" ...Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.
Ruth 1:16b
I will never forget the very first time I met my mother-in-law. I don't remember the date, but I do remember it was just before Christmas. I don't remember anything that I said while standing in her kitchen, but I remember being mesmerized by her earth tone-patterned vinyl flooring. So many interesting patterns seemed to pique my interest, and frankly, I was far too petrified to look her in the eye! Stepping on the squares as though I were playing checkers, I could not stop TALKING! I hear some people get quiet when they're nervous. This is an affliction I am praying for! When I'm nervous, my mouth seems to have a stuck accelerator and no brakes! I can only imagine what she was thinking. Here I was, the very first girl Alan (who was not only her youngest child, but also the shyest) had ever brought home, staring at her floor and chattering like a chipmunk who had eaten espresso beans. Bless her heart, she invited me to stay for dinner anyway. In hindsight, I wonder if she hoped that would shut me up ...
Even though I was understandably nervous to meet the mother of the soft-spoken, adorable cowboy who had stolen my heart, I felt completely comfortable in their home. I think everyone does! Alan's mom has quite a few memorable sayings, like her father before her. If you're in her doorway for more than forty-five seconds, she's certain to offer you a cookie. Barely 5'4", she somehow seems to stretch an extra foot taller when retrieving the vintage Tupperware containers atop the refrigerator. As she lifts off the lid, she always says, "Take two, they're small." She says this no matter what size cookie she's made or how much you've just eaten. It also doesn't matter if you are a small child or a woman on a diet; this phrase is inevitable! Should you politely refuse (and frankly, you are out of your MIND if you do!), she'll gently urge you to have one saying, "Aw, come on. It's good for what ails ya!" Our first meeting was no exception to that rule. :)
After snagging a few cookies of his own, Alan offered to give me "the grand tour" of their home. While walking down the hallway with the most amazing sugar cookie I had ever eaten in my hand, I thought to myself, "I really like her. I sure wish I could have shut my mouth! I hope I didn't blow it."
When dinner came, I did my best to keep my mouth busy chewing, so as not to have another "blab-a-thon." Sensing my unrest, M.I.L. took a candy cane reindeer from a Christmas-themed centerpiece, walked it over by Alan and made it say, "Alan, I want a carrot!" Having grown up in a home where candy canes were not permitted to talk at the table (reindeer or otherwise), I stifled a giggle. Shaking its googley eyes at me, the reindeer asked me what I thought was so funny, while MIL winked at me. My sweetheart looked at his mother, unfazed, and handed the carrots to her. Once I began to relax, I'm sure I talked far too much and put my fifteen-year-old foot in my mouth several times, but I continued to come back. Sure, it didn't hurt that her son lived there and I was too young to go out on dates so we could only go to each other's homes and churches, but I continue to sit at her kitchen table to this day.
I could write for pages just about her homemade cookies, doughnuts, cobblers and pies, but that really doesn't capture her essence. She isn't one to start up a conversation with a stranger, but once she's met you, you are treated like family. She doesn't shy away from sharing her opinions, but usually prefaces them with a wink and a statement like, "But who listens to mother? Nobody. Go do what ya like, hon." or, "What a crabby, bossy old grouch I am. Too bad you're stuck with me, eh?" :) Her mixture of traditional homemaker mixed with a sprinkle of sass and a stubborn streak a mile long makes her a whole lot of fun ... and somebody you don't want to make mad! ;) If she were likened to a television character, she'd be Ethel Murtz mixed with Claire Huxtable with a pinch of Dorothy Zbornack. (If you don't know who any of these characters are, you are either under the age of 30, male or have an aversion to the Hallmark channel. A quick "google" may be in order before you read any farther! :)) I treasure our relationship because I know I am free to be myself around her, yet I will still get a perspective I might not have seen before. She has taught me the art of respectfully standing my ground.
She enjoys decorating for every holiday under the sun-- especially Christmas and Easter. This time of year, there are flowers, baskets and bunnies everywhere you look-- including the bathroom, where the "bendy bunny" is mischievously contorted by her sons when they visit. Many people enjoy "sophisticated" decor for special occasions, giving holidays a "stuffy" feeling. My mother-in-law's decor style is a true extension of her; amongst the doilies from her late mother and candles in dainty holders, you always can find silly decorations that sing, jingle or do something unexpected. Being the mother of three boys (and my poor sister-in law), she seems to enjoy subtle silliness to break the monotony. While that little pink rabbit is usually sitting by a box of tissues or a candle when they first arrive, it isn't long before he is dangling by one leg from a towel rack, has his head peeking out of the medicine cabinet or appears to be scaling the shower curtain. I'm certain she would be disappointed if they left it alone, it's almost as though she's baiting those crazy boys of hers! She's taught me a lot about mothering little boys; the most valuable lesson being that you can embrace the insanity of all that testosterone and still maintain your femininity.
Whether you need to hem a pair of pants or you're too exhausted and overwhelmed to the Lactation consultant alone, she's your go to gal. (Not every one's mother-in-law would sit in on an LC appointment to support their daughter-in-law, even though she'd formula fed all four of her children, but mine did!) If you ever need anything, from a band aid to a needle and thread, it can usually be found in the confines of her purse. She has cough drops, mints, gum, tissues, ibuprofen, snack bags for spoiled grandchildren, paper clips ... and it's not even that big! It's like some sort of "Swiss Army Purse." Her preparedness, she explains, has come from many years of mistakes. While I have gleaned much from her advice over the years, I have probably learned the most from her shared mistakes. Everyone needs a safe place to admit that you just don't have it all together.
From the first meeting, I enjoyed her company, but it wasn't until my wedding shower that I finally knew what to call her. Even though the whole neighborhood seemed to call her "Grandma" or "Miss Phyllis," I had been stuck in this wonky title purgatory. I couldn't just call her "Phyllis;" she was my boyfriend's mother. I respected and loved her, and frankly, I had seen her boys make her mad, and I wanted to stay on her good side! ;) I couldn't call her "mom" yet, I hadn't earned that right. "Mrs. Munson" sounded like a substitute teacher. I often ended up calling her, ma'am, which I'm pretty sure felt awkward for both of us! One beautifully wrapped present changed everything ...
As I sat in the formal living room of my piano teacher (who was also the music pastor's wife), surrounded by childhood Sunday School teachers, ladies from church and immediate family members of both myself and my hubby-to-be, I opened the card from my future mother-in-law. In a sweet, heartfelt card, she added a note that read: "A little something for those nights when you feel like hiding!" I didn't know what to expect, but I opened the package, anyway. As I pulled away the tissue paper, I saw a large Pyrex bowl with something inside of it. Unsure of what the dark green material inside could possibly be, I held it up ... only to discover that she had put silk camouflage pajamas in a salad bowl at my church shower! With a very red face, I turned to her, knowing she had just given me more than her signature practicality with a hint of silliness-- she was treating me like one of her own. The next two words I uttered felt natural and freeing; "Thanks, MOM!"
In the fourteen years I've been "One of her kids," I have been given my share of silly gag gifts, helpful kitchen hints, doses of truth when I needed it (notice, that does not say when I wanted it-- proof that she treats me like one of her kids!), countless meals, and emergency baby-sitting services. I'll never be the "Suzie homemaker" that she is, and she says my schedule makes her dizzy! In spite of our differences, we are bonded in familial love, and in the body of Christ. She didn't just raise a loyal, caring man who makes me laugh, she brought my husband up in the knowledge and love of The LORD. Having that common bond, both in our marriage and in our family, means the world to me. This coming Easter Sunday, I know that as we sit together for the family meal (in spots most likely marked with bunny place cards), we will join in praying, "Come, Lord Jesus" together. I know that as my mother-in-law sips her morning coffee, she will be reading her morning devotionals with my father-in-law at the kitchen table. My children are truly blessed to have four grandparents who not only love (and spoil) them, but they actively pray for them and nurture their walk with Jesus.
As I continue trying to figure out what kind of wife and mother I want to be, I am so thankful for two incredible examples who offer me the best of themselves to learn from, all the while, accepting me for who I am and where I'm at.
Mom M. is not one to make a fuss about anything she does; in fact, this post will probably embarrass her a little. Knowing her, she'll probably thump me playfully on the side of my noggin and hug me when she reads this. The fact that she does so much with so little asked in return can occasionally cause those of us who love her to take her for granted. I want her to know that all those times I drop off my kids while running late for a doctor's appointment, grab a cookie and run out her front door, I'm thankful for a safe and loving place to take my kids. There are so many times when she asks about my life and I forget until the last two minutes of our phone conversations or visits that she's had major medical tests or other stress in her life. I don't tell her I love her nearly enough.
