If I Was Six Years Younger . . .

Funny the conversations you have with your children.

Izzy and I put up more jelly the other day.

Plum, my favorite.

I'm standing in the kitchen and she says,

Mama, with your Chacos on and your Ocoee Ministries shirt on and your skirt on you look just like Aunt Penny standing at the stove.  Are you sure y'all aren't twins?

Baby, you forget the six years older than her I am.

Are you sure?  Maybe Grandma tricked you or something.

I'm sure, but I wouldn't mind being thirty-nine again instead of forty-five.

Then we talked about what things might be different now if I was six years younger.

Her age, what she might be doing, what her sisters would be doing. 

 How much better I would look.

Honey, time marches on and eventually you realize it is marching across your face. - Name that movie.

Izzy ended our conversation with this -

We wouldn't have Max - we'd just be looking forward to him.

I'm honestly not sure if there was sarcasm in that comment or not, 

but I kinda think so.

Does my girl look tired to you?  Maybe I'm working her too hard??

Nah.

One Thousand Gifts . . .

The summer storm rolls in with a wind that breaks the branch.  There will be clean-up, but for now the slight drop in temperature brings a smile that surpasses the dread.

The power flickers and I glance at her face, knowing what is coming. 

Her eyes are round, her smile big.

Do you think the power will go out, Mama?  Oh, I hope so.

Anticipation and excitement.

Candles and oil lamps and board games.

Her sisters felt it, my sisters and I felt it.  I sometimes now feel it.

The dream of living in another time and place.

My list continues . . .

electricity

indoor plumbing

cell phones

computers

crock pot

washing machine

central air

cable and choices

dishwasher

But with all of this knowledge and convenience did we lose something?

Did we leave something behind?

Do we neglect?

My list continues . . .

board games

reading out loud

tent-making

early to bed

early to rise

rocking babies

I Spy

walks in the park

evening baths

cloud watching

naps

tickles

magic shows

legos

My list, #129-151.

If She Keeps This Up . . .

If she keeps this up I'll have to hire a personal trainer.

Problem is, can't afford one 'cause all my money is going to secret ingredients.

Wish y'all could reach in here and taste this one.

It resembles a German Chocolate (but it's not) with finely chopped Macadamia nuts. Filled with a smooth banana creme and topped with her secret icing.

Oh. My.

The flavors are doing a jig on my tounge.

Official taste tester, that's me.

Official weight gainer, that's me.

A Soft Place to Fall

I remember a scene from a movie years ago but I can't remember the movie.  That's funny, I think.  Just one scene from a whole movie - with hundreds of scenes and a name and big stars. 

In this scene a man and woman are dancing to a country song in a bar.  Somewhere in the song were the words, a soft place to fall.

That's all I remember.  I don't remember the song, who sang it, or anything else.

Just those words - a soft place to fall.

Something happened here last night that got me to thinking about those words.  Life throws us here and there, up against this wall and that one, we face this giant and then another one.  There are questions without answers and dreams falling apart around us and tears that won't stop falling.

And sometimes, what was our soft place to fall, is now the hardest thing in our life.

Life has taught me many things.  I cringe at the thought of all out there still left to learn.

But this I know for sure.  The earlier Jesus is your soft place to fall the sooner you will find your strength.

We don't have to be strong always, we can fall apart.  And waiting through it all is Jesus, the victory over all heartache.

Thinking those words and saying them and typing them is the easy part.  Sometimes, believing them is the hard part.  But we must.

When the flesh of Jesus left this world He left with us a promise.  In John chapter 16 He explained that He would send a helper.  Some translations say a comforter, some say a friend.  The Holy Spirit.  All of the above.

The world breaks its promises, people hurt us and disappoint us.  We make mistakes. But, in the midst of all this pain, Jesus left words to prepare us for these times and His presence to see us through them.

We are never alone.  We have a helper who will not leave us confused, He will remove all doubts and reveal to us which way to go and what to do. 

But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever he hears, he will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come.  He shall glorify Me; for he shall take of Mine, and shall disclose it to you. 
John 16:13-14

We will never face the future alone.

We will never face the future alone.

We will never face the future alone.

Our soft place to fall.

