LOVE This Quote

"Don't become a stranger to your child's soul." -Abraham Joshua Heschel

How To Choose Jammies and All About Spiders

Two conversations that had me cracking up tonight and also swooning with affection. First off, it's baby daughter:

"But mama, I'm weally scawed of a mommy-long-legs! Because they can kill you!" (Well, at least she's stopped referring to every spider she sees as a tarantula.)

And next up, daughter in the middle:

"Mom, what jammies are you wearing tonight?"

Me: "I'm not sure. Why?"

Daughter in the Middle: "Because I wanna be like you."

Me: "But I don't have any Cinderella jammies."

Daughter in the Middle: "No, mom. I'm not talking about the pattern!"

Me: "Well, okay, how about I wear shorts and a t-shirt like you?"

Daughter in the Middle: "But mom, my bear doesn't have any shorts and she wants to be like me!"

Yes. Now I definitely see the dilemma.

Praying for Piglet

The three-year-old was wailing from her bed this evening. I went up to inquire about the circumstances since she had just been down to visit me where I had prayed with her about her fear of "scawee bad dweams". I went up to give her a talking to, truth be told. But when I got there, she held up her stuffed cuddle, Piglet. "I prayed for you, remember? You will be fine. You need to go to sleep now." To which she sadly replied, "Yeah, mommy, but Pigwet's still scaaad. You need to pray for him too." Or maybe, sort of like Piglet says of Pooh, my little baby just wanted to be sure of me.

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered.

"Yes, Piglet?"

"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."

Do you think God's answers prayers for stuffed Piglets? Let's hope so. For the sake of three-year-olds.

Little Steps of Faith

"If we would have great faith we must begin to use the little faith we already have. Put it to work by reverent and faithful praying, and it will grow and become stronger day by day. Dare today to trust God for something small and ordinary and next week or next year you may be able to trust Him for answers bordering on the miraculous." -A.W. Tozer

Since becoming a parent nearly 7 years ago now, I had to learn to trust God in new and more meaningful ways. I will never forget holding my newly firstborn and thinking how very underprepared I was to be his parent --and this after reading every book and magazine on new parenting that was out at the time! Then after my second child, who was born only 15 months after the first was born, there was a new level of faith required. This time, I needed to trust God that He would supply all I needed as I endured sleepless nights with a newborn and the demands of a toddler.

About 9 months after my middle child was born, she and her Daddy took a nasty tumble down the stairs that caused a traumatic brain injury and could very nearly have cost her life. In those moments, I remember crying out to God that I simply did not have enough faith to give her back to Him. But in the end, I came to the determination that I had no choice. And in His grace, He spared not only her life, but her health in its entirety. You would never know now that she had suffered such an injury.

When my older two were merely 3 and 2 years old, our youngest was born. The faith required this time was for my own personal sanity, as I suffered with post-partum depression as I never had before, enduring torturous thoughts from the enemy about the health and safety of all of my children. I had to take very small steps of faith then, as miniscule steps were all I could muster. I had to believe that God had good plans for me and my children, plans to prosper and not to harm. I stood frequently in that promise.

This past year and a half required a new level and type of faith --the faith that is required to move away completely from all you know and into another culture with my family. The faith that is needed when one is lonely and isolated and alien. I grasped onto faith then with the very tips of my fingernails as if I were gripping onto the edge of a tall cliff. I learned in a very real sense that "Jesus Loves Me This I Know" at a point in my life when I have never felt more alone, unloveable, and bumbling.

Now, I am at another crossroads of faith, one that involves as I've written about previously, the provision of a job for our family. This new kind of faith - faith for our very sustenance - has proven difficult for me. In the end, I wrestle with my erroneous theology and find that I do not believe that I should expect anything more from God than my salvation. Hasn't that been gift enough? But He does promise to provide for his children, does He not? The perfectionist in me gets frustrated with my imperfect self in this new test of faith.