This is why I need my Lenten "pause," that I might slow down and remember. My life is so full of so many giving people whom I often forget to thank, writing about all of them might mean giving up facebook until I'm a grandmother myself! I know I'm not alone in this, we are rushed people. Our gratitude often never leaves our thoughts, a place where it blessed us, but not those who need to hear it most! Whether it's your mother-in-law, a matriarch at church, an extra-special auntie or a caring neighbor, I'm sure there is someone in your life who needs to hear what they mean to you. This post may even cause you to think about writing a card or making a phone call. May we all slow down long enough to thank those who slow down their busy lives to help us!
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
A Tale of Two Sneakers
One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. Proverbs 18:24
My two favorite little men were both in need of new shoes last weekend. Wyatt had hand-me downs that fit his feet, just not over his ankle-foot orthodic braces (AFO's for short). I had just taken Alan shopping two weeks prior and let him pick a very cool (and very on sale) pair of hiking boots. They are waterproof (which is why my little "Mr. Practical" wanted them) and work great for playing outside and hiking with daddy, but they are insulated (not exactly ideal for being in a toasty gymnasium) and mark up the gym floor. Oopsie! My darling husband said both boys should get new shoes. A shoe shopping trip with my husband's blessing is something I will NEVER turn down! I don't care if I'm shopping for me, my children, or a HORSE, I'm all about a good shoe-hunt! (But back to the children. Yes, that's right; this story is about the children. Forgive me; I'll switch gears ...)
Children on the Autism spectrum prefer routine, right? Apparently, the "routine" does NOT apply to shoes! As Wyatt and I searched for shoes online, he wrinkled his nose at the orthodic-friendly selection. I can't say that I blame him, as they are mostly clunky, plain and nothing like the "cool shoes" in typical stores. His mommy also wrinkled her nose at the steep price and inability to try them on! (Everyone who is thrilled about the idea of spending $65-130.00 on shoes, waiting for them to arrive, only to send them back at your expense because they don't fit, stand on your head!) I called ahead to several stores, explained our shoe dilemma and visited a few who hoped they could help us. After none of those worked out, I bit the bullet and took Wyatt to a department store known for accommodating kids with special needs. I knew there could be sticker-shock in my future, but I figured they wouldn't be worse than what I'd seen online, and at least they would fit and possibly not resemble bricks with Velcro!
As the grand piano played in the background, Wyatt and I waited for the sales girl to return with a pair of "AFO-friendly" shoes. To our surprise, she returned with four pair, each of which fit his custom-orthodic. Wyatt's eyes lit up with glee when the first pair emerged from the box. To call them a "bright" green and yellow shoe simply doesn't seem to cover it! When she put them on his dear little feet, he didn't "test run" in his shoes, he strutted! As he pivoted and walked back towards me, he shouted, "Mommy, these snazzy shoes make me feel like a MOVIE STAR!" He dismissed the other three option, claiming they looked "stiff and uncomfortable" (Translation: could not be seen from outer space). At this point, I was so thrilled that we had a working pair of shoes he could wear home (instead of waiting weeks for an order to arrive) in a style that made him happy, I probably would have paid just about anything. When I found out they were machine washable, guaranteed to be outgrown before they wore out and cost less than the brick-like shoes we saw online, I plunked my debit card onto the counter and closed the sale.
When we returned home, Wyatt ran to show Alan his "snazzy" new shoes. Alan seemed genuinely impressed and told him they were super-cool. He talked about how green was his favorite color and asked all about the store we went to. While I loved watching my boys connecting, in the back of my mind, I was thinking, "PLEASE don't ask if you can go to that store for your P.E. shoes, too!" I knew Alan would understand if I told him the budget wouldn't allow non-orthodic wearing members of our house to shop there, but I really didn't want to go there if I didn't have to ...
Fortunately, my financial concerns were eased when Alan told me wanted to shop in a store that was close-by, preferably one with a sporting goods section. He even wanted to bring daddy along to help him choose a good, practical pair. Clearly, this was going to be a different shopping experience! I'm certain Alan would have enjoyed the escalators at the department store, but he LOVES sporting goods.
Naturally, we headed there first. As the boys admired the new selection of tents and camping stoves, my darling husband and his namesake discussed the pros and cons of each model. Wyatt tagged along happily, enjoying the comradery with his daddy and brother. As I watched them shopping, I was struck by their similarities (identical hair cuts, matching Carhartt jackets and carpenter jeans)-- with the exception of their shoes. My "Alans" were both wearing hiking boots, as they often do. Wyatt, naturally, was proudly sporting his brand new vibrant-green shoes. My mind drifted to the day when Alan got his boots, and Wyatt said he wished he had some, but he knew his "orfodics" wouldn't fit in there. Knowing how Wyatt always wants to be "cool" like his brother, It made me glad that my boys were in the camping supplies aisle. Hiking is a struggle for Wyatt with his lax ligaments and sensory issues, but camping is an activity he can easily participate in. He adores sleeping in tents, playing in dirt, looking for bugs and, of course, eating smores. I stifled an "emotional mommy moment," loving how my guys could bond without expecting conformity.
Checking the price tag and brand (because of the sale, not because he cares about brands) on each and every pair of athletic shoes, little Alan scrutinized his choices. I noticed him looking at a trendy pair with skateboarding art on the sides and three-dimensional flames on the toes that lit up. Remembering how he had admired his brother's shoes the day before, I asked him if he wanted to try those on. He looked at me, somewhat embarrassed. Having shopped with Alan many times, I understood that while his mouth said, "Um ... those are ... really something ... aren't they?" he was probably thinking, "If I wore those shoes to school, I would either be the coolest kid there or laughed off the playground. This is NOT a risk I am willing to take!"
As he headed to a "safer" section of footwear, I realized that my older son admired Wyatt's individuality as much as Wyatt envied his big brother's ability to assimilate. Alan is by nature a go-with-the-flow kind of child who makes friends easily; probably because of his empathetic, accommodating nature. He frequently notices when someone gets a new haircut or has new clothes on, and makes sure to complement them. He cares far more about people's happiness than their "cool factor."
You'd think a kid who was that mellow about everyone else would be pretty secure in his own style ... not so much. While He'll take risks where it counts in life (such as sticking up for someone who is being picked on or telling a friend he isn't allowed to watch a certain T.V. show), he cares a LOT about what his friends think of his attire. I suppose this is the downside of his caring, empathetic nature.
Alan wears a lot of "safe" clothes, seeing them more as a necessity than a form of expression. I'm sure at times he wishes he had the guts to express himself like Wyatt. Just in case his shoes aren't bright enough, know that the custom AFO's underneath are even more colorful! The plaster-cast bottoms are rainbow paint splotches, the velcro straps are fire engine red and his ankle straps are camouflage! It's fairly obvious that Wyatt worries precious little about any one's opinion, probably because it doesn't occur to him that they don't think like he does! That confidence makes him fearless, but it also often makes him lonely.
If my boys could walk a mile in each other's shoes for a day, I wonder what they would think about the unseen side of their opposing realities. I know that Wyatt wishes he knew how to make (and keep) friends like his brother does. I know Alan wishes he could read and spell like his little brother. While Wyatt envies his brother's "Student of the Month" awards, I wonder if Alan ever imagines how it feels to dance during church while the congregation sings in a joyful, but far more subdued fashion. Two precious little boys; two very different footprints.
While they can't swap shoes for a day, as brothers, they walk together. As they travel towards adulthood, they will help each other and learn from one another. As Wyatt gleans empathy, social cues and understanding from his big brother, Alan will take on some of his little brother's courage, persistence and quest for knowledge. In spite of their constant sibling rivalry, I know at the end of the day that nobody understands Wyatt like Alan, and nobody admires Alan like Wyatt. What a gift God has given them in one another, and what a privilege to watch the adventure of my little "mis-matched pair!"
Father, the journey to adulthood is anything but easy. As I guide my children, remind me to follow in Your footsteps.