I googled and searched and found the movie and the song.  Of course, Jesus was not the intent here, but as always, He is the answer.


To that young man I love - remember to search for the answers in the right place.  Remember all who love you.

My darlin' girl, as you fall - from a skint knee to a broken heart - I am here.  Always will be.  But I, and all those around you, can only do so much.

Your strength lies within yourself - He placed Himself there years ago when you said yes.  He patiently waits for you to fall on Him. 

To you both -

Trust God from the bottom of your heart;
don't try to figure out everything on your own.
Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go;
he's the one who will keep you on track.
Don't assume that you know it all.
Run to God!

Proverbs 3, The Message

What the Word? Wednesday

What the Word? Wednesday may turn into What the Song? Wednesday.

Here's Maxster singing . . .






Gotta get all the words.

By the way, anyone gotta ?

Comment all your guesses and check back right here tomorrow.

Penny S. almost got it right with the help of Christopher.  But . . .

Maxster doesn't say Gotta Be, like the song says, he says Gotta Pee.

I can't convince him that's not right 'cause in the world according to Max Larry the Cucumber has got to pee.

Thanks for playing!


And then comes Katie and her two precious youngin's.  A late congratulations for getting every word.  There's something about little ones understanding another little one's understanding of the potty.

Shelby Fills Out a Form and Then . . .

Simple-minded.

And I mean that in the kindest of ways, 'darlin.

Really, I do.

The kindest of ways.


But this . . .

This comes from the mind of a dreamer. 

And. An. Expert.

Dream Lemon. 

The best contrast of sweet and tart lemon you will ever taste.

But it's her secret recipe. 

Eat your heart out -

Shelby's in the kitchen.

Delia,

For your brother and each of your sister's birthdays this year I posted a slideshow.

That just doesn't seem to be right for this one.

Problem is, nothing feels good enough.

Words won't even come that seem powerful enough to express my thoughts at you turning twenty-one years old.

What makes this age so different?  You don't look different or act different.  The sun is still hot and the planets are still lined up.  Everything looks and feels the same.

Everything but me.

It's hard to describe.  It's almost a feeling of dread.  There is a heaviness in my heart that spreads into my arms when I think of today.  I physically feel it. 

Am I, for the very first time after twenty-ones years of watching four children grow so rapidly before my eyes, just beginning to realize that I will never get any of that time back?  I know that I've known this, I've even blogged about it - but I think it was only in my brain and tonight my heart is not taking the news so well.

The weekend before you were born I was in the hospital in false labor.  There was still six weeks to go and the nurse patiently explained to my young and ignorant self what Braxton Hicks were.

So, I went home.

Three days later after a shower and make-up and curling my hair I arrived at the hospital too late to stop the labor.  They gave me morphine, I hemoraghed and went into shock, and I remember nothing of you, the beautiful baby girl born to your daddy and me. 

It would be almost a full day later before you were placed into my arms and I would feel a strange and powerful kind of love as I stared at you for the first time.  And I remember staring, for a long time - just staring.

You and I began to grow up together.  I knew little more than you did.  And because of that you suffered many things.

Just a moment ago I stood at your door and watched you sleep and it's nearly impossible to wrap my brain around the thought that in one more year you will be the age I was when I was married and very soon would have a baby on the way.

This heaviness in my arms is a longing to just hold you again. 

Just another chance to stare. 

Just another chance to say, Wow, I love you, baby girl.

Happy Birthday.

Love, Mama

My gratitude list continues . . .

#126 - Delia, and all things her

#127 - My Heavenly Father, for entrusting me

#128 - her forgiveness

Interpret the Scribbling From Arms Too Tired . . .

There is so much going on in the month of June that I stay worn out.  I greet the month of July with relief, sadness for what is over, and tired bones.  Bone weary. 

Joining so many other things in the month of June is ball.  My little sack of baby bones, Isabela, looks forward all year to ball.  Softball is her thing.  If I'm not careful I will miss this joy of hers because of the ache in my bones that grows deeper everyday as the month of June rolls on.

I almost did.

