A Future Fortune

Many, many moons ago, (as my late uncle used to say when telling me stories as a child), I was at a cross roads:  do I continue college athletics and resume my studies farther from home, or do I stay home and pursue something else?

I realize at this point there is an entire section of my reading audience saying, "Is this about her?", when you read about the college athletics, because a good portion of you didn't know me several jersey sizes ago.  No, I was not a curling, fishing, or dare I say golfing phenom;  I actually played college basketball and cross-country.  True, I now only run when chased by wildlife or if I hear the dry heave of a child late at night in a carpeted bedroom, but once, many many moons ago----I did run.

I intend to resume running in the "summer", whatever that is here in Oregon, and not just because I have always wanted to rock Columbia workout gear like a boss.  I know that running year-round here is certainly plausible.  And I can still beat my hubby most of the time on the jump shot game at Chuck E Cheese.

But so far in adulthood, that is all I have ever needed those skills for.  Yes, I could be using them for exercise, but I don't have to do those particular activities, although I do enjoy basketball.  I have had thoughts of coaching girls sports, but so far I am busy with my own minor league home school.  

So that summer, I had a choice to make.  I was a forensic psychology major in my first year of college, away from home, and sort of hated it.  I loved the people I met, I hated college athletics, and although I can solve cases on "Forensic Files" like an armchair quarterback, I just didn't have the heart for serial killers.

I tried.  It still interests me a bit, how depraved we are without God and capable of awful destruction, almost like gawking at a car accident on the side of the road.  But something was softening me, and I had a longing for a simpler, purer life.  I didn't really care about having a career.  I had met my husband and we were engaged, and God was pulling me ever closer to Himself.  That summer, shortly after I got home from college, in the bedroom I poured out my heart before the Lord like I never, ever, had before, and He saved my soul. Where there was fear. . .  there was peace. Where there was anger. . .  there was peace. Where there was condemation before a holy and just and almighty GOD, there was now. . . sweet, sweet peace.  And there was joy.  "Joy unspeakable and full of glory", as the Bible says, as He took the weight of the world off my shoulders and placed it on His own. And I have never been the same.

My heart was so softened by Him, softened toward those in need.  My name means "helper or defender of mankind", and I found myself enrolled in social work classes.  I was a natural fit and my instructors said this to me often.  But I can't take an ounce of credit for it.  I feel, truly, like God gave me some discernment, simply to be of some usefulness to Him.  And until He saved me, softened me like a potter pouring water over a hardened lump of clay and shaping and reworking it----I would have been of little use in a helping profession.

Participation in athletics, for all of its health and life skills benefits, has one unfortunate drawback:  ME.  It is about ME ME ME ME ME.  And it helped swell ME to an unbelievable point of almost no return.  I was sort of a big fish in a little pond, but I had never been outside the pond.  And when the Lord saved me, it wasn't about "me" anymore.  It is about Him.  It is still far too much about me, I am very ashamed to say.  But I could only see ME and my needs until He changed all of that.

My first "real" job wasn't a glamorous gig. I worked for $8.02 an hour for the Department of Human Services as a "Job Club Coach."  I taught a class for those required by welfare regulations to get a job, on how to find and keep a job.  I had probably two hundred people come into my class over that time, where I did the best I could, at 21, to teach them about a life I was just starting to learn about.  In my class we did resumes and job interviewing skills, but we also talked about life.  I tried to show them what I saw in them----that they had WORTH.  I knew that they were beautiful people created by a God who loved them, and gave them gifts and talents and cared for them.  But most of them could never see that.  They told me stories of the most burdensome lives you probably, unless you have done social services, could even imagine.  Abused as children, as spouses, and making mistake after mistake in an effort to deal with it all.  I was young and I had heart and enthusiasm, and that still wasn't enough.

And yes,  I was conned, and lied to, and a victim at times of the self-preservation of the desperate.  One wonderful man I worked with said, "They don't lie. They are just mistreating the truth."

