The life I deserve

My skin begins to crawl when I see people's statuses on facebook about being somewhere posh or enjoying a luxury and other people comment and say, "Oh girl! Enjoy your massage/vacation/new car. You DESERVE it."

Really? Do you really deserve it?

I'm going to be real honest here and tell you that if you do not believe in Jesus Christ and set the Bible as an authority over your life, then truthfully, this post isn't written for you. Especially what I'm about to say next.

Do you know what you and I really deserve?

Not a nice, new car. Not even a massage. And you can forget a long, relaxing, vacation. Mani and Pedi? Nope.

You and I deserve an eternity separated from God. An eternity.

Take that in for a few seconds.

Eternity. Can we even wrap our minds around that length of time?

For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is
eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.
- Romans 6:23

Sure, God wants us bless us with nice things. He wants to show His love for us by giving us massages and nice vacations and comfortable beds and abundant blessings that are unimaginable. But you know what? You don't deserve any of it. And neither do I.

If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!
- Matthew 7:11

Jesus Christ alone is what makes us worthy of any of those blessings. His blood. His sacrifice. His atonement. And you know what else? It makes me fighting mad when we take ownership of the good things in our lives as if we caused or created or made them happen ourselves.

It makes me angry to my core when people claim what they deserve because they're a good person or they do good things or because they've done what's expected of them.

Because, if we really believe that we are the cause for the good things in our lives, because of our own goodness, then we are alternately saying that people who live lives that are not up to our social status are not good enough. That somehow, by their own badness, people who live below our standard of living have been born into a life of struggle and filth and disease as a punishment. Because they're bad.

The arrogance in that disgusts me.

I saw a photo below earlier today. It was posted by our sending organization, Africa Inland Mission. It's a shot of an island in Lake Victoria, near Tanzania, East Africa.

It's where people live. They choose this life to support their families and provide for them the best way they can.

No power. No running water. Grotesque conditions that most of us could never even dream of experiencing. Even the thought of the stench on that island burns my nostrils.

Do the people living there deserve that life because they are were born into poverty? Do they deserve it because they don't work hard enough or do enough good things? Do they deserve such a life becaues they weren't blessed enough to be born an upper or middle-class American or Canadian or European (or any other country that boasts a high population of middle-class citizens)?

To think such things is insane.

So why are we so quick to claim the blessings in our own life as deserved? The fact is, we did not procure any of the blessings in our life because of our own goodness. None of them. Not one. I don't deserve the food in my refrigerator right now. Nor the blanket that covers my lap. Nor the fresh, drinakable water that flows freely from every faucet (and even the toilets) in my home.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights,
who does not change like shifting shadows.
- James 1:17

I am fully prepared that this post isn't going to garner a lot of comments or positive feedback. And I don't care.

Because I fully believe that until we, as the body of Christ, realize that we are not worthy of the good things God has given us and until we take our redeemed lives, our possessions and our resources and offer them up on the altar of obedience to God, we will truly get what we deserve.

Lives lived in disobedience get a deserved distance from the One who knows us better than we know ourselves. He alone knows what is best for us.

You turn things upside down,

as if the potter were thought to be like the clay!

Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it,

"You did not make me"?

Can the pot say to the potter,

"You know nothing"?

- Isaiah 29:16

My desire is to live as bond servant of the Lord. Someone who has paid their debt through the saving power of Jesus Christ yet chooses to remain a slave to Him out of love.

Truly, I don't deserve a lick of what I take ownership of. Six healthy kids, a phenomenal husband, a nice, warm, spacious house. Clean water, food, clothing. None of it.

Lately, God is reminding me of this over and over and over again.

I've been counting my blessings more often, even the simple ones. I love more boldly. I savor those sweet, tender moments between myself and someone I love. Because I know that none of it is deserved and all of it is a gift.

While I do not belive that we deserve the blessings in our lives, God chooses to bless us (because of His goodness, mercy and grace) inspite of ourselves. And we should enjoy those blessings, savor them even. But never, ever should we take ownership of them and forget that the Lord is the provider of all good things.

And when the LORD your God brings you into the land that he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give you—with great and good cities that you did not build, and houses full of all good things that you did not fill, and cisterns that you did not dig, and vineyards and olive trees that you did not plant—and when you eat and are full, then take care lest you forget the LORD, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery. It is the LORD your God you shall fear. Him you shall serve and by his name you shall swear.

- Deuteronomy 6:10-13 (emphasis mine)

I don't deserve the life I have. Not one bit of it. And I pray every day that I continue getting exactly what I don't deserve.

More is required

I'm having trouble thinking of something noteworthy to blog about lately. I mean, I think of posts, sit down to write and then......nothing.

I'll be honest it's hard to wrap my mind around words lately. Mostly because not everyone in our life is thrilled about us going to Africa. And it weighs on me. Heavily.

BUT.

Then I read posts like this one by my friend Tracy and I just can't sit and say nothing. Seriously. Click here right now and read it.






I'll wait on you.










Staggering isn't it?


That is 4,333 Elizabeths

4,333 Lucases

4,333 Ashlees

4,333 Aarons

4,333 Olivias

4,333 Ellas

Combined. Dying. Each and every day.

From PREVENTABLE diseases.

For us, taking hope to the world looks like moving to Africa, partnering with nationals and teaching them of the saving power of Jesus Christ and empowering them to make life changes for their families and for their communities.

What does hope look like to you? How will you respond?


When someone has been given much, much will be required in return; and when someone has been entrusted with much, even more will be required.

- Luke 12:48 (New Living Translation)

Ketchup

This will be a totally random Ketchup post. You know, catch-up. Ahem. Anyway.

My milk supply is almost totally back. I ran out of the herbal mix (Fenugreek, Blessed Thistle, Fennel Seed & some other stuff) of Lactation Support I was taking and switched to taking plain ol' Fenugreek and Blessed Thistle. I'm loading my body down on both and my supply has skyrocketed. Okay, so maybe not skyrocketed but it's back and much, much better.

Since I posted about my Nursing Woes (and you guys poured out support, thank you!) we've only had to give Ella a couple of bottles of formula and those were either late at night or in the middle of the night. (Which, I mean, HELLO sleep because Luke can totally mix a bottle of formula! Woot!)

I really think it was a compilation of several factors that caused my supply to plummet. This weekend and even this morning it appears as though my supply is back completely. Thank you all for your concern, suggestions and even offering you own milk reserves. Y'all rock!

