This post is for any mother out there who might be like me. I just want her to know she is not alone.
Today my house looks like someone just went through each room and threw everything that should be on a shelf or in a closet on to the floor. In reality my boys built two different forts, and then did their schoolwork leaving the books and papers and pencils scattered all around. Speaking of schoolwork. I have been trying to home school my children, but not finishing the assignments for each day. They do not understand their math or grammar, and it makes me wonder if they remember anything I have tried to teach them. My sink is so overflowing with dishes that I can't even use it. My bathtub has soggy, dirty towels piled high from when the toilet overflowed twice and we used every towel in the closet. I have been doing laundry and can't seem to finish those towels. Maybe because my children keep wetting the bed and I have endless other laundry. It is raining and it hardly ever rains here, but now I have a pile of split wood that I didn't find time to stack on the porch and it is getting all wet. Besides that my boys left their toys out in the yard and our rake and shovel. I let the fire go out twice after I struggled to light it with wet wood.
I feel like I am drowning in mess and chaos, and wonder if I am the only one who can't seem to manage a house. How do I know I am the only one? I have read the blogs.
So like I said earlier, if you happen to be like me, wondering why you are the only one who doesn't do her tasks amazingly well -- Read this.
You are not alone.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
His Glory
Do we really want God's will? Do we really want Him to be glorified?
I remember when my niece was born. She was such a beautiful little baby, and I don't just think every baby is beautiful -- even my own. She had dark hair and even-colored clear skin and nicely-shaped features and head. When she first entered the world she wasn't breathing. I realize it is not uncommon for babies not to breathe briefly but this was extended. It is a terrible feeling to be completely helpless knowing your child's life is slipping away. It was in that moment, as he watched someone else perform CPR, that God spoke to my brother-in-law and asked, "Do you trust Me? Do you want Me? Will you praise Me even in this?"
His first response was "No. I want my daughter." I appreciate his honesty. Sometimes we need to wrestle before we come to surrender.
Today I received an e-mail about another baby whose life hangs between earth and Heaven. I just wanted to post some of the father's words.
... as we partner together to pray for Reed, my Hope turns to the Lord as his(our) only hope and source of life. I believe this all powerful God and Savior that can part the Red Sea and raise the dead is powerful enough to heal Reed and give the doctors the insight they need.
The question and the mystery in the midst of this is, "what exactly is the Lord's will in this". Only he can answer that and as I pray for Reed's recovery, I also pray for the Lord's will to be done.
I want to applaud. That is the power of Christ working in a normal man's life. God is glorified through him and his wife as we see their faith shine.
All-Powerful Lord, Sustainer, Healer...You make each of us live and move and have our being...please save this little boy's life.
I remember when my niece was born. She was such a beautiful little baby, and I don't just think every baby is beautiful -- even my own. She had dark hair and even-colored clear skin and nicely-shaped features and head. When she first entered the world she wasn't breathing. I realize it is not uncommon for babies not to breathe briefly but this was extended. It is a terrible feeling to be completely helpless knowing your child's life is slipping away. It was in that moment, as he watched someone else perform CPR, that God spoke to my brother-in-law and asked, "Do you trust Me? Do you want Me? Will you praise Me even in this?"
His first response was "No. I want my daughter." I appreciate his honesty. Sometimes we need to wrestle before we come to surrender.
Today I received an e-mail about another baby whose life hangs between earth and Heaven. I just wanted to post some of the father's words.
... as we partner together to pray for Reed, my Hope turns to the Lord as his(our) only hope and source of life. I believe this all powerful God and Savior that can part the Red Sea and raise the dead is powerful enough to heal Reed and give the doctors the insight they need.
The question and the mystery in the midst of this is, "what exactly is the Lord's will in this". Only he can answer that and as I pray for Reed's recovery, I also pray for the Lord's will to be done.
I want to applaud. That is the power of Christ working in a normal man's life. God is glorified through him and his wife as we see their faith shine.
All-Powerful Lord, Sustainer, Healer...You make each of us live and move and have our being...please save this little boy's life.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Marriage...What a Beautiful Thing
This summer we will celebrate our ten year anniversary.
Marriage...what a beautiful thing.
And yet, I know as I say it is beautiful, my heart also knows the depth of its pain -- in my own marriage, in my friends' marriages. It is not a light thing for me to say that marriage is beautiful.
I say it with commitment -- commitment to serve, to love, to forgive till death parts us, during sickness and health, during riches and poverty, during good times and bad.
But I am so grateful and so blessed to share this journey with my best friend.
My husband was sitting on the couch in the next room playing the guitar when I first began to write. His words are pretty rough at this point. This song will probably never make it past the fiddling around stage, but here's a little of what I am hearing...
In this moment it feels like everything will come crashing down,
In this moment it feels like we have nothing,
And it's not easy, we can't take anymore.
But it's not easy, just to walk out that door.
Cuz we've got something, something special.
We've got something we don't see every day...
He always says he can come up with a tune, but never the right words. Perhaps he is right. Still I like how he tries to communicate that even when marriage is hard, quitting would be more painful. How can we turn our backs on years of memories and life shared together, on our children, on our God?
But it hurts. Right now I hurt for my friends. How can people keep enduring such pain?
People say that I am still wearing my "rose-tinted" glasses. Perhaps we need to be.
Yes, marriage is beautiful. It was always meant to be beautiful.
Marriage...what a beautiful thing.
And yet, I know as I say it is beautiful, my heart also knows the depth of its pain -- in my own marriage, in my friends' marriages. It is not a light thing for me to say that marriage is beautiful.
I say it with commitment -- commitment to serve, to love, to forgive till death parts us, during sickness and health, during riches and poverty, during good times and bad.
But I am so grateful and so blessed to share this journey with my best friend.
My husband was sitting on the couch in the next room playing the guitar when I first began to write. His words are pretty rough at this point. This song will probably never make it past the fiddling around stage, but here's a little of what I am hearing...
In this moment it feels like everything will come crashing down,
In this moment it feels like we have nothing,
And it's not easy, we can't take anymore.
But it's not easy, just to walk out that door.
Cuz we've got something, something special.
We've got something we don't see every day...
He always says he can come up with a tune, but never the right words. Perhaps he is right. Still I like how he tries to communicate that even when marriage is hard, quitting would be more painful. How can we turn our backs on years of memories and life shared together, on our children, on our God?
But it hurts. Right now I hurt for my friends. How can people keep enduring such pain?
People say that I am still wearing my "rose-tinted" glasses. Perhaps we need to be.
Yes, marriage is beautiful. It was always meant to be beautiful.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Unusual Post
So I've been writing, and there is one word that I can't seem to get right. I stare at it and can't think of another way of spelling it. I try to sound it out, but it's just not coming. It's such a small little word. I don't know how to spell "usual". Wait. Did I just spell it correctly? I will now go look it up.
I did it! It is right.
usual
usual
usual
The funny thing is that a day or so after I mastered this word, my son asked if I knew how to spell "usual". And I could tell him -- yes, as I matter a fact I do.
And while I am on the topic of things that no one cares about, let me just say that I must be the world's worst potty-trainer. I wish I could hire someone to do this for me and save me from the daily routine of washing out stinky underwear. My husband, true to himself, is optimistic. "It will probably take three or four weeks," he says. That to me would have been a miracle. Now that we have passed the four week mark and still daily clean out underwear, he again reassures me, "Don't worry, when he turns 18 this won't be our problem anymore."
So I press on...only 15 more years.
I did it! It is right.
usual
usual
usual
The funny thing is that a day or so after I mastered this word, my son asked if I knew how to spell "usual". And I could tell him -- yes, as I matter a fact I do.
And while I am on the topic of things that no one cares about, let me just say that I must be the world's worst potty-trainer. I wish I could hire someone to do this for me and save me from the daily routine of washing out stinky underwear. My husband, true to himself, is optimistic. "It will probably take three or four weeks," he says. That to me would have been a miracle. Now that we have passed the four week mark and still daily clean out underwear, he again reassures me, "Don't worry, when he turns 18 this won't be our problem anymore."
So I press on...only 15 more years.
Something New
My sister-in-law and a friend, both have wedding anniversaries near the same date. They both have blogs and they both happened to write about the years since their weddings; and I happened to read both blog posts on the same day.
It was one of those days when you remember anew the pain, when tears come easily, when you think a little more about the sweetness of Heaven...
One post was about the joy of their life together -- and the time they had spent celebrating it. One post was about the memories -- because my sister-in-law had lost her husband.
Memories...that's all you have left when the one you love has passed on. I know you may have trinkets, or heirlooms, pictures, or books. But there is never anything new. Never any new pictures, never any new letters. Memories -- our friend and our enemy.
This week I'm missing my brother a little more than usual. Perhaps because this week of their wedding anniversary, I remember their wedding. I remember the brick church building. Talking with friends at the wedding. How my brothers hair actually laid down pretty flat that day. Their matching green and yellow knitted sweaters. I remember the happiness of their seven years together, and I am left wishing things didn't have to be this way.
Or maybe because this week my husband's brother was in another accident. The week before I went to West Virginia for my brother's surgery, my husband's brother was in an accident. He was rushed to the hospital. People were frantic and calls were made, but he survived. (He actually made the news because his son had been the one who had been instrumental in saving his life.) But a week later, my brother went in for surgery and never came out alive. Two brothers. Two different outcomes. So my husband's brother got in another accident this week and I am reminded.
Wouldn't we be worse off if I couldn't remember? Couldn't remember the funny things he said? His funny ideas and his unruly hair? They way he liked to talk and how everyone was his friend? The music he liked? Or even the pain when you finally said goodbye? But at the same time these memories are the enemy because they leave you hungering for something more. It gets old... you want something new. You want to experience life with them, but there is no life. Everything is old, old, old. So I long again for the day when God will make everything new! New! What a beautiful word.