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
My two favorite little men were both in need of new shoes last weekend. Wyatt had hand-me downs that fit his feet, just not over his ankle-foot orthodic braces (AFO's for short). I had just taken Alan shopping two weeks prior and let him pick a very cool (and very on sale) pair of hiking boots. They are waterproof (which is why my little "Mr. Practical" wanted them) and work great for playing outside and hiking with daddy, but they are insulated (not exactly ideal for being in a toasty gymnasium) and mark up the gym floor. Oopsie! My darling husband said both boys should get new shoes. A shoe shopping trip with my husband's blessing is something I will NEVER turn down! I don't care if I'm shopping for me, my children, or a HORSE, I'm all about a good shoe-hunt! (But back to the children. Yes, that's right; this story is about the children. Forgive me; I'll switch gears ...)
Children on the Autism spectrum prefer routine, right? Apparently, the "routine" does NOT apply to shoes! As Wyatt and I searched for shoes online, he wrinkled his nose at the orthodic-friendly selection. I can't say that I blame him, as they are mostly clunky, plain and nothing like the "cool shoes" in typical stores. His mommy also wrinkled her nose at the steep price and inability to try them on! (Everyone who is thrilled about the idea of spending $65-130.00 on shoes, waiting for them to arrive, only to send them back at your expense because they don't fit, stand on your head!) I called ahead to several stores, explained our shoe dilemma and visited a few who hoped they could help us. After none of those worked out, I bit the bullet and took Wyatt to a department store known for accommodating kids with special needs. I knew there could be sticker-shock in my future, but I figured they wouldn't be worse than what I'd seen online, and at least they would fit and possibly not resemble bricks with Velcro!
As the grand piano played in the background, Wyatt and I waited for the sales girl to return with a pair of "AFO-friendly" shoes. To our surprise, she returned with four pair, each of which fit his custom-orthodic. Wyatt's eyes lit up with glee when the first pair emerged from the box. To call them a "bright" green and yellow shoe simply doesn't seem to cover it! When she put them on his dear little feet, he didn't "test run" in his shoes, he strutted! As he pivoted and walked back towards me, he shouted, "Mommy, these snazzy shoes make me feel like a MOVIE STAR!" He dismissed the other three option, claiming they looked "stiff and uncomfortable" (Translation: could not be seen from outer space). At this point, I was so thrilled that we had a working pair of shoes he could wear home (instead of waiting weeks for an order to arrive) in a style that made him happy, I probably would have paid just about anything. When I found out they were machine washable, guaranteed to be outgrown before they wore out and cost less than the brick-like shoes we saw online, I plunked my debit card onto the counter and closed the sale.
When we returned home, Wyatt ran to show Alan his "snazzy" new shoes. Alan seemed genuinely impressed and told him they were super-cool. He talked about how green was his favorite color and asked all about the store we went to. While I loved watching my boys connecting, in the back of my mind, I was thinking, "PLEASE don't ask if you can go to that store for your P.E. shoes, too!" I knew Alan would understand if I told him the budget wouldn't allow non-orthodic wearing members of our house to shop there, but I really didn't want to go there if I didn't have to ...
Fortunately, my financial concerns were eased when Alan told me wanted to shop in a store that was close-by, preferably one with a sporting goods section. He even wanted to bring daddy along to help him choose a good, practical pair. Clearly, this was going to be a different shopping experience! I'm certain Alan would have enjoyed the escalators at the department store, but he LOVES sporting goods.
Naturally, we headed there first. As the boys admired the new selection of tents and camping stoves, my darling husband and his namesake discussed the pros and cons of each model. Wyatt tagged along happily, enjoying the comradery with his daddy and brother. As I watched them shopping, I was struck by their similarities (identical hair cuts, matching Carhartt jackets and carpenter jeans)-- with the exception of their shoes. My "Alans" were both wearing hiking boots, as they often do. Wyatt, naturally, was proudly sporting his brand new vibrant-green shoes. My mind drifted to the day when Alan got his boots, and Wyatt said he wished he had some, but he knew his "orfodics" wouldn't fit in there. Knowing how Wyatt always wants to be "cool" like his brother, It made me glad that my boys were in the camping supplies aisle. Hiking is a struggle for Wyatt with his lax ligaments and sensory issues, but camping is an activity he can easily participate in. He adores sleeping in tents, playing in dirt, looking for bugs and, of course, eating smores. I stifled an "emotional mommy moment," loving how my guys could bond without expecting conformity.
Checking the price tag and brand (because of the sale, not because he cares about brands) on each and every pair of athletic shoes, little Alan scrutinized his choices. I noticed him looking at a trendy pair with skateboarding art on the sides and three-dimensional flames on the toes that lit up. Remembering how he had admired his brother's shoes the day before, I asked him if he wanted to try those on. He looked at me, somewhat embarrassed. Having shopped with Alan many times, I understood that while his mouth said, "Um ... those are ... really something ... aren't they?" he was probably thinking, "If I wore those shoes to school, I would either be the coolest kid there or laughed off the playground. This is NOT a risk I am willing to take!"
As he headed to a "safer" section of footwear, I realized that my older son admired Wyatt's individuality as much as Wyatt envied his big brother's ability to assimilate. Alan is by nature a go-with-the-flow kind of child who makes friends easily; probably because of his empathetic, accommodating nature. He frequently notices when someone gets a new haircut or has new clothes on, and makes sure to complement them. He cares far more about people's happiness than their "cool factor."
You'd think a kid who was that mellow about everyone else would be pretty secure in his own style ... not so much. While He'll take risks where it counts in life (such as sticking up for someone who is being picked on or telling a friend he isn't allowed to watch a certain T.V. show), he cares a LOT about what his friends think of his attire. I suppose this is the downside of his caring, empathetic nature.
Alan wears a lot of "safe" clothes, seeing them more as a necessity than a form of expression. I'm sure at times he wishes he had the guts to express himself like Wyatt. Just in case his shoes aren't bright enough, know that the custom AFO's underneath are even more colorful! The plaster-cast bottoms are rainbow paint splotches, the velcro straps are fire engine red and his ankle straps are camouflage! It's fairly obvious that Wyatt worries precious little about any one's opinion, probably because it doesn't occur to him that they don't think like he does! That confidence makes him fearless, but it also often makes him lonely.
If my boys could walk a mile in each other's shoes for a day, I wonder what they would think about the unseen side of their opposing realities. I know that Wyatt wishes he knew how to make (and keep) friends like his brother does. I know Alan wishes he could read and spell like his little brother. While Wyatt envies his brother's "Student of the Month" awards, I wonder if Alan ever imagines how it feels to dance during church while the congregation sings in a joyful, but far more subdued fashion. Two precious little boys; two very different footprints.
While they can't swap shoes for a day, as brothers, they walk together. As they travel towards adulthood, they will help each other and learn from one another. As Wyatt gleans empathy, social cues and understanding from his big brother, Alan will take on some of his little brother's courage, persistence and quest for knowledge. In spite of their constant sibling rivalry, I know at the end of the day that nobody understands Wyatt like Alan, and nobody admires Alan like Wyatt. What a gift God has given them in one another, and what a privilege to watch the adventure of my little "mis-matched pair!"
Father, the journey to adulthood is anything but easy. As I guide my children, remind me to follow in Your footsteps.
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Escape to Girlyville
Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land.
Song of Solomon 2:12
What a strange and wonderful land I visited yesterday! I was dying for my favorite Italian restaurant, needed to run a few errands and my car was in the shop. Missing my buddy Debi, I called her to see if we could swap her wheels for me treating for lunch. Always up for a driving adventure, she agreed and met me at the mechanics' office Friday morning. Leaving behind the black and white checkerboard decor and the aroma of tires and motor oil, with lattes in hand, we were off to our adventure!
The errands were ... errands. Debi made them much more fun! Our lunch, however, was divine! I rarely remember my waiter's name (and I always get the SAME ONE); he is usually just known in my mind as, "that dear fellow who brings me gluten-free fried calamari and espresso in a teensy cup." We took turns clutching our collarbones in sheer bliss. We were dining in a lovely world of exquisite food, people who whisper "Pardon me, Miss ..." instead of "Moooooooo-ooooooooom!" and beautifully decorated tables that had no begging puppies near our chairs. *Sigh* It was lovely.