I realized that without God shining light into their own darkness, just as He had done for me, that they could not see.  And I was in a government position that was not conducive to carrying out my duties that way.  I couldn't do it that way anymore, watching hurting people and not telling them that "the hope that lies within" me is their only hope, too.

I had other jobs, more education, and eventually had my first child on my second to last day of work, and never looked back.

In that summer of decision, I felt I had let a lot of people that loved me and are loved by me, down.  I felt like I had quite a few people wanting me to go on, to be a slightly bigger fish in a slightly bigger pond, and to become more of a worldly success.  I had left a good private college and was enrolling in a community college, and my ego took a much-needed hit.

But in that fateful summer decision, I chose a path less traveled by.  I chose a path to work with the downtrodden and the undervalued, and not until tonight in my kitchen did I see why.

You see, sports gave me confidence----in me.  But working with the poor gave me confidence in Him.  I was powerless in my job to make a difference.  The only way I made a difference is when I relied on God to give me wisdom, and strength, and prayed for my clients (which I never ever did enough).  I was sometimes in precarious situations where my safety was threatened beyond what I was accustomed to, and I had to trust that God had me in the palm of His hand.

And here I am, 17 years later, laboring beside my husband in a work where we are surrounded by the under-served poor.  I feel like what God is teaching us is that our job is to live the Sermon on the Mount.  To give freely, to love deeply, to get in the muck and the mire and let our neat little lives be inconvenienced by the needs of those that need so very much.

Isn't that what Jesus said to do? Isn't that what He did?  He left a glorious heaven by His own choosing and came here, and He gave all,---all---- and looked to His father to provide His needs, in His ways, in His time. 

Are we not to do the same?

We are to lay aside ourselves, give it all up and do it freely from a heart overflowing with love, not obligation.  Not cold, self-serving religion that demands performance, but from a heart softened because of the realization that what little we do have is undeserved.  That it is by His grace alone that we weren't abused, neglected, that we had a good education, the support of loved ones, and were born free in a free land, and most importantly (if you have been saved), that He saved you in spite of who you are and what you have done. That if we had to walk in the moccasins of the one before us, we might not have walked as straight as they have.

This is what we should look like, brothers and sisters.  James said that "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world."  The fatherless and the widow have nothing to give us.  It is to be a quiet, unnoticed, unrequited outpouring of God's goodness, (which requires our sacrifice), on those in need.

Someone is reading this and saying, "But. . . WHY are they poor? Can't they just. .  ." and practically chiseling out in stone the rules for being Deservedly Poor.

In the sermon my husband preached two weeks ago, he said, "When I was lost and undone and came to Jesus for salvation, did He refuse me for the ways I had sinned previously, or refuse me because I was currently in sin when I came to Him? No----I came to Him BECAUSE I was in need, or I would not have come to Him."

In my kitchen I realized that 17 years ago, in a decision that many didn't understand and I myself could not see the full reasoning behind, that even though I couldn't see it-----

God did.  And He had a purpose in it.

The greater purpose was not for self-glory, fame or fortune (although we sure did need my $8.02 an hour).

The greater purpose was to equip me for such a time as this.

Lord, please open our eyes to the hurting all around us.  Help us to take our eyes off of ourselves and onto You and You alone. Help us to trust You to meet our needs, so that we can freely give to those around us. Give us this ability, and increase our faith.

Your prayers for all of us laboring at Hauser Missionary Baptist Church are appreciated.  Love to you all on this Lord's day----
Sandra

The End of an Era. . . probably.

I have, aside from a two week stint right before the birth of my youngest child, changed diapers from the fall of October 2004 until February 18th, 2014.  If I add up the days, I have changed diapers for about 3,417 days.  That is nine and, roughly, a half a year of changing diapers.  Sometimes I just had one baby to change.  For about a year, I had three kids in diapers at one time.  I think back to that and wonder at how I did anything at all?  I was nursing a baby and changing diapers all the time!

I nursed all my kids too----I figured that I nursed babies for about 5 years total.  Nursing, changing, rocking, dishes, laundry, cheerios, sweeping and sweeping the floor, sippy cups, milk allergies, fructose allergies, doctors appointments, pregnancies. . . .