It was one of those days when you remember anew the pain, when tears come easily, when you think a little more about the sweetness of Heaven...
One post was about the joy of their life together -- and the time they had spent celebrating it. One post was about the memories -- because my sister-in-law had lost her husband.
Memories...that's all you have left when the one you love has passed on. I know you may have trinkets, or heirlooms, pictures, or books. But there is never anything new. Never any new pictures, never any new letters. Memories -- our friend and our enemy.
This week I'm missing my brother a little more than usual. Perhaps because this week of their wedding anniversary, I remember their wedding. I remember the brick church building. Talking with friends at the wedding. How my brothers hair actually laid down pretty flat that day. Their matching green and yellow knitted sweaters. I remember the happiness of their seven years together, and I am left wishing things didn't have to be this way.
Or maybe because this week my husband's brother was in another accident. The week before I went to West Virginia for my brother's surgery, my husband's brother was in an accident. He was rushed to the hospital. People were frantic and calls were made, but he survived. (He actually made the news because his son had been the one who had been instrumental in saving his life.) But a week later, my brother went in for surgery and never came out alive. Two brothers. Two different outcomes. So my husband's brother got in another accident this week and I am reminded.
Wouldn't we be worse off if I couldn't remember? Couldn't remember the funny things he said? His funny ideas and his unruly hair? They way he liked to talk and how everyone was his friend? The music he liked? Or even the pain when you finally said goodbye? But at the same time these memories are the enemy because they leave you hungering for something more. It gets old... you want something new. You want to experience life with them, but there is no life. Everything is old, old, old. So I long again for the day when God will make everything new! New! What a beautiful word.
Food and Raiment
My jeans have big holes in the knees and other smaller holes. Soon I will throw them away, but I really like this pair so I'm keeping them as long as possible. I am happy to wear out clothes. It was after reading Revolution in World Missions that I decided not to buy clothes. It's hard to remember now exactly how this all started. I know I was reading and feeling like I have so much in America and wanting to give more to my brothers and sisters in other countries. Why should I have a closet full of clothes when they have so little? Why not spend less money on myself so I could give more away? Especially when such a little bit of money goes so far in other countries. I kind of made an agreement with God that I would wait to buy clothes until our IRS tax debt was paid off.
It's been over two years now. After a quick look through the clothes hanging in my closet, I realize that there is only one shirt that I have bought for myself. I have been blessed by generous friends. I have been taken care of by God. I have had what I needed. At times I have wanted to be more stylish, or wanted to wear something but didn't wear it because I didn't feel I had the right pair of shoes or other accessory. Often my clothes might not be what I would choose, but I have learned something. I have learned (am learning)self-control in this area -- that I don't have to be the picture of what I think I should look like.
But I have wondered sometimes, what ever happened to those men in the Bible that vowed not to eat or drink until they had killed Paul. Did they die of starvation? Did they eventually just eat? I think at the heart of these questions I am asking "Will God continue to take care of me?" I was listening to a sermon recently and the pastor said that the question of whether we will serve God or money is really a question of where we place our trust. In what our we finding our security?
My husband and I were joking about the verse that says, "having food and clothing, be content" Eric was saying how that is all I really ever want anyways -- good food and nice clothes. It is true that those are the things that I like. Unfortunately the verse doesn't say the clothes have to be stylish or the food exciting. I need to learn to be content.
So what is God teaching me through something as simple as clothing?
I hope that through this I will be able to learn to give generously and joyfully to those in need; that I will trust God as my security and my provider; that I will be clothed with humility.
It's been over two years now. After a quick look through the clothes hanging in my closet, I realize that there is only one shirt that I have bought for myself. I have been blessed by generous friends. I have been taken care of by God. I have had what I needed. At times I have wanted to be more stylish, or wanted to wear something but didn't wear it because I didn't feel I had the right pair of shoes or other accessory. Often my clothes might not be what I would choose, but I have learned something. I have learned (am learning)self-control in this area -- that I don't have to be the picture of what I think I should look like.
But I have wondered sometimes, what ever happened to those men in the Bible that vowed not to eat or drink until they had killed Paul. Did they die of starvation? Did they eventually just eat? I think at the heart of these questions I am asking "Will God continue to take care of me?" I was listening to a sermon recently and the pastor said that the question of whether we will serve God or money is really a question of where we place our trust. In what our we finding our security?
My husband and I were joking about the verse that says, "having food and clothing, be content" Eric was saying how that is all I really ever want anyways -- good food and nice clothes. It is true that those are the things that I like. Unfortunately the verse doesn't say the clothes have to be stylish or the food exciting. I need to learn to be content.
So what is God teaching me through something as simple as clothing?
I hope that through this I will be able to learn to give generously and joyfully to those in need; that I will trust God as my security and my provider; that I will be clothed with humility.
Friday, May 6, 2011
To Name A Few
I have been privileged to know some amazing women. I have often thought that I have had friends that were a lot more accomplished than I. Some people talk about marrying out of their league, well, I have "friended" out of my league.
My friend Jeannette...
I look to her as an example of how I would like to love others. She is full of a desire to think what is true even through the toughest situations. Her faith in God is firm and is her anchor.
My friend Sandy...
one of the most genuine, hospitable ladies I know. She is quick to feel others' pain and is welcoming and uncondemning. You never feel like you don't measure up.
My friend Fawne...
so full of surrender. Graciously accepting what God has placed in her life; and shining with a selflessness and love for her Father, when she could be filled with self-pity.
My sister Mel...
a servant unlike any other. Sacrificing her desires for others. Willingly walking in obedience to God even through pain and difficulty.
My Mom...
in the midst of trial and betrayal she has chosen to forgive and to teach her children to hope.
My friend Jeannette...
I look to her as an example of how I would like to love others. She is full of a desire to think what is true even through the toughest situations. Her faith in God is firm and is her anchor.
My friend Sandy...
one of the most genuine, hospitable ladies I know. She is quick to feel others' pain and is welcoming and uncondemning. You never feel like you don't measure up.
My friend Fawne...
so full of surrender. Graciously accepting what God has placed in her life; and shining with a selflessness and love for her Father, when she could be filled with self-pity.
My sister Mel...
a servant unlike any other. Sacrificing her desires for others. Willingly walking in obedience to God even through pain and difficulty.
My Mom...
in the midst of trial and betrayal she has chosen to forgive and to teach her children to hope.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Good Morning
It's almost 7:30 in the morning. Time is quickly passing. My morning is almost over. Soon I will need to go start breakfast for the family. I love mornings. I love the peacefulness. I love the sun rising and everything becoming bright again. Mornings to me are a time to think, to read, to write. I suppose I like mornings because I am basically selfish and mornings are my time. When I wake up the house is still quiet. No one is asking for anything.
I lay in my bed and read my Bible, or sometimes I go to my "office" to read, which is really just my large closet. Sometimes I am working on paperwork and spread it out on the floor in my closet, and then if I don't finish I just close the door and turn off the light. Everything in my office is kept safe and unseen until later.
Sometimes I go for a walk before breakfast. The sun is still working on warming off the night's chill. The air is crisp. The mountain is beautiful. I see deer and geese as I walk along. I think and pray.
In the morning sometimes there is time to snuggle next to my husband before the rush of the day when we go our separate ways.
In the mornings I have a chance to check my e-mail, to check my friends' blogs, and to write some of my own.
Mornings bring a new chance, a new start. The psalmist says that weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Mornings to me are times when it is easy to be joyful, to think the right thoughts and want to do the right thing. I suppose that makes sense, because it is usually free from stress, work, and problems.
Mornings are just too short. Breakfast and children are calling...good bye morning.
I lay in my bed and read my Bible, or sometimes I go to my "office" to read, which is really just my large closet. Sometimes I am working on paperwork and spread it out on the floor in my closet, and then if I don't finish I just close the door and turn off the light. Everything in my office is kept safe and unseen until later.
Sometimes I go for a walk before breakfast. The sun is still working on warming off the night's chill. The air is crisp. The mountain is beautiful. I see deer and geese as I walk along. I think and pray.
In the morning sometimes there is time to snuggle next to my husband before the rush of the day when we go our separate ways.
In the mornings I have a chance to check my e-mail, to check my friends' blogs, and to write some of my own.
Mornings bring a new chance, a new start. The psalmist says that weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Mornings to me are times when it is easy to be joyful, to think the right thoughts and want to do the right thing. I suppose that makes sense, because it is usually free from stress, work, and problems.
Mornings are just too short. Breakfast and children are calling...good bye morning.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Thank you, Jesus
We watched the days leading up to the resurrection of Jesus acted out this year. We started in the high school with the Last Supper, then went to a city park for the Garden of Gethsemane. The next night we went to the steps of the courthouse for the trial of Jesus; then followed him carrying his cross up the hill toward the crucifixion, which was in a parking lot by the library. We watched them carry his body and lay it in a tomb in a nearby church parking lot, and on Sunday morning we watched the resurrection and ascension.
It really did make the events come alive, walking from place to place, with days in between scenes.
I missed the trial because a boy needed a rest stop. I didn't mind. I didn't want to see him beaten. We showed up at the crucifixion and found a spot near the back. It wasn't a very good view, and again I was glad.
I could not have endured what Jesus did for me. We were talking in the van with our boys later, and I mentioned that I never could have done that, and Zac says, "You could have done the Last Supper." Yes, I suppose I could have done that part.
While we were at the crucifixion, a heard a man nearby calling the police on his cellphone. He was reporting the scene. That's the reaction I would expect from the crowd. Why was the angry mob calling out "Crucify Him!" Why weren't they calling out for someone to stop this madness?
I didn't want to watch. How could this have happened?
"It is finished," He cried.
And my sin was nailed to the cross.
He was bruised for my iniquity.
By His strips I was healed.
They took him down, and my son says, "He's fine Mom. He got down."
