Slow Down, Baby Girl

Slow down, baby girl.

The world will be yours soon enough.

Until then, play with your dolls. Roll in the grass. Laugh until it hurts. Cry without apology. Sing loudly and dance wildly. Play pretend. Soak up the sun. Run in the rain. Slide down slides and swing on swings. Smile at others. Be kind. Color the sidewalk. Paint your nails. Take naps. Memorize Scripture. Make messes. Read. Dream.

Slow down, baby girl.

The world will be yours soon enough.

This picture captures the dichotomy of Abby. Her high-heeled feet don't reach the ground, but she so badly wants to be a grown-up.

Wring It Dry

There are days when my head hits the pillow a pang of guilt hits my heart.

You see, I don't always soak up every precious moment of the day. I don't stop and take the time to really see behind the kids' tears or to really listen or to just STOP and enjoy the moment.

I liken it to hanging up a towel at the end of the day. Too often my towel was still soaking wet; I wasn't wringing it dry of all my husband, kids, and most importantly, God, had to offer me.

More than that, I wasn't offering all I had either. Things were left unsaid, lessons unshared, and kindness unspoken.

In pursuit of wringing my days dry, I'm slowing down and being more involved in the present moment. Dinner can wait an extra 10 minutes, and the grass can go another day without being cut. But I can't get these blink-once-and-the-kids-are-grown days back.

While being "tickle-tortured" by the two older kids, I looked down and noticed Maddie was wearing William's shoes. This is the shot I got as she was pulling them off. I'm glad I took the time to slow down and have a little fun.

View from the Cul-de-sac

I've been melancholy the past few days. And rather than try to sum my feelings up as a neat little Facebook status, I figured I'd dust off the summer sand, exercise my tippety-tap typing fingers, and share a little bit here.

I can hear the applause. Thank you; it's good to be back.

To start, I love our house. I especially love the long (really long) driveway. It's the perfect spot for the kids to ride their bikes, draw with sidewalk chalk, and run races. Yesterday I laughed when our neighbor told me about all the times she's out in her back yard and she hears William riding his Big Wheel up and down and up and down.

We are located in a cul-de-sac, which is great for the kids' safety. It's also good for people-watching. Right after we moved in, I found myself glued to the front window trying to see who all our neighbors were. Yes, I'm that neighbor...

What struck me right away was the different life stages of each of the families. Some have teenagers, some have middle schoolers, some have grown children, and some don't have any kids at all.

But it was the across-the-street neighbors who were first to share a smile and a wave, even inviting us to their church. It was also the across-the-street neighbors who I watched yesterday.

I watched as they loaded the car. I watched as their daughter and son posed on the front porch one "last" time. And I watched the emotion-etched faces of the mother and father as they chauffeured their daughter off to college.

And there I was, out in the front yard, with my three little kids playing ball and ridin' Big Wheels. The juxtaposition of the life stages was poignant, and I couldn't help but wipe a tear from my cheek.

Another of our neighbors said that at least the college-bound girl wouldn't be moving far from home.

It's so much more than just distance.

It's the sobering realization that time marches on. Time passes. Too quickly.

William and Abby start school tomorrow. And I am NOT ready. I'm not ready for what a new school year represents. But here I am, being whooshed along in the crashing waves of time, edging ever closer to the rocks that lie ahead.

I'll end with a short story that was shared in our Sunday school class last week. It's worth reading.

The Green, Green Grass of Home

by Erma Bombeck
 

When Mike was 2, he wanted a sandbox, and his father said: “There goes the yard. We’ll have kids over here day and night, and they’ll throw sand into the flower beds, and cats will make a mess in it, and it’ll kill the grass for sure.”
 

And Mike’s mother said, “It’ll come back.” 
 

When Mike was 5, he wanted a jungle gym set with swings that would take his breath away and bars to take him to the summit, and his father said: “Good grief, I’ve seen those things in back yards, and do you know what they look like? Mud holes in a pasture. Kids digging their gym shoes in the ground. It’ll kill the grass.”
 

And Mike’s mother said, “It’ll come back.” 
 

Between breaths, when Daddy was blowing up the plastic swimming pool, he warned: “You know what they’re going to do to this place? They’re going to condemn it and use it for a missile site. I hope you know what you’re doing. They’ll track water everywhere and have a million water fights, and you won’t be able to take out the garbage without stepping in mud up to your neck. When we take this down, we’ll have the only brown lawn on the block.” 
 