Well, the last Stotler child, unless God should do things differently than we have planned for, is now potty trained.  And it is the end of an era.

My parenting is changing.  I am seeing a tiny bit about how God designed it, a little better than I could see it before.  When I was younger I needed all that energy to endure the interrupted sleep, the carrying of the kids around everywhere, the non-stop movement required when a little one starts walking, or putting things in their mouths, or is running toward your couch with an ink pen. 

Now it is refereeing---or it could be. It is teaching self-control, and worse yet, it is modeling self-control. It is teaching by BEING.  And as hard as diapers were, this is a different kind of hard.  Is it as physically and mentally taxing as days on end of baby care?  No, it is not.  But it is a drive -you-to-your-knees, seek-God kind of hard.

My kids are like little flower buds now, when one leaf is just starting to open.  I can get a little glimpse of what is inside there, what color it is, or the scent, but I can't fully see the flower because it isn't fully opened yet.  And I have to help take care of the flower so that it blooms in the right way.

And this is terrifying.

Without God's help and wisdom, I will fail in this endeavor.  Yes, parents:  without His wisdom, you will fail in this effort.  And you can be a child of God, and still fail, if you don't instill His wisdom in your children.  But to instill it, you have to have it too.  So this season requires less sleep, because I should be praying and studying more.  And it requires a quiet physical stamina to "do the right thing" at all times-----and no cup of coffee is going to make that happen.

So it is a bittersweet end.  But I am looking forward to this new "season".  I would be lying if I say I don't daydream, and sometimes hold in my mind, each of my "babies" from time to time.

And my youngest might forever bathe in Johnson&Johnson.

No bottles, no bibs, no sippy cups,

No more diapers, just Pull-Ups.

Wet wipes now used only on faces,

No planning naps around going places.

No more Gerber Puffs or jars,

You’ve moved on to trucks and cars,

How in the world can it be

My last baby has turned three!

No struggle to understand your words,

No worry that you won’t be heard.

Growing up quicker than the others,

(Need to keep up with your brothers).

Get your own snack and pick up your toys?

You’ve learned much faster than the other boys!

Time creeps quietly and steals away

Pieces them, day by day.

My motherhood is changing too,

We get more sleep, and there’s less. . . ewwww.

Lots to teach and lots to learn

My rank, I find, I have to earn.

So get your blankie, and climb on my lap

And let me rock you for a rare nap.

The laundry can wait, and supper can too

For I just want to cuddle with you.

The day is coming when you’ll prefer another,

And I learned by raising the others---

That one day I’ll wake inside and yearn

To hold the baby you once were. 

Many changes coming to me----

My little one is wonderful three. 

 --Sandra Stotler

May God richly bless you in your season of parenting.  Love to you all on this fine day.

Sandra

"And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them,

That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose."-----Genesis 6:1-2

I am in an adventurous place in my life.  I have moved, in an effort to support my husband as well as be pleasing to God's will in my own life, many miles from home to an entirely new place.  That was not stated in an effort to draw attention to the sacrifice of the author.  It truly hasn't been that painful of a sacrifice.  The most difficult sacrifice has been that of one thing:  my will.

I am in a place that I have long told others about.  I am in a place of having to patiently wait upon the Lord----for His leadership, His directions, for His provisions for needs.  I am not speaking of financial needs, either----I am speaking of needs that can't be bought.

And I am learning that the biggest part of waiting, is surrendering.

Sometimes when I have a specific need, I go to the Lord and tell Him exactly what it is.  Sometimes I remind Him of His promises to provide for me, and sometimes I even try to tell Him how to deliver what I need. 

