Just a reminder to myself

Hi. It's been a while. :)

I wrote this post about six weeks ago and never hit publish. I read through it today and was given a good reminder. Maybe someone else could use it too...

Friday was peaceful and sweet, and I had a plan that was working out quite well. After watching the girls at gymnastics, we ran some errands, and then I managed to clean the bathroom and laundry room where the toilet had overflowed. I even had some spare time...so I worked with the girls on the piano, did school work with them (including scissors and glue), and even gathered enough motivation to scrub my bathtub (gross) and shower (double gross). [BTW, all of these items rarely occur in a single a week or two around here, let alone in one day--so I was all puffed up with the glow of accomplishment.] I had the evening planned out, starting with some play time outside in the sun when the boys came home from school. Then we'd be off to Kai's gymnastics before coming home to a yummy homecooked meal of burgers and wedge potato fries.


I had just settled down mid afternoon with my laptop and the telephone. The girls were happily playing the piano in the other room. I dialed one of my sisters and chatted with her while loading up the computer and then even folded some laundry. As we talked, my cell phone began ringing with a familiar looking number, but no ID. So I ignored it. Until the same number dialed my home phone and I saw that it was the school.


The news on the other end burst my proud little bubble. 

POP.  Just like that. I was completely deflated.

One of the kiddos had gotten into trouble. Again. And in a very new, creative, and concerning way. This has been a strange, frustrating, and worrisome year of school for one of the little critters, and just when we think we've gotten a handle on one thing, another thing crops up.


That night, I stayed up far too late scouring the Internet for answers. Doctors to see, therapists to visit, supplements to try, food to avoid, diets to implement, discipline techniques, ideas, reassurance. HELP.


Saturday morning, I woke up feeling anxious. I reached for my Bible and started reading where I'd left off. [Side note: After reading the Bible cover to cover for the very first time a couple of years ago, I have tried again a few times, and not succeeded. So, this time, I wrote every book of the Bible down on a scrap of paper, balled all the scraps up, and tossed them into a cup. I just pick out a scrap of paper and get my reading assignment. The book I'm in right now is Psalms, so I am thinking it will be another couple of weeks before I finish.] Saturday I didn't have a lot of time. We had to pick up meds at the pharmacy, get the pool water tested, meet some friends for a picnic at a park, and make it to a football game--all by 1:15 p.m.


So I opened my Bible, and figured I would just read a chapter from Psalms and then come home later to read more. Only it turns out that what I needed to hear was right there in the chapter I was on--Psalm 33.

"The best-equipped army cannot save a king, nor is great strength enough to save a warrior. Don't count on your warhorse to give you victory--for all its strength, it cannot save you....We put our hope in the Lord. He is our help and our shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name."

It's a lesson I have been learning and re-learning for many years. I can equip myself with knowledge, experts, and a new plan. Those are all good things. But where I falter is when I put my hope in that knowledge, or in the experts' advice, or in the new plan I'm implementing. My hope is in the Lord. 


I will probably need that reminder again tomorrow. Or maybe in five minutes.

When I Smell Like Smoke

Today I read a story I have read so many times before that I almost missed out. 

I supposed I can thank spring break for slowing me down enough to truly read and hear and think.

Many of you are likely familiar with the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the book of Daniel. If you're not, you can go to Bible Gateway and look up Daniel chapter 3. But to sum up the main events, the three Christ followers were ordered by King Nebuchadnezzar to be thrown into a blazing furnace, which had been heated seven times hotter than usual. The fire was so hot that it killed the men who were ordered to throw the three into the flames.

But, miraculously, God protected the three. And here is where I stopped and stared at a verse I had never really thought much about.

Daniel 3:27 (NLT)

Then the high officers, officials, governers, and advisers crowded around them and saw that the fire had not touched them. Not a hair on their heads was singed, and their clothing was not scorched. They didn't even smell of smoke!

It was the last sentence that really caught my attention.

They did not even smell of smoke. 

While I have never walked through an actual fire, I have walked through plenty of metaphorical fires-- moments in life that truly felt like they were going to kill me, I couldn't catch my breath, I could barely take my next step, and I was literally gasping for relief. In fact, during one of those times my favorite song was one sung by Ginny Owens, "If You Want Me To." Over and over again I would listen to that song, tears rolling down my eyes and not exactly agreeing in my heart with the touching verse: "Cause I'm not who I was when I took my first step, and I'm clinging to the promise You're not through with me yet. So if all of these trials bring me closer to you, then I will walk through the fire if You want me to."

You see, whenever I walk through a fire (or, like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, get thrown in), I tend to emerge smelling like smoke. And you know how smoke permeates everything around the object in envelops?  My anger, confusion, sadness, despair, uncertainty, frustration...it permeates the household, my family, and everyone I come in contact with.