Yes, isn't that the truth! He is fine! He got down! He is not on that cross anymore. He is not in that tomb anymore! Sunday morning, the earth shook, the stone rolled away and He is fine -- more than fine.
It really did make the events come alive, walking from place to place, with days in between scenes.
I missed the trial because a boy needed a rest stop. I didn't mind. I didn't want to see him beaten. We showed up at the crucifixion and found a spot near the back. It wasn't a very good view, and again I was glad.
I could not have endured what Jesus did for me. We were talking in the van with our boys later, and I mentioned that I never could have done that, and Zac says, "You could have done the Last Supper." Yes, I suppose I could have done that part.
While we were at the crucifixion, a heard a man nearby calling the police on his cellphone. He was reporting the scene. That's the reaction I would expect from the crowd. Why was the angry mob calling out "Crucify Him!" Why weren't they calling out for someone to stop this madness?
I didn't want to watch. How could this have happened?
"It is finished," He cried.
And my sin was nailed to the cross.
He was bruised for my iniquity.
By His strips I was healed.
They took him down, and my son says, "He's fine Mom. He got down."
Yes, isn't that the truth! He is fine! He got down! He is not on that cross anymore. He is not in that tomb anymore! Sunday morning, the earth shook, the stone rolled away and He is fine -- more than fine.
Monday, April 18, 2011
The Breakpoint
Yesterday I failed.
On Saturday, after 6pm my husband asks if we wanted to sleep in our new house that night. We had been staying in the basement of the camp office, where Eric is working this summer, but now the camp had a house available for us a little farther down the road.
This is when I should have used my brain and said, "NO!" First of all it was Saturday evening and the next day was Sunday. We usually leave at 8am in the morning to get to church on time, so it's nice to have things organized the night before. Not only that but Saturday was Shiloh's birthday. We had just come back from town and had played at the park and visited the library, now we were going to roast hot dogs in our wood stove and then have Shiloh's cake and presents.
But unfortunately I am not smart sometimes. I have a horrible habit of under-estimating how long a project will take. This problem seems to be hereditary. My uncle says to compensate, when you plan a project, estimate the time it will take, then double it, then double it again.
So my husband thinks we can pack up the whole house and move it to our new place in an hour. I agreed to try. At least I had the common sense to say that we should roast the hot dogs first. But then after dinner we began loading things quickly into suitcases, boxes and bags.
When our former pastor and his family moved to a different state, his wife had said, "I just want to move without sinning." That can be a challenge.
Surprisingly it only took 2 hours, which is double what Eric estimated, but it could have been a lot worse. But we didn't unpack things or put things away, so there was mess everywhere.
We had Shiloh's cake and garage-sale presents, then the boys went to bed.
The next morning, I thought maybe I could get things cleaned up before church. There was no way. What a mess! I was digging around trying to find everything the boys needed for church. No one seemed to know where things were so I had to keep helping people. There wasn't time for Eric or I to eat. At least my husband had the foresight to say we should just go to the service instead of classes an hour earlier.
On the way to church everything just seemed to hit me all at once. I don't know why. Looking back I can't see what was so bad. Sure the house was a mess, but that happens and then we clean it up. It would get cleaned up some day. I think it was just one disappointment after another. And those disappointments drawing me to focus on other issues that were troubling me.
Eric tells the story of his mother crying over spilled milk when he was a boy. Although he didn't understand as a boy, it wasn't the milk. It was what that represented to her. It was like that on Sunday.
On Saturday I wanted to get a library card because we love the library, but unfortunately we can't because this is a temporary residence. I should have know. Then we wanted to find a couple things at thrift stores for the house, but of course we couldn't find them. Then I wanted to get groceries while in town, but we didn't have time because it was Shiloh's birthday and we wanted to get home. People were meeting that evening for singing and snacks near our home in Wamic, but we took too long in town and couldn't go.
So I think it was a combination of feeling broke, alone, and out of control. Not going to people's house for singing again, (this was the second time we had to skip) made me feel like it was hopeless trying to make friends. The church we were going to was so far and it seemed when people that are closer got together we couldn't go. The presents and the groceries just reminded me that we didn't have much money. The mess and the boys just made me feel out of control.
On the way I kept spouting all these evil thoughts. Eric told me that he really thought I should just stop talking. I told him that we don't get everything we want. We stood in church beside each other, mostly staring at the music screen. I think Eric's arms were crossed the whole time.
And I looked at the words we were suppose to be singing...
I looked at the words, but didn't sing, because I was wondering...
Where is my strength to face this day? Are my fears washed away? And did I really want God to have his way with me? Was I welcoming him in my life?
No, I wanted my own way. But more than that I wondered, where was this power we were singing about?
Where was the power to wash away my fears -- my fear of not having our needs met, my fear of always being alone in a new place, my fear of people?
Where was the strength to face this day -- to face the disaster waiting for me at our new place, to face five crazy boys?
It didn't help when during that same day people kept saying to me...wow, you're a busy mom...you have your hands full, etc... I took three of my boys into the restroom at Burger King and someone told me, with just the three "You are a brave woman." I felt defeated.
Where was the strength to get the multitude of problems and projects worked out and somehow be a help to the camp this summer, to make a difference?
Basically, where was the strength just to do the right thing?
So I began asking...
Is God real? Am I fool?
Eric ran into the grocery store after church while I sat in the van with the boys, so I asked them.
How do we know God is real?
The Bible tells us He is alive. Prophets said Jesus was coming years before and that is just how He came.
Yes, but how do you even know that the Bible is true?
The Bible tells us that there was a Flood, and remember our science. The Bristlecone pine is the oldest tree, but the oldest one is about 4700 years old and that's about the time of the Flood. If the Bible wasn't true and the earth was millions or billions of years old, there would be older Bristlecone pine trees.
Ok, what else?
Earth is the perfect place for us to live. Perfect distance from the sun. Perfect speed of rotation. Perfect gravity....
But, couldn't we have evolved to adapt to this environment and that's why it's so perfect?
No...If evolution were true, then bees would do their best to survive and they would go to the closest flower for pollen. But they don't. Instead they go to the same kind of flower each day; so if they start with a daisy, they wouldn't go to a pear blossom, even if the tree was closer, they would go to another daisy and pollinate the flowers. The bees help the plants survive even if it's harder for them.
Well, what else?
Remember Brother Andrew... (We are reading God's Smuggler together as a family) ... how he prayed for a cake and God sent one in the mail right before his meeting. (They would remember the cake.) And remember when we prayed that God would help us find your wallet, and we found it?
Then Shiloh adds, "And sometimes we don't even ask and God gives us things, like Dad does for me." (Eric had just told Shiloh that he still had another birthday present coming.)
Zac agrees and says, "Yeah, like when those people brought all that food when we didn't have very much money in the bank."
So God is real because we see Him working in people's lives?
So God helps people return good for evil?
Yes, like when Caden kept hitting Micah and Micah didn't hit him back.
My shaky, weak faith is starting to spring up again.
So the Bible is trustworthy. God is alive. We see evidence in science, in answered prayers, in people's lives, and in God's goodness to us.
Still, I desperately need His strength to face each day. I want to see His power working in my life. I want to see victory. I want to see my emotions, not being controlled by my circumstances. I want to see me not fearing what people think, but instead courageously loving others. I want to see confidence in the face of financial difficulties that God cares about my needs.
I want to see Jesus in my life.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VOH476VkLs
Hear the sound of hearts returning to You...
On Saturday, after 6pm my husband asks if we wanted to sleep in our new house that night. We had been staying in the basement of the camp office, where Eric is working this summer, but now the camp had a house available for us a little farther down the road.
This is when I should have used my brain and said, "NO!" First of all it was Saturday evening and the next day was Sunday. We usually leave at 8am in the morning to get to church on time, so it's nice to have things organized the night before. Not only that but Saturday was Shiloh's birthday. We had just come back from town and had played at the park and visited the library, now we were going to roast hot dogs in our wood stove and then have Shiloh's cake and presents.
But unfortunately I am not smart sometimes. I have a horrible habit of under-estimating how long a project will take. This problem seems to be hereditary. My uncle says to compensate, when you plan a project, estimate the time it will take, then double it, then double it again.
So my husband thinks we can pack up the whole house and move it to our new place in an hour. I agreed to try. At least I had the common sense to say that we should roast the hot dogs first. But then after dinner we began loading things quickly into suitcases, boxes and bags.
When our former pastor and his family moved to a different state, his wife had said, "I just want to move without sinning." That can be a challenge.
Surprisingly it only took 2 hours, which is double what Eric estimated, but it could have been a lot worse. But we didn't unpack things or put things away, so there was mess everywhere.
We had Shiloh's cake and garage-sale presents, then the boys went to bed.
The next morning, I thought maybe I could get things cleaned up before church. There was no way. What a mess! I was digging around trying to find everything the boys needed for church. No one seemed to know where things were so I had to keep helping people. There wasn't time for Eric or I to eat. At least my husband had the foresight to say we should just go to the service instead of classes an hour earlier.
On the way to church everything just seemed to hit me all at once. I don't know why. Looking back I can't see what was so bad. Sure the house was a mess, but that happens and then we clean it up. It would get cleaned up some day. I think it was just one disappointment after another. And those disappointments drawing me to focus on other issues that were troubling me.
Eric tells the story of his mother crying over spilled milk when he was a boy. Although he didn't understand as a boy, it wasn't the milk. It was what that represented to her. It was like that on Sunday.
On Saturday I wanted to get a library card because we love the library, but unfortunately we can't because this is a temporary residence. I should have know. Then we wanted to find a couple things at thrift stores for the house, but of course we couldn't find them. Then I wanted to get groceries while in town, but we didn't have time because it was Shiloh's birthday and we wanted to get home. People were meeting that evening for singing and snacks near our home in Wamic, but we took too long in town and couldn't go.
