Buried Alive

      The house has been messy a lot lately. Part of that is because we have a new baby, and cleaning up toys is to not a priority over cooking, laundry or cleaning...or keeping my little man's diapers dry (which has been a real challenge in light of his digestive response to the antibiotics he has gotten via milk).  It feels like we've really only had a couple days off from illness for almost a month. My thirdborn got a non-strep sore throat this past week that has kept us away from others for three days (and impetigo, which did mean another trip to Walgreens). I just don't want to work non-stop orchestrating what needs to be done after I'm done with my chores, which these days don't always get done. I want to sit down and stop wondering if the pile of clean laundry will ever fold itself. I know some people dream about zombies attacking them; I, on the other hand, dream about my laundry revolting and burying me alive, smothering me in Downey freshness.
           The other part of the messiness has been that two girls have had a birthday party which means a lot of extra presents to find a new home for. These days it is difficult to find to a clean spot to sit let alone not trip over toys on the journey to the couch.  My youngest girls make 90% of the mess around the house, but get easily overwhelmed when assigned the task by themselves. They need a lot of direction. I don't think the little ones would be so overwhelmed if there wasn't so much stuff in the first place, which brings me to yet another chore that begs to be done...finding toys they don't really want anymore and donating them. I know that some parents do the dirty work at night or when their kids are gone, but I committed a long time ago to not throwing away things without their knowledge. I still remember my panic and horror at finding my Uncle Rax paper spectacles from my kid's meal being mysteriously gone one day. I asked my mom if she had gone through "my" drawer. She usually limited her "straightening up" (that was her word for it...I would've called it "throwing away my treasures") to anywhere, BUT my drawer. Apparently, she wasn't pleased with being unable to pull "my" drawer in the kitchen open without mess flying everywhere because of all the "treasures" I had jammed in there (which included my ubercool paper glasses that made me look like an alligator). I was crushed to find out she'd thrown them away. I knew all about the Bible and forgiveness since my dad was a Pastor, but I had a real hard time forgiving that. God has now blessed me with a daughter who has a similar sentimentality (and most people agree that she looks just like me)...so I've experienced first hand how difficult I was (and have repented of this to my mother). Anyhow, I have since committed to only throwing out things in their presence.
         I have personally come to the realization that it is not worth it to keep something unless you actually have room to enjoy it. This has been a tough concept to teach, and I can't claim to be entirely successful yet with my kids. The only thing that really lasts and leaves it's impact here on earth are the relationships we make with other people. The "stuff" we value all becomes trash at some point. I am reminded of Matthew 6:20 which says, "But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven,where moths and vermin do not destroy,and where thieves do not break in and steal." I am dedicated to taking along as many people as I know with me, instead of storing up stuff.
     It's time to help my children let go of the clutter to prevent us from being buried alive in a pile of mess...even if it means throwing away some paper spectacles from a kid's meal.

"You've Made Your Bed, Now..."