How awesome would it be to emerge from the next fire without the distinct smell of smoke?

I tell my piano students that if they want to have a good chance at a winning performance, the key is to practice. It's the truth. The ones who practice the most diligently tend to scoop up the prizes and the high ratings. The reason is simple: that kind of dedication brings about confidence and security. 

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were dedicated to God, so much so that they had the confidence to risk their lives in a fire--with the full knowledge that, regardless of the outcome (whether they were to walk out alive or next open their eyes and meet Jesus face to face), His plan was faultless. 

I wonder why I have to re-learn this lesson so much in real life. 

Perhaps I just need to keep practicing. It works with piano. And with hair.

For Memory's Sake

For my 10th birthday, my grandmother gave me the best birthday gift I could ever remember getting. Well, except for the 4-foot purple plastic balance beam my parents bought me one year. But I was pretty sure that this new gift trumped the balance beam.

The diary was small, maybe 4X6 inches, and an inch thick. Its shiny thick plastic cover kind of felt like the linoleum on our kitchen floor. I remember the cream shade of the cover with its narrow green vertical stripes, but mostly I can picture the tiny brass clasp and the much tinier key.

If I could pinpoint the moment when I realized I loved writing, it was then, when I first opened the diary and set my yellow #2 pencil to the paper. I wrote in the diary many nights, often after bedtime with a flashlight under my covers. I cherished the knowledge that I could write anything, express any feeling, in complete privacy.

When I first started writing this blog seven years ago, I treated it much like that little diary from a decade or so before. I poured my heart out, and it felt good to read the comments, the bits of reassurance from online buddies I'd never met in real life. Over time, however, family began to read the blog, and then friends I actually knew in real life, and I found myself editing reality a bit.

Don't get me wrong. I don't make things up or fudge details. That's not my style, and I've always tried to be authentic. But you know what authentic really means? 

Messy. 

Real life is not usually a walk in the park, a bed of roses, a trip to Disney, or any other tired cliche. Real life is an uphill hike with the occasional scenic bypass or breathtaking overlook, interrupted often with a twisted ankle or a bad fall that may keep you down for a while.

The other thing about an authentically messy life? It makes people uncomfortable. I could write in that little cream and green diary that all I wanted to do was climb under my covers and stay for a week (which I doubt I ever truly thought when I was 10), but even as the words formed on paper, I would know them for what they were: an expression of pain, not a plea for help.

There is something healing about putting thoughts to words, and over the past year, I shied away from that aspect of the blog. I concentrated on keeping a history of the kids' development and all their milestones, but hesitated to share the behind the scenes.

Obviously, sharing every private matter is not wise. But sharing only the cute, funny, and inspiring is not entirely honest, either. 

My life is no prettier than yours is. I promise. Just a couple of nights ago, four half-eaten bowls of oatmeal sat fossilizing on my kitchen counter from the breakfast-dinner I slid onto the table before retreating to the couch, away from all the kids, and ticking off the minutes until bedtime.

Today we missed church for no good reason, and I resisted my husband's encouragement to do Bible time and worship as a family. Call it a major case of the grumps, or a heightened busy season in life, or a sudden, sharp keying in to all the things I want to do but can't right now, and all the things I want to do better, and all the things on my to do list (which inevitably grows by 3 with every item I cross off).

This blog will never be the same refuge that I found in my first diary. 

But it can still be a quiet place where I can come to examine my days and share my thoughts.

I can record the moments that only happen once. Like identical twins with identical gap-toothed smiles.

But I can also record the moments that draw me to the couch or under my covers or to the dark corner of my bedroom closet.

I can keep a journal for my children to remember...

Special times alone

At a Rockets game with Noah - boy, was he surprised!

Big birthday bashes

What? NINE? When did THAT happen?

I assure you that she was turning five--not getting married.

 

Acts of bravery

Waiting to get her ears pierced. Neither of them made a peep.

And the togetherness of family.

Too bad my flash quit on me. Would have been one of those perfect pics.

Feigning sadness over the coal in their stockings.

And I can keep a journal for myself (and for anyone who happens by) to remember:

He is faithful. (Deuteronomy 7:9)

He can do immeasurably more than I ask. 

(Ephesians 3:20)

And, even amidst the mess, there is still joy. 

(James 1:2)

Luck, Coincidence, or God?

A link over to my December post at Simply Cy-Fair...

(And stay tuned. Tomorrow is our all-day baking extravaganza. I have thoroughly cleaned our kitchen in preparation for making a disaster.)

Chances Are...