So I think it was a combination of feeling broke, alone, and out of control. Not going to people's house for singing again, (this was the second time we had to skip) made me feel like it was hopeless trying to make friends. The church we were going to was so far and it seemed when people that are closer got together we couldn't go. The presents and the groceries just reminded me that we didn't have much money. The mess and the boys just made me feel out of control.
On the way I kept spouting all these evil thoughts. Eric told me that he really thought I should just stop talking. I told him that we don't get everything we want. We stood in church beside each other, mostly staring at the music screen. I think Eric's arms were crossed the whole time.
And I looked at the words we were suppose to be singing...
"... Cause when we see You, we find strength to face the day
In Your Presence all our fears are washed away...
You are the God Who saves us, worthy of all our praises...
Come have Your way among us
We welcome You here, Lord Jesus..."
I looked at the words, but didn't sing, because I was wondering...
Where is my strength to face this day? Are my fears washed away? And did I really want God to have his way with me? Was I welcoming him in my life?
No, I wanted my own way. But more than that I wondered, where was this power we were singing about?
Where was the power to wash away my fears -- my fear of not having our needs met, my fear of always being alone in a new place, my fear of people?
Where was the strength to face this day -- to face the disaster waiting for me at our new place, to face five crazy boys?
It didn't help when during that same day people kept saying to me...wow, you're a busy mom...you have your hands full, etc... I took three of my boys into the restroom at Burger King and someone told me, with just the three "You are a brave woman." I felt defeated.
Where was the strength to get the multitude of problems and projects worked out and somehow be a help to the camp this summer, to make a difference?
Basically, where was the strength just to do the right thing?
So I began asking...
Is God real? Am I fool?
Eric ran into the grocery store after church while I sat in the van with the boys, so I asked them.
How do we know God is real?
The Bible tells us He is alive. Prophets said Jesus was coming years before and that is just how He came.
Yes, but how do you even know that the Bible is true?
The Bible tells us that there was a Flood, and remember our science. The Bristlecone pine is the oldest tree, but the oldest one is about 4700 years old and that's about the time of the Flood. If the Bible wasn't true and the earth was millions or billions of years old, there would be older Bristlecone pine trees.
Ok, what else?
Earth is the perfect place for us to live. Perfect distance from the sun. Perfect speed of rotation. Perfect gravity....
But, couldn't we have evolved to adapt to this environment and that's why it's so perfect?
No...If evolution were true, then bees would do their best to survive and they would go to the closest flower for pollen. But they don't. Instead they go to the same kind of flower each day; so if they start with a daisy, they wouldn't go to a pear blossom, even if the tree was closer, they would go to another daisy and pollinate the flowers. The bees help the plants survive even if it's harder for them.
Well, what else?
Remember Brother Andrew... (We are reading God's Smuggler together as a family) ... how he prayed for a cake and God sent one in the mail right before his meeting. (They would remember the cake.) And remember when we prayed that God would help us find your wallet, and we found it?
Then Shiloh adds, "And sometimes we don't even ask and God gives us things, like Dad does for me." (Eric had just told Shiloh that he still had another birthday present coming.)
Zac agrees and says, "Yeah, like when those people brought all that food when we didn't have very much money in the bank."
So God is real because we see Him working in people's lives?
So God helps people return good for evil?
Yes, like when Caden kept hitting Micah and Micah didn't hit him back.
My shaky, weak faith is starting to spring up again.
So the Bible is trustworthy. God is alive. We see evidence in science, in answered prayers, in people's lives, and in God's goodness to us.
Still, I desperately need His strength to face each day. I want to see His power working in my life. I want to see victory. I want to see my emotions, not being controlled by my circumstances. I want to see me not fearing what people think, but instead courageously loving others. I want to see confidence in the face of financial difficulties that God cares about my needs.
I want to see Jesus in my life.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VOH476VkLs
Hear the sound of hearts returning to You...
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Strange Sayings
There are some sayings that I don't understand. For example, "sleeping like a baby". Does that mean that you wake up and cry through the night? Does it mean that you sleep often? Does it mean that everyone around you wishes you would sleep more?
I remember when President Obama was first elected and Senator McCain was asked how he felt about it. He replied that he was "sleeping like a baby...sleep two hours, wake up and cry, sleep two hours, wake up and cry."
Perhaps it's a worn joke, but I still thought it was witty. So sleeping like a baby must mean you sleep well.
Another saying I have wondered about -- "It's like taking candy from a baby." I assume that means it is suppose to be easy, but have they ever actually tried to wrestle a treasured piece of candy out of chubby clenched fist? A baby can have quite the grip.
Another saying, "You can pick your nose, and you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your friend's nose."
So I think I understand this one pretty well, although my 2 year old son, Caden doesn't. He told me as we were driving in the van that he was picking his baby brother's nose. Gross. Of course he could be a little confused about proper nose-picking etiquette because Dad had to pick his nose with the tweezers.
For some reason Caden is attached to little pieces of fuzz or stuffing. He will find a piece of stuffing from a chair, or a blanket and stick it in his nose; or hold it close to his nose. He finds it at home, at church, in the van, and at Grandma's house. He is so often seen with fuzz that one of his cousins asked her mom why that fuzz was attached to Caden.
One day he went a little too far with his fuzz -- too far up his nose. Dad tilted his head back and tried to grip the fuzz with the tweezers. It hurt him, but we got it out. It didn't seem to hinder his love for fuzz.
Should I be worried?
I remember when President Obama was first elected and Senator McCain was asked how he felt about it. He replied that he was "sleeping like a baby...sleep two hours, wake up and cry, sleep two hours, wake up and cry."
Perhaps it's a worn joke, but I still thought it was witty. So sleeping like a baby must mean you sleep well.
Another saying I have wondered about -- "It's like taking candy from a baby." I assume that means it is suppose to be easy, but have they ever actually tried to wrestle a treasured piece of candy out of chubby clenched fist? A baby can have quite the grip.
Another saying, "You can pick your nose, and you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your friend's nose."
So I think I understand this one pretty well, although my 2 year old son, Caden doesn't. He told me as we were driving in the van that he was picking his baby brother's nose. Gross. Of course he could be a little confused about proper nose-picking etiquette because Dad had to pick his nose with the tweezers.
For some reason Caden is attached to little pieces of fuzz or stuffing. He will find a piece of stuffing from a chair, or a blanket and stick it in his nose; or hold it close to his nose. He finds it at home, at church, in the van, and at Grandma's house. He is so often seen with fuzz that one of his cousins asked her mom why that fuzz was attached to Caden.
One day he went a little too far with his fuzz -- too far up his nose. Dad tilted his head back and tried to grip the fuzz with the tweezers. It hurt him, but we got it out. It didn't seem to hinder his love for fuzz.
Should I be worried?
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Oregon Trail
We are currently sitting in the van driving west on I-90, listening to a story on our CD player. The baby is sleeping. The children are quiet. It is peaceful. The scenery is beautiful. It is an illusion. To be completely truthful it is not an illusion, but only half the story. Here is the other half.
Thirty plus hours driving across the country with small children can be a challenge. My husband, Eric, told us at the start of the trip, "Today we are going to be happy because we choose to be."
First, there is the problem of getting out on the road. It is amazing how many things need to be done in the morning. Things like changing diapers three times for one child. Cleaning out the van before we get started for the day. That took me over an hour and a half one day. Not surprising considering that we have the contents of seven backpacks emptied all over the floor; as well as blankets, pillows, coats, a diaper bag, food and two book bags of mine. Yes, it's a little full.
Surely we could get started sooner if we cut out eating. Do we really need to eat? Today Eric came back to the hotel room after taking the boys to breakfast and said, "Remember those parents we've seen in the grocery store with crying kids throwing a fit? Today that was me."
I guess Caden doesn't think we should cut out eating because he had a meltdown when Eric ended his breakfast early.
I have actually had a cashier in a grocery store comment that she wanted to video tape how well-behaved my children were in the store and post it on YouTube because otherwise no one would believe her. Never put too much stock in those comments. The meltdown may be coming.
Eric remains optimistic. "We're getting out in good time today," he says. We left at 10AM, again.
Next, there is the problem of getting everyone to the bathroom in time. Seconds after the exit for the rest area Shiloh tells us he needs to go. He is immediately desperate and begins crying. He can't wait. We either have to pull over to the side of the road or have him wet his pants. We decided to do both.
Not wanting to repeat the mistake we had just made, when I saw a sign for a rest area in two miles I asked the boys if anyone needed to stop. At the rest area parking lot Eric checked on the bike rack and realized it was not secure. One of the bikes was hanging by the chain with the handle bars toward the ground. He took all the bikes off, unfastened the bike rack and began unloading our luggage into the parking lot in search of his tool box.
Seemed to me like this would be a long process, but that worked out well because it gave me plenty of time to clean up after a sick child in the bathroom. Caden started coughing and then throwing up all over the bathroom floor. I am glad it wasn't in the van like the day before. Those antibacterial wipes my mom bought for our trip sure came in handy.
I sent another child back to Dad for a diaper and Caden's pajamas (the only clean clothing of his left in the suitcase).
While I was cleaning up the mess and changing Caden the cleaning lady came into the restroom with her little arsenal of cleaning bottles. Her arsenal didn't seem strong enough to match the enemy lurking in those stalls. I watched as she quickly sprayed the sinks and toilets. In a few minutes she was done. It just didn't appear long enough to sterilize and kill all the germs. Made me wonder why we ever use public restrooms.
I emerged from the bathroom to find my six month old baby riding on a bike. Well, being pushed around on it. Never to early to start, right?
They call this place Crazy Mountains. The story says that a woman on the wagon trains went insane and ran off into the mountains. They used to call it Crazy Woman Mountains, but then shortened it to just Crazy Mountains. Maybe she wasn't crazy at all. Maybe she just had a small child vomiting in the wagon, a baby trotting off into the woods on the ox, and a husband spreading out all their belongings in a 100 foot radius around the wagon muttering, "I know I put that bundle of horse hair somewhere, then I'll fix that broken axle." The mountains started looking really good -- quiet and peaceful.