“It’ll come back,” Mike’s mother said. 
 

When Mike was 12, he volunteered his yard for a camp out. As they hoisted the tents and drove in the spikes, his father stood at the window and observed, “Why don’t I just put the grass seed out in cereal bowls for the birds and save myself the trouble of spreading it around? You know for a fact that those tents and all those big feet are going to trample down every single blade of grass, don’t you. Don’t bother to answer. I know what you’re going to say. 
 

“‘It’ll come back.’” 
 

The basketball hoop on the side of the garage attracted more crowds than the Olympics. And a small patch of lawn that started out with a barren spot the size of a garbage can lid soon drew to encompass the entire side yard. 
 

Just when it looked as if the new seed might take root, the winter came and the sled runners beat it into ridges. Mike’s father shook his head and said, “I never asked for much in this life – only a patch of grass.” 
 

And his wife smiled and said, “It’ll come back.”
 

The lawn this fall was beautiful. It was green and alive and rolled out like a sponge carpet along the drive where gym shoes had trod … along the garage where bicycles used to fall … and around the flower beds where little boys used to dig with iced-tea spoons.
 

But Mike’s father never saw it. He anxiously looked beyond the yard and asked with a catch in his voice, “He will come back, won’t he?”

A Dab of Listerine

I remember visiting my Granny's house in, what I would later learn, "the projects," albeit the rural projects. I loved playing on the porch and sitting in the vintage metal patio furniture and playing out back on the hill, running around the clothesline. I remember the elderly neighbor who would delight in giving my sister and I quarters. I would then sneak it right back into his coin jug.

I remember the array of foods my Granny would fix EVERY time we visited (and we visited a lot). She would have a pot on every eye of the stove and her cast iron skillet in the oven, for the cornbread, of course. On the table would be pickled this or that, fares that didn't quite meet my juvenile taste buds' approval. Rutabagas were often on the menu, as was the seven layer chocolate cake, made, no less, with her homemade chocolate icing.

Naps after lunch were easy to come by, especially when the sun shone on her quilted bed. I had a hard time waking up on those sunny Sunday afternoons.

I remember my Granny's closets being packed full of yard sale items. She and her church friends were yard sale regulars, either as vendors or patrons. And we were always tempted with one of her rummage treasures, taking a doll or other sundry home with us on more than one occasion.

Perhaps one thing that sticks out above the rest is my Granny's advocation of Listerine. Got a bug bite? Rub some Listerine on it, she'd say. Have a blister? You guessed it, reach for the Listerine. It seemed there was no limit to her medicinal cure-all.

Turns out, she was onto something.

Among many others (you can do your own research), here is a list of some helpful uses for the age-old antiseptic:

Uses for Listerine

Acne
Original Flavor Listerine works great as an astringent when it comes to acne. After washing your face with soap and water, saturate a cotton ball with Listerine and apply to face. Pay special attention to blemishes. Leave the antiseptic mouthwash on your face until you feel the tingling stop (usually around 10 minutes). Then rinse your face with warm water to remove the Listerine and follow up with cold water to re-close your pores.

Bee or Wasp Stings
When stung by a bee or a wasp, apply some Listerine to the stung area. It will relive the pain almost immediately.

Blisters
To keep blisters from becoming infected, dab a little bit of Listerine mouthwash on it.

Body Odor
In a pinch, Listerine works great as an under arm deodorant because the antiseptic kills the bacteria that causes perspiration odor. Simply soak a cotton ball in Listerine and dab it under your arms. (Do not use if you have just shaved, however, because it will burn.)

Canker Sores
Listerine can help canker sores heal quicker because the antiseptic it contains will kill the bacteria that irritates the sore. Simply rinse your mouth with this mouthwash whenever canker sores are a problem.

Cleaning
Listerine works great in a pinch as a household cleaner because it disinfects and deodorizes. Mix equal parts of Listerine mouthwash with equal parts water and put in a spray bottle. This mixture can be used to clean toilet bowls, floors or even as an all purpose cleaner. It works well for mold and mildew as well.

Cuts and Scrapes
Because Listerine is an antiseptic, it will prevent cuts and scrapes from getting infected. Pour a little bit of Listerine over the cuts and scraps, and dry with a clean towel.