But this quote by Tozer (above) reminds me that the steps of faith that I have been taking all along have not been in vain. All of the faith steps above and others that I have not written about but have definitely lived out in the years since I invited Jesus into my heart all those many years ago --all of those little steps of faith--are the very foundation for which I will trust Him for the next big thing. And in the end, may there be something very miraculous indeed. Not the job that God provides, no, but the faith. The faith that believes He can do anything. The faith that becomes sight. And the legacy for our family when we tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord.

Sometimes Their Prayers Put Me to Shame

During our circle time today, we were praying for some church friends who are in Guatamala for the summer and we got to our "thanksgiving" portion of the prayer time. My two oldest blew me away by what they shared. One said, "Thank you God for our home and our family and for music and for books." The other said, "Thank you God for your Bible and your words that Jesus brought to us." I was astounded that the once simple prayers of thanks for home and family (which are very valid in their own right) had turned into thanksgiving for his good gifts of books and music and His wonderful Word. I am humbled to be praying with my little people. Through these simple every day experiences, sometimes God gives me a glimpse into the Kingdom people that He is growing them to be and I think about them in the future and I am excited and blown away and scared all at the same time. I am so thankful that as a mom I get to see these little pieces of their hearts during our prayer time.

Starting With Myself

We've been suffering some bad attitudes around here of late. Lots of me-first arguments, raised voices, and harsh tones. Sometimes, I get overwhelmed by 9 (AM!). It's funny...I think I often am frustrated by my own expectations of what I think I deserve. Sinful thoughts such as these creep into my mind often: I got up and had my quiet time, so I deserve not to have a bad attitude myself. I pour and pour and pour into my children only to have them be unappreciative. I find it curious that some of the attitudes of ingratitude that I see in them are also found in me.

Today, as I sat down for a moment to pray after a difficult morning with one child in particular, I was asking God what to do. And so loudly, so clearly in my mind, I heard "Start with you." Ouch. But how true it is! How can I expect my little people to cultivate attitudes of gratitude if they hear mommy complaining? How can I expect them to go about their chores in a cheerful manner when I do not?

I have been reading some posts lately at a new (to me) blog called Metro Moms. They have encouraged me to cultivate redemptive speech. Among other things in this particular entry, I read a quote from Jerry Bridges which reminded me that “We tend to exhibit many sins most freely in the context of our own families.” Yep. So, let me start this day anew with fresh resolve to confront those sins in my own life and heart before expecting my children to have mastered them. Let me start with myself.

More Real Life Learning -- Cooking With Mom

Another real-life learning experience that we try to incorporate on a regular basis around here is cooking. Each day, I have a "helper of the day" who gets to help with special chores, gets to choose activities, etc. This was borne out of necessity of course, to prevent arguing. But, I'm sure that never happens at your house, right?! Anyway, the helper of the day usually has the opportunity to help out in the kitchen, often helping me to prepare breakfast, lunch and dinner. I am quite sure that, yes, it would be easier and quicker to do it without the little hands. But, the skills they learn and the time we spend together working at a common task (read: relationship building!)are well worth the increased time and effort! Today, the my son and I made this for breakfast:

French Toast Casserole
1 loaf of french bread
1/2 c of butter
2/3 c of brown sugar
cinnamon to taste
1 c of milk
1/2 t of salt
3 eggs

Melt butter in 9x9 pan. Sprinkle brown sugar and cinnamon over melted butter. Beat eggs, salt, and milk together in a bowl. Dip slices in egg mix. Place in pan and back at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. (Turn each slice over at 15 minutes).

We love this recipe and the helper and I decided to top the french toast slices off with peaches. What a hit! I have found so many benefits to having the children helping out in the kitchen this way. I mentioned a few of them above, but I also find that being more independent, more willing to take risks, and eager to help are a few added benefits. And also the children are learning so much about cooking, math, etc. while helping out.