Then there's the problem of keeping five boys quiet in a hotel room after they have been in a vehicle all day. Fun.
"I'll work hard to keep them quiet," Eric promised the hesitant hotel receptionist.
Why does he make promises?
"Don't worry," Eric reassures me. "We have our secret weapon -- NyQuil."
Yes, desperate times call for desperate measures. The night before we didn't sleep much. One boy woke up wet and needed to be changed. Caden's coughing made it hard for him to sleep, and Judah, who also isn't feeling well, woke up and wouldn't be pacified. He cried and cried. He was happy if we stood up holding him. I think that must be one of the rules in the Secret Handbook of Babyhood -- Never let anyone sit while comforting you. Needless to say we didn't get much sleep.
The next day after we left the hotel at 10AM we headed to Walmart to buy some cough syrup. So many choices. Then I saw it. NyQuil! After that I could see nothing else. I couldn't stop my hand from grabbing it off the shelf. With a new skip in my tired feet I headed to the checkout.
At the van again Eric asked if that was all I got. If I was planning to give them NyQuil during the day too. I clutched my bottle of promised peace and sleep. Yes, most definitely yes -- they were going to drink it in their water bottles. Kool-aid, anyone?
It's been a long trip; and between the rest stops, the repairs, the late starts and the sick children we haven't got much driving done. But Eric, always the optimist encourages us on, "At least we are faster than the Mormons when they walked over with their hand carts."
Today is a new day. I think today we will make it to Oregon.
Thirty plus hours driving across the country with small children can be a challenge. My husband, Eric, told us at the start of the trip, "Today we are going to be happy because we choose to be."
First, there is the problem of getting out on the road. It is amazing how many things need to be done in the morning. Things like changing diapers three times for one child. Cleaning out the van before we get started for the day. That took me over an hour and a half one day. Not surprising considering that we have the contents of seven backpacks emptied all over the floor; as well as blankets, pillows, coats, a diaper bag, food and two book bags of mine. Yes, it's a little full.
Surely we could get started sooner if we cut out eating. Do we really need to eat? Today Eric came back to the hotel room after taking the boys to breakfast and said, "Remember those parents we've seen in the grocery store with crying kids throwing a fit? Today that was me."
I guess Caden doesn't think we should cut out eating because he had a meltdown when Eric ended his breakfast early.
I have actually had a cashier in a grocery store comment that she wanted to video tape how well-behaved my children were in the store and post it on YouTube because otherwise no one would believe her. Never put too much stock in those comments. The meltdown may be coming.
Eric remains optimistic. "We're getting out in good time today," he says. We left at 10AM, again.
Next, there is the problem of getting everyone to the bathroom in time. Seconds after the exit for the rest area Shiloh tells us he needs to go. He is immediately desperate and begins crying. He can't wait. We either have to pull over to the side of the road or have him wet his pants. We decided to do both.
Not wanting to repeat the mistake we had just made, when I saw a sign for a rest area in two miles I asked the boys if anyone needed to stop. At the rest area parking lot Eric checked on the bike rack and realized it was not secure. One of the bikes was hanging by the chain with the handle bars toward the ground. He took all the bikes off, unfastened the bike rack and began unloading our luggage into the parking lot in search of his tool box.
Seemed to me like this would be a long process, but that worked out well because it gave me plenty of time to clean up after a sick child in the bathroom. Caden started coughing and then throwing up all over the bathroom floor. I am glad it wasn't in the van like the day before. Those antibacterial wipes my mom bought for our trip sure came in handy.
I sent another child back to Dad for a diaper and Caden's pajamas (the only clean clothing of his left in the suitcase).
While I was cleaning up the mess and changing Caden the cleaning lady came into the restroom with her little arsenal of cleaning bottles. Her arsenal didn't seem strong enough to match the enemy lurking in those stalls. I watched as she quickly sprayed the sinks and toilets. In a few minutes she was done. It just didn't appear long enough to sterilize and kill all the germs. Made me wonder why we ever use public restrooms.
I emerged from the bathroom to find my six month old baby riding on a bike. Well, being pushed around on it. Never to early to start, right?
They call this place Crazy Mountains. The story says that a woman on the wagon trains went insane and ran off into the mountains. They used to call it Crazy Woman Mountains, but then shortened it to just Crazy Mountains. Maybe she wasn't crazy at all. Maybe she just had a small child vomiting in the wagon, a baby trotting off into the woods on the ox, and a husband spreading out all their belongings in a 100 foot radius around the wagon muttering, "I know I put that bundle of horse hair somewhere, then I'll fix that broken axle." The mountains started looking really good -- quiet and peaceful.
Then there's the problem of keeping five boys quiet in a hotel room after they have been in a vehicle all day. Fun.
"I'll work hard to keep them quiet," Eric promised the hesitant hotel receptionist.
Why does he make promises?
"Don't worry," Eric reassures me. "We have our secret weapon -- NyQuil."
Yes, desperate times call for desperate measures. The night before we didn't sleep much. One boy woke up wet and needed to be changed. Caden's coughing made it hard for him to sleep, and Judah, who also isn't feeling well, woke up and wouldn't be pacified. He cried and cried. He was happy if we stood up holding him. I think that must be one of the rules in the Secret Handbook of Babyhood -- Never let anyone sit while comforting you. Needless to say we didn't get much sleep.
The next day after we left the hotel at 10AM we headed to Walmart to buy some cough syrup. So many choices. Then I saw it. NyQuil! After that I could see nothing else. I couldn't stop my hand from grabbing it off the shelf. With a new skip in my tired feet I headed to the checkout.
At the van again Eric asked if that was all I got. If I was planning to give them NyQuil during the day too. I clutched my bottle of promised peace and sleep. Yes, most definitely yes -- they were going to drink it in their water bottles. Kool-aid, anyone?
It's been a long trip; and between the rest stops, the repairs, the late starts and the sick children we haven't got much driving done. But Eric, always the optimist encourages us on, "At least we are faster than the Mormons when they walked over with their hand carts."
Today is a new day. I think today we will make it to Oregon.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Something Better
My Grandma always wanted to live in Utah. She thought it was one of the most beautiful states. Smart woman. She also wanted to build her own house. But throughout her life, she never lived in Utah and she always lived in houses that wouldn't have even been considered nice by many American families. Her husband served most of their married life as a pastor in small churches and they gave sacrificially from the small income they had.
Our pastor and his family recently left our church to serve as Wycliffe Bible translators in Tanzania. It is hard to give up your friends, ministry, or the home you have know for years -- not to mention living in a different culture.
They lived their lives in faith, trusting and waiting for the promises of God. They embraced God's truth and believed that they were strangers and pilgrims on this earth. They declare plainly that they seek a homeland, but not here. They desire something better, that is, a heavenly country. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them. (Heb.11)
If my Grandma can give up Utah, so can I. If my friends can give up their church and friends, so can I. And perhaps this sounds strange, but if my friends can go, I can be willing to stay. We all give up different things. God has a different place for each of us. But ultimately, the question is... Are we seeking something better?
Our pastor and his family recently left our church to serve as Wycliffe Bible translators in Tanzania. It is hard to give up your friends, ministry, or the home you have know for years -- not to mention living in a different culture.
They lived their lives in faith, trusting and waiting for the promises of God. They embraced God's truth and believed that they were strangers and pilgrims on this earth. They declare plainly that they seek a homeland, but not here. They desire something better, that is, a heavenly country. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them. (Heb.11)
If my Grandma can give up Utah, so can I. If my friends can give up their church and friends, so can I. And perhaps this sounds strange, but if my friends can go, I can be willing to stay. We all give up different things. God has a different place for each of us. But ultimately, the question is... Are we seeking something better?
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
His Name is John
We had been giving money to Gospel for Asia, and were very interested in their native missionary program; but were hesitant to actually support a missionary because our finances are so uncertain. A native missionary is someone who is working full-time within unreached areas of his or her own culture or one very similar. Because they already know the customs and dialect of the people, they can begin working with people immediately and will not be considered an outsider. Also they can be accepted into areas where Westerners are typically not allowed to share the Gospel. I think it also helps people to know that God is not the foreigners' God, but also the God of their people.
I started to think what we could give up each month so that we could support a missionary. Then I thought, if I put aside the same amount each month that it is costing me for dental, I can give that to missions instead.
The dentist said I need to come every three months to keep the problems with my teeth under control. Is it really necessary? I don't know, but I prayed to God and said that we would give that money to missions, if He would protect my teeth. I asked my hygienist if i could try a six month schedule instead and we did. At my checkup she said my teeth were looking fine.
So now we support a national missionary. His name is John. I liked the name because I can actually pronounce it. When he became a Christian, his Hindu family kicked him out of home and he faced severe opposition. Through the urging of a pastor in his life, he eventually went on to Bible school and is now serving the Lord as a pastor and evangelist in India with his wife and three children.
I started to think what we could give up each month so that we could support a missionary. Then I thought, if I put aside the same amount each month that it is costing me for dental, I can give that to missions instead.
The dentist said I need to come every three months to keep the problems with my teeth under control. Is it really necessary? I don't know, but I prayed to God and said that we would give that money to missions, if He would protect my teeth. I asked my hygienist if i could try a six month schedule instead and we did. At my checkup she said my teeth were looking fine.
So now we support a national missionary. His name is John. I liked the name because I can actually pronounce it. When he became a Christian, his Hindu family kicked him out of home and he faced severe opposition. Through the urging of a pastor in his life, he eventually went on to Bible school and is now serving the Lord as a pastor and evangelist in India with his wife and three children.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Oh, Possum!
