Waiting for the good

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.  

Romans 8:28 (ESV)

The long stints in between posts in not necessarily a sign of busier times in our house (though that's true) nor a sign that I don't enjoy blogging anymore (which is not at all true) or even that I don't have anything to say (certainly not true, if you know me at all).

The truth is, I've always considered this a place where I can be real. Even in real life, I'm generally open, honest and fairly easy to read. Whatever crosses my mind generally comes out of my large, gaping mouth - which can often not be a good thing.

I've never been a person with many secrets (though I have some buried somewhere deep inside and locked away - trust me) and I've never really understood people who keep so much of their lives private and tucked away from the people they care about. In fact, I've often thought that the way believers can give God the most glory is to be real, to be honest and allow your imperfections to radiate the glory of God, show His immeasurable mercy and then rejoice in your imperfections being made perfect in Him.

And I still believe all of that. I'm not too worried about people coming to our house and seeing the sticky, mysterious blotches that are spattered across our kitchen floor. I'm not anxious about folks coming over for playdates and seeing the piles of laundry on the table in our living room. In fact, I don't even really care if everyone in the world knows that we eat off paper plates 90% of the time. (We're not green. At all.)

I understand that people judge us and think we're crazy because we have nearly 7 kids all ages 7 years and younger. I know that we are talked about when we leave the room and often people ask bystanders which are our "real kids" and which are adopted.

So I think my hesitation with coming here regularly and sharing my heart is because lately, I'm hiding more things in there. Pondering them, turning them over in my mind, wondering why none of the jagged edges become smooth with the constant turning and tumbling and wear.

Things that are more than just "am I parenting this child the right way" or "what if they figure out I'm not nearly the person they think I am" or "what happens if they see me looking less than up to par." Because the fact is, if you know me at all you know those previous questions don't get to me all that much.

The thing that keeps me from coming here and sharing the trivial, mundane and even the profound is the fear of being found out on a much deeper level.

What if I don't have this whole God thing as figured out as I thought I did?

Because the nitty gritty truth is that once you begin telling people that you've been called to be a missionary, they expect you to be some sort of super-Christian. Someone who has a direct line to God and who obviously knows more than the average Christian about obedience, Scripture and must have this super-human prayer life.

And I'm NOT good at dealing with that kind of pressure.

Last night one of our youth came into the kitchen where I was carrying on a casual "I'm a pregnant woman and here are my struggles" conversation with another pregnant, youth-worker Mom and he said, so casually, "I didn't know y'all were going to Africa?! Why did y'all decide to do that?"

Why did we decide to do that? Is he serious? I think he was sincere in his question and it wasn't like he was trying to make it sound flippant but clearly we didn't just decide one day to pick up our family of 9 and move to East Africa.

It's a delicate balance between trying to always seem confident and composed in your calling and wanting to shake people and scream, I don't have it all figured out either!

And it's not like we feel okay with sharing our struggles with just anyone. Because, good gracious, who do we share them with?

Supporters? Um. No. Because the fleshly side of me wants to continue seeming like we have it all figured out so that they don't lose their confidence in us. I mean, good golly, $8,000 per month is A LOT of money to raise and we don't want to jeopardize the faith that those who've already partnered with us have put in us. We need every supporter we currently have, plus about 200 more.

Friends? Yes, we can but typically even our closest friends can't really understand the hidden struggles we are facing. Because moving to a different continent is a tad different than moving across town or taking a new job or deciding to adopt. Not that we believe that any of those callings are any less spiritual or God sized but we are moving to a 3rd world country for crying out loud. It's like me trying to understand the pain my dearest friend has over her empty womb. I can try my best to understand, empathize and cry out to God for her. But I don't really get it. No matter how much I want to.

Family? Not exactly. Most of the family that has acknowledged that we're leaving isn't exactly supportive of our calling. Fueling their concerns and giving them more reasons to be opposed to us isn't exactly top on my to-do list.

Other missionaries? Sure. They are usually good people to reach out to and sometimes they can get it. But for some missionaries, they took no kids on the field with them. Or they didn't have to raise support. Or maybe they're sitting right where we are, struggling with the things God is calling them to do but their flesh is yelling out in defiance.