Dandruff
Listerine actually used to advertise on its bottles that it is great for curing dandruff. While they have removed that advertisement, many people still swear by its effectiveness. After shampooing with your regular shampoo and rinsing your hair, rinse your hair with Listerine.
   
Hives
Listerine is great when used as an anti-itch formula. Apply the Listerine mouthwash to the hives with a saturated cotton ball to get rid of discomfort.

Lice
Another lesser known use of Listerine is to get rid of head lice. Listerine contains thymol which not only kills lice but will also prevent reinfestation. Thoroughly wet your head and scalp with Listerine and cover with a shower cap. Leave the cap on for about two hours. Then wash hair as usual. This remedy can also be used on family members as a preventative measure if they have been in close contact with someone who is infected.

Skin Rashes
Listerine is also effective in reducing the itching that is associated with skin rashes caused by such things as poison ivy, poison oak and other skin irritants.

Shingles
Listerine supposedly works wonders when it comes to the itching that is associated with Shingles. Simply use a cotton ball or cloth soaked in Listerine and apply to itchy areas.

Toothache
Listerine is also very effective in numbing the pain of a toothache, lost filling, broken tooth or exposed cavity. Because it is an analgesic, it will not only instantly relive the pain of the exposed nerve, but it will also keep the area numb for quite awhile.

Lessons from the Playground

We love our little neighborhood park. I think I've mentioned before how people from the community bring their gently-used toys and leave them for park patrons' use. William loves the cars and scooters and playhouses. Especially the playhouses.

A couple weeks ago we discovered a new toy: a small slide with a basketball goal on the side. Well, William wanted to play basketball, but I didn't have a ball. No problem. We had acorns. Lots of acorns.

I sent William off to gather our acorn balls, and he came back, his little hands swollen with nuts. As he unsuccessfully attempted to hold the acorns while trying to toss them into the basket, I offered to help.

"William, do you want me to hold your acorns for you?"

"No, thanks," he replied.

I scrunched my eyebrows. I couldn't believe he didn't want me to help him. Didn't he realize how much easier it would be if he allowed me to hold his acorns?

After shooting his acorns into the basket, I told him to gather the "balls" so we could play again. Then I said, "William, why don't you drop the acorns in Mama's hand, that way it will be easier for you."

This time he allowed me to help.

William scurried back and forth, dropping acorns into my open, cupped hands. The first two or three nuts were soon joined by a dozen or so more. As I watched the pile grow, I had a hard time figuring out how he managed such a load on his own.

It was then that I was struck with the realization of God's desire to help us.

How often do we think, "Oh, it's just a few small problems. I can handle them on my own. I don't want to bother God with that." Or we think, "I am doing just fine without involving God."

Why are we so stubborn?

Consider it a privilege to cast our cares (all of them; the big AND small) onto our heavenly Father. We were designed to seek Him.

His hands are great. His hands are outstretched. Won't you fill them?

Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.

Psalm 68:19

Weary Mom's Axiom

Despite my best intentions, I seem to always be running out the door at the last minute.

"Abby, grab your shoes! William, buckle up! Is Maddie back there?"

I learned long ago to prepare for the next morning the night before. So, like a good little mama, I pack bags, declutter the car and plan for breakfasts after the kids are in bed.

So why do I find myself in such a frenzied rush time and time again?

Sundays are the worst.

They all start the same. We wake up leisurely, eat breakfast, dress, and then somewhere between snuggling on the couch and pouring a third glass of milk, I glance at the clock and realize I've got 20 minutes to get myself showered and dressed.

With one high heel on and one in hand, I hobble down the stairs while simultaneously grabbing things on my way out the door and going over my mental checklist:

Bible bag? Check.
Diaper bag? Check.
Pacifier? Check.
Coat? Check.
Diapers in the diaper bag? Check.
Snacks for Maddie? Check.
Did I brush my hair? I think so.

Sunday, February 3, was no different. Chip loaded the kids in the car, and I finally stumbled into the garage with four bags on my shoulder, two jackets and a Coke. It was when Chip asked where William's shoes were that I had a weary-mom moment:

"I can't remember everything because
I have to remember everything!"

I shouted it at no one in particular and yet to everyone.

After finding William's shoes, I buckled myself into the car, and Chip just looked at me and laughed.

"Maybe I should try that," he joked. "'Ma'am, I forgot to take the sponges out of your kid because I have to remember to do everything.' I'm sure that would go over really well."

I laughed and said, "Well, at least you work with other people. Don't you have a system of checks and balances?"