If you spend five and a half hours putting a whopping total of 94 box braids in your twin daughters' hair on a Sunday afternoon...

Chances are, you're going to want to go buy them some new Christmas headbands to dress up the look.

If you go to Claire's to buy your twin daughters head bands to dress up their box braids for Christmas, chances are that they will choose two very different looks...

Once your sweet daughters have finally made their headband decisions, chances are, since it is the week before Christmas, you will be waiting in a long line to make your purchase...

And if you have to wait in a long line to make your purchase, chances are...your daughters will find other things for you to purchase.

And if you agree to purchase the earrings, chances are good that your daughters will push the envelope a little more and beg you for some expensive nail polish. Which will also happen to be on sale.

And chances are that they will each want completely different colors.

If another customer is still in front of you in line, chances are that you will agree to purchase the nail polish.

Once you have agreed to purchase the headbands, earrings, and nail polish, chances are it will be your turn to pay before you have a moment to think better of it. 

When you get home, completely broke, chances are your daughters will want to pose for you. 

If they want to pose for you, chances are that they will attempt to look sweet and sophisticated and model-esque. 

But chances are better that their true colors will beam through and the beauty in the hearts will far outshine the box braids you spend 5.5 hours putting in, the adorable Christmas headbands, and the overpriced earrings. 

Still, tomorrow you will probably agree to paint their nails anyway.

Memorial Box Monday: Financial Provision

In February, I shared the first of four stories about God's financial provision in our lives. In case you hadn't noticed, I've slowed down on the blogging front. But I just have to share these stories, and I'm thrilled that Linny over at A Place Called Simplicity has restarted the Memorial Box Monday posts! Today I will share a second story of miraculous provision in our lives.

As many of you already know, my husband first became ill in 2007. He was completely disabled from work for over a year before he started getting back on his feet. During that time, we received Social Security Disability benefits each month. In January 2010, things were looking up. N's health was on the upswing, and our finances were fairly decent. Then we received a letter.


According to Social Security, we had been overpaid in benefits, and we owed them $9,000.


We disputed the claim, and then we waited.


Many months later, some time in the fall, we received a very formal and foreboding sounding letter asking that N appear at the Social Security office on a specific date and time. We had no idea what this could mean. N theorized that perhaps we would now be asked to give back all the benefits we had received--not just the $9,000. Maybe we had done something wrong in the paperwork, or misunderstood what we were entitled to. We prayed hard in the days leading up to the appointment, and I waited all morning to hear from my husband.

"How did it go?" I asked him when he finally called me. 

I still remember his bewildered tone as he answered me. "It went so well that I don't even want to tell you about it over the phone. I'm not sure if I even believe it's real. Can you meet me for lunch?"


The girls and I hopped in the car and headed to meet him and hear the news. On the way, I speculated about what the good news could be. The best news I could think of was that we did not need to pay the $9,000 back. But it had to be bigger than that. I started wondering...maybe we were due more than we had received.


If so, how much more could it be? And if that was true, I wondered, what would we do with the money? Money we had not earned, and money that we could definitely use but did not necessarily need? By this time, N was back at work full-time. I felt kind of guilty about the possibility of receiving more money. And that's when I had one of those moments. You know what I'm talking about...where something just makes sense. 


I thought, wouldn't it be cool if we could set extra money aside and allocate it to our trip to Ethiopia? N and I have a desire and long-term plan of one day traveling to Ethiopia with our kids and doing some kind of meaningful work there. Of course, airfare for six people to Ethiopia will cost around $12,000+, and then we'd get there and we'd be broke. So until that little moment in the car, the plan had really always just been a dream. 

Still, I shrugged off the thought as quickly as it came. It was, after all, likely an idea that made sense only to me. No way would my husband go for that. Extra money should be socked away for college and weddings and missed months of work. Not trips to Ethiopia that may never actually happen. And, anyway, I was sure Social Security could not possibly informing us that we had been UNDERpaid.


We met at the restaurant and N told me that the Social Security Officer he met with explained that our case had been denied.  

Well, initially, anyway.


You see, the paperwork was in a file ready to be mailed out, and this Social Security Officer told N that he didn't really have any occasion to look at it. But it somehow came across his desk, so he took a quick look at it and realized that "something just wasn't right."


Upon investigating further, he discovered that we had actually only been overpaid by one month, and so only owed $1,700 instead of $9,000. 

But he also noticed that we had 2 dependents, and we'd never applied for benefits for them. So we were due benefits for our sons...back-payed to us from a span of 18 months.


The amount was significant. After he spilled the beans, we both just kind of stared at each other in disbelief. I said something like, "Wow. I can't even believe it. That's just crazy!" And then....AND THEN....let me just tell you....I remember every word my husband said.