         "... lie in it." Were you able to finish this line? I can't remember exactly when this was taught to me, but I'm pretty sure it was at a rather young age.  Sometimes, allowing our children to feel the consequences of their actions is a great form of discipline. If they neglect to put clothes in the laundry, they will run out of clean clothes. In the same way, I as an adult suffer consequences. If I leave fruit out too long, I will draw fruit flies. If I speed, I will get a ticket (eventually). Obviously, there is a certain level of maturity required for one to learn something from this form of discipline.
        This past week, I was challenged to consider that God will still help us even when we have made decisions without His "blessing". He doesn't say, "Well, you've made your bed..." God never leaves us. I'm in a Bible study called "Believing God" by Beth Moore. In the study we watch a video at the end of our time, and it was in the video this past week that Beth challenged this notion.
         She used a story from Joshua 9 and 10 to illustrate the point that in order to have victory God sometimes requires us to give our all. In this story, the Israelites have a miraculous victory over five kings that join together to try to defeat the Gibeonites whom Israel made a pact with in Joshua 9. Israel is not even fending off an attack specifically on them but on an ally they had made. They had a fierce battle. During their pursuit of the armies, God hurls hailstones from the sky "and more of them die from the hail than were killed by the swords of the Israelites." (Joshua 10:11) Beth points out that God could have clearly wiped out all of these enemies with hailstones in the beginning. Why did Israel even have to fight? God was more than able. She believes that God wanted Israel to do their part, not just believe God to fight for them. Israel had to give their all. They began with an all night march, fought while hotly pursuing their enemy, and even cried out for God to make the sun stand still. Verse 14 says ,"There has never been a day like it before or since, a day when the LORD listened to a human being. Surely the LORD was fighting for Israel!"
         This is a great inspirational story, right? It is, but that's not what got me all choked up...it's the context in which He gives Israel the victory. If you read the story in Joshua 9, you'll read the story of how the Gibeonites, who were afraid of what the Israelites would do to their city, pulled out old garments and moldy bread to fool the leaders of Israel into thinking that they had come from a long, long distance. Israel had been forbidden by God to make alliances with the people living in their "Promised Land". God warned that if they did they would eventually adopt their customs that caused God to drive them out in the first place. Israel would commit just as horrible atrocities like sacrificing their children. Well, the leaders of Israel were completely fooled by the their ragged appearance, moldy bread, and cracked wineskins. They forgot to "consult" God. Big mistake! He'd have told them that the wool was being pulled over their eyes.  Mrs. Moore pointed out that they could've wondered on that long march about who's fault it was that they were even in this battle...perhaps they were even slapping their forehead thinking "how stupid" they were...maybe, just maybe they were even feeling that since they had gotten themselves into this mess, they'd have to get themselves out. Beth points out though that God is not human. He never leaves us. He is full of grace; and when you cry out to Him, He is sure to hear you.
        This is what made my eyes start to water. This what filled my heart with hope. There are many times that I am reluctant to cry out to God for deliverance because I've bought into the lie that because I didn't listen to God or stop to ask His opinion that He no longer cares about me...that He will not help me. God loves us. All of us. It is much easier for me to extend grace than to accept it. Just as I would always help my child if they were in trouble regardless of whether or not they took my advice, God is just waiting for us to cry out to Him.    
        This past week my stupidity has cost my family several trips to the doctor's office/Walgreens for treatment for strep throat. I realized one of my daughters was suffering with a sore throat after drinking from her water bottle. I asked her why she didn't tell me her throat hurt to which she replied,"I did...you didn't listen to me." Ouch! Given my history of sometimes shushing my children, I know she's likely right. Slap my head and call me "stupid". Cleaning for strep throat is only effective if everyone is symptom free. Mama has fallen out of the saddle of her high horse. There are other things at play in our house this week too...big decisions affecting our family's future...some of it clearly beyond our control.
         So today, I'm believing God to be huge compared to our problems, ready to hurl hailstones at my enemies, more than capable to make the sun stand still. I'm crying out, “Ah, Sovereign LORD, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you." (Jer. 32:17)

     