My mid-morning revelation made total sense to me: I can't remember everything, and yet I have to remember everything.

I'm sure a few other mommies can relate.

Maybe one day I'll get it all straight. Maybe.

In the meantime, I'm off to remember the things I've forgotten that I was supposed to remember so I wouldn't forget to remember them.

Oh, Be Careful Little Feet

It started when William was about six weeks old. I would stare at his little feet and wonder where they would carry him. Would they carry him into sinful situations? Would they walk down the aisle some day? Would they run and kick a soccer ball? Would they carry the Word to those who need to hear it?

I've made a habit of praying about my children's feet (and hands!), so when I came across a story in my Bible yesterday, it resonated with me. I thought I would share it here.

True Success
by Martha Manikas-Foster

     I reclined on my hospital bed with my two-day-old daughter cuddled on my chest. As she slept I caressed her tiny fingers and wondered how she would use them as she grew up. Would they tap formulas and technical data into a now unimagined computer? Would they intricately stitch wounded human tissue? Or perhaps sculpt or paint using vibrant textures and colors? Although I randomly pictured professions at which she might excel, I focused my prayers then as I focus them now, not on what she might be, but on who she could be.

     I know that one day, probably before she puts away her dolls and crayons, she'll learn that some people measure excellence and success solely by "the bottom line" -- the money they take home. Some "put their hope in wealth" (1 Timothy 6:17) and build their lives to accommodate its pursuit.

     I trust that by that time we'll have taught her to value many things above money. Scripture teaches not that riches themselves are evil but that the value we place on them can lead to our undoing.

People who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap

and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge men

into ruin and destruction. (1 Timothy 6:9)

 

     On the other hand, "godliness with contentment is great gain" (1 Timothy 6:6). The apostle Paul's charge to young Timothy is to flee from the pursuit of riches and instead pursue godliness. Paul further instructs Timothy to:

 

Command those who are rich ... to put their hope in God ...

 Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds,

and to be generous and willing to share. (1 Timothy 6:17-18)

 

     When Connie reaches elementary school and her teachers ask her what she wants to be when she grows up, I expect that she will list "teacher," "firefighter," and perhaps "doctor" among her choices. But my prayer will continue to be that no matter what profession she chooses, at the core she will truly succeed by being a righteous and godly woman, full of "faith, love, endurance and gentleness" (1 Timothy 6:11).

Good Times, Good Reads, Good Lessons

Yesterday at the park I saw a guy in Texas Children's Hospital scrubs, so I asked him what department he was with.

"Orthopedic oncology."

"Oh, wow," I replied. "My husband is a surgery fellow there."

"That means he's really busy these days."

"Incredibly."

That was the end of the conversation. A moment or two later Abigail came up to me and said, "You said 'my husband.' Why don't you ever say, 'My kids' dad'?"

I had a nice laugh.

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I read a really good book a few weeks ago called The Shack. (Thanks, Pastor Paul!) I laughed. I cried. But most of all, I felt closer to God. Add it to your reading list!

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Abby likes to dance, and nearly every time we are at the park, she asks me to dance with her. Although I usually don't like to call attention to myself, I always accept her invitation. My mind inevitably goes back to that scene in the movie Courageous. For those who haven't seen it, I don't want to spoil it for you, but there is a scene where a little girl asks her daddy to dance while they are waiting at the bank (they are outside the bank near a patch of grass). Her dad said no, basically because he didn't want to look silly. A few scenes later the dad gets a call saying the little girl has been killed in a car accident. Later in the movie the dad goes back to the bank, parks next to the patch of grass, and gets out and dances by himself, with his daughter's favorite song playing in the background. What a tearjerker! It certainly made me realize every moment is precious; we must seize them.

Path of Doors

I'd like to think I've matured, if only a little bit, when it comes to perspective.

There are certainly times in my life where I've experienced disappointment. Why did things not go the way I planned -- or prayed?

In the moment, disappointment can take over, quickly becoming consuming if left unchecked with a healthy dose of perspective. Granted, it sometimes takes a few years to see the "point" of the disappointment.

Looking back over my life, it is easy to see a carved path -- a path that would have looked vastly different if not intersected by disappointment. It is a breathtaking journey and clearly not blazed by me.

For me, these moments of not getting what I wanted is God's way of saying, "Child, I have something way better for you!" And He is right; never have I been disappointed by God's love and discernment.