So Luke and I sit in our room most nights, tossing back and forth our worries, our anxiety and our fears. It's a lot like trying to throw back and forth a handful of spaghetti. The first few tosses go okay but eventually it falls apart and ends up scattered all around us in a huge mess. We're covered with failed attempts to grasp totally what the other is pitching out to us.

The one person I should be falling on my face before, the God of all creation, the Lord who called us in the first place, seems so distant right now. I should be falling before His throne, nose pressed to the floor, wearing a blisters on my face from tears mixed with our cheap carpet.

And that's where it ends. That's the struggle. Because I know that if I did just that, answers would come, anxieties would subside and fears would be brought into light. But I also know that nasty places in my own flesh would be revealed. Cancerous wounds would be exposed and I'd have to own up to the rotten flesh I've allowed to live and eat and grow on me over the last few months.

Cleaning wounds is painful. I have enough pain in my life right now. I don't want anymore.

In addition to all of the anxiety, fear and struggle I may have with our calling comes your everyday pain, conflict and struggles with our children, family, friends and just life.

It's a balance to keep it all in perspective and trust that in due time God will make all things work together for my good. But missionaries, pastors, best-selling christian authors and the like can't admit to the struggles with the things of great significance right? Especially as it pertains to their specific calling. Because aren't they suppose to know God? Like, really know God? Shouldn't people who really know God not have such struggles? After all, can't they just pick up their "direct line phone" dial up the Big Man and get all their questions answered, their problems solved and have peace with life all in a quick, easy prayer?

I've said this before, maybe not here but to others:  I really think that in many ways living in Africa won't be nearly as hard as the getting there.

Please Lord, get me through the getting there. And heal me of my rotten flesh somewhere along the way. In the meantime, I'll be waiting to see how all of this will work together for my good.

Parenting a Strong Willed Child

Parenting a stubborn and strong willed child is interesting to say the least. I really thought Lucas was strong willed as a 2 year old. Little did I realize that God gave me Lucas as merely preparation for Aaron.

Before I launch into all of the difficulties that I face with my sweet 2 year old boy, I want to make one thing very clear. I love this boy of mine. Love him so much that if I dwell on it my insides ache. When he wraps his skinny little arms around my neck and asks for a "tiss" and "ug" my heart almost explodes. His laugh infects my soul and his smile brightens my days. I love him so much more than I ever thought possible. Nearly 3 years ago when the social workers walked him into our home, I never could have imagined how I would love him as my own flesh and blood. And now, it rarely crosses my mind that he's adopted. I cannot imagine our family without him. He's an integral part of what makes our family feel full of joy, life and love.

Earlier this morning, he sat on my lap and cuddled with me as we watched a movie for school. As I rubbed my lips and cheeks across his hair and smelled the top of his head, I thanked God for everyday that I get the privilege to be his Mom. I don't take it lightly that the Lord specifically chose me to be his Mother.

But the truth remains that he tests me on just about every level that a two (nearly 3) year old can. I've known he was strong willed since he was about 8 or 9 months old, when the temper tantrums began if I took a forbidden object from his pudgy fingers. They weren't your ordinary temper tantrums that a typical 8 or 9 month old would display. They lingered and lasted much longer than a baby of that age's memory should allow.

Potty training him has been a constant battle. I've said time and time again that I'm done with trying to break him of diapers. But, every few days he asks to go in the potty and every, single time I think, "Maybe this is it! Maybe he's ready!" So, we strip off the diaper, sit him on the toilet and battle begins.

"Okay Buddy, push out some pee pee and poo poo," I plead.

"No. I done. I go pay," he retorts, before his bottom has even rested firmly on the seat.

"But Bud, you've not even gone potty yet. You want a piece of candy? If you put your poo poo in the potty you can have a GREAT BIG piece of candy!" I try to not let the frustration well up within me as I hear his whining begin.

"No! I go pay!" His excitement with the potty turns to a furrowed frown as he looks at me with his chin nearly touching his chest.

"If you don't potty you can't wear your Thomas undies," I remind him. "You want to wear Thomas, don't you?"

"No! Put.on.my.diaper! I poop in my pants!"

And with those words, I'm done. Because how can I make him go poop in the potty if he understands that he can just go in his (requested) diaper? I've tried candy, TV, more Thomas stuff, everything I can think of to get him to go to the potty and still, NOTTA.

Unless it's on HIS terms.