Just another little bit of real life learning in our homeschool!

Lifting Hands Blog

I have been so blessed by this site. It is a site where prayers for children, usually taken right from scripture and highly influenced by Stormie O'Martian's work, are written at the beginning of each week. I write these prayers down on my spiral-bound notecards and then put them up in my kitchen to pray for my children as I am reminded throughout the week. I highly encourage you to visit and pray for your children as well through using this wonderful tool.

Real Life Learning

One of the things I love about homeschooling are the opportunities for real life learning. I remember as a school teacher having to teach my second graders about the proper formation of a letter and how to address an envelope. Of course, I wanted this to be a real life experience for them, but often, we ended up using a workbook page or something, just so they could get lots of practice. With homeschooling, these things are learned in the context of real life. This week, my son wanted to write a get-well letter to a friend. He used the inspiration from his Bible reading and drew a lovely picture and put some encouraging words for this friend. Then we put it in an envelope, and in the context of this real experience, he began to learn about the proper way to address an envelope. With this experience, he has a reason to learn. And that is motivating. For student and for mommy!

Preaching the Gospel to His Little Self

He runs upstairs, something triggering a thought and an excitement to share something good, something very good.

He comes down with this.

He proceeds to read us all a Psalm. We are all encouraged.

He tells us how the Psalms are ministering to his little boy heart. "At night, when I am scared, I read a happy one and it makes me feel better."

Father God, thank you...thank you...thank you. Continue to remind me that it is YOU who is the heart-wooer. I trust you with my boy. Never let go of him. Pierce his heart with your love each day until You consume his very life.

The Little Moments

"Life is a collection of a million, billion moments, tiny little moments and choices, like a handful of luminous glowing pearls. And strung together, built upon one another, lined up through the days and the years, they make a life, a person. It takes so much time, and so much work, and those beads and moments are so small, and so much less fabulous and dramatic than at the movies. But this is what I'm finding, in glimpses and flashes: This is it. This is it, in the best possible way. That thing I'm waiting for, that adventure, that movie-score-worthy experience unfolding gracefully. this is it. Normal, daily life ticking by on our streets and sidewalks, in our houses and apartments, in our beds and at our dinner tables, in our dreams and prayers and fights and secrets --this pedestrian life is the most precious thing any of us will ever experience." --Shanna Niequist

I've been collecting my own strand of pearls recently. My own necklace of little moments that when I look back on them, I can recall with each one the joy in the moment. Like a pearl necklace, with each finger rubbing over the sphere of each pearl, one single memory, making up the strand of my own pedestrian life. Here are some of the moments that I'm adding to my strand:

*The gleeful joy that my son exhibited last week as we practiced loving-kindness toward a "secret pal" in our own family.

*The look of shock, surprise, and pleasure while watching the eyes and countenance of my youngest as she attempted, and for the first time succeeded, in completing a summersault. And then the pride of her older sister, as she turned to me and said, "I taught her that!"

*Watching my daughter with her daddy and realizing that he is truly her hero. To put it simply, answers to prayer --that my own daughters might have a father who is worthy of hero-worship.

*Listening to my middle daughter and her own little vocabulary of communication. Her latest word is mistaked, as in, "I mistaked." Oh, I want to remember that one. And I want to live like her, not hanging on to my mistakes, simply stating that I mistaked and then moving back to my joy.


My pearls are not the same as yours. But you have them, too. What are they? Are you collecting? I want to be savoring the pearls in the every day that is my life, not overlooking one single treasure. My glorious, ordinary, one life.

By the way, the quote is from Niequist's new book, "Cold Tangerines", a glorious book of anecdotes about the discipline of celebration. Highly recommended. Delicious writing.

Note To Self...