Just when I thought our day could not possibly contain another drop of estrogen, Debi introduced me to the loveliest purse and luggage galleria in the known universe. Femininity, thy name art Vera Bradley! Surrounded by floral walls, gingham over-stuffed chairs and lovely sales girls bringing me bottled water with a label that matched a purse near me, I was overwhelmed! Every article I studied was simply beautiful. I tried to take it all in, but there was almost too much cute for my brain to absorb! This mysterious land was void of cammo patterns, dinosaurs and dog hair ... This was GIRLYVILLE! Over an hour later, I left with the prettiest disposable water bottle I have ever seen and a purse that had called my name. (Clearly, not answering would have been rude.) Even then, I didn't want to leave, but I knew if I didn't, I'd be explaining to my husband why I had a coordinated set of purses, overnight bags, luggage, a picnic set, stationary and an entire beach collection, but I'd sold the car. Hugging the sales girl Claire good-bye, I promised to return again someday. *Sigh* It was lovely.
Returning to the real world of waiting for my car at a nearby McDonald's was quite a rude awakening. Joined once more by my charming sons (who were thrilled to see that mommy bought a bigger purse that could hold MORE SNACKS!), I watched them climb through plastic tubing for over two hours. There was no soft music here. There were no gentle floral prints on the walls. My beverage, though bubbly and delicious, was not in a pretty container. Even my house was more peaceful than this place! Playland, I decided, was the "Anti-Girlyville."
Returning home, I was thrilled to have "just my boys" with me! There is nothing like constant screaming from several children you can't reprimand to make a gal appreciate the life she'd been clamoring to escape from. I hung up my dahlia-riffic new purse on the hook by the front door. Hanging there among cammo-clad hats, Carhartt jackets and head lamps, it didn't "coordinate," but it represented my family. It fit there, just as the four of us "fit" together.
Looking at my house, our artifacts seem somehow intertwined in every space imaginable. I find action figures with light-up flaming heads in my yarn bags. My husband's truck has lip gloss and barrettes in the middle console (courtesy of his wife; the "vehicle primper"). My children graciously (a.k.a. they don't have a choice) share closet space with their loving parents. The dogs have generously sprinkled their dog hair throughout the house (thank God for lint rollers!). While my hubby enjoys a good hike or hunting season, the boys love playing with their friends and I love having girl-time, we belong here. What good is a purse without the crayons inside to calm an anxious child waiting for a shot at the doctor's office? What good are the boys' Lego's without daddy to make the biggest, coolest vehicles with them? What good is a hunting magazine without a spouse to jokingly offer the his and hers pistol set in a stunning pink and black? (Yes, it really was a Valentine's Day catalog special the hubby showed me!)
While I do love to "escape" from time to time, I need the differences brought by the people I love and live with. Not just the testosterone that hangs heavy in the air here, but the differing personalities. I need the perspective brought into my life by my dry-witted, introverted, organized hubby, my inventive, dramatic and hugable Alan and my quirky, enthusiastic, endearing Wyatt. I don't always want it; but I need it. Sometimes I'm sure I take them for granted, because they're always "here." How backwards is that? The mall will always be "there." Even if it closes, they'll put up another one. How long will Alan want to snuggle in my bed on Saturday mornings? How many trips will I have with Wyatt bobbing through the grocery store, proudly holding my hand? How many nights will I have in a bed with a blanket I hate, but a man whom I love? Maybe a lot. Maybe only ONE.
Lord, remind me each day that these dear ones you've brought into my home and heart are a privilege. Thank you for time to regroup and relax. By Your grace, show us all how to complement, appreciate and truly love one another.
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Song of Solomon 2:12
What a strange and wonderful land I visited yesterday! I was dying for my favorite Italian restaurant, needed to run a few errands and my car was in the shop. Missing my buddy Debi, I called her to see if we could swap her wheels for me treating for lunch. Always up for a driving adventure, she agreed and met me at the mechanics' office Friday morning. Leaving behind the black and white checkerboard decor and the aroma of tires and motor oil, with lattes in hand, we were off to our adventure!
The errands were ... errands. Debi made them much more fun! Our lunch, however, was divine! I rarely remember my waiter's name (and I always get the SAME ONE); he is usually just known in my mind as, "that dear fellow who brings me gluten-free fried calamari and espresso in a teensy cup." We took turns clutching our collarbones in sheer bliss. We were dining in a lovely world of exquisite food, people who whisper "Pardon me, Miss ..." instead of "Moooooooo-ooooooooom!" and beautifully decorated tables that had no begging puppies near our chairs. *Sigh* It was lovely.
Just when I thought our day could not possibly contain another drop of estrogen, Debi introduced me to the loveliest purse and luggage galleria in the known universe. Femininity, thy name art Vera Bradley! Surrounded by floral walls, gingham over-stuffed chairs and lovely sales girls bringing me bottled water with a label that matched a purse near me, I was overwhelmed! Every article I studied was simply beautiful. I tried to take it all in, but there was almost too much cute for my brain to absorb! This mysterious land was void of cammo patterns, dinosaurs and dog hair ... This was GIRLYVILLE! Over an hour later, I left with the prettiest disposable water bottle I have ever seen and a purse that had called my name. (Clearly, not answering would have been rude.) Even then, I didn't want to leave, but I knew if I didn't, I'd be explaining to my husband why I had a coordinated set of purses, overnight bags, luggage, a picnic set, stationary and an entire beach collection, but I'd sold the car. Hugging the sales girl Claire good-bye, I promised to return again someday. *Sigh* It was lovely.
Returning to the real world of waiting for my car at a nearby McDonald's was quite a rude awakening. Joined once more by my charming sons (who were thrilled to see that mommy bought a bigger purse that could hold MORE SNACKS!), I watched them climb through plastic tubing for over two hours. There was no soft music here. There were no gentle floral prints on the walls. My beverage, though bubbly and delicious, was not in a pretty container. Even my house was more peaceful than this place! Playland, I decided, was the "Anti-Girlyville."
Returning home, I was thrilled to have "just my boys" with me! There is nothing like constant screaming from several children you can't reprimand to make a gal appreciate the life she'd been clamoring to escape from. I hung up my dahlia-riffic new purse on the hook by the front door. Hanging there among cammo-clad hats, Carhartt jackets and head lamps, it didn't "coordinate," but it represented my family. It fit there, just as the four of us "fit" together.
Looking at my house, our artifacts seem somehow intertwined in every space imaginable. I find action figures with light-up flaming heads in my yarn bags. My husband's truck has lip gloss and barrettes in the middle console (courtesy of his wife; the "vehicle primper"). My children graciously (a.k.a. they don't have a choice) share closet space with their loving parents. The dogs have generously sprinkled their dog hair throughout the house (thank God for lint rollers!). While my hubby enjoys a good hike or hunting season, the boys love playing with their friends and I love having girl-time, we belong here. What good is a purse without the crayons inside to calm an anxious child waiting for a shot at the doctor's office? What good are the boys' Lego's without daddy to make the biggest, coolest vehicles with them? What good is a hunting magazine without a spouse to jokingly offer the his and hers pistol set in a stunning pink and black? (Yes, it really was a Valentine's Day catalog special the hubby showed me!)
While I do love to "escape" from time to time, I need the differences brought by the people I love and live with. Not just the testosterone that hangs heavy in the air here, but the differing personalities. I need the perspective brought into my life by my dry-witted, introverted, organized hubby, my inventive, dramatic and hugable Alan and my quirky, enthusiastic, endearing Wyatt. I don't always want it; but I need it. Sometimes I'm sure I take them for granted, because they're always "here." How backwards is that? The mall will always be "there." Even if it closes, they'll put up another one. How long will Alan want to snuggle in my bed on Saturday mornings? How many trips will I have with Wyatt bobbing through the grocery store, proudly holding my hand? How many nights will I have in a bed with a blanket I hate, but a man whom I love? Maybe a lot. Maybe only ONE.
Lord, remind me each day that these dear ones you've brought into my home and heart are a privilege. Thank you for time to regroup and relax. By Your grace, show us all how to complement, appreciate and truly love one another.
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Wobbly Lines and Circles
My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.
Psalm 63:8
It's a such treat to watch my boys with their father. My boys' loyalty to me is certainly unquestionable; but they also know there are some things this mama just doesn't understand. When I found out my husband let the boys climb the rockery walls on the sides of our fireplace, I nearly plotzed. When the boys talk about bodily functions in a hushed voice with daddy, I risk permanent optical nerve strain from rolling my eyes. When they wrestle like wild dogs on my living room floor, I have to leave the room so I don't worry about injuries. This is why my darling boys have an adventurous daddy! Today, daddy decided it was time for a new adventure for Wyatt-- **gulp** NO MORE TRAINING WHEELS.