It snowed again today. This is already our 3rd or 4th snow of the winter. The last snow was decent and we had snow on the ground for several days. They called for today's snow to be a Winter Storm (which, in the South, means that it will cover the ground and all milk and bread will be gone from every operating grocery store). It was merely a heavy dusting. Enough to close the schools (I know. You Northerners can insert a huge eye roll here.) and make everyone panic. It has stopped flurrying and it's unlikely we will see anymore today which just makes me so happy.

Can I just tell you how much I am OVER the snow and cold? I mean, I normally like winter but PLEASE come on Spring! My kids are driving me crazy in this house all day. And I refuse, refuse to bundle them all up by myself and take them out because that's a recipe for everyone's bowels to move at the exact same time.

I've never wanted to battle seasonal allergies so much in my life. Um..yes, pollen? Please come quickly. We have an urgent issue here on the South Eastern Coast. It's called Winter and I think you are the only hope of ever seeing the warm, fresh sunshine again.

Though I will say that on days like today it is nice that we homeschool so that we can trudge through the day as usual and in 2 months when it's beautiful outside (and all the students are sitting in their classrooms looking longingly at the sunshine through their classroom windows) we can take a Snow Day and play in the sun while Momma gains some sanity.

Finally, I'm helping our amazing babysitter/Nanny plan her June wedding. They have a beautiful site reserved for the ceremony and reception and her dress looks stunning on her. But, she and her fiance are footing the majority of the bill. If any of you have any good, inexpensive and classic ideas for an outdoor wedding I'm all ears.

Her fiance is from New Orleans, so we'd like to have a touch of the French Quarter at the reception. You know, the classy side of New Orleans. ;) Seriously, any tips, websites or ideas are welcome.

Y'all have a superb Monday.

Here I am

It's becoming real.

We are really going on the mission field.

To Africa.

And the truth is, that lately, I've asked God, "Are you SURE?" about 7,493 times. Each time He's assured me that each step we are taking is within His desires for us.

I want to share with you something I wrote, nearly two years ago, on February 24, 2009. This is the 4th in a series of posts I'm publishing from a private blog where Luke and I have journaled our calling to Africa.

The others are titled:

From the Darkness (This isn't from the private blog but is the introductory post leading into the others.)

The Initial Cry

He is calling, just like before

And while I could never fully summarize every single reason we feel called, these old posts that I'm publishing are the highlights. Below is certainly one of the bigger confirmations that God revealed to me. I've only modified it slightly, so that it makes sense to you. I'd also like to add that I am grateful to the Father for now giving me a hunger for His word, even when we are not in the midst of a trial.

Thank you for taking this journey with us.

-------

Originally posted on February 24, 2009 on our private blog:

I really stink at remembering scripture. Generally I can remember roughly what the verse says, but never, ever (or very, very rarely) can I remember the reference (book, chapter, verse). Let's just say that Bible Gateway is my hero.

This is not the case for Isaiah 6:8. Back in November of 2007, we were still getting settled into our new house. I had felt the stir for more children for a few months, but I was NOT all about getting pregnant again. Puke was not appealing to me, especially with 3 kids 3 and under. One night, Luke turns to me and says,

"You still think about doing foster care?"

I looked at him in disbelief. We had discussed this almost a year earlier, but when Luke quickly nixed it, I all but forgot about it. Where was this coming from?

The next day I called our county's Department of Social Services and asked for some information on foster parenting. Then, I dove into my Bible. You see, I have this major, major flaw. I usually ONLY stay consistent in the word when I'm having a crisis of belief in my life. In January 2007 I grew and grew and grew spiritually because I wanted desperately to sell our old house, but I knew it needed to be God (and Luke) led. Now, here I was faced with another crisis, the decision to foster.

As I dove through the word, soaking up everything the Lord was showing me, I began to feel that familiar pull. Missions.

At the same time we were becoming closer with some friends. Our bond with them grew as did their call to missions. Just as we began to form a serious kinship, they pulled us into the basement of our home one night and revealed to us their calling to missions, specifically Kenya. Chris outlined every reason why they felt led to go and I wept, knowing that good friends were moving so far away and also for the tremendous display of obedience I knew I was about to witness.

That night solidified for Luke and I our calling to foster. We knew, without hesitation, that God used them to teach us about obedience. We proceeded with fostering, certain that our obedience to God would be blessed.

Sometime during our initial decision making about whether or not to foster, I felt drawn to the book of Isaiah. Never, ever had I read Isaiah (other than as a cross reference). Desperate to find 3 types of confirmation (Godly Counsel, Scripture and Prayer), I began to look at scripture with fresh eyes.

One night I felt the Lord saying, "Go. Start with Chapter 1 and read until you see it." So, I did. I began in Isaiah Chapter 1 read and read and read, not really understanding much, but desiring to find that one piece of scripture that made it all make sense. Suddenly, I started to feel pulled. Only it was a duel tract, with one branch taking us to fostering and the other to the mission field.

Then, I saw it. Isaiah 6:8,

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?"
And I said, "Here am I. Send me!"

I sat back in the bed and wept. I knew that we were being called to foster. Who else would go? However, something about this also SCREAMED missions. Foreign missions. The thought of going onto the mission field scared the bejebbers out of me, so I pushed it out of my mind and applied this verse solely to fostering. I knew in the back of my mind this was not the point God was making. But, you see, I'm one track minded like that. Why would He pull us two ways?

Surely missions was Chris and Lindy's area. Here I am Lord. I'll foster. But send Chris and Lindy.

Only a few days later, as we entered church on Sunday, God decided to get up in my business in a big way. We were running late, as usual, and as we walked into the back of the Multi-Purpose Building, where our church has our service, the lights were low and there were people lining the stage.

A spot light was on a single woman, and as the door behind me clicked shut I heard her say,

"God, I know you want me to go on that mission trip but that's not really my thing. And I'm scared. My sister Jane loves missions. You should send her. Here I am Lord. Send my sister."

The spotlight illuminated another person, a teenager I think, and he said,

"God, I know you want me to befriend that kid in my class. But he's weird God and no one really likes him. Plus, I have friends already. My friend Tim is really good at reaching out to people God. He should do it. Here I am Lord. Send Tim."

Person after person stood and gave an example of the Lord working on their heart. Whether it was to minister to a friend, go on a mission trip, be bold in their workplace or move in some area that they felt God calling. Then, at the end, they would close by saying,

"Here I am Lord. Send 'So-and-so'."

As I stood there, behind the crowd of people in the dark, tears rushed to my eyes and flooded my cheeks. I held back sobs and I felt conviction like never before. You see, this was EXACTLY what I had felt only days earlier. As I felt the pull to missions, I pushed it from my mind and said,

"Lord, Chris and Lindy are going. Send them."