But He is teaching me some things.

~~~~~

The people in the days of Noah were having trouble----the Bible states that the "thoughts of men were only evil continually."  This didn't just start then.  These troubles went back a bit farther.  When Noah was born, his father stated that Noah would bring the family joy, since the "ground was cursed by the Lord." 

In verses 1 &2 (above), we see that the sons of God, or His saved children, were looking upon the daughters of men-----women who had not been saved.  This meant that these young women did not know God, and didn't understand His design for their marriages.  But the young men did know God. 

And the young men were looking upon these daughters of men----women who could not understand the importance of following God-----and "saw that they were fair", or beautiful. So they took them as wives at their own choosing.

~~~~~

Jesus said in the sermon on the Mount that

 

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints

I have so much to say about our trip.  But when I am sad, I write.

Death is such a bitter, awful, repugnant event.  It is a severing of ties, a change forced upon us, leaving a gaping hole that time will attempt to fill, but it will never be a perfect fit.  We go around with a loss of more than a loved one.  We lose what was, and we lose what could be.  

I want to introduce you to someone----a person who was truly an answered prayer for my family.  Our neighbor, "Mr. Darlo" as my kids called him, Darlo Pack. But we called him Brother Darlo.

Brother Darlo was one of a shoe full of kids raised by a hardworking daddy and a loving mama.  He was no more special than any of his "D" named siblings, but loved richly all the same by a mother who taught him about the Lord in the hills of West Virginia.  He used to tell how his mom and dad would be out working on the farm, and how she would tie the babies up to a tree to keep them from harm's way.  He didn't say this with disdain or disgust, but rather with a fond admiration for both his selfless mother and for a way of life long gone by. 

Brother Darlo was a jack of all trades with a heart as big as the moon.  He could fix cars with a smile on his face while little kids climbed all over his equipment.  He was quick to help without being asked, and had even been know to hire a little boy to work in his shed shoveling manure----and pay him a whopping $20 for it. He changed diapers and always put them on backwards. He was quick with a laugh and a popsicle, and loved to "cut up and carry on" at something funny. 

He was giving until it hurt, and never did a person truly in need leave without somehow being warmed by his generosity.  And yet he wore the same clothing in his garage most days, drove the same Ford Ranger pick-up truck, and rarely went anywhere tremendously special.

Brother Darlo rarely sat still.  He wasn't happy unless he was working, either in his garage, taking care of a honey-do list from his wife Miss Marie, or at the church he attended.  But he had a stubborn streak.  At 76 he was told to slow down, and he carried on as though he had not heard it.

And this morning his heart wore out.

Now we are sad, and no doubt countless others are too.  But we are also thankful.

We are thankful that Brother Darlo and Miss Marie were the last people we said goodbye to in Ohio.  That we got to hug his neck, cry on his shoulder while he cried on ours, and tell him we loved him and how thankful we were for all he had done for us. If he was here I would joke with him about how we didn't mean to break his heart when we left, and he would laugh until his eyes became moist with happy tears.

I know beyond all doubt that God allowed Brother Darlo to be a part of our lives for many reasons, and I am so very thankful for him being an extra grandpa to our kids.  The highlight of their week was when the kids would come over and be spoiled beyond your wildest dreams, eating candy and watching a movie or three, and having pizza, and McDonald's, and. . . .

But we are most thankful that he was "Brother" Darlo.

You see, Brother Darlo had not always been the joy-filled man that we knew.  We got to enjoy the best of Darlo.  Back in West Virginia, between the sufficient meals and the hard labor, his mama told him about Jesus.  About how one day, God would show him that he was lost and undone in his sins, and that he would need to go to Jesus in repentence so that he could get saved.

Darlo left West Virginia, joined the military, was married and raised a family, and had a successful business.  He used to tell us about how one time he was working on a car and it slipped off the ramp and he could have been killed.  What his mama told him never left him.

But it wasn't until he was 60, in the altar of a church that doesn't teach the knee-route way to salvation, that Darlo cried out to God for forgiveness and became "Brother Darlo".

At 60 is when Brother Darlo really, truly started to live.