Watching from the porch and various windows, I saw my baby first straddle his bike and "walk" with no training wheels. Then he moved up to peddling while daddy held on to the back of his bike with two hands. Then came one hand. A few minutes later, daddy gave Wyatt a starting push and let go. For ten solid feet, my little boy sailed along the grassy pasture ... followed by a swift thud into a pile of dirt. I wanted to run to him and check for bruises, but I saw his daddy ask if he was okay. With a dirt-encrusted grin, Wyatt rose proudly to his feet, gave the "thumbs up" signal and got back on his bike. My brave little trooper was ready to try again! He started once more with a guided push from daddy, then peddled furiously, doing almost a full circle around the south pasture! I screamed with immense pride and enthusiasm in my poor Mother-In-Law's ear, told her I would call back later and ran out to congratulate my big kid. "Did you see me, mommy? Did you see?" He asked. Twirling him around in a congratulatory hug, I told him he was awesome!
While my youngest son had been working with daddy on making it across the yard, my oldest boy was doing figure-eights from one pasture to the next; doing fancy turns in our gravel driveway in between. Watching him, I remembered when daddy had taught Alan to ride his bike. I laughed, thinking about how I insisted on not just the required helmet (which is still a non-negotiable rule with both parents), but elbow and knee pads, tough skin jeans and long sleeved shirts. The whirling blades of my "helicopter parenting" could still be heard in the distance, but I'd calmed down a lot! As Alan breezed past his brother, I thought about how much he'd grown. I remembered the toddler he was when I brought his brother home from the hospital. I blinked and my babies were riding two wheelers. How did this happen?
Every little milestone of their life seemed to start out wobbly. Life with a newborn was wobbly (for mommy), then my days slowly gained a rhythm. I went from staggering about our little house, exhausted from lack of sleep, sobbing with frustration over nursing issues and being afraid to leave the house alone to circling the neighborhood confidently with Alan in his stroller a few months later. As he took his first steps, there was a great deal of wobbling, stumbling and crying. In time, his wobbly little lines became straighter, then faster, and before I knew it, Alan was running circles around me (just in time for me to get pregnant with Wyatt and start this all over again)! In the nine years I've been a mom, I've watched my share of wobbly lines and circles. In the thirty-three years I've been alive, I've lived quite a few of them!
I would love to say that life is like riding a bike, but I don't think that's remotely true. I think life is like learning to ride a bike! There are days when I look at my bloody knees and my battered helmet and can't help but long for a "stationary bike" kind of existence! No falling, no bug swallowing, no having to watch for cars, no crashing into trees, no "helmet hair," no puddles splashing you ... no real movement at all.
It's safe on a stationary bike. You can relax and watch T.V. or read a book, you don't need as much balance, there are no hills and you still get some exercise. Why not live the "stationary" life?
You don't swallow a bug, but you don't feel the wind in your face, either. You don't pass other bikes, but your scenery never changes. There are no flowers to admire, no trees to give you shade, no exhilarating coast down a big hill. The stationary bike is alright on a rainy day, but sometimes you need to pedal on a "real" bike.
As God's children, we are granted the peace that comes from knowing that we never "ride" alone. When we are unsure and wobbly, he holds us up. There are, of course, times when we get cocky and don't watch where we're going, when we try a trail that isn't meant for our skill level, we forget to properly "fuel" ourselves or we begin to doubt God's plan for us. When that happens, we stumble and fall (sometimes rather hard!) Ever our attentive and loving Father, He is there to tend to our wounds, dust us off and encourage us to try again.
I'm not going to start climbing the rockery or belching the alphabet in the near future, but thank God for adventurous little boys (and their wonderful daddy) who pull me away from my "stationary" life! Are you tired of staring at the same wall? Is it time to risk a skinned knee and some helmet hair in exchange for a wonderful new view? Strap on your "helmet of salvation" and go forth!
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Psalm 63:8
It's a such treat to watch my boys with their father. My boys' loyalty to me is certainly unquestionable; but they also know there are some things this mama just doesn't understand. When I found out my husband let the boys climb the rockery walls on the sides of our fireplace, I nearly plotzed. When the boys talk about bodily functions in a hushed voice with daddy, I risk permanent optical nerve strain from rolling my eyes. When they wrestle like wild dogs on my living room floor, I have to leave the room so I don't worry about injuries. This is why my darling boys have an adventurous daddy! Today, daddy decided it was time for a new adventure for Wyatt-- **gulp** NO MORE TRAINING WHEELS.
Watching from the porch and various windows, I saw my baby first straddle his bike and "walk" with no training wheels. Then he moved up to peddling while daddy held on to the back of his bike with two hands. Then came one hand. A few minutes later, daddy gave Wyatt a starting push and let go. For ten solid feet, my little boy sailed along the grassy pasture ... followed by a swift thud into a pile of dirt. I wanted to run to him and check for bruises, but I saw his daddy ask if he was okay. With a dirt-encrusted grin, Wyatt rose proudly to his feet, gave the "thumbs up" signal and got back on his bike. My brave little trooper was ready to try again! He started once more with a guided push from daddy, then peddled furiously, doing almost a full circle around the south pasture! I screamed with immense pride and enthusiasm in my poor Mother-In-Law's ear, told her I would call back later and ran out to congratulate my big kid. "Did you see me, mommy? Did you see?" He asked. Twirling him around in a congratulatory hug, I told him he was awesome!
While my youngest son had been working with daddy on making it across the yard, my oldest boy was doing figure-eights from one pasture to the next; doing fancy turns in our gravel driveway in between. Watching him, I remembered when daddy had taught Alan to ride his bike. I laughed, thinking about how I insisted on not just the required helmet (which is still a non-negotiable rule with both parents), but elbow and knee pads, tough skin jeans and long sleeved shirts. The whirling blades of my "helicopter parenting" could still be heard in the distance, but I'd calmed down a lot! As Alan breezed past his brother, I thought about how much he'd grown. I remembered the toddler he was when I brought his brother home from the hospital. I blinked and my babies were riding two wheelers. How did this happen?
Every little milestone of their life seemed to start out wobbly. Life with a newborn was wobbly (for mommy), then my days slowly gained a rhythm. I went from staggering about our little house, exhausted from lack of sleep, sobbing with frustration over nursing issues and being afraid to leave the house alone to circling the neighborhood confidently with Alan in his stroller a few months later. As he took his first steps, there was a great deal of wobbling, stumbling and crying. In time, his wobbly little lines became straighter, then faster, and before I knew it, Alan was running circles around me (just in time for me to get pregnant with Wyatt and start this all over again)! In the nine years I've been a mom, I've watched my share of wobbly lines and circles. In the thirty-three years I've been alive, I've lived quite a few of them!
I would love to say that life is like riding a bike, but I don't think that's remotely true. I think life is like learning to ride a bike! There are days when I look at my bloody knees and my battered helmet and can't help but long for a "stationary bike" kind of existence! No falling, no bug swallowing, no having to watch for cars, no crashing into trees, no "helmet hair," no puddles splashing you ... no real movement at all.
It's safe on a stationary bike. You can relax and watch T.V. or read a book, you don't need as much balance, there are no hills and you still get some exercise. Why not live the "stationary" life?
You don't swallow a bug, but you don't feel the wind in your face, either. You don't pass other bikes, but your scenery never changes. There are no flowers to admire, no trees to give you shade, no exhilarating coast down a big hill. The stationary bike is alright on a rainy day, but sometimes you need to pedal on a "real" bike.
As God's children, we are granted the peace that comes from knowing that we never "ride" alone. When we are unsure and wobbly, he holds us up. There are, of course, times when we get cocky and don't watch where we're going, when we try a trail that isn't meant for our skill level, we forget to properly "fuel" ourselves or we begin to doubt God's plan for us. When that happens, we stumble and fall (sometimes rather hard!) Ever our attentive and loving Father, He is there to tend to our wounds, dust us off and encourage us to try again.
I'm not going to start climbing the rockery or belching the alphabet in the near future, but thank God for adventurous little boys (and their wonderful daddy) who pull me away from my "stationary" life! Are you tired of staring at the same wall? Is it time to risk a skinned knee and some helmet hair in exchange for a wonderful new view? Strap on your "helmet of salvation" and go forth!
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Where's My Fries?