"Don't be alarmed when your children demonstrate inappropriate attitudes. Take that as an opportunity from the Lord to love your child in a very tangible way."
---Debbie Strayer

Typical Expat Kid

One of the things that can identify a typical expat kid is confused citizenship. Here's a recent case in point from our experience:

My two oldest children excitedly exclaim as we're walking in central London: "Look, Mommy! Look, Mommy! There's our flag!"

They were excitedly waving and pointing out the Union Jack!

Sometimes we have to wonder in awe at the things our children are experiencing and seeing at such young ages --things we never would have dreamed of doing at their ages. We pray often that their experiences here would shape the future dreams and plans that God has for each of them.

May it be so. Confused citizenship and all. ;)

London Lesson Number One: God Cares More About Who I Am Than What I Do

Since we're on the downslope of things here in London, I'm working on processing through some of the things I've learned here.

Here is London Lesson Number One:

God cares more about who I am that what I do.

Now, this is a hard lesson for little ol' go-getter me. I am naturally a person who wants to do and see it all, as is evidenced by the list of the places we've seen since arriving here on March 1. However, being here, with no other responsibilities except that of being a wife and a mama, I am beginning to see this.

Sometimes, I can get wrapped up in all the things that I think I should be doing. And while these indeed may be worthwhile pursuits, I am realizing that I can't do it all. I also get caught up in all the roles that I fill rather than pursuing Jesus Himself in living out those roles. To be quite honest, until I had children of my own, I really thought I could be super-woman. I relished my identity as a teacher. I wanted to be the best teacher that the world had ever known. I was quite certain that my training and identity as a teacher would help me breeze through motherhood, filling my children's heads and hearts with wonderful knowledge and a love for Jesus. In retrospect, may I just say, "HOW STUPID"?! But, even though these certainly were not conscious thoughts, they were there nonetheless. Fast forward a few years to now, and it has become quite apparent that I am not supermom. I am an imperfect cracked piece of clay pottery, who happens to have given birth to three imperfect cracked pieces of clay pottery. How to remedy this situation? It could get really depressing, couldn't it?

But wait! Let's go back to London Lesson Number One: God cares more about who am am than about what I do. God doesn't give two hoots about my secular identity as a teacher or a mom or a wife or a ministry leader. He cares about me -- Joni. He calls me His daughter. He calls me His friend. He calls me His love. He wants to me know that -- really know that -- deep down in my heart, soul, mind, and spirit. Or as Beth Moore says, deep down into my spiritual marrow. Seeing how my God loves me this way is something that moves me to BE more like him. Not to take on another role, or title, but to sit at his feet. To be changed by Him. Even His Name, "I AM", has imbedded into it the meaning of being. After all, He didn't call Himself the "I Do"!

I seriously had this conversation with Him one day at church. (Now, you're gonna see how "messed up" my mind can be, people!) I was fretting about what others might think I should be when I returned home. Should I be a woman of the world now, completely cosmopolitan, and cognizant in European trends? Would they be disappointed to know how very much I'd "failed" in my belief system here, floundering and depressed and self-pitying, and self-loathing? I determined in my mind to do a little more shopping before going home so that I could be what people must think a former expatriate spouse could look like from the outside. (Do you see a pattern here? Again, taking on the role of expatriate instead of just being His daughter?) Anyway, I distinctly heard the voice of the Holy Spirit speak into my heart and mind, "Joni, I didn't bring you over here to become more cosmopolitan! I brought you over here to make you more like my Son." Oh. Yeah.

I am learning to be in His presence, moment-by-moment here. I am learning that even if I look like I have it all together on the outside, the inside of my cup is so filthy. I am learning that no matter how many verses I've memorized, and how many ladies come to our Bible study on Friday mornings, and how many friends I have or don't have...none of that matters --to Him. He wants to change my heart --mine. He is so not interested in changing what things look like on the outside. Think about what He said to the Pharisees in Matt 23:25-26:

"Woe to you, scribes and teachers of the law, you hypocrites. You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. Blind pharisee! First, clean the inside of the cup and dish and then the outside also will be clean!"