He would weep with thankfulness at how God just blessed his soul while working alone in the garage.  He would get happy when he did come to Liberty, and you could just tell that the Lord was filling him up with that "joy unspeakable and full of glory" that the scriptures talk about.  He was brokenhearted about the years he wasted without salvation, and by all the "should have beens".  But he was humbled by his God's graciousness to him, and wanted others to have the same.  He was far from a perfect man, but he was perfected in the soul by the grace and mercy of God.

When I think of Brother Darlo being in a place now in perfect peace and love, I know he wouldn't leave if he could.  We are not saddened by what happened to him.  Paul said, "O death, where is thy sting?  O grave, where is thy victory?"  There is no sorrow but for selfish pity, for losing a sweet light in this surrounding darkness, and for our inability to be there to soothe those back home.

Thank you God, for our brothers and sisters in Christ.  Thank you for the love you shed abroad in our hearts, and help us heap it on each other.  For it is a true testament to you and your abundant goodness and mercy towards mankind.   You didn't have to bless us with Your love, but I am so very humbled and grateful that you have.

Love to you all----
Sandra

The Little House on Maco Drive

Hello friends!

It has been a while since I have had a chance to blog.  I don't really have time to blog now, but I tend to write when the feeling strikes me.

I wanted to share with you a poem I wrote in December of last year.  Jason had told me the night before that he was giving up his pastoral position at Liberty, our home church.  In this process of moving across the country, I have had many people ask me how I was "holding up".

God never gives us a job to do, no matter how big or how small, that He doesn't provide the tools for.  One saying that I don't particularly care for is "God doesn't give you more than you can handle".

No------God doesn't give you more than HE can handle.  And if you are going to handle it, it is because He helps you through it, and there will be things that you have need of that you will have to ask Him for.  Most often He doesn't carry you over or around it.  But He gives you what you need to go through.  Because when little tiny "us" can do something difficult for us with grace, it reflects on His love for us, and lets the world see Him. 

This poem is the first step in my journey westward.  I had to grieve what I was leaving behind, and He helped me tremendously with that.  After Jason told me we would be leaving Liberty, I didn't know or really think much about where we would go.  I was just stuck on leaving here, leaving my home.  I remember walking around the house after everyone had gone to bed, tears streaming down my cheeks, tight feeling in my throat as to not wake anyone-----and this poem is what I got.  It reflects a typical summer day at our house:

  The Little House on Maco Drive

On a quiet street in a quiet town on a road most folks don’t drive down

There’s a house that’s much alive----

Before the curve on Maco Drive.

There in the yard are lots of swings and pines in which the birds all sing,

An occasional misplaced bee hive

At the little house on Maco Drive.

There’s bikes and bats for whiffle ball and for those that are not too small

There’s a trampoline outside

The little house on Maco Drive.

There’s a garden where food and kids both grow and in the winter piles of snow

To take a sled and slide

Down the backyard at Maco Drive.

Across the street, if you really search, through the trees you’ll see the church

With God’s sweet love inside

Down from the house on Maco Drive.

The toys, they stretch from wall to wall-----the laundry pile is always tall

And any blank space is prized

In the crowded house at Maco Drive.

Daddy’s got a project found, pick blackberries all around

The yard, Mom makes a pie

With the good things found at Maco Drive.

 

Children sleep hard at the end of the day, lots of work and lots more play

Bible story and bath time

A peaceful evening at Maco Drive.

The memories drip down the walls and fill the room like bittersweet.

Aching joy but thankful still for days, some dark, yet still complete.

The laughter of my young ones, etched in ceilings and in floors,

Stages of development tucked in behind the doors.

Spots where prayers were cried out by Mama on her knees,

Places where God filled the cracks with His sweet, blessed peace.

And though I know I cannot stay and linger long inside,

All the important things will come with me from Maco Drive.

Thank you for my family, Lord, I don’t deserve the joy

In a Godly man, a beautiful girl, and three precious little boys!

Following you means we must live a life of sacrifice-----

Thank you so much for the precious time

At our little house on Maco Drive.

 

Craziness at the second moving sale.

May you be strengthened knowing that if you have been saved by His grace, there is no place where He won't be.  Love to you all.

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 :)