I don't want you to think that I felt any less called to begin fostering because such is not the case. I know, without hesitation, that the Lord called Luke and I to fostering without wavering. However, He also began to stir in me another calling. A calling to a new place, when our first mission was complete. A mission that I am still trying to understand and one that He has been pointing to for years.

To use an excellent example from a friend, I have been Moses. A bush has been burning for quite some time, yet I have failed to see it or allow it to have my full attention. Well, my attention is here. I am seeing so clearly that these stories and stirrings in my heart are not random or misaligned. I'm scared. I'm anxious. I'm fearful. However, I know that when my Savior calls, I must obey. A life without obedience is a life not worth living. So it is with this fear, anxiety and fright that I boldly say,

"Here I am Lord. Send me."

Nursing woes

First of all I want to make it clear that this is NOT intended to start a breastfeeding vs. formula debate.

Studies show that breastmilk is best for babies. Period.

However, women who either cannot breastfeed or choose not to breastfeed are not horrible mothers. Anyone who proposes such thought is narrow minded, shallow, ignorant and has clearly never struggled to nurse a baby who won't latch or struggled with milk supply issues or simply has zero compassion for a Mom who just did not enjoy breastfeeding.

Breastmilk may be best for baby but it does not equate immaculate mothering. In fact, I've met Moms who breastfed their baby yet stunk at mothering. Most days, I'm that Mom.

So why do I even bring all of this up?

Because last night I had to give Ella her first bottle of formula and it broke my heart.

Not because I believe that I'm letting her down or I'm not a good enough Mom or even because I think I'm hurting her. None of those could be further from the truth. In fact, to date, 50% of our children were fed formula for the majority of their first year of life.

The reason it broke my heart is because I love breastfeeding.

I love that it allows me time with my baby that no one else gets. I love that it soothes her when nothing else can. I love that only I can do it. I love the closeness I feel with her as she suckles and drifts off to sleep. I love that I can provide that for her.

I love it when she nurses, unlatches and grins and me, then latches back on, smiling the entire time. I love it when she's done eating and she's got remnant milk on her chin and she's content and happy and satisfied.

I love that my milk gave her those fat, squishy cheeks.

I just love everything about it.

But since I've been sick with that stomach virus and then in the days following Ella felt less that spectacular and in turn nursed less, my milk supply has plummeted. Yesterday she was not my sweet, happy-go-lucky, smiling baby. She was fussy and cranky and clingy. She wanted to nurse but she didn't. She wanted to be held but she wanted to be put down. With the exception of last night, she's slept horribly, waking up and screaming every 2 - 3 hours and not settling until I nurse her back to sleep. Then 2 - 3 hours later crying out again.

And I really believe it was because she was hungry for milk that I did not have. I've not been able to save up any milk in my freezer because my body was making the exact amount she needed every day. I've been on supplements to boost my supply for several weeks so that I could have a reserve in my freezer but then the virus hit and we used what little was in the freezer to satisfy her while my dehydrated body recuperated.

So I'm sad. Just sad that this could be the beginning of the end. Sad that I'm having to mix up bottles of formula for my girl because she's hungry and I cannot produce what she needs. Sad because I can still remember each time I nursed my other babies for the last time.

And I'm disappointed because I really want to nurse her for a full year (or beyond) and allow her to self wean. And I'm so frustrated with my body because of it's lack of production even with me on supplements for the last 2 - 3 weeks (and on and off for the last 9 months).

I'm going to keep nursing and pumping and drinking lots of water and taking the supplements and see what happens. If anyone else has any other suggestions I'd love to hear them. But, if this is the end of nursing her I can handle it. It will stink but I can handle it.

Ella Joy at 9 months

Wow. Can I tell you how much I struggled to get this post written? The photo quality will stink (though the subject matter will be presh) because I'm writing on Luke's work laptop and, whatta ya know, Bankers don't NEED photo editing software.

Who'd a thunk?

Anyway, the 9th month for Ella appears to be the month of the tongue.

It seems to make an appearance no matter where she is, what she's doing or how fast she's crawling to get there. I'm surprised it's not windburnt. Or sunburnt. Except that it's been icy cold here in the South so other than the running out barefoot to put the trash outside, we've not seen the light of day. And that's just me. And I don't wag my tongue because it's not so cute when I do it. Kinda like that baby cottage cheese on grown ups. Not so cute either.

But I'm telling you, the tongue is out. A lot. Whether she's playing, crawling, talking, cruising (oh yes!), her BFF Licks A. Lot is out, greeting and licking anyone she comes in contact with.

The only time her tongue is not out is when it's on the inside doing it's thing. You know, roughing up paper or small pieces of lint or globs of hair. You know, normal baby teething things.

What's that? Your baby doesn't teethe on those? Probably because your baby isn't a Goat. "LellaGOAT" as Aaron calls her, eats just about anything in her path. In fact, she's learned to startle, drop and then rapidly crawl away from me when I say, "GOAT! What do you have?"

Yes, I call my baby by the name of Goat. Have you heard our last name? I mean, it couldn't get any worse.

I really believe that EllaGoat thought that her special little gift from Jesus was all the wrapping paper scraps left from the Christmas massacre of 2010. In hindsight, I should have just put about 7,264 slivers of paper in a cup and written, "Merry Christmas Ella! Love, Mom" on it and made her little paper eating self delighted.

And I would have. Except for all the CHOKING that would have been involved. And that probably would have put a damper on the Christmas cheer.

When paper is not readily available, the Goat is happy eating whatever else is handy. Sometimes even real, live, people food. Her favorite this past month seems to be yogurt. She's also digging sliced cheese.

But when all else fails, she opts for letters.

I just wanna squish her til she screams. And sometimes I do.

She pulls up on anything more than half an inch off the floor and she crawls like a champ. She's abandoned the 1 arm, 1 toe army crawl and is up on all fours, often following me around the house, from room to room, eating whatever is in her path.

Seriously. Check out the paper. Again.

This is the pull up table she got for Christmas. Nevermind that I gave it to her 2 weeks before Christmas because she was desperate for something to pull up on that wouldn't fall over and her other 5 siblings didn't deem as "MINE!"

Lucas and Ashlee gave her table the once over and were done with it. Aaron and Olivia played with it quite a bit the first two days but by Christmas morning it was all Ella's. Clearly I planned it that way. Except, not at all.

And man, she's proud of herself too when she gets the song going. She even does this hilarous little head bob to "dance" to the music. I use the term dance loosely. What can I say? She's got her Mom's moves. And apparently my upper thighs. But remember that time I said that was still cute on babies? Picture cute baby thighs right now. I'm begging you.

