No one can stand whining and complaining. Unless it is creative. . . .

There is no substitute when Mama is ill, but Daddy does a pretty good job.  I have found that creative complaining is more palatable than just plain old whining, and usually gives me a chuckle.  On my sixth day of fever, I give you a remake of the Bruce Springsteen classic, "I'm on Fire".  Because I am. 

Hey little girl is your daddy home?
Did he go and leave you all alone
I can't play, Mama's just too tired
Ooh ooh ooh
I'm on fire

Tell me now baby did he change your poo
Can he make dinner like I do
Oh no
Oven needs to be higher
Ooh ooh ooh
I'm on fire

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife
baby edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley
through the middle of my throat

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
and a freight train running through the
middle of my head

No Tylenol, the situation is dire,
Ooh ooh ooh
I'm on fire

Ooh ooh ooh
I'm on fire

Ooh ooh ooh
I'm on fire

Poison darts or arrows?

In the summer of 2010, we joyfully announced the expectation of our now 2 1/2 year old son.  Although news of him was a surprise to us (and after the initial shock was absorbed) we were thrilled to be expecting our fourth child----and third son.  I could not imagine life without my sweet little man, a gentle, considerate, slightly shy compilation of his older siblings.  He has soothed sorrows, brought much joy, and delighted our entire brood.

By the fall of 2010, I was growing weary.  Yes, I was pregnancy-weary, and I was homeschooling-weary, and I was housework- and discipline-weary.  But what I was really, really weary of was all of the intrusive, rude, misguided statements.  Statements framed as questions, yet hedging judgement and disdain for something of no concern to them.

"Are these all yours?!?  My, you will have your hands FULL!  Another boy?!? Your poor daughter!"

And my personal favorite, the one reducing the intended recipient of the question to a 10th grade health class flunky:

"DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT CAUSES THAT?"

Being the wife of a preacher man does not come with an automatic proclivity to keeping one's mouth shut, although there are so many times that would be most helpful.  I did mostly smile and nod and "Hahaha" to the bulk of the commentary, but I do recall one unfortunate woman who received a, "No, perhaps you can enlighten me.  I just keep waking up all swollen like this" quip.

Four kids entered me deeper into the Freak Zone, deeper than special needs, deeper than homeschooling and deeper than a husband who preaches the gospel.When I talk of autism spectrum stuff or homeschooling, I make waves. When I introduce myself to people and tell them about my husband, I sometimes joke that I am wearing the "Scarlet P" on my chest, for "Preacher's Wife".  I can sense in some an icy demeanor change upon that announcement, but generally people are still respectful.  But for some reason my swelling abdomen was a permission slip for commentary about population control.

And four kids isn't even that many kids!  I live fairly close to Ohio's largest Amish population.  Fourteen, sixteen kids-----THAT is a lot of kids.  Four is still "regular mini van".  Four is just past needing only one hotel room, just past the family sleeper car on Amtrak, just past pickup trucks with extended cabs.  But it is still a normal amount of kids. 

Just like so many other societal "norms", we are going against the Book in our attitude and in our world view.

The Bible teaches us that:
Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.

As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.

Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.----Psalms 127:3-5

God rewards us with children.  They are his reward to us.  And like all blessings, they are given to us for at least two reasons:

1.  For our enjoyment

2.  For our edification.

We are to find joy in our children.  Children, like spouses, are given to us in part to bring us joy.  If we aren't feeling joy in our relationships with our blessings, it is a sign that something is not right.  Usually for me, this is a sign that I need to get down to business with the Lord by praying about the situation, searching the scriptures, and asking for His wisdom to discern the truth about my heart.  Sometimes I see my blessings as burdens.  This is a huge red flag that needs to be addressed when it arises.

Children teach us how to be better children of God.  My marriage has taught me about the mercy of Jesus.  My parenthood has taught me about my His wonderful, marvelous grace.  The Lord is so patient, so long suffering, and so willing to bless me--even in spite of my willful disobedience, my stubborn nature, my lack of showing grace toward others.  It shows me, that in comparison ---not to other moms or people on T.V., but in comparison to Him and Him alone---- that I am NOT patient.  I am NOT long suffering, and I do NOT extend grace even to my flesh and blood children as I should.  It helps me to humbly ask His forgiveness (and many times, my children's forgiveness) for my ways, and that humility reminds me of who I am in His sight.  I am only the daughter of a king through the merciful spirit of adoption. That knowledge in my soul gives me strength to extend grace to others.