"Father, forgive them, for they do no know what they are doing."
Luke 23:34a
Oh, how prepared I was for dinner tonight! I began prepping my sour dough starter for waffles in the early morning, since I was already up with my little buddy. My hubby had a meeting after work, followed by his Tuesday evening hike (he's training to summit Mt. Rainer for the second time!). Since I had so much extra time and one lonely banana turning leopard-esque, I thought I'd add him to the batter. Just as I was getting ready to add more flour and beat my egg whites, I got a text that my mighty mountain man was extra speedy and already on his way down the trail! Normally, that would mean I'd still have 30-45 minutes before he arrived, but today we were picking him up at the trail head! Knowing the munchkins were hungry, I grabbed a scant half-cup of rice flour, a little sugar and whole eggs into my batter, mixed it hurriedly and attempted to make fast pancakes. Did you know that adding banana to sourdough batter without well over a cup of additional flour creates flubber? Flustered, I turned off the stove, grabbed some breakfast cookies and rushed the kidlets out the door to get daddy.
As my family munched happily on cookies, I decided to drop our sweaty bread winner off at our house for a shower while mommy hit the drive-thru. Armed with a snazzy coupon book (I love it when restaurants remodel!), I ordered the healthiest items I could find, (smoothies, salads, sandwich wraps, etc. ) followed by a few "treats ."
Wyatt loves fries. I am blessed with two boys who still regard fries as junk food and split a small fry. Wyatt was such a sad little guy when he heard that most restaurants' fries had gluten in them (as was mommy)! :( They are more special to him now than ever (he went gluten-free just after Christmas); he talked about them the whole way home.
As I distributed our food among the starving masses, I reached for the fries at the bottom, only to find napkins. No fries! Daddy would be sad, but he still had burgers. Wyatt couldn't eat burgers with buns, chicken nuggets (or any chicken at all) or anything sandwich-like. His "treat" had been forgotten.
For any child, this would have been a bummer. For a child with my husband's DNA, it is a disaster. For a child carrying my husbands DNA and a diagnosis of autism, it could have been a catastrophe! Poor Wyatt had been promised waffles, then the plan had been changed to pancakes, then he was shuffled out the door with a cheese stick and a gluten-free cookie and now no fries. Talk about a change in routine!
I was rather surprised by how well he took the news. There were a few tears, but he asked if he could have some yogurt. Naturally, I said yes! I told him I'd tweak the pancakes while he slurped his portable yogurt (a godsend for children with sensory issues who fear jiggly food that might spill or make a mess!), and hopped into the kitchen to do so. Fortunately, with a little more flour, the pancakes were yummy. :) Wyatt sat gleefully munching on a pancake roll up with strawberry jam, not caring much at all about his fries. While he breathed the sigh of a little boy with a contented tummy (for 30 minutes, anyway!), I breathed a sigh of relief.
About an hour later, he looked up at me with puzzled eyes and said, "They forgot my fries, mom." I told him there was a very long line and they didn't mean to, but next time I went I would tell them (nicely). That was all he needed to hear, not another word about the renegade fries were uttered after that.
I know that God has a wonderful plan for my life. I know He loves me, I know He cares about me, I know He listens. There are times when people hurt or disappoint me and I know they don't mean to. When they've done something deliberate, I know what to do. There are even times when I can do it in a semi-controlled manner (we won't talk about the other times, other than to say that I'm a great deal taller from standing on several soap boxes). But where do you put the hurt from people who don't know better? Where do you stash those well-meaning comments that prick your heart? Where do you place the disappointments that come from people who are loving you the best way they know how?
There is only one place to learn how to heal from all that baggage: at the feet of Jesus. From the time He was a child teaching in the temple, He was misunderstood by His family. While going through the greatest anguish of his life, His closest friends fell asleep. He was betrayed, denied and abandoned by those who loved him. When we look to His example, we see this response in Luke 23:34: "Father, forgive them, for they do no know what they are doing."
When you're just not sure how to even put into words what happened, you can always crawl into the lap of your Heavenly Daddy and just tell Him that you're hurting. When someone forgets Wyatt's fries, all I can offer is a hug and a pancake. When someone forgets to be careful with your heart, God has the ability and desire to heal it. It wasn't easy for Wyatt to release his plans for dinner, but releasing our broken dreams and unfulfilled promises are much harder. If we let go of our need to protect ourselves from everyone-- including God, He can fill the painful voids inside us, mend our wounds and help us to love once more.
The world may forget your fries, slap you with back-handed complements and ignore you, dear friends, but they know not what they do. God, on the other hand, always remembers, treasures and tirelessly cares for you-- even when you forget Him. All this and no drive thru line-- what a God we serve! :)
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Luke 23:34a
Oh, how prepared I was for dinner tonight! I began prepping my sour dough starter for waffles in the early morning, since I was already up with my little buddy. My hubby had a meeting after work, followed by his Tuesday evening hike (he's training to summit Mt. Rainer for the second time!). Since I had so much extra time and one lonely banana turning leopard-esque, I thought I'd add him to the batter. Just as I was getting ready to add more flour and beat my egg whites, I got a text that my mighty mountain man was extra speedy and already on his way down the trail! Normally, that would mean I'd still have 30-45 minutes before he arrived, but today we were picking him up at the trail head! Knowing the munchkins were hungry, I grabbed a scant half-cup of rice flour, a little sugar and whole eggs into my batter, mixed it hurriedly and attempted to make fast pancakes. Did you know that adding banana to sourdough batter without well over a cup of additional flour creates flubber? Flustered, I turned off the stove, grabbed some breakfast cookies and rushed the kidlets out the door to get daddy.
As my family munched happily on cookies, I decided to drop our sweaty bread winner off at our house for a shower while mommy hit the drive-thru. Armed with a snazzy coupon book (I love it when restaurants remodel!), I ordered the healthiest items I could find, (smoothies, salads, sandwich wraps, etc. ) followed by a few "treats ."
Wyatt loves fries. I am blessed with two boys who still regard fries as junk food and split a small fry. Wyatt was such a sad little guy when he heard that most restaurants' fries had gluten in them (as was mommy)! :( They are more special to him now than ever (he went gluten-free just after Christmas); he talked about them the whole way home.
As I distributed our food among the starving masses, I reached for the fries at the bottom, only to find napkins. No fries! Daddy would be sad, but he still had burgers. Wyatt couldn't eat burgers with buns, chicken nuggets (or any chicken at all) or anything sandwich-like. His "treat" had been forgotten.
For any child, this would have been a bummer. For a child with my husband's DNA, it is a disaster. For a child carrying my husbands DNA and a diagnosis of autism, it could have been a catastrophe! Poor Wyatt had been promised waffles, then the plan had been changed to pancakes, then he was shuffled out the door with a cheese stick and a gluten-free cookie and now no fries. Talk about a change in routine!
I was rather surprised by how well he took the news. There were a few tears, but he asked if he could have some yogurt. Naturally, I said yes! I told him I'd tweak the pancakes while he slurped his portable yogurt (a godsend for children with sensory issues who fear jiggly food that might spill or make a mess!), and hopped into the kitchen to do so. Fortunately, with a little more flour, the pancakes were yummy. :) Wyatt sat gleefully munching on a pancake roll up with strawberry jam, not caring much at all about his fries. While he breathed the sigh of a little boy with a contented tummy (for 30 minutes, anyway!), I breathed a sigh of relief.
About an hour later, he looked up at me with puzzled eyes and said, "They forgot my fries, mom." I told him there was a very long line and they didn't mean to, but next time I went I would tell them (nicely). That was all he needed to hear, not another word about the renegade fries were uttered after that.
I know that God has a wonderful plan for my life. I know He loves me, I know He cares about me, I know He listens. There are times when people hurt or disappoint me and I know they don't mean to. When they've done something deliberate, I know what to do. There are even times when I can do it in a semi-controlled manner (we won't talk about the other times, other than to say that I'm a great deal taller from standing on several soap boxes). But where do you put the hurt from people who don't know better? Where do you stash those well-meaning comments that prick your heart? Where do you place the disappointments that come from people who are loving you the best way they know how?
There is only one place to learn how to heal from all that baggage: at the feet of Jesus. From the time He was a child teaching in the temple, He was misunderstood by His family. While going through the greatest anguish of his life, His closest friends fell asleep. He was betrayed, denied and abandoned by those who loved him. When we look to His example, we see this response in Luke 23:34: "Father, forgive them, for they do no know what they are doing."