Her face in the above picture is her give away face. See how it's closed and her tongue is not protruding? That means she's hit the jackpot and managed to weasle something in there without me noticing. Shortly after taking this picture I made her mad and pried open her jaws and took her little snack away.

Did I mention she's learned how to throw fits? Wonder where she learned that from? 5 guesses.

Despite her mother constantly digging into her mouth, she remains a happy, fun, smiley baby girl. An active happy, smily, fun baby girl. She's always got somewhere to go and someone to follow (or escape from).

I am going to try super hard to video her laughing this week. Mostly because it rounds out her persona as a goat. She has the cutest little machine gun/goat laugh. Oh my word. Seriously y'all. Your face will bust it's so cute.

When her mouth's not full she'll say MaMa, DaDa, Buh Buh and Doouh, which I think the latter means Dog. She waves and signs "More." She's drinking from a sippy cup and still nurses 4 - 5 times a day. When her belly gets good and full at supper, she sleeps for nice, long stretches at night. At her 9 month check up, she weighed 20 lbs 5 oz. And I don't remember how long because length is not important in the dispensing of medicine and I need all the available memory I can get. I wrote it down. Somewhere.

She's curious and inspects things with her fingers, eyes and, of course, her mouth. Her pudgy little hands reach up to touch my face as I rock and nurse her before naps and bed. It just melts my heart. She offers grins easily and is so affectionate. She loves being in the mix with her older siblings and still tolerates their doating affection.

She enjoyed Christmas as much as a 9 month old can. And she especially loved ripping (and then trying to eat) the paper. She was so content to crawl around and see what everyone else was getting into.

I'm just not sure how or why the Lord ever though we'd be worthy of any of our kids. But Ella seems to be the icing on the proverbial cake. Luke and I comment often about what a sweet and happy baby she is. Our entire family just loves on her all day long and though she longs more for the "freedom" of crawling and doing and seeing, she is still just as content to sit and be held or kissed or squished.

I'm just so bummed that I didn't get to make the trip to Arkansas last week and introduce her to so many of her extended family members. I know they'd have eaten her up, just like we do every, single, day.

We love you EllaGoat and we thank God for you daily.

2011 better BRING IT

Happy New Year!

2010 was an amazing year for our family. I love looking back and seeing the highs and lows that were the journey of the last 365.

Just as we ended the year with a stomach virus, we also started 2010 with one as well. Nice to know.

I ate my words (and sort of kept them all at the same time) saying (in my pre-motherhood life) that I'd never drive a mini-van.

In span of 30 days....

My Grandmother had, survived and recovered completely from major open heart surgery...

We withstood the chaos of me being 8.5 months pregnant with my husband several states away all while prepping our house to sell...

And we OFFICIALLY adopted our daughter Olivia!

And all of that happened a mere month before my due date with our youngest, and 6th, child. Keep in mind, too, that at that point in our lives, all of our kids were ages 5 and younger. Whew!

God certainly proved Himself faithful in that season of our lives. Even while I lamented no activity with my cervix, God was busy moving in other areas. A few weeks later, we moved into our new (rental) house and our friends Overwhelmed me with an outpouring of their love and support.

While waiting on Baby #6 to arrive, we began to reveal to you all just how God had been working in our lives in the way of missions. From the Darkness of a uncertain season with God and from the Inital Cry of my heart, God began confirming in both Luke and I our calling to missions.

Finally, FINALLY at 42 weeks and 1 day Little Miss Ella Joy made her world debut.

God continued Calling Just Like Before as we began to feel, even stronger, our calling to missions. Even with questions, and doubts, AND FEARS.

We landed The Mothership and I still love it.

I admitted, and you all agreed, that Being A Mom Is Tough.

Lucas and Ashlee turned FOUR.

And a week later, Aaron turned TWO.

A month or so later, my shins went on strike after I ran my first (and so far only) 5k.

Then, my first baby, Elizabeth, turned SIX.

I realized my need for wax earplugs.

My friend GK sat her drink dangerously close to Ella AND our laptop and I, in turn, wrote The Hardest Post I've Ever Written.

After 4 years of staying land locked, we found out that Life's a Beach.

God showed me, again, why I don't believe in Coincidences. Only Providence.

Our sweet, dramatic and joyful Olivia turned TWO.

I was reminded that even during chaos, the Lord Binds Me Up and Gives Me Strength.

Aaron gave me his first scare with thinking he needed stitches...thanks to Lucas' help.

I tried my hand at being a Photographer and had the Judd's in my head for the entire next week.

We attended Africa Inland Mission's Candidate Week in New York, and were appointed as Members! (Official Missionaries!)

On our way there, we stopped and visited Washington D.C. and realized that Getting There Was Half the Battle.

We published our First Official Ministry Newsletter as AIM Missionaries and continue to wrestle and pray over a location.

We realized that Crazy Has Company and I officially gave up on Potty Training anyone else ever. Or at least for the next week.

Luke and I celebrated 8 years of marriage and we continue to marvel at how much the Lord chooses to bless us.

Wow. What a year. 2011 has some big, BIG shoes to fill.

Bring it on 2011. BRING.IT.ON.

I like to ramble until it makes sense

I still have so much I want to blog about regarding the last week or so. I was suppose to be in Arkansas today, attending my great-uncle's funeral. I was scheduled to leave, with Ella, yesterday morning at 9am. Then Wednesday night, I got struck with the worst stomach virus I've ever had. I've not been that sick in years. (And I've had my fair share of stomach viruses.) It was gross.

I called the airline yesterday morning at 8am, told them about my illness, and, by the grace of God, they fully refunded my ticket. I was shocked. I just knew they'd make a big deal about it and keep at least half of my ticket price. Nope. Not one dime. 100% refunded. And it was a non-refundable, non-insured ticket. Thank you Lord!

Today Ella is running a fever. I continued nursing her through yesterday morning's bought with sickness, hoping the antibodies I was building would transfer to her. So far she's only got fever and no symptoms of a digestive virus. Everyone else seems to be fine as well, occasionally complaining of not feeling well.

Anyway, I STILL want to blog about

....Ella turning 9 months old (Which would require me going downstairs and getting the memory card out of the camera. And that's not happening right now.)

...It snowed here. On Christmas. Like a HUGE snow. So we had a White Christmas. And I took no pictures. Mom of the year. Award me. Now.

....Christmas (which, who wants to read a Christmas post more than a day or two after Christmas? So this one I'll probably just let go of. Or back date it so that I can have it on here for myself. Oh well...)