There is not a respect given toward children in our world.  We
                                    preoccupy them with gadgets, rather than teach patience, diligence and respect;
                                    pacify them, rather than show them how to work;
                                    shelter them, rather than instruct how to handle responsibilities;
                                    thrust them into a popular culture they don't have the tools to navigate in. 

Our blessings should be cultivated gently and carefully and purposefully, like a garden.  Gardens will weed naturally, but a carefully cultivated garden will yield much fruit for the labor.

Hannah purposefully raised a child, only to give him back to the Lord.  In surrendering what she held so dear, she actually found her heart's desire; a child that would honor the Lord with his life.  By contrast, Eli took a less diligent approach to child rearing, and reaped a garden full of weeds, fit only to be burned down.

Big, wonderful families are blessings from God.  Those doing the task of raising them need our support and encouragement, not our scorn. 

I had two differing reactions this week to my "big" family.  Earlier I called on our first rental possibility in Oregon.  Upon finding out how many children we have, the landlord exclaimed, "Oh honey---that's too many kids for my septic tank to handle."  This left me in Mama Grizzly mode, although it would not be the first time a person has frowned upon or discriminated against our number of kids.

But today, a sweet older man at Sam's Club saw me with the kids, and we were having a good time eating pizza before shopping.  He watched us for quite some time and said to me, "I bet you wish you had four more swirling around you.  They sure are wonderful." 

And that was awesome.

Lord, help us to see our little people as blessings. Give us wisdom to teach and live out lives before them that are honorable and exemplary of what You want us to be.  Help us to encourage and support those with small children in any way we can.

Love to you all this beautiful day-----
Sandra :)
                                   

Two Tired

 Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days. 
 Give a portion to seven, or even to eight, for you know not what disaster may happen on earth. 
 If the clouds are full of rain, they empty themselves on the earth, and if a tree falls to the south or to the north, in the place where the tree falls, there it will lie.

He who observes the wind will not sow, and he who regards the clouds will not reap. 

As you do not know the way the spirit comes to the bones in the womb of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything.  

In the morning sow your seed, and at evening withhold not your hand, for you do not know which will prosper, this or that, or whether both alike will be good.            Ecclesiastes 11:1-6
                                                                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have you ever laid in bed, so thankful in prayer to God for life's trials that you had a full heart about to burst and tears streaming down your cheeks? 

If not, you sure are missing something.

This weekend, my husband had preaching appointments in Kentucky and Tennessee. I feel like it is the start of the "Good Bye Tour" for our family.  We are moving to Oregon, and although we plan to be back to this side of the country to visit family and friends, we will be a long, long way from our home, in a far away land not too familiar to us, for a time frame known only to God.  So it is nice, in the midst of packing, cleaning, and selling things on Craigslist, to take a break now and then to fellowship with family and brothers and sisters in the Lord.

We decided to test out the little RV that we purchased to help us travel West and work out any kinks we had on the road.  So we piled in on a busy holiday weekend and headed south.  We had plans to visit Mammoth Cave and the Creation Museum, and to visit a few of the many we hold dear.

All was well until about 41 miles north of Cincinnati on 71, when we blew a tire. Jason guided the RV to the shoulder of the busy highway, and we quickly loaded the children off, down a knee-high grassy hill, over a ditch, and up the next hill.  For the next 3 1/2 hours the kids and I huddled together on a sleeping bag, including our 2 year old, and read library books and talked---no iPod, iPad, or TV around.  We talked about why this had to happen, and how God had a plan in all of it, even if we never knew what it was.  We prayed for Daddy, and that the Lord would protect.  I am always amazed at the resiliency and maturity of our children when things like this happen. 

Jason tried to help me, but the very instant, and I am not kidding in the least bit, that he entered the grass his body responded with hives all over his arms and legs.  So he was stuck by the RV, and I was relegated to mothering on the grassy knoll.

For  2 1/2 hours car after car sped by our little group marooned on the highway.  Jason held a sign up that said, "NEED JACK", and later I tried too.  (I didn't really care at this point if "Jack" was a mechanical instrument or the name of a mechanic.)  And NO ONE STOPPED.

Finally, about hour three, a nice gentleman stopped and attempted to help.  He didn't have the right type of tool, and he tried his road side assistance program, even offering to upgrade his membership by $30 to help us.  But the operator stated he would need to upgrade $60, and he was out.