And I wish it stopped there. Meal times are a battle. EVERY.SINGLE. meal time. He's not a picky eater, per say, but a defiant eater. One night he will dog down some mac and cheese and chicken nuggests. Two days later, he refuses to even take a bite of mac and cheese and gags, spits and chokes when I demand he put some in his mouth.

One day he LOVES potatoes, the next day he shuns all of his dinner because his potatoes are touching the other food on his plate.

And then there's days like yesterday.

Aaron LOVES Mexican food. He has never rejected it when I cook it at home and when we go out to a Mexican restaurant he gets his own bowl of salsa and eats it using a chip to spoon it into his mouth. But on Monday night I made a new recipe. A super yummy, totally edible Quesadillia Casserole. (for real, click on that link and then look for those little packs in your grocery store, tasty stuff!)

It was good! Even our picky eater (Elizabeth) ate two plates of it - and she is super picky! But, since it didn't look good to Aaron, he didn't even take a bite. Instead, he shoved it across the table, frowned and said, "I no wike it!"

The one bite I forced him to put into his mouth (because a few times in the past when he's rejected food he's not even tasted, I've made him take a bite and he's realized he likes it and then eats) he spit into his hand.

So, we began our multi-time a day mealtime routine of excusing Aaron from the table to his room. We do not allow disrespectfulness at our dinner table and he was certainly being disrespectful. We have a rule that everything on your plate MUST be tasted. And, if it's something you've eaten previously and enjoyed then you must finish it before you can get seconds of another item. (Does that make sense?)

Since Aaron refused to taste his dinner and began scowling at everyone in sight he was excused. Then began Aaron's screaming, crying, stomping and fits that are now also a mealtime routine in our house. Once he settled down, we again offered for him to come eat dinner but he refused.

This isn't the first time he's refused to eat something I've cooked so, like the other times, he went to bed without dinner. Man! That is a hard to do! But, I REFUSE to be a short order cook. Everyone else in the house has likes and dislikes too, and I try to make something at every meal that I know will please all of our eaters.

The other rule that we have had to implement for Aaron is that if he rejects a meal all together, we wrap up his plate and he receives it at the next meal. We've done this a couple of times and each time he's initially acted as though he wouldn't eat the reheated leftovers. But, after realizing we were not budging, he ate.

Yesterday was a different story completely. At breakfast I reheated his plate of Quesadillia Casserole. After 30 minutes of him screaming, kicking and whining at the breakfast table, I excused him and told him he would not be offered breakfast any longer and since he'd still chosen to not eat his food, he would be offered it for snack. I rewrapped his plate and put it back in the refrigerator.

At snack time, the same fit followed. While everyone else at their snack he was offered his plate of untouched, reheated food. Again fits, screaming and generally nasty behavior. But this time it was not only fueled by his hatred of the food on his plate, but his food deprived body's hunger. A hungry 2.5 year old is a MEAN 2.5 year old. Anybody picking up what I'm putting down?

I reminded Aaron that he'd need to eat his food if he wanted a snack. He refused. I then told him that if he chose not to eat it now, it would be his lunch.

Repeat the food rejection for lunch and afternoon snack. By the time Aaron woke up from his nap he was fit to be tied. The only thing he'd consumed since afternoon snack the day before was WATER.

Man o mighty he was a jerk. I mean a REAL LIVE JERK. His hunger was overtaking his body and he began flinging his body on the floor or against any hard surface he could find to prove the point that HE WAS PISSED.

Luke and I joked that he was fasting for something and just forgot to tell us. Dude, we would have prayed for him. (Actually, I did.)

Dinner time rolls around. By now, I bet you can guess what happened, can't you? Everyone else gets potatoes, pork chops and carrots. Guess what Aaron was served?

Yep. Reheated Quesadillia Casserole. By this point I'm questioning whether or not it's even healthy for him to consume food that's been reheated so many times. But I knew if we caved at this point all of my efforts all day would have been in vain.

After much crying, screaming, being excused from the table multiple times and allowed to return, Luke basically force fed him the now crusty, dried and totally gross casserole. He ate it while rubbing his tummy and saying, "Yummy, yummy" and slightly gagging. (I'm not even kidding.)

After he ate the (get this) FOUR BITES that it took clean his plate of the wretched Quesadillia Casserole he was offered the same dinner the rest of us ate. He gobbled up the carrots because those are his favorite and then REFUSED TO EVEN TASTE THE REST.

ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?!?!

So guess what Aaron was offered for breakfast this morning? Delightfully reheated pork chops and potatoes.

And, after I sat him down and talked to him, saying, "Buddy. You can have some cereal but you must eat your dinner from last night first. Please eat it Bud. Please don't go all day without eating like you did yesterday."

And after leaving him at the table for 40 MINUTES with a frown on his face, he ate it. Followed by 2 bowls of cereal.

Sweet mercy. I've got Dr. James Dobson's book on order at the library and I hope to have it picked up tonight.

But while I wait to glean some of Dr. Dobson's knowledge, do any of you have any words of wisdom for parenting a strong willed child? I'm all ears. I'd love to talk to you about this in the comments section, so if you comment, check back for replies.

He binds me up and gives me strength

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

The sound of a tiny heart beat filled the room and it's rhythm flickered on the screen. My own heart pounded harder. I glanced over at Luke's face as he studied the black and white ambiguity on the screen in front of us.

Us. Parents. Soon. Week before, I'd cried that deep, painful hurt of tears onto Luke's chest as he stood, holding me, rubbing my arms and assuring me that I was going to be a great Mother.

About 2 years later, the same room, and another surprise.

"Well," the doctor starts, "I think I know why you've not been feeling very well."

I stare at the back of the ultrasound monitor, which the doctor has turned away from us just in case, as if me looking at the back of the screen hard enough will give me a glimpse of the other side.

The doctor flips the screen around so we can join him in his newest revelation, "Here's Baby A and here's Baby B. Let's see (scans around)....nope, just two."

Just two?

I taste vomit in the back of my throat and tears burn my eyes. Again, I look at my husband who is again standing by my side, grasping my hand. His face shows joy, exhilaration actually, and a stupid goofy grin that I'd have slapped off his face if at that moment he hadn't caught my eye and realized that I was about to lose it.

The doctor steps out for me to get dressed and I collapse onto his chest with great, heaving sobs. There's no way I can mother all these kids. Elizabeth is barely 15 months old. What is God thinking? (Oh how the Lord has a sense of humor!)

Just over two years later and once more I bury my face into my husband's chest as Aaron's birthparents cancel another visit and the pain of it is more than I can withstand. Why do they not care? He's a baby, how can they not want to see him?

6 months later, Luke and I cling to one another outside the courthouse, sobbing onto one another, taking in the tragedies of what we've just heard about our youngest child.

The road to our first 5 children were filled, seemingly, with me clinging to my husband and my God, often crying out with sob filled questions. I don't often understand the ways of God when they seem to contradict every fiber of my being. But when I look back at the road to us birthing and adopting our first 5 children, I can clearly see that I wasn't suppose to understand God during those trying seasons. Yet He continued to be faithful, even in my heartache

When I didn't think I was ready to become a mother, God knew I was.

When I didn't think I could be a mother to 3 children ages 2 and under, God knew I could.

When I didn't understand how someone could abandon their baby, God knew I could love him.

When I couldn't comprehend all my sweet girl had been through even before her first breath, God had protected her.

Psalm 147:3-5 speaks to each of these instances when it says,

He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds.
He determines the number of the stars;
he gives to all of them their names.
Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;
his understanding is beyond measure.

I don't think it's a mistake that these verses are clumped together. He binds up our brokenheartedness, all the while knowing all the stars in the skies - seeing as how He's named them each - and His understanding is beyond our ability to measure. He is in the details and in the majestic. He's in my day to day yet holds the universe in order.

Lately I feel as if life is again spinning out of control in many areas. Some aspects of our life seem to be moving at a pace much faster than I feel prepared for. I've clung to Luke so much during this season, looking to him for assurance, guidance and protection. Though the tears have been few, the emotions have been the same as the road to our first 5 children. As we look to God together at the months that lay ahead of us, we know that the one who set the universe in motion, who created more than we can comprehend, cares about the details of our lives. In fact, He promises to bind up my broken heart, give strength to the weak and as we walk through waters of uncertainty, He promises we will not drown.

Tonight, I sit in the assurance that He is who He says He is and He will do what He says He will do. Tonight, I rest in the comfort of Him and allow my soul to weep when my eyes cannot.

Honestly, Darling.

Can I just be really honest here?