....A really good Das Not Funny! Friday. Seriously, they've said some hilarious things lately. Okay, only one good one that I can remember in my weakened, chicken broth sustained state. We were riding home, through the ice and snow, from eating Mexican food on Sunday night (because that's what every family wants the day after Christmas, right?) and we were listening to Two Weeks In Africa by Caedmon's Call. The first two lines go something like this...

"Johannesburg to Capetown,
the plane had barely touched down."

And Ashlee exclaimed from the back of the van, as only Ashlee can, "CAKE TOWN!! I LOVE CAKE!'

....Where we are with making a decision with our Ministry with Africa Inland Mission (you can read more about our journey up to this point by clicking HERE). We've finally narrowed it to two solid options. (And as you'll see, clearly this is what I continue this post about. Glad y'all helped me sort through my thoughts. Thanks.)

I think.

Since our time at Candidate Week we've had anywhere from 5-15 options available to us at any given time. As we'd mark some off the list, more would be presented for us to consider. We've known immediately, with some, that they were not good fits for us. (Me + Islands = NOTSOGOOD. I have a strong fear of the Ocean okay. I know it's unrealistic. You don't need to make fun of me. Living in a place surrounded by Ocean would give me daily panic attacks.)

Most of our options are....wait for it...wait for it.... CHURCH PLANTING.

I know. We are still shocked by these assignments since that's not where we ever imagined ourselves being. At the onset of this calling to Africa we really thought we'd be working with orphans. And maybe we still might be. But, primarily, my role will be in our home, still schooling our children and discipling whatever women the Lord leads into our home in the form of house help (And can I just tell you how incredibly excited I am about that? More on that in another post). Luke will be the one out "working." Though, I'm sure, our family will be involved in whatever ministry he works with.

At Candidate Week we decided that Luke working with Children wasn't a good fit. You see, my man is AWESOME with kids, but they suck the life out of him like a deer tick sucks blood. If he spent all day with young kids then came home to our young kids he'd be DONE and have nothing left.

So we then set our minds on Youth Ministry of some sort. I mean, afterall, we LOVE teenagers. However, most of those positions were for teaching in a Secondary school. Again, not assignments that would be a fit for Luke. Finally, after much prompting from his loving wife, we went into the Candidate Director's office and Luke described for him what he envisions us doing in Africa.

After Luke's explanation the Candidate Director said, "Well, that's basic Church Planting."

We were shocked. Us? Church planters? Umm..okay. But the more we dwell on it the more we realize it might be perfect. We love people. We love discipling people. We love meeting in small groups and living our lives along side other families. We love sharing joys and struggles and life and building relationships.

We are looking at one more option that is not really church planting but the ministry is very appealing to us, as are aspects of the location.

And that's where we are. Basically, I've turned the decision over to Luke. I am praying for him as he weighs the pros and cons of each area and prayerfully considers each ministry. This isn't easy for me since I want to yell at him, "JUST PICK A PLACE ALREADY!!"

But my very analytical husband is meticulously and methodically measuring out each assignment, location and how he could be best used. It's one thing I love and loathe about him. But I feel confident that from this point forward it's his choice as to where our family will be. He asks my opinion every few nights and I resist the urge to spew forth all my thoughts and simply answer his specific question.

Hopefully, we will know soon. And as soon as we know, you'll know.

If you've made it this far in the post, thanks for letting me think on paper. And thanks for praying for us as you feel led.

Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR! I can't wait to see what 2011 has in store for us. Nor for all of you, who are radically following the calling that Christ has placed on your lives, too. Isn't it fun? And I mean the kind of fun that makes your scream at the top of your lungs for the whole ride, then when you pull safely in the station you think, "Man. That was awesome. Let's do that again."

I'd not have it any other way.

Mr & Mrs

It is a big church. The most grandiose in stature in the entirety of our small town. The dramatic roof lines and towering steeple sit perfectly atop rock and brick walls adorned with stained glass windows, all situated on the precisely manicured lawn.

It's a beautiful church. And every time I drive by I think about what happened inside.

I stand behind two huge wooden doors, stained to a perfect deep brown, waiting to walk down a burgundy-carpeted aisle. So much awaits me on the other side of those doors. Love. Commitment. Beauty.

The wedding coordinator adjusts my veil and the train of my dress.

Deep breath.

The organ begins to play the non-traditional melody of an Scottish tune, reminiscent of our college Alma Mater. The doors swing open, everyone stands up.

I blink.

It's 8 years later. And here I sit, mother to 6, wife to a man who loves me in spite of who I am. A husband who loves wholly, sacrificially and beyond my understanding.

In our counseling session at Candidate Week we reviewed the many statistics associated with our personality inventories, marriage surveys and some other psychological profiles that we sent in ahead of us.

"You have an over-idealized view of your marriage," the gray haired counselor told me, over the rim of her glasses.

I sat back in my chair, turning her words over in my mind, trying not to be defensive.

Really? Because I'm pretty much a realist in every other area of my life.

At the end of the session, she agreed, my marriage is not over-idealized in my very matter-of-fact head. Rather, I understand that I am blessed. Beyond what I deserve.

Blessed with a man who guards the purity of our marriage so fervently that he refuses to be alone with other women, even in the context of work, where such a conscience is often considered ridiculous.

Blessed with a leader who fears the Lord and seeks, with his whole being, to serve him, even if it makes our family uncomfortable and unconventional.

Blessed with a confidant, someone I can pour my soul out to, the nasty, dirty, raw and often ugly parts and he draws me close and prays over me.

Blessed with a protector, a guardian of our home and our children and someone who takes that role so seriously, he is willing to risk it all for the glory of the Lord.

I smell the familiar smell of the church and take in the pews, full of people. I look to the opening in front of me and see him, standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle. He smiles at me. My heart flutters in my chest. I reach the altar unsure of how I'm standing there since it seems as though my feet hardly moved.

We exchange vows and rings and we both cry. I wipe his tears. More sniffles echo through the rafters of the magnificent sanctuary.

We turn and face our family and friends. We are Mr. & Mrs.

We celebrate. It's glorious. Even 8 years later. It's glorious.

It's no fairy tale and my days are certainly mixed with their fair share of meltdowns and tears. And some days the kids cry too. :)

But we've come through so much. We've endured hardships and know that more are coming. We laugh together often. We love much. He still dates me. He still stops, through the bustle of our home, to wrap his arms around me and let me bury my face in his chest.

We argue, annoy the crap out of each other and forget things that are important to the each other. But we chose love above all else. We chose to bind our hearts together with God as the glue.

We walk out the front doors of the church, and the cold air hits us like needles. We climb inside the magnificent limousine and the driver shuts the door. I look at my husband.

It's over. Man, that went fast, I think to myself.