The sheriff that was paid to help stopped, and he tried too, and by that time our road sided assistance company showed up.  The tire was changed to the spare, and at the end of it all we spent from 5:30 p.m. until 8:52 p.m. on the side of 71. 

After spending the night in the parking lot of a sister church, we woke up greeted by the pastor, his wife and another preacher.  We shared the story of our breakdown, and after visiting for a few minutes we were off again on our journey.

Not 30 minutes later, guess what?  Another blown tire!  But this time we had no spare.

So we called roadside assistance AGAIN.  It was just as user friendly as the day before.  Roadside assistance programs should unplug all of their GPS equipment and employ bloodhounds. We would have been found quicker, even if they were released from the company's Miami headquarters and we were in Kentucky.  They never did show up. 

But this time we made a different call too; one to a brother and sister that are members of the church we had just been at.

They immediately came to our aid, driving two cars to carry us all to their home, where we were fed, showered, and loved.  The kids got to play with their friends and made new ones.  The search was on for tires that were to be specially ordered on a holiday weekend, and in spite of the brother searching diligently, it was apparent that none would be found in time for us to return to Ohio.  So a different brother and sister allowed us to use their much-nicer-than-ours minivan to not only get to our destination, but drive back to Ohio. 

Another brother offered to chauffer us back the entire 6 hours to our home, and countless others offered their cars, food, and hospitality.

As I laid in bed Saturday night at yet another brother and sister's home, I was praying and thanking God for His beautiful, merciful, graceful, loving provisions on our little family.

And I thanked Him for blown out tires.

Without blown out tires, I would have missed visiting with brothers and sisters, and little spiritual nephews and nieces, that I love with a Godly love.  I would have missed seeing the hand of God work by placing on His children acts of kindness that they extended to us in faith----not in faith that we deserved it, but with faith in the One who supplied their own needs. 

And I would have missed out on all the love shown by God to me, demonstrated in the obedience of His children.

You see, there have been times that the Lord has put on my husband and I to help someone----to "cast our bread upon the waters".  To help someone in need that we are pretty well certain would not be able to return the favor in the same way.  I want to be very, VERY clear that I am NOT advocating a "help to be helped by God" system. What I am advocating is obedience to the Spirit.  If the Lord deals with your heart to give to someone, whether it be time, money, or resources, GIVE. 

To demonstrate this to the kids I took a piece of their waffle at breakfast----the last piece of waffle-----the one that they could have eaten gladly, instantly, and might have felt that they needed themselves----and tossed it into a bowl of water.

Instantly it began to dissolve, and after three seconds I retrieved the soggy waffle from the bowl.  I said to the kids, "Looks like it is wasted, doesn't it? Can you get any use out of it?"

But Solomon said, "you will find it after many days."

To find it at all would be miraculous---but to find it after many days?

That is just GOD.  It just is.  God loves a cheerful giver.  An obedient, faith-in-the-Lord giver.  Not a "I'll-give-'cause-God-is-watching-and-I-might-need-Him-one-day" giver; not a "this-makes-me-feel-good-about-me" giver; but a truly faithful, obedient, loving, cheerful giver. One who knowingly throws his last morsel of bread into the water, giving it in faith,  KNOWING that when he is hungry he will find it again after many days.  You aren't casting it on the waters so that you can retrieve it and use it; you are casting it because it is what God wants you to do.  Isn't that a demonstration of sacrificial love?

I detest the idea of karma, and it is such a popular notion in our society.  Karma says, "you get out what you put in".  So if you are generous, you get generosity.  If you are mean, you reap bad things.

But GRACE is so much better than karma.  Grace gives me what I DON'T deserve.  Grace gives me what I need, abundantly more than I could ever provide or procure for myself, and it does it in HIS time, in HIS way, using HIS methods and HIS children.  If I got what I deserved. . . .

I would still be sitting by I-65. 

Love your neighbor, brothers and sisters.  It is that Godly love that we have for one another that allows this dark, cold, uncaring world to see the Light of a beautiful Savior.  One who loves them just every bit as much as He loves you and me.  The first tire the Lord showed me how it looks to provide for myself (and He still helped us!). The second tire He showed me what it looks like when He does the providing.

So very, very, very VERY thankful for my Jesus, who constantly amazes me with His wonderful, matchless, abundant grace.

Love to you all,
Sandra

It Takes Two to Tango

It takes two to tango.

Really.