When you're just not sure how to even put into words what happened, you can always crawl into the lap of your Heavenly Daddy and just tell Him that you're hurting. When someone forgets Wyatt's fries, all I can offer is a hug and a pancake. When someone forgets to be careful with your heart, God has the ability and desire to heal it. It wasn't easy for Wyatt to release his plans for dinner, but releasing our broken dreams and unfulfilled promises are much harder. If we let go of our need to protect ourselves from everyone-- including God, He can fill the painful voids inside us, mend our wounds and help us to love once more.
The world may forget your fries, slap you with back-handed complements and ignore you, dear friends, but they know not what they do. God, on the other hand, always remembers, treasures and tirelessly cares for you-- even when you forget Him. All this and no drive thru line-- what a God we serve! :)
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Monday, March 21, 2011
Caserole Communing
Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?
Eccclesiastes 4:9-11
I'm not ashamed; I have a deep and abiding love of tuna casserole, anything resembling spaghetti- only with a ridiculous amount of cheese and "fun" pasta, overnight french-toast, that brunch egg-thingy with hash browns on top, Chile Rellano... that spells comfort food to me. It also spells less dishes, fewer courses and left-overs; what's not to love there? We all know there are times when people (myself included) can go a little crazy, causing a hot dish gone wrong. Come on, do you need THREE cans of "cream of something" in there? Must we have some sort of potato chip, tater tot or breadcrumb drenched in butter atop EVERYTHING? A person could get a heart valve clog just reading some recipes! And please, I beg of you, do not get me started on why pimentos, Lima beans, Velveeta and corn simply cannot be entrusted to the pantries of some well-meaning, but clearly misguided casserole cooks. Clearly, there must be balance among the sauce (be it creamy, cheesy or tomato-based), starch (be it pasta, potatoes or rice), veggies, protein and toppings, but when it's good, it's goooooooood.
Casseroles can help forgotten, but nutritious and lovely ingredients shine. I must admit, there have been times when I've left out a bag of frozen veggies to make for dinner, grabbed something else, then come back an hour after dinner was over. Those poor little thawed peas were clearly not to blame for my forgetfulness, but they can't be re-frozen. Ah, but there are many recipes where thawed peas can be added at the last minute; becoming a happy little companion to a creamy sauce! Forgotten veggie tray friends, such as celery and carrots, can make your chicken Divan Divine! That sad little nub of neglected cheddar that's too small for a sandwich can add a little oomph to the body of any sauce. A casserole can prevent good food from becoming compost!
Casseroles can also revive tired turkey, ham that's "had it" and "beyond-braised" beef. I would love to say that I always remember to set timers when I have a roast going on the oven, but that is simply not the case! OOPS! Chicken jerky is just not the same as jerk chicken! There are also times when I get impatient with a meat that needs a slower roast, resulting in jaw workout for the whole crew! Nobody likes throwing away a beautiful ham that just didn't cook well, but how much ham salad can a person eat? Enter the forgiving support of sauces, pasta and a little cheese on top, breathing new life back into your "dead" meat! It moistens, tenderizes and enhances the flavor of your leftovers, saving you money in a delicious way! :)
A well-balanced casserole supports all the ingredients and doesn't have a glory-hog syndrome. There are times when there's a little meat and a lot of pasta and cheese, there are times when the opposite is true. As long as the flavors are melding, that's keen! (Yes, I typed keen. It's a nifty word, I'm determined to bring it back!) Casseroles rarely turn out the same way twice in my house. I grab what we have on hand, and that's always changing! Writing out recipes for what we eat is a challenge, because I'm often just making it up as I go! It's how my Grandma Howard did it, it's how my mama did it (and still does), it's probably how some of my great-great grand kids will cook in their kitchens. It's about feeding your loved ones the best of what you have, while being mindful of using the resources God has blessed you with in a wise way.
After talking to my missionary friends, a few world-travelers and watching a lot of food-related T.V., I have come to the conclusion that nearly every culture in the known world seems to have at least one "casserole" of their own. From the affluent to the poorest of the poor, families and communities across the globe are melding bits and pieces together to nourish their families. My heart breaks for the mothers who have never had leftovers in their cupboards, while I coax my children at our table, saying, "Everything you love is in here. Just try it ..." How blessed we are to have variety and excess in our lives!
I've always called our worship team "my casserole," because our goal is to share our gifts and support one another. We vary who leads, working on melding together to nourish our body of believers. I awoke Sunday morning to a tickle in my throat. I had two solos and a lot of high (for me, anyway) harmonies ahead of me during service. I asked people to pray after rehearsal, feeling fatigue already entering my vocal chords. By offertory, my voice was nearly gone. Remember when I mentioned the two solos? Well, one of them was the offertory! When my voice wouldn't come out, my buddy Dawn took over for me. During communion, I knew the high harmonies just wouldn't happen. After completing a beautiful solo, Alyssa had my back with the high harmonies while I sang when I could. Thank goodness for the casserole!
I am so blessed to be part of an amazing body of believers, loyal and loving friends and a phenomenal family. I'm pretty good at thanking them internally, but I forget to tell them! Lord, show me this week how I can bless my fellow "ingredients!"
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Eccclesiastes 4:9-11
I'm not ashamed; I have a deep and abiding love of tuna casserole, anything resembling spaghetti- only with a ridiculous amount of cheese and "fun" pasta, overnight french-toast, that brunch egg-thingy with hash browns on top, Chile Rellano... that spells comfort food to me. It also spells less dishes, fewer courses and left-overs; what's not to love there? We all know there are times when people (myself included) can go a little crazy, causing a hot dish gone wrong. Come on, do you need THREE cans of "cream of something" in there? Must we have some sort of potato chip, tater tot or breadcrumb drenched in butter atop EVERYTHING? A person could get a heart valve clog just reading some recipes! And please, I beg of you, do not get me started on why pimentos, Lima beans, Velveeta and corn simply cannot be entrusted to the pantries of some well-meaning, but clearly misguided casserole cooks. Clearly, there must be balance among the sauce (be it creamy, cheesy or tomato-based), starch (be it pasta, potatoes or rice), veggies, protein and toppings, but when it's good, it's goooooooood.
Casseroles can help forgotten, but nutritious and lovely ingredients shine. I must admit, there have been times when I've left out a bag of frozen veggies to make for dinner, grabbed something else, then come back an hour after dinner was over. Those poor little thawed peas were clearly not to blame for my forgetfulness, but they can't be re-frozen. Ah, but there are many recipes where thawed peas can be added at the last minute; becoming a happy little companion to a creamy sauce! Forgotten veggie tray friends, such as celery and carrots, can make your chicken Divan Divine! That sad little nub of neglected cheddar that's too small for a sandwich can add a little oomph to the body of any sauce. A casserole can prevent good food from becoming compost!
Casseroles can also revive tired turkey, ham that's "had it" and "beyond-braised" beef. I would love to say that I always remember to set timers when I have a roast going on the oven, but that is simply not the case! OOPS! Chicken jerky is just not the same as jerk chicken! There are also times when I get impatient with a meat that needs a slower roast, resulting in jaw workout for the whole crew! Nobody likes throwing away a beautiful ham that just didn't cook well, but how much ham salad can a person eat? Enter the forgiving support of sauces, pasta and a little cheese on top, breathing new life back into your "dead" meat! It moistens, tenderizes and enhances the flavor of your leftovers, saving you money in a delicious way! :)
A well-balanced casserole supports all the ingredients and doesn't have a glory-hog syndrome. There are times when there's a little meat and a lot of pasta and cheese, there are times when the opposite is true. As long as the flavors are melding, that's keen! (Yes, I typed keen. It's a nifty word, I'm determined to bring it back!) Casseroles rarely turn out the same way twice in my house. I grab what we have on hand, and that's always changing! Writing out recipes for what we eat is a challenge, because I'm often just making it up as I go! It's how my Grandma Howard did it, it's how my mama did it (and still does), it's probably how some of my great-great grand kids will cook in their kitchens. It's about feeding your loved ones the best of what you have, while being mindful of using the resources God has blessed you with in a wise way.