How do you know when God doesn't want something for you? A metaphor people sometimes use is one of God shutting a "door." He doesn't shut them all -- there are certainly times when God leaves the door wide open. We must first pray and then get up and head toward that door to see if it is the right one for us. And that takes work -- and an amount of "risk"!

So when Chip and I were met with an unexpected shut door this week, it was hard not to be consumed with disappointment. I mean, we thought this door was wide open, ours for the taking.

Not so. And it stings a little. But after a shed tear or two, I felt a wave of comfort. Without a shadow of a doubt, God is in control and knows what is best for us. And whatever that choice is, it will be what we need.

After a little dusting off, we are ready to get back up and try again.

And would you believe a door has been recently opened? Could this be the one?

I'll keep you posted.

Nearsighted

I was brushing my hair one morning, thinking about having to start over - find a new church, make new friends, get the kids involved in extracurriculars, etc. The thought of it was a bit tiring. I had almost come to the conclusion that since we were only going to be here for nine months, it wasn't that important to be involved in things. Would anyone notice if we didn't make it to church every Sunday? Would people be affected negatively if I didn't join a play group or run the social circuit? I didn't think so. It just seemed so silly to put that much effort into something that was going to be short lived. 

Then a voice came to me just as clearly as if someone standing beside me had said it.

"You don't think nine months is enough time for me to do anything?"

Point taken. As I've met people and gotten myself and the kids involved in various things, I can certainly see that there are things in God's master plan that I was meant to be part of - right here in Houston.

I'm seeing more clearly now.

Hats Off to You

Earlier in the week I thought it would be fun to have lunch with Abby at school. She was having difficulty at drop-off time, and I figured having something to look forward to would help her get through the day. I picked Friday as the day for my mid-morning visit.

I found a parking spot near the school and gathered myself. Surprisingly, I was a little anxious! Because we were latecomers to the school, we never really got a tour. I wasn't even sure where the cafeteria was. At any rate, I checked in with the receptionist, announced that I was there for lunch with my daughter, and received a few "approving" looks from staffers. I grinned, feeling like a great mama.

Down the long locker-filled hallway I went, in search of Abby's classroom. Kids' art neatly decorated the walls, and I couldn't help thinking back to my school days.

Inside Abby's room were kids rushing to and fro preparing for lunch. I finally caught a glimpse of Ab - she was putting something away in her desk. Then she hopped over to line up, her pretty blond braid flopping up and down. She was busy chatting with two other girls in line. I was glad to see she had friends. She finally saw me peering through the door window, and we waved to each other like long lost friends.

Twenty-two kindergartners filed into the hall, and Abby and I walked hand-in-hand to the cafeteria. The menu consisted of chicken fried steak fingers, instant mashed potatoes, raw carrots and mixed fruit. Yum.

After navigating our way through the lunch line, we made our way over to her section of the room. I grabbed a folding chair and sat next to Abby. As the lunch period dragged on, the room got louder and louder and louder. It was like watching little ants. Actually, it was like watching 100 kids who had ants in their pants.

I managed to eat while being climbed on, doling out napkins, advising kids to sit on their tails, tattling on a girl for throwing a napkin, opening packets of ketchup, and answering random questions.

When the end of the lunch period came, Abby's teacher asked, "How was lunch?"

I half laughed, "It was an experience."

I quickly left the school, hanging my head low. I'm sure the same staffers I passed earlier noticed the gleam in my eyes and the pep in my step were now absent. I didn't look back to see if they were snickering.

I ain't cut out for elementary school. And that's OK with me.

But hats off to those who are.

Brain Freeze

Abby experienced her first "brain freeze" tonight. 

She was downing a bowl of orange sherbet at one of our favorite restaurants when she grabbed her head and started crying.  I tried not to laugh, but being there to witness my baby girl's first cold-induced headache was too precious.  After taking a sip of her chocolate milk, she looked relieved that the pain was only temporary.  We had a nice laugh about it.     

On the way home I wished I could have experienced a brain freeze of my own.  Not the kind caused by icy sweetness, however.  I wanted to freeze time, to capture and remember everything about a particular moment. 

There I was, riding in the back seat with Abby.  Just the two of us.  As I'm listening to her carry on about this and that, I look at her little face.  The moon's light washed over her, and it was then that I realized how quickly time is passing.  There, sitting next to me, was a little lady.  Her legs were crossed, and as she talked, I noticed how her eyes glistened with excitement as she shared her secret stories with me.