My husband and I have been married for almost 17 years.  I married my first boyfriend on a hot July day at the age of 20, in a nondescript ceremony notable only that it was an elopement and despite the situation, I was never more sure of anything in my life.

Sixteen years.  Five residences.  College.  Jason pastoring a church.  Lots and lots and lots of work.  Four kids, an autism diagnosis, food allergies, difficult high risk pregnancies, postpartum depression, more laundry than you might ever be able to imagine, home schooling. Too much burning the candle at both ends.  Bearing the heavy, heavy burdens of others we have tried to minister to.  Trying our very best to parent our children as God would have us to, so that they might grow up to glorify Him----and being crushed down repeatedly by our mistakes and stumbles.  Crying tears of sorrow together, laughing together, and crying thankful tears of joy to God for one another and this beautiful, blessed adventure He has put us on.  Bearing one anothers faults and weaknesses with tender grace and love that only He could give us for one another. Enjoying one another, preferring one another----knitted together, he and I. 

As part of my Christmas gift this year my husband purchased ballroom dancing lessons for us.  This is sort of a “bucket list” activity for me, if I had such a list.  One of those things that logistically wouldn’t be too difficult to do----but the reality is babysitting, work, home responsibilities . . . and it became another one of those hopes deferred. 

I have realized that I have a lot of tiny hopes deferred. Little things, like making a quilt, going on a fun girls only trip, vacationing with my hubby alone, taking music lessons, replacing the kitchen sprayer with a Diet Coke gun like caterers use.  This is just a stop on the train of life, in FullTimeFamilyland.  If you get off the train and constantly look to when the next train is coming, and how soon you can get on it, you will surely miss the tremendously great things to be found here. 

Back to the dance lessons.

I have no dance knowledge whatsoever.  I don’t even watch “Dancing With The Stars” (who decides when one is a star? Hmmmmmm).  So our first night of lessons the instructor gave a very good preface to how ballroom dancing “works”.

“Ladies, don’t try to take the lead.  In ballroom dancing, the men always lead, and the ladies always follow. Men, you must give clear directions to your partner if you want her to do something.  Take small steps.  Relax and enjoy what you are doing.  Practice for five minutes every day, or you will forget what you have learned and when you have to learn a new step, you won’t be able to just get up and figure it out.”

She demonstrated both the men's steps and the ladies’ steps.  It was helpful for me to see what the men would do, as I could better prepare my steps with a view of the bigger picture.

On the floor we went. Jason’s feet slid forward, mine slid backward.  Our legs stepped in time to the rumba beat of the Drifters, he leading and I following.  Occasionally my mind would wander, and I would not know where we were in the step.  So instinctively I would charge ahead in my box step, throwing us both off course. 

In ballroom dancing the man leads with a gentle hand motion just under the woman’s shoulder blade.  There were times when I understood the signal; other times the signal was hastily given and I was not prepared for the step in proper time. 

But the times where we both knew the step, where we both knew what was coming and what was expected, we moved in a seamless, fluid motion.  I found it easy to relax when I stopped trying to lead.  Jason was better able to anticipate his signals when he didn’t have to fight to stay on course.  Then we could just relax, enjoy the dance, and (almost) let the dance take care of itself while we simply enjoyed being together.

Aside from good Godly premarital counseling and prayer, I cannot think of a better thing for an unmarried couple to do than to take ballroom dancing.

Enjoying the dance of marriage requires a few things.  One, it helps to know what the dance looks like in the big picture. If you get in God’s Word and beg Him for a vision for what Godly marriage looks like (DISCLAIMER:  I KNOW THIS IS TRUE.  I HAVE DONE THIS.  TRUST ME.  GET READY TO BE VERY SURPRISED AT HOW WRONG YOU ARE IN YOUR VIEW OF MARRIAGE), you will soon find that it is a beautiful reflection of His love for us.  It is a servant relationship, one in which the husband loves the wife as his own body, and therefore would do anything to preserve her.  And one in which the wife, in a meek and quiet spirit, lays aside her desires and focuses on the needs of her husband. When you both have the “big picture” in sight, you can each relax knowing that your needs WILL be met----by God, and by your spouse.

Secondly, each partner has a job.  That job remains static and must be fulfilled at all times.  The husband leads.  The wife follows. 