Ouch! Yeah, that about hits that whole cosmopolitan girl thing right on the head! But it emphasizes the point quite clearly. Here's another verse to illustrate the same concept, from 1 Samuel 16:7a:

"But the LORD said to Samuel, 'Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart."

So, to put those verses into the context of London Lesson Number One, the Pharisees (whom Jesus was referring to in the Matthew verses) and the brother of David (whom God was referring to in the 1 Samuel verses) had the appearance of the appropriate response. They filled their roles quite properly. But, their heart conditions were not what God was looking for. Instead, he chose people that spent more time being with Him, than doing for Him. He chose a shepherd, who spent hours writing psalms of love to Him and he chose a rag-tag bunch of sinners, whom he called disciples, some of whom no one in established religious society would even be around. David and the disciples wanted Him!

My Father doesn't need me to be a perfect mama. He wants me to be a listening, and repentant, and transformed mama. He doesn't need me to be super-ministry-leader-extraordinaire. He needs me to be a Spirit-filled servant leader. He doesn't need me to be the have-it-all-together girl. I'm his daughter. And all He asks is that I spend a lot of time with my Papa, sitting on His lap, being in His presence. And in that lap, and through His transforming power and presence, I can be who the I Am has made me to be.

Sunday

The children and I made the long journey to church together today sans Daddy. Daddy has been working all weekend and so we went alone. Before I go on, I must tell you that getting to the church that we've chosen to attend while here takes some time and various modes of public transportation. We walk 12 minutes to the Underground station, we get on the tube. We are on the tube for 15 stops (anywhere between 30 and 40 minutes, depending on how the service is going that day), then off the tube, up and escalator and a flight of stairs. We walk out of the tube station and down a block, to catch the bus. We are on the bus for about ten minutes. Then we walk about 3 blocks to church. So, in all honestly, I was thinking about bowing out on church today. It all seemed too daunting with the three littles. But, in that way only He can, He wooed me there. I wanted to worship Him today, in a church, with other believers.

The trip this morning went off without a hitch -- the service on the Central Line was good. The bus was there fairly quickly after we got to the stop. We arrived at the appropriate bus stop with 45 minutes to spare, which is exactly as I'd planned it. I wanted to spend the morning breakfasting with the children at our favorite patesserie, Valerie's. We love Valerie's. When you arrive at the place, there are always tons of tourists gawking at the outside windows at the absolutely breathtaking visions of cakes, petit fours, cookies, croissants, etc. I'm always amazed that more tourists don't actually go IN to the place, because it's so wonderful and so inviting. I love the atmosphere. Since it's a French chain, there are many Frenchman working there. They are eager to serve you. One of my favorites is a middle-aged gentleman who always greets you with a smile and such courtesy. (So there to all those people who think the French are rude!). Today, he saw me struggling to fold my buggy, came up behind me, and said, "No, no, no madam. Just leave it up. I push it over here. See?" I loved the man in that moment. Another thing about Valeries is they love children and always go ga-ga over them, to my own children's great delight. They even offer to bring them warm milk (which they always decline, thank you very much). Our waiter today was fabulous. He was absolutely taken with the youngest, and she loved it. I couldn't even tell you how many high-fives, and nose pinches each of the children got. But they lavished the attention. When we were getting ready to leave, the youngest said, "That man funny, mommy!" The chocolate croissants there are to-die-for; huge and flakey and covered in confectioner's sugar, not to mentioned drizzled in chocolate. The orange juice is freshly squeezed. A funny thing that my sweet dd4 said as we were leaving today was, "Thank you means 'my pleasure' here doesn't it mama?" Which, translated means, instead of saying "You're welcome", they say, "My pleasure here." Funny little things she notices.