After talking to my missionary friends, a few world-travelers and watching a lot of food-related T.V., I have come to the conclusion that nearly every culture in the known world seems to have at least one "casserole" of their own. From the affluent to the poorest of the poor, families and communities across the globe are melding bits and pieces together to nourish their families. My heart breaks for the mothers who have never had leftovers in their cupboards, while I coax my children at our table, saying, "Everything you love is in here. Just try it ..." How blessed we are to have variety and excess in our lives!
I've always called our worship team "my casserole," because our goal is to share our gifts and support one another. We vary who leads, working on melding together to nourish our body of believers. I awoke Sunday morning to a tickle in my throat. I had two solos and a lot of high (for me, anyway) harmonies ahead of me during service. I asked people to pray after rehearsal, feeling fatigue already entering my vocal chords. By offertory, my voice was nearly gone. Remember when I mentioned the two solos? Well, one of them was the offertory! When my voice wouldn't come out, my buddy Dawn took over for me. During communion, I knew the high harmonies just wouldn't happen. After completing a beautiful solo, Alyssa had my back with the high harmonies while I sang when I could. Thank goodness for the casserole!
I am so blessed to be part of an amazing body of believers, loyal and loving friends and a phenomenal family. I'm pretty good at thanking them internally, but I forget to tell them! Lord, show me this week how I can bless my fellow "ingredients!"
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Wonder Woman Wanna-Be
She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.
Prov. 31:25
As a kindergartner, my top-two Saturday Morning Cartoons were the Smurfs (who could resist frolicking little blue people in white, fluffy hats?) and the undisputed kings of cool (well, I suppose you could argue with me, but I WILL win!), The Super Friends! No matter how many smurf mugs, figurines and pajamas I owned, Super Friends was the show! Why? It all came down to Wonder Woman!
You see, Smurfette was just annoying! Always whining, "Oh, Papa Smurf! Papa Smurf!" And making all the blue dudes do her bidding. Ew. Wonder Woman, on the other hand, was a force to be reckoned with! Girlfriend had an invisible plane, bracelets that deflected bullets and hair accessories that knocked bad guys on their keesters! Plus, she had something that every female on the planet (especially mothers) can't help but wish really existed-- the lasso of truth! I never had a Wonder Woman costume, though. As a five-year-old, I saw this as mercilessly unfair. As a mother, I see that some things just can't be explained to small children. I don't blame her for not wanting to add bustiers to that list! ;)
In First Grade, I had found another role-model in Princess Leah! I rocked some serious double hair buns and a spangled ensemble (made modestly a la mom) that Halloween. A chick who had amazing fighting skills, snappy comebacks and won the heart the heart of Han Solo seemed pretty cool to me! :)
Fast forward past my "Jem" phase and a LOT of bad neon fashions to 2004 ...
I was a mother a toddler and an infant. (My infant slept all night, my toddler did not.) I was drowning in a sea of dishes, laundry, nurse-a-thons, potty dancing in the grocery store (always at least 1000 yards from the nearest restroom), doctor's appointments and oh yeah-- there was this guy I passed in the hall. The toddler called him Daddy, I believe ... I felt stretched far beyond my abilities, my energy level and eons past any recollection of romance. Was there a super hero with that kind of life? Enter my very first grown-up super heroine, Elastigirl!
Helen Par to most of the world, her super-powers came in handy on a daily basis at home. She was fighting a lot of the same battles I was! A criminal mastermind isn't nearly as hard to figure out as a baby; at least criminal masterminds can talk! She had three children with very differing personalities, tried to find the middle ground between encouraging her kids without creating little ego-maniacs, struggled to feed a hungry (but picky) brood and attempted to keep the flame lit in her marriage while fighting a truly formidable adversary-- two exhausted people!
While most of us (okay, ALL of us) aren't flexible enough to be able to put away laundry and load the dishwasher at the same time; all women feel "stretched" in their daily lives. There is one woman who seems to have it all together; the infamous "Proverbs 31 Woman." I thought I had an "out" for a while when it came to comparing myself to her, Since she had servants. Then I remembered that I have indoor pluming, electricity, appliances and a car. Drat. Foiled again by that pesky, indisputable "Wife of Noble Character!" She sewed clothes, cooked, bought real estate, planned ahead, her children arose and called her "blessed," her husband praised her at the city gate ... She clearly must be a fictional super-heroin.
Prov. 31:25
As a kindergartner, my top-two Saturday Morning Cartoons were the Smurfs (who could resist frolicking little blue people in white, fluffy hats?) and the undisputed kings of cool (well, I suppose you could argue with me, but I WILL win!), The Super Friends! No matter how many smurf mugs, figurines and pajamas I owned, Super Friends was the show! Why? It all came down to Wonder Woman!
You see, Smurfette was just annoying! Always whining, "Oh, Papa Smurf! Papa Smurf!" And making all the blue dudes do her bidding. Ew. Wonder Woman, on the other hand, was a force to be reckoned with! Girlfriend had an invisible plane, bracelets that deflected bullets and hair accessories that knocked bad guys on their keesters! Plus, she had something that every female on the planet (especially mothers) can't help but wish really existed-- the lasso of truth! I never had a Wonder Woman costume, though. As a five-year-old, I saw this as mercilessly unfair. As a mother, I see that some things just can't be explained to small children. I don't blame her for not wanting to add bustiers to that list! ;)
In First Grade, I had found another role-model in Princess Leah! I rocked some serious double hair buns and a spangled ensemble (made modestly a la mom) that Halloween. A chick who had amazing fighting skills, snappy comebacks and won the heart the heart of Han Solo seemed pretty cool to me! :)
Fast forward past my "Jem" phase and a LOT of bad neon fashions to 2004 ...
I was a mother a toddler and an infant. (My infant slept all night, my toddler did not.) I was drowning in a sea of dishes, laundry, nurse-a-thons, potty dancing in the grocery store (always at least 1000 yards from the nearest restroom), doctor's appointments and oh yeah-- there was this guy I passed in the hall. The toddler called him Daddy, I believe ... I felt stretched far beyond my abilities, my energy level and eons past any recollection of romance. Was there a super hero with that kind of life? Enter my very first grown-up super heroine, Elastigirl!
Helen Par to most of the world, her super-powers came in handy on a daily basis at home. She was fighting a lot of the same battles I was! A criminal mastermind isn't nearly as hard to figure out as a baby; at least criminal masterminds can talk! She had three children with very differing personalities, tried to find the middle ground between encouraging her kids without creating little ego-maniacs, struggled to feed a hungry (but picky) brood and attempted to keep the flame lit in her marriage while fighting a truly formidable adversary-- two exhausted people!
While most of us (okay, ALL of us) aren't flexible enough to be able to put away laundry and load the dishwasher at the same time; all women feel "stretched" in their daily lives. There is one woman who seems to have it all together; the infamous "Proverbs 31 Woman." I thought I had an "out" for a while when it came to comparing myself to her, Since she had servants. Then I remembered that I have indoor pluming, electricity, appliances and a car. Drat. Foiled again by that pesky, indisputable "Wife of Noble Character!" She sewed clothes, cooked, bought real estate, planned ahead, her children arose and called her "blessed," her husband praised her at the city gate ... She clearly must be a fictional super-heroin.
I struggled with this woman for quite a while; what does she have (besides the servants, I mean) that I don't? Super-human strength and endurance? Endless patience? A calm outlook at all times? Gee, I wish I could have that! Then I remembered, I do-- it just so happens that this power rests inside of me, but doesn't come from me. Phil. 4:13 says that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Perhaps the Proverbs 31 woman clung to her Heavenly Father, instead of trying to be "super-mom" all by herself. Perhaps she worked out of love for her family, not out of her own need to be seen as "amazing." Perhaps her husband and children praised her so because she owned up to her mistakes and gave the same grace to them! If love keeps no record of wrongs, is it possible that there were times when her kids were brats, her husband was demanding and she was crabby, but they made amends and chose not to "air their dirty laundry" outside their home?
Hmmmmmm ... maybe it's not about being super, but serving and living for a God who is beyond any hero-- real OR imagined!
Lord, help me remember as my week wears on how incredibly SUPER it is being Your child! Through Christ, I have been robed in righteousness- and that's way better than a snazzy outfit or a cape! I don't need super-human strength. The weaker I am, the more you can mold me and the more Your strength flows through me! I can't ask for a greater power source than that! Help me, Father, to release my desire to be "super" alone. Let me shine for you, that my deeds might point to You, not me. And now, by Your strength, must move (and fold) a mountain ...
In Lenten Love and Friendship,
Amy
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