It is much, much easier to follow the dance, or the husband, when

purposeful,

clear,

gentle and timely instruction is given.  Many a wife has used the reason of faulty leadership for not following her husband.  A woman’s need for security and love is very great, and a thoughtless, selfish, or unprepared man is very, very hard to follow.  It is kind of like taking a cat and throwing it into a bathtub.  Every fiber of its being is fighting against the bathtub. 

It is much, much easier to lead the dance, or the home, when the dance partner is

patient with mistakes in leadership,

encouraging when appropriate steps are taken, and

trusting that the lead is following the “big picture” that she has educated herself about, and thankful for his efforts.

Many a husband has used the reason of a wife that won’t be lead as an excuse to bow out of leading his family.  A man’s need for respect is very great, and a harsh, brazen, selfish woman is very, very hard, nearly impossible, to lead.  It is kind of like a mom sweetly inviting her son to learn to write his letters, then abruptly grabbing the crayon, hastily demonstrating it, and telling him that he is not anywhere close to forming it correctly so we should just quit, all while he is only four years old.  (Yes, I need to wear the cone of shame).

Are you enjoying the dance?  Do you know God’s purpose for your marriage?  Husbands, are you providing clear, purposeful direction and modeling a preference for your wife’s needs above your own?  The Bible states that “whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favor of the Lord” (Proverbs 18:22).  Wives, is your trust in God or your husband?  Are you encouraging to him, a breath of fresh air, seeking to ease his burdens----or as the scriptures describe, “a contentious woman is as a continual dropping of rain” (Proverbs 25:24)? 

The music started on the day you said “I do.”  For the dance to work you must both do your part.  And you must practice the dance every day.  When life throws you a new step----a new baby, a job loss, a health problem, grief----you need to already know how to dance. 

We came home last night to excited kids asking what we learned, and so we decided to demonstrate, much to their satisfied, peaceful, happy faces----faces showing the serenity and security of children who know their Mama and Daddy are crazy about each other.  I count it a blessing and have thanked God many times to have grown up in a home where I could rest knowing that my parents were committed to their vows and to one another.

May God bless you in the dance, and may you seek His face to learn how to enjoy it, that your home might be a fruitful vine for the Lord---as many eyes are watching this demonstration of God’s love.

Love and God’s richest blessings to you,

Sandra J

An Open Letter to Veterans

(In a few minutes my kiddos and I are delivering this letter to three veteran friends who did combat duty.  With brownies.  'Cause brownies are awesome.  Feel free to do the same. :)

Dear Veteran,

The Bible says, “Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD.” (Psalms 33:12). 

I am thankful to veterans like you, who gave up

                        Your time of youth when you could have chosen a different path;

Your freedom in the U.S. to go to an environment where fear abounds but freedom is non-existent;

                        The income you could’ve made working at a different job during your time of service;

                         Health, in exchange for scars on the body and sometimes in the mind;

                         The comfort of being with those you held dear, that you might serve a greater good.

Because of you, I enjoy

                        The freedom to dress how I choose;

                         Going anywhere I please without being escorted by a male relative;

Teaching my children about what a beautiful thing democracy is as I cast my vote for our country’s leaders last week;

Teaching my children that democracy started with GOD.  Not Allah, or Muhammad, but the Almighty GOD of heaven, as that is how He chose to set up His church (Acts 1);

The ability to pray, to worship, and to teach my kids about Jesus.

Freedom from fear in my daily life, freedom from want, and the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

I thought today about how dictators are like cancer.  If you catch cancer early enough, you can remove it, eradicate it with radiation or chemotherapy, and completely extinguish any threat it might make to the entire body.  But if caught too late, it spreads rapidly and overpowers the body to the point of death.

I see these world dictators and powers and regimes------those in Korea, in Vietnam, in the Middle East, in Germany, among other places-----as a cancer.  And I thank GOD to live in a nation that doesn’t wait for the cancer to spread, but instead sends selfless individuals such as you in an attempt to vanquish it. 

Because we live in a nation under God, in a nation that allows HIS truths to be self-evident through the freedom of worship and the preaching of the gospel, we are the most blessed nation in this entire world. 

Truly, BLESSED is the nation whose God is the Lord!

May God richly bless you and have a great Veteran’s Day!

Love and prayers, and many thanks----

The Stotler family J

Worth a repeat :)

I feel like a real columnist----this is a repeat from a few years ago.  But it is the same season, the feelings are the same, and I hope it blesses you today. :)  P.S.  My garden hasn't done this since.