I kissed her on the cheek, and then she looked at me with the biggest, most sincere eyes, and she said, "I'm never gonna wipe that kiss off."

Now that's my kind of brain freeze. 

Wearily Joyful

Or joyfully weary. 

No matter how you look at it, I'm utterly excited about this new life God has created for our family.  Truth be known, I thought our family was complete with two children. 

God had other plans.  And I'm so grateful to be a part of it. 

The due date is fast approaching (only 5 days from now), and I'm trying to enjoy it.  I'm constantly torn between, "OK, it's time to come out now, baby!" and "I can wait a few more days."  After all, I know how difficult the first few days at home with a newborn can be. 

I was looking through Abby's baby book the other day and ran across a poem that I'm trying to keep in mind.  I need to enjoy these last few days - just me and baby - just me and Ab and William - just me and Chip - and revel in the glory of God's grace and awesome blessing.

Here's the poem:

These Last Few Hours

It is important to me that I spend a part of the next few hours
here alone with you in the darkness.
You and I will never be this close again.
By morning you will be a tiny person all your own.
No longer the kicking, demanding bulge in my body
that I have grown to love so well.

I pray God will safely guide you on your journey
and I ask him for strength to help you all I can.
Again, you signal your impatience to be free.
Time to wake your Daddy.

Four o'Clock Ambitions

It's official.  I don't need sleep anymore. 

Actually, I do need sleep.  I find I'm much friendlier after a good night's sleep.  What I should have said is that my body has decided that I don't need sleep anymore.  No doubt it's in preparation of the impending sleepless nights that await me. 

Rather than lie in bed and stare into the darkness, I grab my pillow and head downstairs to the couch.  Depending on the night, it could be 1:30 to 4:30 a.m. at this point.  I know that a great show awaits me on TV.  Heck, TV shows are awesome in the middle of the night (note sarcasm).  I've learned how finger nail clippers are made, I know the secret to great looking skin and I've certainly seen my fair share of home improvement shows. 

But somewhere between the commercials, infomercials and midnight education, I get a burst of energy.  Maybe I'll do laundry or mop or tidy up the cabinet in the storage room or alphabetize Abby's book shelf...  It ALL sounds doable, and I resolve to doing it later on in the day. 

And then it happens.  Precious sleep falls on me.  Too bad it happens about 15 minutes before I have to get up.  The energy and ambition that so eagerly awaited me at four o'clock slipped out the back door to someone else's house leaving me to struggle with staying awake the remainder of the day.

Oh, four o'clock ambition.  Please come with some eight o'clock energy next time.

On Being Pregnant

Thirty five weeks today.  I'm officially on the countdown. 

There are a few things I've noticed this time around. 

1. Apparently being pregnant gives people license to comment on your size (i.e. how large or small you are).  Gee, I look big today?  Thanks, because I certainly didn't feel big.

2. If you are pregnant with your third child, your doctors assume you are a prenatal pro.  Your visits are only about 60 seconds long.

3. People are shocked if you wear heels while you are pregnant.  Yes, I still wear heels.  And I'm doing just fine.

4. Sleep is optional during the third trimester.

5. You should never hold fragile items during the third trimester.  I drop EVERYTHING. 

I'm sure there have been more observations, but I'm too tired to think straight.  Zzzz...

Overwhelmed

As I drove down Main Street the night before Thanksgiving my mind wandered.  I couldn't help but reflect on the past year and all that has happened since last Thanksgiving.  It got me to thinking how awesome this year has been and how AWESOME God's love and grace has been for my family.

I have to admit, however, that despite knowing God's awesome protection and provision, I found myself worrying over an impending event.  I mean I was very, very anxious.  Silly, Amanda.  Don't you know God takes care of you in ALL things?!

That's exactly what happend.  God took control of the situation and things turned out better than I could have ever hoped. 

God's goodness is overwhelming.  Totally overwhelming.

*sigh*

I have a problem.  I wasn't even aware of it.

Two weeks ago I was grocery shopping with the kids, and Abby was being her usual talkative self.  Oh, and she was trying to be a helper, too.  I don't know what she asked or what she grabbed for, but I said something to her.  I could have sworn I heard her sigh.  A woman near us said, "Whoa, I thought I had a good sigh."  I just laughed, and I thought, "Gee, Ab's sigh didn't sound that exaggerated."