I adjust my dress. He grabs my hand. We kiss.

The driver starts the engine.

And then, the journey begins.

The day the music potty training died

Dear Two Year Old Son of Mine,

I love you so much sometimes I wonder how my heart holds all the love. I look at your big, blue eyes and your sweet smile and I know that God purposed for you to be my son long before I even thought I wanted to be a Mom.

The love I have for you is inexplicable.

As is my frustration with you today.

Today is the day the music my desire to potty train you died.

Sweet mercy. Please use the bathroom in the toilet. All of it. Not just the pee. I know you are capable because YOU'VE DONE IT BEFORE. Perhaps you prefer your Dad to be home to poop in the potty, since that's when you seem to do it best (like I'm a freaking liar who only claims that you won't poop in the potty).

If there are many more days like today, you will certainly have your wish FULL TIME. Because I, your Mother, will return to the work force and allow your Dad to play poop with you. We may make half the income we currently live on and your Dad might go crazy but, sweet mercy, I AM DONE POTTY TRAINING YOU.

Done.

You can wear diapers the rest of your life, for all I care. But be warned. If you are still crapping in your diaper a year from now, you will be changing yourself.

I refuse to get into a battle of the wills with you over the toilet and your poop. I REFUSE. So now, I will be that Mom who allows her very-capable-of-using-the-potty 2 year old to wear a diaper. I will be that Mom who, when her sweet and (not-so) innocent 2 year old lovingly says,

"Mommy. I pee pee in potty?"

will respond, probably too harshly, with, "Go in your diaper."

And when other people, who have not cleaned your poop off of things that should NEVER have poop on them, look at me and wonder why I won't rush a "ready to potty train" two year old to the bathroom at his deceleration that "I pee pee in potty, Mommy?", look at me like I'm a cruel Mother who doesn't want her boy to ditch diapers, I will ignore them.

Because, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND HOLY PLEASE MAKE IT STOP, I refuse to battle you over an issue that is clearly you demonstrating your willpower.

I love you immensely. Much more than I ever thought possible. But you can crap in your pants until your 4, for all I care. Consider this your warning. You have 1 year, maybe less, and you're changing your own diaper. FOREVER.

With all my heart and love,

Mommy

It's good to know that CRAZY has company

If I had a dollar for every time we've heard, "Y'all are crazy," well....let's just say our ministry would be almost fully funded.

Yes, I agree, we are crazy. But you know what?

There are others like us.

Sure those other families may look different and maybe they don't dance quite as well as we Beavers do. But they are crazy too. And I take some comfort in their craziness. These families are sold out for Jesus, serving Him radically in missions. And I'd like to introduce you to some of them.

(Click on their names to go to their blogs)

This sweet family are the Helsbys. We "know" the Helsbys through an ongoing relationship via email. They are serving orphaned and vulnerable children of Tanzania and they have SIX kids as well. We "met" them through Chris and Lindy since they stayed at Livingstone Guesthouse when Becky neared her due date with their littlest one a few years ago. Becky has not been afraid to be real, practical and encouraging to me through many, many emails. She's set me straight on things I thought I knew and tenderly encouraged me in areas where she sees my heart aching.

We are crazy, so are the Helsbys.

Then there are the Swansons. We met this sweet family the 1st night of Candidate Week. The first thing Geoff asked me was, "So, do y'all know where you are going?" When I said, "Not a clue" we both breathed a sigh of relief that neither of us had any idea where the Lord was leading us.

The Swansons have 3 kids, one of whom, Sophia, has a manageable, yet serious, medical condition. They are leaving for Namibia (pronounced: Nuh-mi-bee-ya) in 2012.

We are crazy, so are the Swansons.

Then there's the Bentz Family. They are current Africa Inland Mission (AIM) missionaries heading to Lesotho (pronounced: Lee-sue-two) at the end of December. They have 4 children. I don't know them personally but from reading their blog it's obvious they have been on a faith journey since their initial pursuit of missions.

We are crazy, and from the looks of it, so is the Bentz family.

We also met the Tuckers at Candidate Week. Their sweet girls (along with Sophia from the Swanson family) loved on our kids so much during that week. They let our kids join the "big kid" table and Elizabeth really assumed the role of teenager much too easily.

The Tuckers are leaving to serve with AIM Air in December of 2011. Their servants hearts were so apparent to us while we were at Candidate Week.

We are crazy, so are the Tuckers.

Also there's the Lockwoods. Again, I don't know the Lockwoods personally. They have TWELVE children and serve the people of Mexico. Jaynee writes with such love for the Lord and such a heart of service. Talk about people who are CRAZY! Twelve kids AND missionaries.

We are crazy, so are the Lockwoods.

And then there are other families we know that aren't what normal people would call "missionaries" but are, in fact, on their own mission field.

There's this family who adopted from Rwanda when the world said, "Why? You already have enough kids?"

And this family who fostered then adopted a son. And if that wasn't enough they are now fostering a teenaged boy and LOVING IT.

And this family who is adopting from Ethiopia when they too "Already have enough kids."

And this family who is fostering two little ones while their own kids are still "young."

And finally, this family, who just adopted their 4th child (and it's their 2nd adoption) from China. Both adoptions were special needs children. Both frowned upon by the world around them.

And so many others that I can't even begin to list them all. Folks I know planting churches in cities that border our own. Folks loving on kids, teenagers, adults, people with special needs and orphans and following God's calling to pursue something crazy and beyond their own ability.

We are crazy, and so are most of our friends.

I hope that if you are reading this and not feeling a little crazy that you'll pray about the area of your life that God wants, desires and dreams to use in a crazy way. And join our family and our friends in being crazy in the eyes of the world.

Apparently, we Beavers aren't alone in the crazy. It's so good to know that CRAZY has company. And what awesome company it is, too.

Her Words, My Heavy Heart

I love reading blogs. Mostly because the ones I choose to read are about real lives, with real people, with real families with real emotions. Of course I understand that it's a glimpse at the authors real life and that, in effect, they truly don't blog about everything in their life, just as I don't. But for the most part they are open, honest and truthful about things that are often hard to be truthful about.

And I love that.

Courtney over at Storing Up Treasures has a beautiful family. She's the main character in a real, live, beautiful story of the Lord's redemption. It's her life, outloud, for all to read.

And I think she's been secretly reading my diary.

After weathering many seasons of uncertainty, pain and restoration, she wrote THIS post on Sunday. I promise you it was almost like reading the words right from my own journal.