I was feeling pretty good about things so far. The trip had gone well. We'd had a nice breakfast in our favorite Sunday place. We were on time. We headed into the church and soon realized that it was a family Sunday, which meant that the children would be worshipping with the adults today and that there would be no Sunday classes for the children. I decided that I was up for the challenge, even though I doubted how much actual "worship" I'd get to participate in. HTB always has the children in the service for some time, usually until the "Peace" is given. So my children regularly participate in the song worship part of the service. Today, though, they'd be expected to sit through the sermon as well. The song time went well. My littlest one has taken to twirling in the aisles during the song service and it is adorable. Many people love to watch her and often comment that they can't believe she doesn't get dizzy.

I want to stop right here and say that I enjoy having my children in service with us. No, worship is not the same with them there. I can't focus completely on the service as I can without them there. But that's okay. My friend, Stacy, has had some excellent posts and comments about having our children in worship with us. She's definitely given me a lot to think about in this area. And I agree that having my children in the service with me serves many purposes. But...it's still hard for me not to be selfish about the whole matter. Here it can be even worse, as I think sometimes, "This is the only hour and a half I have to myself." Oh well. I have growth to make in this area. Obviously. Because today I ended up in tears by the end of the service.

The message was on distraction of all things. Distraction. Now, that's a funny little joke God. So, the text was the classic "Mary/Martha" passage. The speaker, Andy Emerton, did a great job of not belittling Martha, which I find is often the case in these sermons. Instead, he shared that we need to learn to balance distraction (of the human variety) and devotion. Obviously distraction like computers, email, work, etc. is not what he was talking about here. He was talking about distractions of those we're in relationship with. Boy, could I relate there. Because just as he was sharing his words, and throughout most of the service, my children distracted me. Mainly, my midddle daughter who seemed to want all the attention that I was trying to devote to Jesus, devoted to her. And by the end of the service, I became weary of it. Weary to the point of tears and talking to God something like this, "Is this a joke, God? Come on! A sermon on distraction when the whole service, I've been distracted by my own children. I wanted so badly to come here to focus on you, but instead, I've cleared my child out of the way of countless people trying to get through the aisle, listened to at least 10 requests to use the bathroom, picked up countless pieces of literature that has been dropped onto the floor from the pew in front of us, and turned down a constant stream of requests to sit on my lap from my middle child. Is this some kind of a cruel joke, this whole sermon on distraction?!"

The still small voice reminded me that He, of all people, understands distractions. He met me in the ending song worship time, reminding me of the constant clamor of the people who followed Him everywhere during his three years of public ministry. He even reminded me that He understood the bickering that seems to go in our home quite frequently these days between siblings. He reminded me that He sees.

No, the service didn't turn out quite the way I'd planned. But Jesus met me there. And He taught me what I really needed to know. He understands. He sees. That makes all the difference to this worn out and distracted mommy right now. This knowing exactly what I need even when I don't, this meeting me in my current circumstances --that's what I love about my Savior.

Delighting In Imitation

I'm reading with my youngest tonight. She does what is her latest cute thing. "Me read to you now, mommy. Me read it, 'kay?"

I happily oblige. I love to watch her toddler attempts at story. She holds the book upside down as we begin. She, who has just heard the story, "reads" to me the same line over and over again. "Once upon a time, first baby bear has some messes." She turns the page. "Once upon a time, first baby bear has some messes." She goes on like this with each progressive page --still reading upside down. She looks at me after every single page, anticipating my wonder at her newfound skill. She speaks with lisps. I think it's quite adorable. I enjoy just watching her revel in this "reading". I gaze at her expressions as she reads, so full of life. I take in the look of joy and wonder and excitement on her face as she practices what she's seen me do over and over and over again in her short little life. Who knows how many books I've read since I gave birth to the first child nearly 6 years ago now?