There are just some things you hope never to find in your house. (Or your garage, shed, or attic for that matter.) For me a possum would definitely be on that list.
I do not like mice. When we lived in the country, we had a big problem with mice. One time my husband saw a mouse in the kitchen. He jumped up from the table grabbed a bar stool and chased the mouse into the living room. The mouse ran behind the couch. My husband flipped the couch over and killed the mouse, who was probably holding still from shock, with the stool. Disgusting. Nothing like a mouse to make a man feel like a warrior.
Rats are even worse. Not only do they carry all the bad qualities of mice, but they also, in my mind, carry disease. Remember the Black Death of the 1300s.
Now possums are even bigger rodents than rats. If you have seen The Princess Bride you may remember when they are in the forest and are attacked by a Rodent of Unusual Size. That was a possum!
So my sister texted me a message last week, "Ahhhhhhhhhhh" was all it said. Turned out she had found a possum in her attic. She had unsuspectingly gone up into the attic to clean out some "pumpkins" the children had stored up there. I am not sure what these "pumpkins" actually were, because my son said they found these growing outside in the middle of a Michigan winter. They had brought back these valuable frozen treasures and stored them in the attic above the garage. Now the pumpkins had thawed and become a smelly mess.
Although my sister was afraid, her young children thought they could scare out a rodent that could eat them all in one delicious five course meal. Now I do admit that young, rambunctious children can be frightening, but not to this possum. When it started growling, my sister called them down.
Like little, brave soldiers, they wanted to try again another day.
"Make sure you don't hurt my car," their Grandma cautioned. Never mind that the children are going to be coming back bloody and mangled when the angry, growling rodent attacks. At least the car will be safe.
"If only you had carried it out in a box, when you first found it sleeping in the attic," Grandma told her daughter. Carry it out in a box? Yes, I can see that happening. Carefully pick up the box that the giant rodent is sleeping in, if you can lift it. Then try not to drop it as you climb down the steep attic stairs that you can't see because of the big box in front of you. Then hope not to wake it as you run screaming towards the woods. Nope. I wouldn't have picked up the box either. Though she did clean up the pumpkins, so she is a braver woman than I.
But I am still wondering, how does one rid himself of an opossum?
I do not like mice. When we lived in the country, we had a big problem with mice. One time my husband saw a mouse in the kitchen. He jumped up from the table grabbed a bar stool and chased the mouse into the living room. The mouse ran behind the couch. My husband flipped the couch over and killed the mouse, who was probably holding still from shock, with the stool. Disgusting. Nothing like a mouse to make a man feel like a warrior.
Rats are even worse. Not only do they carry all the bad qualities of mice, but they also, in my mind, carry disease. Remember the Black Death of the 1300s.
Now possums are even bigger rodents than rats. If you have seen The Princess Bride you may remember when they are in the forest and are attacked by a Rodent of Unusual Size. That was a possum!
So my sister texted me a message last week, "Ahhhhhhhhhhh" was all it said. Turned out she had found a possum in her attic. She had unsuspectingly gone up into the attic to clean out some "pumpkins" the children had stored up there. I am not sure what these "pumpkins" actually were, because my son said they found these growing outside in the middle of a Michigan winter. They had brought back these valuable frozen treasures and stored them in the attic above the garage. Now the pumpkins had thawed and become a smelly mess.
Although my sister was afraid, her young children thought they could scare out a rodent that could eat them all in one delicious five course meal. Now I do admit that young, rambunctious children can be frightening, but not to this possum. When it started growling, my sister called them down.
Like little, brave soldiers, they wanted to try again another day.
"Make sure you don't hurt my car," their Grandma cautioned. Never mind that the children are going to be coming back bloody and mangled when the angry, growling rodent attacks. At least the car will be safe.
"If only you had carried it out in a box, when you first found it sleeping in the attic," Grandma told her daughter. Carry it out in a box? Yes, I can see that happening. Carefully pick up the box that the giant rodent is sleeping in, if you can lift it. Then try not to drop it as you climb down the steep attic stairs that you can't see because of the big box in front of you. Then hope not to wake it as you run screaming towards the woods. Nope. I wouldn't have picked up the box either. Though she did clean up the pumpkins, so she is a braver woman than I.
But I am still wondering, how does one rid himself of an opossum?
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Do You Trust Me?
The other night we watched the testimony of Ann Conway that she had shared at an Institute of Basic Life Principles seminar. Someone at our church had given us this video to watch.
At the end I sat thinking, what have I learned from this? What have I gained? Because at that point, it seemed that all I got from the video was an over-whelming sense of pain.
When her son was one year old she noticed his diaper was really sagging and it was time for a change. When she changed him it was full of blood and clots. She went from doctor to doctor, anywhere that had some hope of coming up with answers. She waited much, holding her small, helpless son, feeling helpless herself. Waiting. Testing. Hoping to find that one doctor that could find the cure, that would even know what was wrong. This went on for years. How fragile life is, hanging in the balance, and God was asking her ... Do you trust me?
(Eventually they found the right antibiotic and he is a healthy man today.)
Many years later, it was time for her husband to transition to a new job. She wasn't worried if the job search took long because they had planned an emergency fund for this time and they had that cushion of security. But then the letter from the IRS came. Years ago, their business accountant had misplaced a decimal point in the forms and it turned out they owed the IRS all of their emergency fund. Good bye cushion. Good bye security. Now they had nothing, and this lasted for two years.At the end I sat thinking, what have I learned from this? What have I gained? Because at that point, it seemed that all I got from the video was an over-whelming sense of pain.
When her son was one year old she noticed his diaper was really sagging and it was time for a change. When she changed him it was full of blood and clots. She went from doctor to doctor, anywhere that had some hope of coming up with answers. She waited much, holding her small, helpless son, feeling helpless herself. Waiting. Testing. Hoping to find that one doctor that could find the cure, that would even know what was wrong. This went on for years. How fragile life is, hanging in the balance, and God was asking her ... Do you trust me?
(Eventually they found the right antibiotic and he is a healthy man today.)
At one point she was so discouraged, she came to her bedroom, threw down the mail she was carrying, flopped across her bed and cried. Again God was asking.... Do you trust Me?
But then most crushing of all. Her daughter died. She rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late. She had bled to death from a mistake in surgery. The pain is great; I cannot escape it, so I try to think... What was the point of watching this? What have I gained?
Do you trust me? God says. It's easy to say we trust Him when we have that cushion of protection, when things are going our way or are at least comfortable.
But do you trust Him?
In the loss of a business?
In the uncertainty of what will happen with your child?
In financial crisis?
In the death of someone you love?
Because He is trustworthy.
I am left with the impression of how God had not abandoned her. When she needed to rush her daughter to the hospital and turned onto a packed interstate, God supplied someone for her to follow. For years she had followed her husband to work and on the back of his vehicle it read "Pathfinder." When a vehicle with "Pathfinder" on the back pulled in front of her she followed it without even thinking. She said the interstate was like a parking lot, but she recalls glancing at her speedometer once and it read 90mph. At one point she didn't follow and the driver rolled down his window and waved her over. I turned to my husband and asked if that was an angel. He got her to the hospital right before her daughter died.
God did not abandon them when she needed money and was so discouraged that she threw the mail and herself on her bed. In the mail was a letter from someone, that in her mind needed money more than her; but God had told them to write a check and they obeyed His voice. God supplied. He was still there and had not abandoned them.
Then I am left with the thought that one day our faith will be sight. When her daughter pulled up to the hospital she told her mom, "Jesus is here." I really believe He was. I think He was coming to bring her Home. She died shortly after that. I must remember to hold fast to the faith that we have. One day everything we believe to be true will be proven true.
I am left with the impression of how these people listened to God's voice. On the day their daughter died, her husband was scheduled to be at a meeting in another city; but really thought God was telling him to excuse himself from the meeting and come home. He obeyed God's voice, and called his wife to let her know he was coming. He explained that he didn't know why, and not to think he was crazy. Of course she didn't think he was crazy because then she told him that their daughter was in Heaven. WHAT! Can't you just hear the shock! Now he understood why God wanted him to cancel his meeting. He was already at the airport on his way home.
I am left with the thought that when everyone else is gone... Jesus is enough. Her daughter had just died. The doctors and chaplain were no comfort. Her husband was out of town. She was alone in a room in the hospital. Alone with Jesus...and He became enough for her.
So in the midst of this painful story, these jewels are left.
God will not abandon us.
Jesus is alive; Listen to His voice.
Jesus is enough.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Famous Men
Last night I stayed up until midnight reading a biography of Daniel Webster. I am fascinated by it, but am not sure why because it's really not that dramatic or suspenseful.
I think what is interesting is how God perfectly orchestrated his life. He becomes a famous orator, and looking back we can see how God prepared him for that. Choices that seemed so hard then, seem clear looking back. Of course he wouldn't work as a clerk, recording other people's cases; but instead, he would go on to be a lawyer himself. The people he met make sense, the people that influenced him make sense, the people he learned from make sense because they were shaping him into what God had planned.
Even the books he found interesting as a young person seem to show the direction that God was taking him, shaping his heroes and his desires even then. I recently finished reading a biography of Stonewall Jackson, and it's interesting to compare the similarities and differences. Jackson found war heroes interesting, one of his favorite books was Parson Weems' Life of General Francis Marion. Webster preferred the work of Cicero the orator of Italy. He actually enjoyed translating it from Latin.
I remember reading once that Thomas Edison wanted to start on one shelf in the library and read every book. Webster also worked through the library reading every book.
Daniel Webster's father worked hard to make a living and didn't want his sons to have to work so hard just to scrape by. He thought college was the solution to this problem, and sacrificed greatly for his son. He kept saying, my life is for you, and if you will promise to do all you can for yourself, I will do what I can for you.
What am I doing to shape my children toward the future God has gifted them for? Am I developing those gifts? What are their interests? Am I challenging their young minds with heroes? With a love for learning and discovery?