He said, "I know. And I was thinking....tell me honestly what you think about this. We didn't earn this money. I feel kind of guilty about even taking it. But what if we put it aside and started that fund for our trip to Ethiopia?"


Guess that plan is not a pipe dream after all.


In my Memorial Box, I am adding copies of the two checks we received several months later, which we have set aside in that Ethiopia account, waiting for the day God says we get to make that trip.

Why I Eat.

It's time. Again. Time to reach for the fruits and veggies and put on my walking sneakers. Because the jeans are all tight, with not much improvement even a day or two out of the dryer.

It's too bad that I've been so focused on food lately. My most recent inspiration sparked while cleaning out my pantry. I came across a recipe book I bought years ago, and only used once. Once or twice a month, I figured, I could try a new dessert recipe. Tonight it was from-scratch brownies with from-scratch chocolate frosting. 

I never knew there was such a thing as too much chocolate, but there is, and it's this brownie. That has not stopped me from eating several squares tonight.

In an effort to inspire myself to say no to gluttony, I have decided to examine my indulgence triggers:

Why I Eat

1. Because I am a procrastinator.

 

(Two weeks ago, I procrastinated all weekend and never did get around to putting their hair into buns for ballet.)

2. Because food goes well with laughter.

(Check out Aaliyah--wearing Noah's Spiderman robe, hair style halfway done, complete with a fairy devil costume and a pair of fashion glasses.)

3. Because food is an effective stress reliever.

 

(Kai at Urgent Care the other night - an IV and everything for what the doc there said was a stomach blockage. Shortly after I took this picture, Kai was in an ambulance headed to Texas Children's Hospital for possible surgery, and I was driving behind him wishing I had a big fat cheeseburger. Yes, while most parents would be too panicked to eat, I was suddenly famished. Thankfully, he just had a tummy bug.)

4. Because eating goes well with reading.

 

(I love this Thankful Heart Kai made in school. Notice the church in the center of his heart??)

(And how could a mom read this sweet nugget and not reach for a donut?  "One of my secrets closest to my heart is that I love my twin sisters...")

5. See #3.

(Noah's spelling words were "while," "stick," and "knife.")

 

(For the record, sentence #4 is his replacement for sentence #3.)

6. Self Explanatory.

7. Because food makes all of life's sweet moments a tad bit sweeter.

(The kids were enthralled with the Ipod Noah just saved enough money to buy himself.)

(I know--I am ghastly white. I was so sick that night, but we were going to Disney on Ice for the first time, so I had to suck it up!)

(Love this Halloween pic)

(Oh, the faces!)

Unfortunately, there is no end in sight. Thanksgiving is coming, after all. And this year we have quite a spread planned. Aside from the expected turkey and homemade stuffing, I'm already drooling over the impending Pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, cake, and key lime pie. Okay, maybe not so much the key lime pie. That's N's choice. 


Since I can't seem to curb my eating, I'm mulling over the idea of starting to exercise again. What a concept. The problem is that in my limited spare time, I'd much rather eat and sit on my duff than expend more energy. 


So maybe I will just let myself enjoy a few more weeks of indulgence before I get back on the diet bandwagon.

Red Light. Green Light.

I don’t understand how October is almost over and not a trace of fall can be found anywhere. No brisk breeze in the air (except those few glorious days last week before we returned to our regular temperatures - nicer yes, but still not fall). Not a red leaf in sight. Nope. The weeds are still growing in the garden beds at a maddening rate, and I am still avoiding the outdoors.

But my daughters are very different from me. While I always preferred to hunker down indoors and play with my Cabbage Patch Dolls, my daughters would play outside all day long every day if they could. Hot, cold, or in between—it matters not. They are in tune with nature. For a couple of weeks now, they’ve been mentioning a bike ride.

Now, we’ve braved short walks around the block, and spend many hours in the backyard drawing with chalk, playing on the playground, and making all sorts of contraptions with several broken jump ropes. We’ve worked on throwing, catching, and batting a baseball. We’ve done a little soccer, and tried a little badminton. But the last time I attempted a bike ride was the week before school went back in session.

That morning I had the bright idea to accompany all four of the little critters to the donut shop. It was hotter than I thought it would be. The ride took longer than I thought it would take. And, while my oldest son zoomed around on his bike in happy independence, and my younger son tried not to complain as he attempted to keep up with the pack…the girls….

Well, they shaved years off my life. Maybe an entire decade. They see danger, and they gravitate toward it. They see speed, and they try to capture it. They see a very steep hill... and they forget how to use their brakes.

Click here to link over to the Simply Cy-Fair blog and read the rest. :)