(I'm guessing since it's my blog and you aren't beside me as I type this, I can. And, I don't really know why I used that as my opening sentence because it's not like you can answer me and then it would change the rest of this post.)

Well, I'm gonna be honest. And if honesty is something you don't like then you might wanna go ahead and leave now. And, if you read what I'm about to write and you don't agree with me, then that's fine. I only ask that you comment respectfully.

Right now, I love all my children. I love each of them so much that I would die to save their lives, without hesitation. You see, I know that true love is a choice you make. I touched on that previously way back when I wrote this post about my husband. But, what I've realized since then is that even loving your children is choice.

Some women receive their children into their arms and immediately fall in love. Other women grow to love their children over the course of their first weeks and months with them. As for me, I've found both to be true with each of my babies. I loved them immediately but the fluttery emotion of it faded at times and the real choice to love them came later.

Sure, I have moments, several of them a day even, where my children do or say something and my heart swells with pride and adoration. Most days, I can just look at my kids and feel a rush of emotion and feel overwhelmed with how much I care about them.

But, you see, I choose to love my kids. I choose to train them to be responsible, God loving, courteous, family focused people. I choose to give them my attention and affection and somedays, I make better choices than others. But, in my opinion, loving my children is a choice I make, daily.

But lately, there is one of my children that I just don't LIKE very much.

I know. Mothers should never speak such words, huh? Truly wonderful mothers don't speak about when they've had enough of their kids or when they're so sick of them that they dread hearing them wake up the next morning. Or, if they DO mention such things then they ONLY do so while joking. Right?

Well, I'm not joking.

I'm seriously in a state of unlike with one of my kids. Because I'd rather not call out one of my kids and because I'm sure that there will be a day (and there have already been days in the past) where I feel this way about another one of my children, I'll call the child I'm currently referencing "Darling."

Now, please don't misunderstand me. I still love Darling as much as possible. Because I choose to love Darling.

I choose to love Darling despite the fact that Darling is driving me insane. I still love Darling despite the fact that Darling is currently causing me to employ every disciplinary method I've ever wanted/needed/thought about trying.

I choose to love Darling despite the fact that I discipline Darling for the EXACT SAME DISOBEDIENCE several times a day.

But, I'm gonna be honest. When I look at Darling I don't see very much like. In fact, I hardly want to be in the same room with Darling. I hardly want to go out of my way to help Darling find a toy or understand how something works.

But then, Darling will grab a book and crawl into my lap, bat those eyes and I'm hooked. And I smell Darling's hair and kiss Darling's cheeks and I remember that God blessed me with Darling, even when Darling doesn't feel like a blessing.

And I wonder how often my Father feels the same way about me. I wonder how many times God looks at me suffering in the EXACT SAME DISOBEDIENCE and wonders if I'll actually get it right this time.

I wonder how often God looks at me and hardly wants to be alone with me. I wonder if He looks at me and hardly wants to go out of His way to help me or help me understand how something works or how it harm my soul.

Currently, I have 5 children. All of whom I love deeply. All of whom have taught me so much about myself and my God and how much He loves me, even though I'm completely flawed. And I think about this verse,

"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

And I am reminded that I am imperfect and yet I can still love my little Darling, despite the fact that Darling is driving me insane. In contrast, God is perfect and He continues to love me, despite the fact that I am driving Him insane.

And suddenly, I have perspective.

So tomorrow, I will wake up and feed all 5 of my children breakfast. I will hand out sippy cups and kisses for boo boos. I will continue to choose to love all of my children, even when I don't feel warm and fuzzy about them. And I will maintain that I am the most blessed woman I know because God has entrusted me with these babies. And gifts like these are not something I take lightly.

Video killed the radio star, or something like that...

Some of you who know me IRL (in real life) may already know this. But whether you know me IRL or only virtually, I have something to tell you.

I can't listen to secular music.

Notice I didn't say I shouldn't, or that I don't want to. It's just that I can't.

It's not because I think that secular music is un-Christian. In fact, I love me some Carrie Underwood (at least her first album after her American Idol win). And, that Apple Bottom song is pretty good too (Plus, Luke will drop-it-like-its-hot to that song. And this youtube clip of that red-headed kid dancing to it just CRACKS me up.).

And just the other night we turned on the radio in our living room and all 7 of us had a super fun dance party. We rocked it out to some Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" and even some new, funky music that I'm sure all the hip teenagers are listening to these days.

