The Story of "Oh, Glory!" and Other Wordiness on the Prarie

          Mr. Blue Eyes is realizing the power of words. He's recently discovered the word "no", and all the power it can hold. Screaming it at his sisters can result in them backing down from swiping his toys that he's decided only he can use (like his treasured rocking horse). Thankfully,  he is yet to discover the word "Mine!" He is just beginning to understand the consequences of ignoring our "no". This weekend,  he had several time outs from the outdoors, when he tried to ignore me. His snotty nose and red eyes are pretty pathetic, but I resisted the power of his cuteness. He's not only learning words, but gestures as well. When I deliver him from time out, he usually gives me a sweet little kiss and hug. You may think me heartless to squelch his fun, but he's been trying to make it through our pasture to our gravel road (and was close to success this last week). Yes, our son is a runner. Too bad for him, I am too. Of course, he still smeared bird poop all over his outfit last week while I was distracted.  It's pretty easy to get your hands (and shoes) on it with 25 chickens and 8 ducks that free range. The country is awesome and beautiful,  but not exactly sanitary.
            Our sweet son also learned another new word besides "no" this past week. Father's Day Eve he began calling Charles, "Dada". He's had the sound capability for a while, but insisted on calling Charles by other names (with great enthusiasm but inaccuracy). For some reason, teaching him the sign while saying "Dada" helped him connect the two together within a couple of days. I love hearing him scream "Dada!" each time he catches a glimpse of him, except when Charles is mowing and I have to convince Mr. Blue Eyes that he can't ride on the "brmm-brmm".
           Going through the produce section of a grocery store is both heartbreaking and hilarious as he screams "BALL!" for every round produce...lemons, onions, limes, kiwi, tomatoes,  and my personal favorite, enormous watermelons. He just wants to chuck each and every item accross the store. He cries when he's told "no throwing" to the items we do pick up. Our last trip to the store was much easier because he wanted to go on the "Ba Poo" ride ( baby translation: Winnie the Pooh) at the end of the shopping trip. Every time he nearly threw a shopping item, I asked him if he wanted a ride. At one point on our trip, he literally paused with his arm poised behind his head and then thoughtfully put down the can of tomato paste.
           It's good to listen and not just talk all the time, so I've taken a break from some of my wordiness by reducing posts.  Summer has been a good time to reconnect with Charles and the kids, and put my phone down. (It's also been necessary to put it down, due to the unexplained back-up of 499 of my photos that stole 75% of my data allowance for the month of June by the time I'd hit June 5th.) 
            We took a work/business trip earlier this month and helped my mom pick 15 quarts of strawberries. 30 beautiful pints of freezer jam resulted along with a few memorable moments.  One nearly forgotten phrase that I heard at my mom's was: "Oh, Glory!" My mom has uttered this every time she hurt herself for as long as I can remember. I also realized I'd forgotten why she said that. She said that she was thanking God that she could even feel the pain. One of my mom's dearest friends was a paraplegic; and when my mom would complain about her back hurting or her toe getting stubbed, her friend would tell her how she wished she could feel the pain. If she could've had a backache,  it'd meant she could walk. If she'd stubbed her toe, she would've been grateful to be up and moving again. I always thought I was doing good just uttering "Ouch!" when I got hurt instead of swearing. However, my mom challenged me to show gratitude in my pain. I'll have to work on that.
          Because no trip with five kids can ever be uncomplicated (despite getting to take along my 15 year old, permit-packin' neice), we also had 10 ducklings emerge after taking them with us in the incubator. The adaptor that we used in the van to run the heating element worked well enough that the remaining 3 eggs  successfully hatched too (albeit four days later than usual). We also took two one-week-old ducklings along. Half-pint snuck them out of the box a couple times to sit on her lap. I couldn't help but smile as they snuggled into her hands and turned their heads backwards (in true ducky fashion) for a nap. My mom may have a heart of gratitude, but she would've never tolerated ducklings on a seven hour road trip. I don't think I would've heard "Oh, Glory!", but rather a firm "No!" if I tried to take some along. We ended up selling seven of the ducklings on the business portion of our trip through our old hometown. It was a short sweet trip; and if we didn't see you this time, it's probably only because you didn't have strawberries or ask for ducklings. We will try to catch you on the next round.          
           What's the newest word around the Ingall's farm? There may be some goats appearing before cows. Let's all take in a deep breath together and exhale, "Oh, Glory!"