A few days later we were at Abby's ballet class.  For the first time in months she told her teacher that she needed to go to the bathroom.  I was a little annoyed because Abby had just told me she didn't need to go to the potty.  I took her to the bathroom, William in tow, and helped her undress.  Then Abby looked at me and said, "Mama, why are you mad at me?"  I said, "I'm not mad at you, honey!  Why would you think that?"  She replied, "Because you said *sigh*."  She let out a long, exasperated sigh. 

It really astonished me because I truly did not notice that I sighed.  Maybe the woman in the grocery store was talking about my sigh.  I don't even think I'm aware of it anymore.  *SIGH*

A Race Worth Running

There's someone I know that I don't particularly like but I'd like to do a few of the things this person does. I know it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but in some strange way I feel like I need to be equal or better than this person. This person likes to run, which makes me want to run. It's really, really strange (and insecure) of me to aspire to run a race just because this person does it; like running a race will somehow make me a better person.

I digress, but a few months ago I read a book about insecurity. One of the points that stuck with me was this: an insecure person constantly looks for that "one more thing" to make them feel better about themselves. For example, I might say, "If I got my hair done, I'd feel better about myself." Well, let's say I got my hair done. I might feel good for a little while BUT then the feeling would fade and I'd be looking for the next thing. "If only I had a new shirt, I'd feel better." So on and so forth. With that said, I doubt heavily that running a race would satiate my insecurity.

I was reading a women's magazine tonight and I came across a Bible verse that brought tears to my eyes:

"Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever." 1 Corinthians 9:25

Don't get me wrong. I see nothing wrong with running a race and winning a prize. But for me, this verse runs deeper than that. Talk about a change in my perspective. I don't know about you, but far too often I get caught up in this world - my feelings, others' possessions, talents (or lack thereof), money, pain, etc. I know I should keep an eternal perspective. None of us will live here forever. None of us.

The thought of a crown that lasts forever motivates me to run the race worth running, the race toward Christ.

Won't You Be My Neighbor

Now that I have you singing Mr. Rogers' theme song, let me take this opportunity to talk to you about neighbors.  Now I don't know how things were in the "old" days, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that neighbor-to-neighbor relationships have changed over the last, oh, forty years or so.  I would imagine there was a time when neighbors would greet each other as they went outside to get the morning paper.  I bet there were times when neighbors would chat over the fence and catch up on such things as little Johnny's baseball game and little Emma's loose tooth.  There was probably even a time when a neighbor might knock on a door to ask to borrow an egg.  I'm sure these things still happen, right? 

On to my point...one of our neighbors was expecting their second child.  I couldn't remember when the baby was due, but when I saw that they were gone last weekend, I highly suspected the baby had come.  Two nights ago my family and I were sitting around our dining room table, and I noticed a car pull up at our neighbors' house.  A woman got out carrying a sack.  "Aha!" I thought.  "I bet she's bringing a baby gift." 

Being the nosy neighbor that I am, I darted over to the window to watch.  Sure enough, I saw my neighbor walking through the living room carrying a baby.  Chip responded, "Well, they could have at least told us they had their baby."  I replied, "Well, we didn't tell them when William was born."   

Chip and I agreed it would be thoughtful to buy a gift for our neighbors.  "Maybe they have a registry," Chip suggested.  That was a great idea.  I rushed upstairs to get our computer, and I immediately pulled up two store websites in hopes of finding a registry.  I stared at the registry look-up form.  "Last name?"  I quickly figured out that it is virtually impossible to pull up a registry without knowing the recipient's last name.

Okay, so we didn't know our neighbors' last name.  In the old days one might have just gone across the street and asked, "What is your last name?" or "Congratulations on your baby!  Is there anything I can do for you?"  But no.  In this electronic age we live in, talking to people face-to-face or asking them for "personal" information, such as last names, feels a bit too intrusive and awkward. 

How did we solve the mystery?  The Internet, of course.  Did you know you could look up the names of all the people who live on your street?  We found out our neighbors' last name.  Isn't it weird that you can find that out?  It's funny to me; not in a ha-ha kind of way, but in a sad state-of-our society kind of way.  We know less and less about the people around us, don't we?

Wanna give it a try?  Wanna "virtually meet" your neighbors?  Go to the link below, and type in your address and let the neighborhood party begin.

     http://www.411.com/find_neighbors