So, it's not that I think Christians shouldn't listen to secular music. It's just that I can't.

You see, before I married my husband I made choices about my life that didn't involve God or prayer or guidance from Godly counsel.

Some of those were good choices, like my decision that a wallet with a chain should probably be eliminated from my wardrobe. Yeah, I'm serious.

Some of those were bad choices. Like the choice to give my body to the guys I dated. Choices to live for the moment and not think about my future husband.

In high school, I really believed that I was going to marry the guys I dated. I really believed that if I was going to marry them anyway, why not go ahead and do the things married people do?

In college I enjoyed the good time I had with whoever I could have it with. The thoughts of how it would effect me, my marriage and even my children 10 years later never even occurred to me. I mean, whoever I married would have baggage too, right?

And isn't that what the world leads us to believe? I was watching a late night show the other night and one of the (female) guests said that she thought that people should just have sex before they ever went on their first date. That way, if the sex was bad, they wouldn't waste their time dating. She thought this was an excellent idea for everyone, except her two teenage daughters.

I wonder why her views changed when she thought of her own children? Perhaps she too knows why I can't listen to secular music.

For me scanning the radio dial is dangerous territory. Since it's been quite a while since I've listened to anything other than my iPod or Christian radio, I know very few new songs. So you'd think that the general radio would be safe, huh?

Notsomuch.

You see, it wasn't too long ago that I thought I could give the radio a try. I turned it on to our local New Music station and began listening. The first few songs were okay.

Then it happened. They played an oldie-but-goodie.

At first I was like, "Oh! I like this song!" But then, I remembered. I remember who he was and how I felt about him. I remembered what he smelled like and how I gave myself to him.

He was not husband. Thoughts and memories came back to me that I had thought I had forgotten. I snap back to reality when one of my children calls for me from the back of the van. The rest of the day I spend fighting off thoughts of him and what we did.

I'm totally serious. It's that bad and it doesn't bring blessings and warm fuzzies to my marriage.

I do have fond memories too that are evoked by songs. Sweet Home Alabama will always make me giggle and want to stand on a chair (500 points to the first person who knows why and can say so TACTFULLY in the comment section). Brown Eyed Girl will never be sung the same and will always have my sorority's twist on it. And the Dixie Chicks' first album will forever remind me of my first semester in college and the freedom I felt being on my own. Plus, Salt-n-Peppa will forever make me wanna Shoop.

So maybe it's dramatic for me to seclude my self from the secular music world. I'm sure there are many other secular songs that would evoke fond memories of my past. But in all honesty, it just too dangerous.

Why would I risk having a mental affair with someone I should have never been involved with in the first place? Why would I want to risk lowering my husband in my eyes because of a "good" memory (that is probably skewed) with another man?

I can't find a single reason why. Hopefully, your past is less tainted than mine. Hopefully the radio doesn't send you into a tailspin of emotion from years past.

But for me, my past killed my ability to freely listen to the radio. It has killed my ability to be hip and cool and know the newest Black Eyed Peas song. But I'm guessing that even if I knew the lyrics, I wouldn't be that cool anyway.

Terrible Threes Twos Toddlers Attitudes

I suppose gone are the days when I blogged about deep, intellectual thoughts and things that had more to do with the purpose of life rather than just my purpose with loading the dishwasher, washing machine and changing diapers.

Hum? What's that?

This blog was never that deep?

Good. Then you won't be too disappointed when this post is only surface deep as well.

Lucas woke up in the same mood he went to bed with last night. And, that's not good because it wasn't a good 'un.

After some much needed convincing from his mother, he decided that his day would stink big time if his a.t.t.i.t.u.d.e. continued on into the afternoon.

So, I pawned him off on my Nana. Oh stop it! He'll be an angel there because he will be the only one getting her attention and she has the coolest toys.

Ashlee is at my Mom's house as well for the afternoon. That means that it's just Elizabeth, me, Baby Girl and Aaron the horrible. I think his terrible two's have reared their ugly head WAY before his 2nd birthday. He is a total stinker. When he receives correction he storms off in the other direction, usually in search of something he can hit saying, "Uhhhh Uhhhhhh!"

Not so cute.

Seriously, winter has hardly started here and already my children have cabin fever. Sweet Lord have mercy. It's gonna be a long winter.