She wrote,

I just wish that those in my life could understand that my life is mine. I know it doesn't look like what you think it should. I know that it looks a little crazy to you. I know that you would do things so different from me. And that is okay. I love you. It makes no difference to me what you choose in your life. I love you irregardless. My love is not based off of some list of requirements that I think you should be subscribing too. And just because I live a life that is different from yours, and just because I write about my thoughts, my views, doesn't mean that your life has any less value or purpose, or that what you are doing isn't what is exactly right for you.

and then later, in the same post, she said,

And you know who you are. Those people I LOVE so much that my heart aches that they can't get past my life and my choices. I love you. So much so that I am broken that you can't love me back and know that I am still me. The same me I was when we were wild and crazy kids. The same me that you loved then.... just with a much different looking life. And maybe there are things that have changed. Some for the better, but I am still me.

And you can love me. You don't have to get me. You don't have to understand. But, you can accept that we have taken different paths in this world. And that is okay. Your path is yours. My path is mine. And I know that those things at the end of the day don't really matter. We are family. And we always will be.

This is just a blog. It is just a blog. It isn't who I am. It doesn't define me. It doesn't change me. It is just a place I share my world. What I say here isn't the end all be all. And most likely someday I will look back on these posts laughing about the girl I used to be, amazed by the way things have changed, and hopeful about the future. But, I will still be me.

I love it when I find another person's blog and through their words I understand that they just get me. I have no doubt that the Lord gave Courtney those words on Sunday so that she could minister to my very heavy heart.

Heaviness.

That's just about how I feel lately. Heaviness that people I love don't want to talk to me about the important things in our lives. Heaviness from pain caused from comments and rejections and overall disapproval. And I carry this heaviness with me all day, and have for many months, and I'm tired.

Yes, I admit, I want to be accepted by people. But moreover, I want to be approved by the One who calls me His child and who I willingly tie myself to as His bondservant. If obedience to God means walking through the rest of my life with the folks I hold dearest being cold and distant toward me, then I guess that's the calling I will follow. Sadly. Though I pray that isn't the case.

My love for the Lord does not equate unlove for those who will be affected by our choices. I realize it hurts. IT HURTS ME TOO. But for now, walking in obedience is the only path I choose. Hurtful or not. Scared or not. Fearful and trembling, I choose the path of obedience.

Truthfully, we can either walk together down this road and cry, laugh, mourn, rejoice, fear and turn to the Lord together. Or, we can do it apart. I choose not to back away from this hard season of life because I can see the tangible evidence that God is drawing me closer to His holiness.

And that's exactly where I want to be.

With you at my side.

Das Not Funny! Friday: five-eighths of Mt. Kilimanjaro's magic

Happy Friday! Here are the last few weeks worth of Das Not Funny! Friday funnies. If you have funnies you'd like to post, simply leave a link to your post in the comments section.

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Elizabeth, for some reason, has be enthralled lately with magic tricks. Unfortunately, she doesn't quite grasp the magical aspect of each trick. For example, earlier last week she was putting a small doll in a cup and saying,

"For my next trick I'll pull a DOLL out of this cup."

(Insert dramatic pause)

"Taaa Duuuuh!"

(Withdraw the doll from the cup.)

Each trick was about the same, with varying objects magically appearing from a hat or cup or bowl. Each time she'd finish a trick, she'd announce the next by saying, "For my next trick...."

I know you're all dazzled by her magic, just as I was. After I'd asked her several times to put her magic away and begin her math, I began to get frustrated and my voice became a little more firm.

"Elizabeth, please go do your math NOW!"

To which she replied, "For my next trick...I will obey my Mother."

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While we were in New York, the kids learned a lot about the continent of Africa including it's countries, some of their cultural practices and even some notable landmarks. One morning at breakfast, the kids were debating exactly where Mount Kilimanjaro was located, they asked for my wisdom in figuring it's exact coordinates.

"I'm not sure," I replied, "I think it's either in Kenya or Tanzania. Not too far from Kenya I think because Chris and Lindy have been there, I'm pretty sure."

Elizabeth interjected with, "Yeah. I think it's between Tanzania and....."

"NEW YORK!" Lucas interrupted.

Good thinking Buddy. You're probably right.

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I can't remember if I've posted this one or not, and I'm too lazy to go back and look so if I have, sorry. It's funny enough to repeat anyway.

Ashlee is one of the three people in the house whose bottom I am NOT responsible for wiping. Elizabeth is the 2nd. I'll leave it up to your imagination who the 3rd is. If you can't figure it out...well, just think harder.

Basically out of 8 butts in our house, I wipe 5 of them daily. Any time I can let go of butt wiping responsibilities it's a good day in our house. One afternoon, Ashlee was doing some business on the potty. She yells from the bathroom, "Mom! I'm done! Come wipe me!"

Knowing she's perfectly capable of doing so, unlike her twin brother, I yell back, "Wipe yourself Ash. You're a big girl."

Exasperated she sighs, "Mooooom. I've just been wiping my whole entire wife. I'm just so tired of wipin' booties."

Really? Because let me give you some insight into my life little girl, okay? 5/8 of the butts. FIVE-EIGHTHS.

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Aaron's verbal skills have taken off really. Luke and I both agreed that he went to bed one night talking in toddler jibberish and woke up the next morning speaking in full sentences.

I'm hardly kidding. He's a real talker now and he talks NON-STOP. "Wook Mom bus! Bus Mom! I see da bus Mom! Wook! Twee! I see da twee! Twee Mom! Wook! Big twuck Mom! Wed Twuck!" Say that to yourself as fast as you can without taking a breath for the next 20 minutes and you'll get a snippet of my day with my youngest son.

That dude talks. A lot.

Especially after he's been quiet for an extended period of time, like after a nap. He talks from the moment I walk in the bedroom door, the entire time I'm walking him to the changing table, all during his diaper change, while I put on a new diaper, while I'm redressing him and as I send him off to play.

One day he was giving me an even more detailed play-by-play of his diaper change, "Wook Mom. Poop. Raren (Aaron) poop Mom. Wook! Wipessss Mom. Mom wipe Raren's booty. Whhhheeeeeeww wwwweeeee Mom! Raren stink!"

Yeah. No kidding dude. Remember that time you pooped in the potty? Yeah, me neither.

Y'all have a supremely blessed weekend!

Ministry and Miracles

I know I've not been posting much lately. Between regular 'ol life, plus doing some reading for our ministry, plus doing some other ministry related business I've not had much time to blog. I have several blogs that I enjoy keeping up with and I've hardly had time to read those too.

So exactly what's going on right now? Glad you asked. :)

I'm reading a book about how to Biblically raise support for our ministry (the 2nd book I've read on such, actually).

We have required Bible courses to take (which I've not even started on, but the list looks a little daunting).