The Real Deal

          My parents forced me into slave labor by the time I was old enough to walk. By slave labor, I mean gardening. It wasn't too bad until I hit the age where I developed my sense of justice; and all of a sudden, I didn't want to spend my summer in the sun sweating and pulling weeds. I think that would've been right around elementary school when I was old enough to realize other children weren't forced into such atrocious ways of spending their summer. They were busy eating sweet Fla-Vor-Ice and running through a sprinkler, while I was stuck eating peas and tomatoes with mud-caked nails. Like my mother before me, I vowed that I would "NEVER have a garden when I grew up".
            As I grew up, my tastebuds matured beyond colored sugar water, and I realized that homegrown produce was much better tasting (although I still think garage ripened tomatoes from the final pre-frost season in October taste nasty). Now, we are the parents of children that are encouraged to help in our garden (note that they are NOT slave laborers because we have not planted our entire yard in crops like my dad did...yet). We were out gardening as a family on Friday, when I showed the girls how to tell what plants were weeds and which ones were potatoes (since that was the patch we were tackling).  We've had some pesky beetles attack some plants, leaving many with holes; but I was still pretty confident in identifying potatoes because of my years of servitude.  Potatoes are an awesome crop because they usually grow so fast they only need a few weedings to choke out the competition. I highly recommend them for the beginning gardener (plus potatoes keep nicely most of the winter if stored cool and in the dark). When I got near the end of weeding, I grabbed one of the plants only to get poked by it's thorns. Since when did potato plants get thorns? The weeds were  perfectly spaced and, in some cases, were growing right next to the real deal. I had been fooled. Take a look at the picture. Can you spot the weed? I had to go back through and weed through the "plants".
            Gardening is good for my introverted soul. I'm usually quiet. (I say usually because this past week I was little Miss Chatterbox when helping plant a forrest garden with my hubby...sorry, Charles). While pulling the thorny weeds, I started thinking about all the half-truths in our lives that are close to the truth. They fool us into letting them grow in the garden of our life. Little thoughts like "I need time away from the kids" is true, but if it grows into thoughts like "I'm tired of never having enough time for me", it could lead to neglect of your kids. Thoughts like "I really messed up" can be true but can be either self-destructive or motivational, depending on what grows from it. If it becomes "all I ever do is mess up", we need to pull that weed/thought out right away.  If it grows into "I will apologize for messing up and behave differently next time", our mistake can lead to learning. Our thought bears fruit (or vegetables, if we're sticking with the whole potatoes analogy).
          How do we judge weeds from plants? If you relied on me or others, you could be just as disappointed as I was with my "fake" potatoes. Today, I read 2 Cor 10 which talks about our true struggle being supernatural,  not physical.  I am convinced there is another unseen rhelm in play all the time. There is a force determined to deceive you. Verses 3-5 say, "For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ." If you're like me, you may be saying, "Great! I've heard that verse before.  How do you take thoughts captive?" Here's what I believe (but I'd love to hear your thoughts on it...feel free to leave them below.): When we have a thought, we need to be intentional on what we keep and what we weed out based on whether is true, noble, lovely, admirable,  excellent, or praiseworthy (Phil. 4:8). How do we even begin to judge what is true? The best way I've found to determine the veracity of a thought is by reading the Bible for myself. It is our truth. It is our sword of the spirit, our weapon for demolishing stongholds. Let the Holy Spirit guide you. There is nothing wrong with listening to a pastor or teacher; but just as you eat daily, you need to eat spiritual food daily, not just weekly at church. We live in a time where the Bible is easily readable with many translation options. (Here's an online reading plan.) Many of you helped your kids sign up for a summer reading program, why not plan one for yourself in the best book of all time?
          Inevitably,  you may make a mistake or two on your thoughts. Maybe you are like me and don't recognize that it's a weed till you get hurt. No biggie! Just go back, do a little more weeding and ask Christ for help. Think about what you know is truth (having scripture memorized to meditate on instead of that half-truth is fabulous when you can't get a thought from replaying in your head). God wants us to be victorious, and He will help us all the way. We just have to ask. My hubby sent me this great link to top five regrets people have on their deathbed. I don't want mine to be that I tended the weeds and lost my true produce--the things that would've nourished me, not poked me. Happy gardening!