The Mums in the Garden

by Sandra Stotler on Wednesday, September 15, 2010 at 11:30pm ·

I love the fall.  Just love it.  Love the colorful trees, the crackle of leaves and acorns under my feet, the crisp scent in the air, all my fall Yankee candle scents, apple cider, making pumpkin-themed desserts---just absolutely nothing like it. 

I also like mums.  Mums are strange flowers.  You can purchase them at the discount store in the fall for about three bucks--they are just bursting with color, one continuous ball of autumn hue.  Mums are pretty much impossible to ignore in the fall, when they peak:  in an otherwise bleak landscape, they are the only color visible, just bursting with blooms, their leaves barely visible.

They are visible in the spring and summer too, but for a different reason.  Last year I planted said bargain mums, because the only thing better than bargain mums is having them again next year for F-R-E-E.  Well don't you know, the mums were practically the first plants that sprouted.  What promise!  Taller than any of my flowers that would be blooming much, much earlier.  I just couldn't wait to see those mums!

But soon my spring flowers sprouted and bloomed.  This made my mums stick out like a tall, gangly teenager in 6th grade; all the height, but the maturity of a typical 12-year-old.  My mums looked, well, awkward, and were somewhat embarrassing.  I mean, the healthiest plants in the flower garden---tall and very noticable---and yet not one bloom in sight!  I sometimes wished I would have planted them elsewhere.  Not right in the front of the house---I could have used that premium earth for petunias or begonias, or perhaps delicate daisies!  But nonetheless here they were--and all I could do was wait. 

Irises came and went, and the black-eyed susan's too.  And then, just last week as the other flowers were dying---I got my first mum blossom!  Popping out everyday, new ones; a striking electric yellow, a yellow that can't help but be stared at.  In fact as I pull in my driveway I stop for a bit sometimes and just admire them from the street, because I can quite easily see them from there. 

I have been blessed by God above with a "mum" of my own.  I would not trade raising a special-needs child for all the riches in the world.  I would not wave a magic wand and cure him for fear of losing who he is.  My Lord promised me that "all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28).  One night on my knees I humbly and tearfully begged God for a child to raise for Him.  Not one to love me back, or to give me some sense of purpose or to fufill some childhood fairytale involving Prince Charming---but for a child that would honor God and bring Him glory.  And I received a mum.

Now I questioned my mum, albeit briefly, which to be quite honest is out of character for this bastian of self-righteousness.  In my arrogance I thought that "bringing God honor and glory" meant becoming a preacher, or a great deacon, or a missionary to carry the gospel to other nations.  But the Potter has been using my precious mum to bring Him glory all the time. 

Having a mum has forced this self-reliant, sinner saved by grace, to TRULY rely on Jesus.  To cry out to Him in moments of dispair in search of comfort where there is otherwise none, and to diligently seek the face of GOD in search of wisdom regarding decisions.  It has caused both of his parents to be abased in our lifestyles, to re-evaluate what is important, to be compelled to submit ourselves to what SHOULD be done in our household anyway.  Having a mum has given us both soul-felt, tear-producing compassion for parents of sick or disabled children.  The pot cannot fashion itself.  The Potter uses trials to mold the pot into the shape that He desires.  And having a mum has shaped me into someone I would certainly not otherwise be. 

This story is not over.  My precious, sweet awkward mum is still growing.  And God blesses me everyday with the opportunity to be here, to watch it all unfold, while faithfully, and abundantly, blessing us with comfort, peace and joy in the soul-- and absolute delight in our remarkable son.  One day he will bloom on his own, in his timing---and I have no question that he will be a bright hue of joy in an otherwise "typical" landscape.  Others see the spring mum---but through eyes of faith, and with the comfort of the Holy Spirit deep in my soul, I see the blooms already.

Children Should Be Seen. . . Because You Never Know What They Might Be Up To

 Amusing grace it IS, after all!                        
                           
Last week Jason and I had a dear sister from church over at our home.  We talked for a while and then we had prayer together, asking God to intervene in a grave situation in this sister’s life.  There we were, all three of us hunkered down on the leather couch, begging God for help as best as we could.

Yep.  All three adults.  Which means that there were exactly NO ADULTS present, truly, to supervise my children. 

I am the proud mother of four beautiful, crazy kids.  They are all under the age of 8.  At one time I had 3 in diapers.  That’s like triplets, but more frustrating:  if you do the quick math you will soon realize that at least one of the kids should probably have been potty trained by then.  People are always so kind to bring that sort of thing to your attention, too.  And inevitably some sweet person at the grocery store will ask you if they are all triplets, even though one is a newborn and the other one can read (true story).  But I digress.