Cowgirl Boots And My Achy Breaky Heart

        When we came back from Kentucky,  I brought home a strong desire for some cowgirl boots. I think I may have seen one too many horses while there (or spent too much time staring at the local's footwear while waiting to be seated at Applebee's). Thanks to Amazon (and my hubby's enthusiastic approval), I will be getting a pair sometime next Tuesday. It's funny how having a baby can put you in a clothes funk. I've felt a little out of it with choosing clothes. I'm limited to what feels like a small amount of tops and pants that actually fit, and some days I'm so tired it's hard to think straight. Tonight, I went on a date with my hubby though, and I had fun picking out some new tops and jeans...that should look fabulous with my new boots.
        Apparently, that wasn't the only thing I brought home with me. By mid-morning this past Monday, I had a horrific headache.  I very rarely have headaches, but I sometimes get them if I'm running low in sleep. Our one month old was up every hour on the hour from two o'clock on, and since I didn't get to lay my head down for the night till sometime after 11pm, the headache didn't really shock me. If you add to that my whiplash incident from that morning, it was easy for me to understand why I could've had a headache. When I'm in my third trimester of pregnancy, I can barely see my feet; but I'm also blinded following pregnancy to my left foot while carrying a baby. My four year old neglected to put her book away (as I had instructed) and left it on the stairs... so later that morning while holding our newborn, my left foot slipped on the book and went sailing out from underneath me.  I kept my balance though after a momentary jerk, and I only had a bruised elbow to show for it (my daughter had a mini-lecture on listening to Mommy the first time). My headache raged on.
        I went to Walmart to get groceries since my mom and brother's family would be visiting our family the following day; and by the time I left Wal-mart, I felt achy and cold in addition to having a raging headache. I came home to take my temperature, which was indeed a little high, so the baby and I took a nap for the next four hours. I explained to my older girls the rules, which basically boiled down to this: "pretend you're me...think 'what would mommy do'?" They were more than happy to help with the two little ones because they really wanted to get to see their cousins. They know a sick mommy equals no visitors. My second eldest daughter started crying when she heard I was starting to get a fever. They'd been waiting to see their cousins for over 6 months, and my sickness was threatening to ruin it. I told them their only hope was to pray that God would heal me quickly and to be as quiet as possible. I've heard a lot about the debilitating flu that is going around this year, and my family chooses not to get flu shots. The last time I ran a fever was more than four years ago. I rarely get sick, but this felt serious because of how horrible I felt in a very short amount of time.
        My extended family loves me. I know this in my heart, but there is still a part of me that questions if it's really unconditional. Despite my knowlege that God's opinion is the only one that really matters; honestly, my heart still aches for their approval. When I recently read the book "Unglued" by Lysa Terkheurst, I could totally relate to her panic of having her mom visit and trying to make extra sure that everything was acceptable (only to discover to her horror that the toilet seat in the bathroom her mom would be using was missing a seat). There is a part of me that still remembers the messy room I kept as a child, and how my mom would agonize over how messy she could imagine my house would be when I had one of my own. Since then she has told me repeatedly what a great job I do keeping my house clean and tidy, but there is always a nagging voice in my head that insists she doesn't approve of me...or she will be appalled by what my house actually looks like.  Remember, those dust bunnies are still waiting to pounce (although I did try to banish them last week before our trip to Kentucky). I asked God to give me the grace to relax and them the grace to overlook the mess. As I lay in my bed shivering, I was still a little disappointed that my house was such a mess (and I wouldn't be able to do much about it).
          My sister-in-law said that they could maybe just come for a meal (that she would bring and prepare) without staying for the night if I was still feeling badly the next day. This was the first time they would get to see our new little baby, so their family would be disappointed not to come over as well. After my long nap that evening, I no longer felt achy...but my headache was slightly worse. My temperature was higher as well (101.8), but oddly I felt a little better. Amazingly by morning my temperature was back to normal (98.3), so I got up, put a meal together in the crock-pot for supper, and vacuumed (the only cleaning that really needed to be done...a week's worth of dog hair is so nasty). God had answered our prayer because even with activity I never felt worse. My daughters joyfully stripped their bed linens for washing, cleaned their rooms, and cleaned a bathroom. I've never seen them work so cheerfully and quickly.
    We had a great time visiting, and my brother's family brought lots of presents for the baby and us. My mom commented on what a good time she'd had, and later that night I had a good boo-hoo when I thought about how my financially conservative brother (Dave Ramsey has nothing on him) had clearly okay'd the shower of presents that my sister-in-law had so diligently sought out. The truth was and remains that my family just came to see us, not my imperfections. They didn't care. They loved me. I told that to my achy breaky heart and it exploded with happiness (instead of blowing up and killing this woman).

The Friend In The Night

        Most of my life with my dad, I remember him working at a radio station. He pastored a small church on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights, but the rest of his job consisted of a show he did for our local AM radio station from Midnight to 6 am.
         His show was called "The Friend In The Night". He played Southern Gospel music, held Bible quizzes, and talked his heart out. He was a perfect fit for this job because it combined two of his greatest loves...listening to Southern Gospel music (he was in a band as a teenager called the "Country Cut-up's, and they were good enough to play at the Grand Ole Opry and were on the same night as Loretta Lynn) and talking to people about God. I was 13 and 1/2 when he died and he hosted this show for about ten years. Some of my fondest childhood memories were of going to bed early on school holidays and tagging along to the radio station with my dad. I loved picking out records, grabbing cup after pointy, cone cup of filtered water, talking about my cats, but, most of all, watching him work. He loved his job. Of course, having no supervision while he was on air did get me into trouble a few times. One night my older brother came with me and we went through every last pointy water filter cup within a few hours. We got yelled at for that one. I also remember there was a statue of a dalmatian that stood between the break room and the studio, and I was terrified it would come to life and bite me (I'm pretty sure my brother planted that idea in my head).  My dad was rather concerned one time when he realized I had been absent for more than an hour. I was paralyzed with fear staring at the statue.
         My dad was much more gifted with gab than I am, and I remember him coaching me not to talk so much about my cats dying and more about fun things I did with them. It was true they died, but that's not what listeners in the middle of the night really wanted to hear about. I admit that I'm a bit of a melancholy.
         My favorite memory though is going to be the local bakery afterwards for a creme-filled long John. We hardly ever ate out or had sugary things at home because it made my mom sick, so it was a real treat.
        My mom thought he'd made a mistake when the Mennonite church he'd been pastoring made him choose between being their pastor and working at the radio station because he chose the radio station. She now acknowledges that this was truly a God-ordained appointment (given the popularity of the show and the ministry he had as a result). This was his calling. I try to keep this in the back of my head every time my hubby looks into a new job.  This could be his "radio station". His theme song for the show was "Give Me A Song To Sing At Midnight" by the Kingsmen (I tried to find a sound clip to link to, but the closest I could find was this cover that the Dunneman's did).
        This past weekend our church launched a new series called "30 Days in the Word". I immediately began an internal dialogue with God about how I had no time to add this to the Bible study I already spend 30 minutes a day on plus the 15 minutes per school day that I spend reading to the girls from the Bible. Our pastor had the chair where he does his Bible reading from on stage to show us his place for communing with God. During the sermon, our pastor repeatedly asked "Where's your chair?". I replied in my head about the couch I typically use, but I began thinking about my rocking chair I nurse our baby in. The Holy Spirit reminded me that just that morning I had been wondering if there was something better to that I could do while nursing, burping, and keeping him upright for 15 minutes after each feeding (which helps dramatically with his spitting up and his reawakening when I lay him down). I had been spending a good deal of time on Facebook and Amazon to distract me from how tired I was while I was waiting to go back to sleep. Both tend to stir me up though and make it harder to go back to sleep. Then, I told God my last excuse, "How can I read my Bible in the dark?" and He reminded me of the free Logos app I had on my phone.
         This week, my rocking chair has been my new chair...and I've had no problem adding the recommended reading into my schedule. If you'd like to join me, check out this link for the reading plan.