We are still praying about our assignment and have several countries on the table. But if we've learned anything so far, we've learned that those could change at any moment.

Ella is crawling everywhere and has begun pulling up which adds, for the both of us, a whole new world of things she can put into her mouth. No longer can the kids keep things away from her on the couch!

Finally, if you're not a believer in miracles, I encourage you to check out THIS blog. And THIS one too. :)

God is faithful people and He's still in the business of performing miracles.

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I'm hoping to post a Das Not Funny! Friday post tomorrow. The kids have done so many funny things lately. Hopefully, it'll happen. Have a great day!

Beautiful Feet (Our first ministry newsletter!)

Below is a modified version of our first official newsletter that I sent out via email sometime in the wee hours of this morning. I was shaking with both excitement and nerves as I hit "send." What will people think? What will they say? Will they even care?

Finally, as I lay in bed, my mind racing and sleep no where in sight, I found comfort as the Lord gently reminded me that our desire for approval should be for His approval and His alone. So here it is! Our first, official, ministry newsletter! Yikes!

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Since way back in 2000, when we first began dating, we’ve had the same, on-going argument. Whose feet are more beautiful? Jessica argues that Luke’s toes are fat, stumpy and hairy, while her own are slender, long and delicate. Luke opposes that notion, suggesting that Jessica’s toes are like E.T.’s fingers and toes belonging to a primate couldn’t look more hand-like, while his own are simply “normal looking feet.” (The simplicity of our private conversations surely baffle the minds of scholars, no doubt!) Regardless, it’s been a battle of the feet ever since and now we even compare and contrast the feet of our beloved children.

Over the last several years, God has made it abundantly clear that He desires to see our feet in a capacity much different than we do. Romans Chapter 10 speaks about such feet and what makes them beautiful.

For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, "How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!"

(Romans 10:13-15, ESV, emphasis added)

Truly God has pricked our hearts for the lost peoples of Africa. In July of 2010, we interviewed with Africa Inland Mission (AIM). The result of that interview was an invitation to AIM’s Candidate Week. In November of 2010, we traveled to Pearl River, New York and learned more about the work AIM is currently doing in Africa. While there, we were appointed as Missionaries to AIM!

Over the next month, we will be prayerfully considering which of the several options available to us is exactly where the Lord desires our family to serve. Once we have selected an assignment, we will eagerly share more with you. In this, our first official newsletter, we are asking you to come along with us on this journey and join our team. In the coming weeks and months, as we draw closer to our scheduled departure date of July 2012, we will need much in the way of prayer and financial support.

We ask that you would begin praying now about how you can join our team to reach the lost people of Africa and further what AIM is already accomplishing for Christ.

We have pledge cards available for anyone who is interested in making a pledge for prayer or financial support. All financial donations are tax-deductible.

For more information, you can contact us at: beaverbunch (at) gmail (dot) com.

With Beautiful Feet,

Luke & Jessica Beaver

Ella Joy at 8 months

Only a week or so late!

Eight months. My sweet girl is EIGHT months old. Seriously, where does the time go? I know I say that every single month but really, she was just born a few weeks ago, right?

My big 8 month old girl is such a sweetie. She's "crawling." Some would call it army crawling but it's more like a 1 arm, 1 toe crawl. She pulls herself with 1 arm and pushes with her big toe. Everything else just drags along. It's pretty funny.

She's not cut any more teeth since last month, so we are holding steady at 8 teeth but there are a few that are threatening to cut through her gums. They've been threatening for a while now but she doesn't seem to mind them.

She can push herself up to sitting and she's pulling up to her knees and trying to pull all the way up to her feet. She's still what we call, "Ellagoat" and eats EVERYTHING in her path. Or tries to anyway. Total count of leaves consumed is not quite to double digits, but it's close.

Speaking of eating, she now enjoys her food a little more lumpy rather than puree. She's eating pieces of green beans, corn and sweet peas and thinks she's so big as she pops them into her mouth. She drinks from a disposable sippy cup the best. I don't think she's quite mastered the mouth control to drink from one with a valve. Those things require some serious suction. She still nurses every 4 to 5 hours and on occasion takes a bottle of expressed milk which she will take a few swigs of, look around and grin, swig some more and then socialize.

She's picking up on some baby signs and will clap. I'm not sure if she is really trying to say "More" or if she's just pleased with herself for having everyone's undivided attention. When we say and sign "More" she grins and grunts with approval so I know she understands what we are saying. She babbles any time she knows she's the center of attention (which is a lot) and says, "Maamaaa maaaaaa, naaaaa naaaa naaa, Daaaaa Daaaaa". Ugh. I could just bite her she's so cute. She's realized that when she shrieks she gets everyone's attention. She likes attention.

You do the math.

Shrieking is a new phenomenon in our house these days, thanks to Ellagoat. Luke and I are trying to teach her that she can't shriek and make people's ears bleed when it's not play time, so some slight scolding has begun. A firm, "No! No!" makes her little bottom lip pooch out and her smiles changes to the saddest little face. It's almost comical how pitiful she looks.

But, she's also realized that when she makes the pitiful face and cries everyone is, again, at her beck-and-call. So she may or may not use it to her gain. ;) It's pretty cute if I do say so myself.

She still loves to be held and cuddle but she also wants to be down and on the move. Somedays that makes life rough for an 8 month old who can't decide if they want to be held by Momma or be put down to explore. It's especially rough when Momma refuses to play the up-down-up-down-up-down game. She's began, what we like to call, the Crocodile-death-roll when she doesn't get her way.

She's sleeping better at night. I almost hate to say this, but the last 3 nights she's slept for 10-12 hours. Straight. Without waking up. It's made her Momma a very, very happy lady. We've rearranged the house and the kids' rooms so that the older 3 are in a room together. The "little twins" (Aaron and Olivia) are in a room together and Ella's room triples as the playroom/TV room/Guest Room (I guess that's quadruples since it's her room too, but you get the idea). She's a little further away from us in the house which makes letting her cry a little easier on her Momma's heart. We heard every.single.peep. she made when she was across the hall from us. Now, even with the monitor on, she's got to really cry before I get up and go to her. Partially because I'm lazy and don't want to walk to her unless I have to and partially because we keep the monitor on the lowest setting possible.

I'm still love-struck over our littlest, chubby cheekers girl. Her smile melts my heart and her infectious laugh keeps all of us on the bidding block for her attention. She's still so laid back, so happy-go-lucky and still the greatest little joy to our whole family.

Happy 8 months sweet girl! Now, STOP GROWING.

(Pictures courtesy of my sweet friend Beth. Thanks Beth!)