and Allyson clowned around in the backyard.
Ethan rocked on Allyson's old horse, its tired springs creaking in protest. In his twangiest southern accent, he sang his own version of a Bon Jovi song that he knows from Guitar Hero: "I'm a cowboy... on a plastic horse I ride. I'm wanted, (want-e-e-ed) dead or alive!"
He looked so ridiculous in his green Hawaiian swim trunks, gray Spider Man T-shirt, and tiny cowboy hat that I leaped up from the table. "I've got to find my camera."
"I'll take his picture, Mama," Allyson offered, bounding over with her favorite birthday present, an indestructible [we hope] Fisher Price kid's digital camera. She knelt on the grass and clicked shot after shot, from numerous angles. She reminded me of Ray, a friend and professional photographer who took pictures at her birthday party on Sunday.
Here are a few of the shots she took (along with the two pictures above)...
Bill looked on with a forced scowl.
Tuesday was the last night of Bill's mom's visit from Canada, and my parents had come by to spend a bit of time with her. All of us sat on the back porch enjoying the relative cool of the evening while Ethan and Allyson clowned around in the backyard.
My Dad
Allyson and Mom
Ethan rocked on Allyson's old horse, its tired springs creaking in protest. In his twangiest southern accent, he sang his own version of a Bon Jovi song that he knows from Guitar Hero: "I'm a cowboy... on a plastic horse I ride. I'm wanted, (want-e-e-ed) dead or alive!"
He looked so ridiculous in his green Hawaiian swim trunks, gray Spider Man T-shirt, and tiny cowboy hat that I leaped up from the table. "I've got to find my camera."
"I'll take his picture, Mama," Allyson offered, bounding over with her favorite birthday present, an indestructible [we hope] Fisher Price kid's digital camera. She knelt on the grass and clicked shot after shot, from numerous angles. She reminded me of Ray, a friend and professional photographer who took pictures at her birthday party on Sunday.
Here are a few of the shots she took (along with the two pictures above)...
Bill looked on with a forced scowl.
What is that boy doing?
Ethan and Allyson's laughter echoed on the night air. This is the life!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
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)
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.
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.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
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:
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.)
"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.
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.
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, 7-8What 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.
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.
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.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
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!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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!
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 GearA 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 HelpingIt'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!
Friday, April 30, 2010
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)
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 1977I'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)
Friday, April 23, 2010
'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?
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?
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