While she continues, I notice that the book, of quite an average size, takes up her entire lap. Her little half-painted toenails are all that peek out at the bottom half of her body. Her chubby little torso all that is revealed from the top of the book on up. Of course, being only two years old, she uses the pictures for her main meaning-making. She finds no use whatsoever for the words. Her understandings of the pictures are quite simplistic. The man in black is bad. The little bears are good. The things she utters are not profound, but I delight in them. Because I'm her mama, and she's growing up. I think she's brilliant and adorable. I love her attempts to imitate. I wonder at her efforts to understand, to make meaning, to share what she's doing with me.

And then it hits me. Does my Father look at me this way? So often, I think that I must be better, do better, do more. But, does the Father really think that? Or does He, like me, just revel in all that his little daughter is attempting? Does He wonder over me the same way that I wonder over my little child? After all, I'm his little child.

I think back to the reading scenario. Why did I not scold my daughter that the book was upside down, that the words were not related to the story at all, that her attempts at pronunciation were lacking? Because she's learning. She's growing. And growth takes time. And growth is borne out of mistakes and trial and error. And because I think she's so darn cute! Could it be that my Father might possibly think the same of me?

Like my own daughter, do I look like a little toddler to the Father, barely big enough to hold the Book? Does He too think my attempts at explaining, at meaning-making, at understanding are wonderful, even if they are a little off-base sometimes? So often, I think He must think I am childish, foolish, weak, and lazy. But yet, I would never think this about my daughter's first attempts at reading. Does the Father just patiently reveal His same truths over and over to me, just waiting me to understand the full meaning of His truth in the same way I will read the book over and over again to my daughter, until she can narrate the story on her own?

Thank you, Father, that You gave us a Story --the living Word, Jesus Christ. And the Word gave us pictures, and parables, and explanations of what love is, through His example. Oh to hold on to this image of my daughter! Does the Father hold onto each image of me? Does He store up his own "videos" as I grow? Does He look back and see? Now that makes this daughter smile.

Touch the Hem

We were having one of those moments. I had refereed numerous squabbles throughout the morning. The toy room was littered with toys and my nagging was not motivating the girls to pick them up. My son was in trouble yet again for teasing his sister. All morning, I had managed patience, with the Holy Spirit's help. (I have no patience of my own, mind you). I was making lunch and counting down the moments until rest time, when I could have a few uniterrupted moments to be with the Father, which I so desperately needed. The arguments continued and I felt myself getting more and more angry, bitter, and resentful. I let off steam by yelling at the children. And crying. Lots of tears. Hot tears of anger and self-pity dripped from my cheeks and onto the kitchen floor below.

I remembered back to my time with Jesus just this morning. I thought back to my heart-felt pleas for help with patience and kindness toward my children today. And then, in my anger over the moment's chaos, I started telling Him, yet again, that He hadn't helped me, that He never helped me, that my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling yet again. I begged for more of Him. I knew that I needed Him so overflowing into my poverty-ridden spirit. Even in my hopeless state, I knew that only He could take away the desperate feelings that I was experiencing. The barrenness of my soul has become so apparent in this spiritual desert that I've been inhabiting of late.

I remembered a verse that I'd quoted to my son just this morning, "Nothing is impossible with God". While I was telling God that I couldn't do one more thing, that I could not be patient one more time, He was reminding me that I could. Through Him. I stilled myself in a chair while the children ate. I pressed through the noise, and the hurt feelings and the anger. And the tears kept flowing. No longer tears of anger, bitterness, or resentment. Now, they had turned to tears of repentance. I confessed my sins (yet again) to my forgiving Heavenly Father. He didn't chastise me. He filled me with His sweet Spirit, yet again. Even though I didn't deserve it. I saw my middle daughter looking at me then, wondering what her mama was crying about. And she hugged me and told me how much she loved me. Sweet grace. Sweet grace sent from my Father to be received through my very own child.