My boys don't need to be famous men, but will they use everything that God has gifted them with. Will they discover their God-created niche? Will I help them?
I think what is interesting is how God perfectly orchestrated his life. He becomes a famous orator, and looking back we can see how God prepared him for that. Choices that seemed so hard then, seem clear looking back. Of course he wouldn't work as a clerk, recording other people's cases; but instead, he would go on to be a lawyer himself. The people he met make sense, the people that influenced him make sense, the people he learned from make sense because they were shaping him into what God had planned.
Even the books he found interesting as a young person seem to show the direction that God was taking him, shaping his heroes and his desires even then. I recently finished reading a biography of Stonewall Jackson, and it's interesting to compare the similarities and differences. Jackson found war heroes interesting, one of his favorite books was Parson Weems' Life of General Francis Marion. Webster preferred the work of Cicero the orator of Italy. He actually enjoyed translating it from Latin.
I remember reading once that Thomas Edison wanted to start on one shelf in the library and read every book. Webster also worked through the library reading every book.
Daniel Webster's father worked hard to make a living and didn't want his sons to have to work so hard just to scrape by. He thought college was the solution to this problem, and sacrificed greatly for his son. He kept saying, my life is for you, and if you will promise to do all you can for yourself, I will do what I can for you.
What am I doing to shape my children toward the future God has gifted them for? Am I developing those gifts? What are their interests? Am I challenging their young minds with heroes? With a love for learning and discovery?
My boys don't need to be famous men, but will they use everything that God has gifted them with. Will they discover their God-created niche? Will I help them?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
10:10
This past fall was a very important date in the lives of my husband and me. The date was October 10, 2010, or 10-10-10. For more than 15 years now I have prayed for my future husband (and then my actual husband) when I saw the numbers 10:10. It could be a date, a page number, a clock...
So in honor of our 10-10 anniversary in the year twenty-TEN, Eric and I played a game at Meijer to celebrate our married life together.
We each took turns picking one item from the shelves at Meijer that reminded us of our life together. We picked a total of ten items and the total price goal was ten dollars. (10,10)
1. A candle -- to represent romance, the bubble baths, candlelight dinners, etc...
2. A "Get Well Soon" balloon -- to represent the times of sickness, the chicken noodle soup that has been lovingly prepared, the middle of the night searches on the internet for information on how to relieve some ailment
3. A card about money -- to represent the countless business ideas and ventures my husband has had or tried, to represent our years of toil owning the tree service
4. Pencils -- to represent the love letters we have written to each other
5. Stickers -- to say I will stick with you, for better or worse
6. Power Steering Fluid -- to represent our vehicles, the repairs we are constantly needing (and God's faithfulness in keeping the vehicles going), the many vehicles Eric has given away, and the one he actually sold
7. Nail clippers -- to represent the times I have taken care of Eric by clipping his nails (This is one of those strange things I do for my husband because he likes it.)
8. Baby food -- to represent our children
9. Breath mints -- to represent the kisses
10. An apple -- to represent the fun times we have had together -- one of those fun times being apple-picking
Total cost including tax: $10.25
So in honor of our 10-10 anniversary in the year twenty-TEN, Eric and I played a game at Meijer to celebrate our married life together.
We each took turns picking one item from the shelves at Meijer that reminded us of our life together. We picked a total of ten items and the total price goal was ten dollars. (10,10)
1. A candle -- to represent romance, the bubble baths, candlelight dinners, etc...
2. A "Get Well Soon" balloon -- to represent the times of sickness, the chicken noodle soup that has been lovingly prepared, the middle of the night searches on the internet for information on how to relieve some ailment
3. A card about money -- to represent the countless business ideas and ventures my husband has had or tried, to represent our years of toil owning the tree service
4. Pencils -- to represent the love letters we have written to each other
5. Stickers -- to say I will stick with you, for better or worse
6. Power Steering Fluid -- to represent our vehicles, the repairs we are constantly needing (and God's faithfulness in keeping the vehicles going), the many vehicles Eric has given away, and the one he actually sold
7. Nail clippers -- to represent the times I have taken care of Eric by clipping his nails (This is one of those strange things I do for my husband because he likes it.)
8. Baby food -- to represent our children
9. Breath mints -- to represent the kisses
10. An apple -- to represent the fun times we have had together -- one of those fun times being apple-picking
Total cost including tax: $10.25
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Rescued Treasure -- Part I
You never know what treasure a boy may bring home from his travels. Last spring my boys and I took a bike ride and stopped at a creek the flowed under the road through a tunnel. We climbed down the steep slope and and began exploring the tunnel.
And that's when we saw it -- a treasure! Forgotten. Abandoned. Alone in the muddy shallow stream, tipped over on its side. But never fear, it was alone no longer. My son could not resist this treasure. What was it? A Walmart shopping cart.
So there was my son rocking it violently back and forth, trying to get it upright so he could push it through the tunnel, up the steep bank and home. To my home! Why do I want a shopping cart. I don't.
So he's rocking it back and forth, but can't seem to get it up. And there begins my first mistake... I helped him. Then he started pushing it through the tunnel and up the bank. He was trying so hard. He wanted so much for this treasure to be his. I guess that's what made me have compassion on him. That's what made me grab the front of the cart and slowly creep backwards up the bank, bent over, lifting and pulling a cart behind me. We pushed past the branches at the top of the bank -- our prize finally on the sidewalk.
Now remember we rode our bikes to this stream, and it was probably over a mile from home. How would we get the shopping cart and all the bikes home? He tried attaching it to his bike and pulling it like a trailer. Seemed like a good idea, but maybe what we used for connecting our trailer was the problem, because it just wasn't working. Eventually he ended up putting his bike inside the cart and pushing the cart home. Did he get the bike in by himself? Admittedly, I think I might have helped him.
So we began the mile trip home pushing a shopping cart. It's amusing the looks you get when you are pushing a shopping cart, with a bike inside, down a busy street. At the same time I am surprised at how many people didn't stare or didn't even look. It was a little embarrassing, but at the same time really kind of funny. He wanted that cart so badly.
We arrived home with the cart, and there it sat. As I think back I cannot remember too many times that they actually played with it. Although they did use it to store their outside toys. Spring passed and summer was passing quickly. I decided it was time to return the cart.
Now remember this cart had been tipped over on its side in a muddy stream, so it was dirty and covered on one side with sticky slime.
I wheeled it out front and started to scrub. It was hard work! That slime was stuck! Then I remembered that my sister had said that toilet bowl cleaner was the strongest chemical she knew of and it could clean off practically anything. So yes, I got out the toilet bowl cleaner, and it really worked! I thought about the wisdom of this decision. Would it be smart to put food in a cart that had been cleaned with a harmful chemical? Hmmm....probably not... but the cart sure looked good. A word of warning, if you are at Walmart, do not choose the cleanest cart.
Finally it was done and it was time to push the cart the quarter mile to Walmart.
Now this sight also brought stares. There I was pushing a shopping cart that was carrying a stroller for the return trip, plus a child, with three boys on roller-blades in front of me. If that wasn't enough, I was very round with pregnancy. Waddle, waddle, here we come. I noticed the stares. No, I am not really homeless, with four children. We made it to Walmart and said good bye to our cart.
So I realize as I think back that if it weren't for me, that cart would probably still be in the ditch. If it weren't for me, he never would have gotten it up the steep bank. Did I allow him to push this treasure home? Yes, the shopping cart was mine. I am the crazy woman who rescued a shopping cart. I am the one who scrubbed it, and made it shiny again. I am the one who pushed it back to Walmart. I am the crazy one.
And that's when we saw it -- a treasure! Forgotten. Abandoned. Alone in the muddy shallow stream, tipped over on its side. But never fear, it was alone no longer. My son could not resist this treasure. What was it? A Walmart shopping cart.
So there was my son rocking it violently back and forth, trying to get it upright so he could push it through the tunnel, up the steep bank and home. To my home! Why do I want a shopping cart. I don't.
So he's rocking it back and forth, but can't seem to get it up. And there begins my first mistake... I helped him. Then he started pushing it through the tunnel and up the bank. He was trying so hard. He wanted so much for this treasure to be his. I guess that's what made me have compassion on him. That's what made me grab the front of the cart and slowly creep backwards up the bank, bent over, lifting and pulling a cart behind me. We pushed past the branches at the top of the bank -- our prize finally on the sidewalk.
Now remember we rode our bikes to this stream, and it was probably over a mile from home. How would we get the shopping cart and all the bikes home? He tried attaching it to his bike and pulling it like a trailer. Seemed like a good idea, but maybe what we used for connecting our trailer was the problem, because it just wasn't working. Eventually he ended up putting his bike inside the cart and pushing the cart home. Did he get the bike in by himself? Admittedly, I think I might have helped him.
So we began the mile trip home pushing a shopping cart. It's amusing the looks you get when you are pushing a shopping cart, with a bike inside, down a busy street. At the same time I am surprised at how many people didn't stare or didn't even look. It was a little embarrassing, but at the same time really kind of funny. He wanted that cart so badly.
We arrived home with the cart, and there it sat. As I think back I cannot remember too many times that they actually played with it. Although they did use it to store their outside toys. Spring passed and summer was passing quickly. I decided it was time to return the cart.
Now remember this cart had been tipped over on its side in a muddy stream, so it was dirty and covered on one side with sticky slime.
I wheeled it out front and started to scrub. It was hard work! That slime was stuck! Then I remembered that my sister had said that toilet bowl cleaner was the strongest chemical she knew of and it could clean off practically anything. So yes, I got out the toilet bowl cleaner, and it really worked! I thought about the wisdom of this decision. Would it be smart to put food in a cart that had been cleaned with a harmful chemical? Hmmm....probably not... but the cart sure looked good. A word of warning, if you are at Walmart, do not choose the cleanest cart.