I felt the baby move yesterday while I was up and around doing normal, everyday stuff. This is the first time this has happened. Usually I only feel the baby when I'm sitting or laying down. But then yesterday, while inspecting the fridge for something to make for lunch, boom! There is was. It was a shocking reminder that this baby will be here before I know it. I'm already 22.5 weeks. Over half way there. Holy mackerel.

On another note, be sure to check back bright and early tomorrow morning for a super great giveaway! I am so excited!

Finally, because I can, I will leave you with a few pics of my sweet girls.

Couldn't you just eat her right up with a spoon?

Totally sweet.

When asked to pose like her older sister, this is what I got. Classic Ashlee.

Y'all have a great week and be sure to come back tomorrow!

The First

Okay...I was about to post this back on October 9th, but while proof reading it, we got the call for Baby Girl. I wanted to still post it, especially now, because of it's relevance.
_____

Written on October 9th:

Below is my first post I wrote way back in January. Since I was lacking thoughtful words today, I thought I'd look back at some old posts (back before anyone was actually READING my blog) and see if anything struck me as worthwhile. This post jumped off the screen at me.

Lately, I have struggled so much with consistent quiet time (actually ANY quiet time). I feel like I'm in conversation with God, but right now, it's pretty one sided. I had all but forgotten about my Life Verse until I re-read this post (some life verse, huh?). When I read those words again, they jumped off the page at me, just as they did that first day God revealed them to me.
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Originally written January 31, 2008

About 6 months ago I was reading the book "Calm My Anxious Heart" by Linda Dillow. In it, she suggests creating a life purpose statement. I have been captivated by this concept since I read it. Although I have thought that I had purpose for my life, I have never before looked at it from this vantage point. I have never thought of my entire life as a time line and referenced where I been and where I am, in contrast to where I want to be. Read my life purpose verse, then I will attempt to explain its meaning in terms of my heart:

I'm not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don't get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I've got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I'm off and running, and I'm not turning back. ~ Philippians 3:12-14, The Message

Here's what I take this to mean for me:

1. I will never be the person that says, "I've got it all figured out." I am trying desperately hard to become the Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister and Friend that Jesus Christ wants me to be. However, I fail in every area of my life daily. I don't know how I can let God down so much, fail so often and still be considered so valuable to Him. That baffles me. I know that every time I am in the Word and in prayer or just sitting with friends, I learn so much about this God I love. I think about it a lot in reference to 1 Corinthians Chapter 3. I know that there are days when all I can tolerate is God's milk. Then, when I am ready in a new area, He gives me meat. I am continually amazed at how He works on my heart in simple ways, continuing to reveal Himself to me.

2. I know that if I continue to seek God's will for my life, then I am headed in the right direction. I may have NO CLUE where He is taking me, but when the Creator of the universes is in control, who am I to ask questions? Not that I don't, because believe you me, I have SOOO many uncertainties. I also know that my God is big enough for me to doubt Him, have questions about Him, not believe Him and yet He still loves me. Amazing.

3. Lastly, (at least for now) I know that I am being made new. I am headed down the path that leads me to "Christ-likeness." Not that I'll get there anytime soon, but I know where I'm going. I don't want to go back to the old me. Not that I think that I was a horrible person before, the the new me is just so much better. I have a lot of fond memories of the time I spent before I knew Jesus. I know those memories will never fade, and many of them shaped me into who I am today. But the Spirit has taken over the old me and transformed me from the inside out. I have been made new. I am still the same old girl. I talk too much, say it too loud, laugh when no one else thinks stuff is funny, gross people out....but now, I'm different. I love looking for God in the every day. I realize that things in my life don't happen by "coincidence" and there is no such thing as "luck." Everything in the universe is held up by the God I serve. What an awesome way to live my life!

I still have many hurdles to jump, lots of mountains to climb and so many bridges to rebuild. But I know that with the power of Christ, I can overcome anything, because of His sacrifice for me.
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Looking back at this post just makes me even more aware of how amazing my God really is! Look at all He has done in our lives this year and how He has shown Himself time and time again. I know that no part of me deserves any of what He gives me, but the blessings we continue to receive through obedience are humbling.

Thank you all for your prayers of support lately. I can really feel them all around me, sustaining me, encouraging me and whispering truths when the author of lies tries to creep in! You all mean so much to me and I appreciate you journeying with me.