As I sat down this afternoon for more time in His presence (seems I can never get enough. If left to my own devices, I implode!), I went to the story of the woman healed from 12 years of bleeding from Luke 8 (40-48). I read it and wept. I am that woman. Sometimes I feel as if I'm bleeding on the inside. Hemmoraging from my own sin. And it seems I'm in a never-ending battle with my flesh. But soon, the Father was reminding me of those moments in the chair at lunchtime. The moments when I had touched the hem of his garment. When I had made the time to be still, desperate for His touch and his healing, His power went out to me, and I was healed --maybe not forever, but certainly for that moment. Joy and peace and hope returned to my soul and I could be the mommy they needed me to be once again.

Are you like the woman who is bleeding? Draw near. Press through. His power is available and He does indeed still heal.

Where, Oh Where Did My Baby Boy Go?

We sat in front of a sweet little blond-headed, blue-eyed boy in church today. That darling child took me back in time. He looked so much like my sweet oldest boy when he was a baby. I'd say this little guy was about 18 months or so. And he was sweetness wrapped up in a package of boy skin. I remembered back to when my boy was so little -- his fine, white hair that stuck up on top of his head, (so much so that the nurses who cared for him at the hospital called him "the dandelion baby"), his chunky little body that filled out all his clothes contrasted by his short legs that barely peeked out from his shorts, his Fred-Flinstone-esque feet, and his blue, blue eyes.

Then, I peeked over at my now five year old boy (soon to be six, he would be quick to tell you). I pointed out the little toddler behind us and told him that's a bit what he looked like as a baby. He smiled so sweetly. His smile can, pardon the overused phrase, melt a mama's heart. It's just so...smiley. He enjoys hearing about what he was like as a baby. But lately, I've been noticing more grown up things about him. Things like an increased ability to deal with difficulty, a desire to help and protect his sisters, and a voracious desire to learn anything (right now it happens to be chess).

Speaking of protecting and looking out for his sisters, today at lunch his sister mentioned to me that after the children were dismissed to rejoin their parents after being at the front of the church, that he held her hand and helped her get back the seats safely. I was so proud of him because lately every time that this particular sister touches him to kiss him or hug him (which she loves to do --she's a physical touch girl), he throws the biggest fit. And sometimes, just sometimes, he can be a little, shall we say...self-centered...being the oldest and all. So, the fact that he voluntarily looked out for his sister, grabbed her little hand and protected her and guided her all the way to the back of the church to where we were waiting for her --well, that's just huge in my book. I guess we get little glimpses sometimes as mommies. Little glimpses that God uses to show us that they ARE listening sometimes, that they DO really care about each other. That they will be able to function in the world as caring human beings without our constant prodding and reminding.

I guess that chubby, tow-headed little toddler I reminisced over in church today is growing up. And I'm so proud of the young boy he's becoming.

"You don't raise heroes. You raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes." -Author Unknown

Obsessed With Weddings and Her Daddy

While away, I woke up one morning to hear this conversation between hubby and dd4 in our bed:

Hubby: "You have such a pretty smile."

DD4: "That's why I decided to marry you, Daddy!"

And then there was this question that I overheard during lunch one day:

DD4: "Daddy, where did mommy find you?"

Just a little girls way of figuring out her place in her daddy's heart. Precious.

Trying Hard Not to be Offended

My sweet middle dd, the artist in the family, came to me after lunch today with a picture she'd drawn of some royal ladies.

"This is Princess (little sister). This is princess (herself). And this is Queen Mommy."

I stared aghast at the horrid looking woman in the photo with a, shall we say, deeply furrowed brow. The woman looked like the evil step-mother in all of the Cinderella movies. (Much to my villain-lovin' boy's delight, I might add!)

"That's your bangs. I'm sorry you look like a bad guy. Is dat okay, Mommy?"

I relplied sweetly, "Sure honey." She is a beginning artist after all. They do make mistakes.

"And you're yellin' at us."

Ahem. Just the portrayal that my perfectionistic-self imagined in her idealistic mind when she decided to be SuperMommy about 6 years ago!

Yes, it's true that children make us humble. Oh, boy do they ever.