      It has given me a new Friend in the night. So where's your chair?
      

How Do You Know He Loves You?

        One of my favorite kid's movies is "Enchanted".  I love the character Amy Smart plays as "Giselle" and how she is so naive and prone to break out in song (maybe this is because I was told growing up that I was a bit naive, and as my girls will attest, I often break out in song...although my voice is nowhere near as lovely as Giselle's). One of my favorite montages of the movie is the song "How Do You Know?"  It's a lovely little ditty about showing the love of your life that you care.
        I was recently reminded of the concept of showing your love for God from a dear friend. If we fall in love with anyone, we certainly will show this by the lives we lead. We start dressing differently to impress them. We become interested over night in whatever they really love to know them better. It is no different in our love for God. Jesus said, "If you love me, keep my commandments." ( John 14:15) Because we love Him, we will naturally want to please Him. There, however, is a world of difference between doing something out of love for God versus trying to do something to earn God's love.
         "There is nothing you can do to make God love you more, and there is nothing you can do to make God love you less." This is one of the most beautiful concepts taught at the event called the Great Banquet.  It is based on the concept of God loving us unconditionally...which is taught in I John 4:19 that talks about us loving Him because He first loved us and in Romans 5. Verse 8 in Romans talks about God showing His love for us by Christ dying for us while we were still sinners. We didn't have to be "cleaned" up to be loved.
         My dad was a pastor and felt very strongly about his beliefs, as most pastors do. He took Deuteronomy 22:5 to mean that women should not wear pants, so I never owned a pair of pants till after he died, when I was a teenager.  My mom honored his conviction their entire marriage even though she didn't share it.  My mom and my dad were both raised Amish (although neither ever joined the Amish church), so they were used to being different from everyone else. They didn't live with electricity or automobiles ...it was kerosene lamps and buggies for them.
        I, on the otherhand, struggled with being different. All I ever wanted growing up was to fit in. I remember hating going to the mall and feeling that everyone was staring at me because I was wearing coolots instead of shorts like everyone else. (If you are unfamiliar with coolots, think seriously bell-bottomed shorts...they came into favor again about seven years ago, but I couldn't bring myself to purchase any). I'm sure some of this was imagined, but not all of it. I knew I was different, and I didn't feel like it was a positive thing back then. When my dad died, I was 13; and I grieved his death horribly. I adored my dad! I do remember feeling a little relieved though when after he died my mom said that she saw nothing wrong with wearing pants or jeans as long as it was feminine. The letter of that Old Testament law might have prohibited pants, but the spirit of the law was to only prohibit manly attire. I doubt my husband thinks I look manly in my jeans. Do you, honey?
       The problem I have with a literal adherance to every law in the Old Testament is the sheer volume of the laws. How do you decide which to keep? If you decide to keep one, doesn't that mean you should keep them all? Aren't they all equally important? Well then, we would need to sew blue tassels on the corner of our garments (Numbers 15:38) and not mix linen with wool (Duet 22:11). Who can actually remember all of them let alone keep them? There is also a tendency with rule keeping to feel that we are somehow earning our way into heaven (which was one of my mom's biggest beefs against the Amish church). Ephesians 2:8-9 clearly states that it is by grace that we are saved (which is God's gift), not through works, "lest any man should boast". We should follow rules out of love for God, not to score brownie points with God.
        How do I know God loves me?  Well as Roy Rogers and Dale Evans sing, "The Bible Tells Me So" (which was one of my favorite songs from my childhood). Don't take my word for it. Read it and you'll know too.