And I knew it.  Which is why in the dark early morning hours of June 13 I typed this below.  My tenth grade typing teacher, Mrs. Jones, would be 'shamed - but not surprised.

my arms were too tired andi almost missed it and i did. until now. tired body in bed, dirt in my shoes, grimey face as being pusehed down. lips pursed just so for the sendond inning, candy stuck to wrapper, dirt on outside of cup. 14 hours and counting.

i nned to wite it down. tell my childen what they already know. i must move my body out of care so ic an type
i will write and type, speaak and sign why

It was the best I could do.  The typing in the dark to remember for her and fulfill the purpose of this blog. 

There had been tournaments all day, she played six games - four of them back to back in 98 degree heat.

My duties got the best of me and beat the mom in me out and I left after the third game to go put up corn so I wouldn't have to throw it out.  I kept reminding myself about the decorations at the church that were still waiting for whenever the tournament came to an end.  So I left.

Her daddy stayed.  He never would have left.

Then the mom in me lifted my character high and I returned to cheer her on.  Everything else would have to wait.

What a day she had. They placed second in the tournament and pride was all over her dirty sunburnt body clothed in a uniform that might never come clean.

Bible School would begin the next day with a luncheon and kick-off.   I was only half-way there to what was needed for Monday as I finished up the corn and later the ache was deep and my mind running full throttle when my body stopped to rest for the night.

So, weeks later I will now interpret the scribbling I had to do before my mind would let my body rest . . .

My arms were so tired I almost missed the joy of the day, until lying in bed and replaying it.  The dirt in my shoes that matched the dirt on the outside of Max's cup, preventing him from drinking.  The Laffy Taffy candy so melted it stuck to the paper.  The fall he had, right on the face, the dry dirt becoming wet as it clung to the tears.

The second inning of the last game and Isabela's glance at me before she pursed her lips just so and placed her body in position.  The desire to win formed with her body.

Fourten hours and counting and there was still corn to finish. Hours later I lie down to rest but I can't because the day was too special and I must write before I forget.  To tell her what she already knows - how proud of her I am.

I'm so glad I got up and blindly typed that night morning.  I looked at it today to prepare for this post and realized I had already forgotten the little details I didn't want to forget.  The little details that will help me one day remember their personalities this summer.  The little details that will help me remember when I tell these stories to them and their children one day.

Maybe I would have forgotten softball meant Laffy Taffy for Maxster and Isabela never played a play without glancing at me first.

What a shame that would have been.

Maybe I Choose This . . .

I'm not a very vain person. 

I used to be.

I can remember the days when haircuts and nails and clothes mattered and lunchbreaks were filled with trips to the mall.

There are certain outfits and shoes I can describe in detail when my memory travels back to the days when I actually cared more about my outside appearance than my inside.

But now my closet is filled with comfort instead of style and I might see the inside of a hair salon three times a year - maybe.

There are still small moments.  Like today, when Isabela was weighted down carrying things inside church for playday - I wouldn't get out because I had not brushed my hair.

But mostly this on the verge hermit life I live is lived with holes in my favorite comfy pants worn nearly everyday, hands that look ten years older than they are, and feet much more comfortable in flats than heels.

I don't always find acceptance, which I must admit causes me moments of self-doubt, and sometimes I want to scream, I wasn't always like this.

It's a good thing my Jesus doesn't care.  It's a great thing He takes me as I am. 

If He remembered my past - which He doesn't because it's forgiven - He would not care to remember heads that turned my way because of how I looked.  He's only interested in hearts that notice me because of how I am.  Second glances at my peace and lingers on my contentment.

Our bodies are temples and vessels and we much protect and nurture them.  We must keep them clean and healthy and take pride in ourselves and our blessings. But a balance must be created with our resources and our needs - and our wants following others needs.

But . . .

I must not go gray.

I had to throw that one in there.  I started this with I'm not very vain.

So, if you run across another me out there, please check out their insides before you judge their outsides.
 
Maybe they choose to be the way they are.

What the Word? Wednesday

What the Word? Wednesday is getting harder and harder.

Maxster's speaking is clearer and finding a word is difficult.  We may have run the course.

He did make his first peanut butter sandwich, without asking, a couple of days ago.

Enjoy - and please know that if you ever visit my house, I won't feed you peanut butter.