I don’t know if they are more inventive or wild than any other group of kids that age.  But they seem to be to me.  It feels as though I am always in discipline mode.  You know that part of the Bible where it talks of Saul (in his pre-Paul days) “breathing out threatenings and slaughter” against the early church?  I feel like I do that some Sundays, when I debrief the troops after a particularly active session in the pew.  I can be pretty militant in the pew, expecting my charges to sit at attention without complaint or movement, or potty breaks or snacks, and limited eye blinks, in a Missionary Baptist church service.  I just do.

If it were possible, I would patent my Snap of Death----which is a loud, cracking snap of my fingers.  I have to snap my fingers because I usually can’t remember the name of the child I am snapping at.  They think it is just because I can’t shout their name in church-----oh nononono.  Like so many moms before me, I have been driven to the very edge of my sanity and can no longer speak readily the name of the child I am addressing at the moment.  The Snap of Death seems to resonate with children everywhere.  Most all of them in our small congregation turn to look at what is about to happen next when they hear it.  I have even seen the adults shiver. 

You see, I have first-born syndrome.  FBS can typically be characterized as “not seeing the forest, because the bark of this one tree here is starting to peel off and it needs to be addressed YESTERDAY”. To say that people with FBS expect perfection in the most unlikely of places is a complete understatement.  And not only do I have FBS----but I MARRIED someone with FBS.  So where I could be permissive, say, in letting the kids wear shorts to business meeting----my FBS hubby picks up the slack.  And vice-versa. 

So on this particular evening I learned a lesson.  I don’t know how much it will help me to loosen up in the long-term, because I still have an “inner child” with FBS.  But I suppose every little bit helps.

We are in earnest prayer on the couch, and I vaguely begin to notice someone touching my forehead.  It is sort of like that frog in the boiling pot analogy.  Gradually I become more and more aware of something on the left corner of my forehead.  I am really, really praying now, so don’t be taken aback by my lack of awareness. 

THEN I feel a towel, brushing ever so gently (NOT) against this same forehead locale, much like 100 grit sand paper.  And I begin to smell minty-freshness.  Kind of like. . . .

TOOTHPASTE.

With a holding capacity that would make Rave Number 4 jealous, I reach up and examine the amazing powers of toothpaste on my hair.  And then I get tickled.  Because what else can I do?

Do I jump off the couch and scream at my kids, after giving them the Snap of Death in my flustered state? I don’t even know who DID it!  Did they truly think that I would not notice that the whitening power of Crest Pro Health left me looking like Bonnie Raitt? 

And better still----do they see me pouring my heart out to the Lord, and in a moment of startling hypocrisy lash out at them for a mistake? 

Ouch.

Why is it so hard for me to show mercy to my kids?  I sometimes feel like the servant who was forgiven much, but couldn’t forgive in little.  Not to mention that the Lord can’t fellowship with you when you have anger in your heart.  Even if that anger is about one of your kids! 

Just as I am over the giggles that were brought on by the visual of me hugging said sister post-prayer, and she smelling my minty self and seeing the terrific height of my bangs, my sweet, delicate daughter climbs on me, lays on my back and lets off a vile noise that is usually reserved for patrons of Mexican restaurants.

And that about put me clear over the edge of silliness. 

Because EVERYONE heard it.  Maybe even the neighbors.   Hardwood floors, echo, reverberation.  “Goodness gracious, Harriet!  Batten down the hatches!!”

Um. . . .prayer was over for me.  What a perfect metaphor for my life in crazy motherhood!

He doesn’t expect my kids to be in line all the time.  My main job is to please Him.  If I would just concentrate more on that, I would have more joy, peace---and yes, longsuffering for my kiddos.  And they would see their mama and daddy loving a sister in Christ, and confessing through their actions that even though they don’t have all the answers, that even their big, strong, mama and daddy KNOWS that they can go to Jesus for help.  I thought my dad was the strongest, toughest, smartest, biggest, and most invincible man in the whole universe.  I bet you thought the same about your dad. 

For kids to see that big tough daddy (or mama) cry out to God SPEAKS VOLUMES to a little child. 

Lord, please help me to concentrate on You.  To not forsake prayer and study for laundry and diapers, but to realize that getting in touch with you daily is more important than the air I breathe.

Love to all my fellow Christian mamas today!