Finally it was done and it was time to push the cart the quarter mile to Walmart.
Now this sight also brought stares. There I was pushing a shopping cart that was carrying a stroller for the return trip, plus a child, with three boys on roller-blades in front of me. If that wasn't enough, I was very round with pregnancy. Waddle, waddle, here we come. I noticed the stares. No, I am not really homeless, with four children. We made it to Walmart and said good bye to our cart.
So I realize as I think back that if it weren't for me, that cart would probably still be in the ditch. If it weren't for me, he never would have gotten it up the steep bank. Did I allow him to push this treasure home? Yes, the shopping cart was mine. I am the crazy woman who rescued a shopping cart. I am the one who scrubbed it, and made it shiny again. I am the one who pushed it back to Walmart. I am the crazy one.
Monday, February 14, 2011
In Everything Give Thanks
I have baby-powder scented deodorant. I do not like baby-powder scented deodorant. It really is a puzzle to me anyways why people would make deodorant with the same scent that they use on babies' bottoms. It also reminds me of old people.
Yesterday morning my husband picks up my deodorant and reading the label says, "Now I know what that smell is...it's ladies' scent."
I guess on the label it also says something about being ladies' scent. Hesitantly I ask, "Is it bad?" Because personally I think it's bad.
He tells me that he always thinks I smell good. It must be the hairspray.
Someone gave me this deodorant. And actually I have another new stick of deodorant in my drawer that someone else gave me and it is also baby-powder scented. Do people like this smell?
Now I know that God provided this deodorant for me and I know He knows all my thoughts, so He knows I don't like it. It reminds me of another time that someone gave us a bunch of hot dogs when we could use some help with groceries. God knows I don't like hot dogs. Perhaps God does have a sense of humor. Perhaps I am learning to be grateful. Tomorrow I will probably find twelve sticks of baby-powder deodorant on my doorstep, and I will thank the Lord! So through hot dogs or baby powder, we thank God that He does provide.
Yesterday morning my husband picks up my deodorant and reading the label says, "Now I know what that smell is...it's ladies' scent."
I guess on the label it also says something about being ladies' scent. Hesitantly I ask, "Is it bad?" Because personally I think it's bad.
He tells me that he always thinks I smell good. It must be the hairspray.
Someone gave me this deodorant. And actually I have another new stick of deodorant in my drawer that someone else gave me and it is also baby-powder scented. Do people like this smell?
Now I know that God provided this deodorant for me and I know He knows all my thoughts, so He knows I don't like it. It reminds me of another time that someone gave us a bunch of hot dogs when we could use some help with groceries. God knows I don't like hot dogs. Perhaps God does have a sense of humor. Perhaps I am learning to be grateful. Tomorrow I will probably find twelve sticks of baby-powder deodorant on my doorstep, and I will thank the Lord! So through hot dogs or baby powder, we thank God that He does provide.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Crazy Love -- Part II
Not to steal a title from Francis Chan, the author of the popular book Crazy Love, but how can I describe it any better? I can't seem to stop thinking of myself like a shopping cart, and if it weren't for Jesus I would still be in the ditch. Who would have seen me and seen a treasure? I am not rich. I am not strong. I am not smart. I am not beautiful. I am not famous. I have failed more times than I can remember. I have been abandoned, abused, and alone. I am the one covered in slime and yet Christ is the one strong enough to make me clean. He rescues me from the domain of darkness, and transfers me to the kingdom of His beloved Son. (Col. 1:13) Who can understand such love? And yet God says that we are His chosen people, His own special people. (I Peter 2:9)
So I thank God for rescuing me from the ditch. I thank Him for calling me His own. I thank Him for taking my sins, which were many, and washing them away. I thank Him for bringing me into His Kingdom. Yes, my Savior, Jesus, is the crazy One who rescued me! I thank Him for His crazy love!
So I thank God for rescuing me from the ditch. I thank Him for calling me His own. I thank Him for taking my sins, which were many, and washing them away. I thank Him for bringing me into His Kingdom. Yes, my Savior, Jesus, is the crazy One who rescued me! I thank Him for His crazy love!
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Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Courage
Courage is not the absence of fear, but doing what needs to be done even if we are afraid. This past summer my sister, a friend, and I all faced one of our fears.
Now fears are different for everyone. I laugh at my sister's fear. Not because I am a mean person, although that point could be argued, but because what she is so afraid of is so much fun for me. On the flip side, she also would laugh at my fear -- along with the majority of adults in the world.
My sister is afraid to pull a bike trailer with her bike. I love to do this. I love to go bike riding with my family. Having two children that don't know how to ride, makes the trailer a valuable asset. It doesn't scare me a bit. I do prefer my husband to pull it when he is there because I like to have an easier ride; but that has nothing to do with fear. This summer my sister conquered her fear. We hooked up the trailer. We got the kids' bikes ready. Put the little ones in the trailer and with her pulling we rode away. She did it! Good for her.
A friend of ours decided to drive to Chicago. Driving through and in big cities is a little intimidating for many people. She faced this fear, and drove. I remember when we drove across the country form Oregon to New York when I was a teenager. I had just received my license a few months before the trip. When we got to the Chicago area, my mom decided she had better drive. Years later, she lets us do the driving while she sits. My first experience driving downtown Chicago taught me that traffic lights and lanes really don't mean a whole lot. I can see why this could be intimidating.
But I am afraid of electricity. Now some people may have a reasonable fear of being electrocuted and reasonably not put knives into electrical outlets, or turn off the electricity when wiring. I, on the other hand, have an unreasonable fear of electricity. I do not use electric blankets and I had never hooked up the jumper cables to a dead battery on a vehicle.
My sister-in-law used to have an electric blanket and when I would visit I would stay away. I picture myself being wrapped up in a cocoon of blanket, zapped again and again. My body jerking violently to the shock of the blanket of electricity that I am being surrounded by. I still do not use electric blankets, but my chiropractor said it could mess with the electrons in my body, so now I have a good excuse. Although he also says my son might remember his math facts if he gets his head adjusted, and that people have been cured of the fear of dark spaces with a few taps to the skull -- so can I trust him?
But the battery? I have no excuse. I have been stranded in a parking lot with a dead battery and unable to hook up the cables. After someone who had parked there had volunteer their car, I had to go back inside the building and get help to hook up the cables. Paranoia. I have had my eight year old son jump the vehicle instead of me. He on the other hand is a little too fearless at times, but he does well. So this summer I decided to stop being controlled by electricity.
Thankfully we have had our share of battery problems, so I had opportunity to practice. I opened the hood fine. I got out the jumper cables. Then my boldness began to waver. I attached the cables to the dead battery first -- less electricity there. And then, the moment... would I triumph? Seriously it scared me to just squeeze, bend over and clamp. Simple, but I hesitated, and then... I did it! For the first time in my whole life I jump started a vehicle!
Do I like it? No. Do I want to do it again? Not really. Now did I conqueror it? I really don't think so, but my husband says doing what you are afraid of is conquering your fear. So, I have triumphed over electricity; I have triumphed over my fear.
Now fears are different for everyone. I laugh at my sister's fear. Not because I am a mean person, although that point could be argued, but because what she is so afraid of is so much fun for me. On the flip side, she also would laugh at my fear -- along with the majority of adults in the world.
My sister is afraid to pull a bike trailer with her bike. I love to do this. I love to go bike riding with my family. Having two children that don't know how to ride, makes the trailer a valuable asset. It doesn't scare me a bit. I do prefer my husband to pull it when he is there because I like to have an easier ride; but that has nothing to do with fear. This summer my sister conquered her fear. We hooked up the trailer. We got the kids' bikes ready. Put the little ones in the trailer and with her pulling we rode away. She did it! Good for her.
A friend of ours decided to drive to Chicago. Driving through and in big cities is a little intimidating for many people. She faced this fear, and drove. I remember when we drove across the country form Oregon to New York when I was a teenager. I had just received my license a few months before the trip. When we got to the Chicago area, my mom decided she had better drive. Years later, she lets us do the driving while she sits. My first experience driving downtown Chicago taught me that traffic lights and lanes really don't mean a whole lot. I can see why this could be intimidating.
But I am afraid of electricity. Now some people may have a reasonable fear of being electrocuted and reasonably not put knives into electrical outlets, or turn off the electricity when wiring. I, on the other hand, have an unreasonable fear of electricity. I do not use electric blankets and I had never hooked up the jumper cables to a dead battery on a vehicle.
My sister-in-law used to have an electric blanket and when I would visit I would stay away. I picture myself being wrapped up in a cocoon of blanket, zapped again and again. My body jerking violently to the shock of the blanket of electricity that I am being surrounded by. I still do not use electric blankets, but my chiropractor said it could mess with the electrons in my body, so now I have a good excuse. Although he also says my son might remember his math facts if he gets his head adjusted, and that people have been cured of the fear of dark spaces with a few taps to the skull -- so can I trust him?
But the battery? I have no excuse. I have been stranded in a parking lot with a dead battery and unable to hook up the cables. After someone who had parked there had volunteer their car, I had to go back inside the building and get help to hook up the cables. Paranoia. I have had my eight year old son jump the vehicle instead of me. He on the other hand is a little too fearless at times, but he does well. So this summer I decided to stop being controlled by electricity.
Thankfully we have had our share of battery problems, so I had opportunity to practice. I opened the hood fine. I got out the jumper cables. Then my boldness began to waver. I attached the cables to the dead battery first -- less electricity there. And then, the moment... would I triumph? Seriously it scared me to just squeeze, bend over and clamp. Simple, but I hesitated, and then... I did it! For the first time in my whole life I jump started a vehicle!
Do I like it? No. Do I want to do it again? Not really. Now did I conqueror it? I really don't think so, but my husband says doing what you are afraid of is conquering your fear. So, I have triumphed over electricity; I have triumphed over my fear.
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