Life Isn't Fair, Praise God!

The Cowgirl and I were driving home from a quick trip to the grocery store.  She had spent her own "commission" money and bought treats for herself and her sisters.  As she was trying to figure out how she would divvy up said treats, she asked, "Mama, is this fair?" and then proceeded to explain what each girl would get.
I paused a moment, before explaining to her that "fair" would mean she kept all the treats for herself.  After all, she had earned that money doing chores.  That the word for her behavior was "generous."  I then explained that the Bible says that God loves a cheerful giver, because God Himself is a giver.
Then it hit me...
"Fair" would mean God keeps all the good for Himself.  He earned it, He created it, He gets to keep it!  It would mean Hell for me.  It would mean an immediate cessation of life, an immediate descent into an eternity separated from God.  If God were truly being "fair," life would be a bleak (and short!) trek.
"Generous" is anything other than that.  Even if it isn't what I want.  Even if it isn't as much as someone else has.  Even if it's "bad" by my perception.  God alone deserves all the praise, all the good, all the LIFE.  He alone deserves glory, and peace, and love.  Yet He generously, graciously, cheerfully gives to us, shares with us.  He allows us to live.  He allows us to love.  And most amazingly, He gives us the opportunity to have a relationship with Him, here and in eternity!
This realization seriously changed how I look at many things.  I'm not always mindful of this fact.  I still grumble and complain.  But I am remembering, more and more.  I am becoming more thankful, even as I work through serious disappointments, hurts, and heartaches.

Every time I hear someone complain about unfairness, I hear the elderly ladies of my childhood say. "Life's not fair."  And I think -- PRAISE GOD FOR THAT!

Why Autism Friendship is a Thing of Beauty

        There is beauty in friendships.  Friendships of all kinds, but there is a unique beauty in friendships with people on the Autism Spectrum.  The Doctor's best friend has Autism.  (For this post, I'll call him "the Friend," for his and his family's privacy.)

        Now, there are a few things you should know about my family and me before I go any further:

        1.  None of my children are on the spectrum.  They are all

        neuro-typical.  This is not a point of pride, just a statement of

        fact.

        2.  I am not advocating for people with Autism.  I am woefully

        unqualified to do this.  Plus, I find it awkward when people try

        to advocate for "other" groups.  At best it comes across as

        patronizing, at worst, it comes across as offensive.  (You know,

        the "Be kind to the poor [fill in this blank with a random group]

        people.  You might be the only friend they have!"  Makes me

        want to hurt someone.)

        3.  I am also not advocating for parents of children with Autism. 

        They are the best advocates I know, and no one has asked me

        to advocate for them.  It, quite honestly, is not my place.

        4.  I AM advocating for my own children.  After all, they're the

        children I love best in the world, and the ones that I advocate

        for most naturally!

        With all that in mind, I want to give you the reasons that I am so thankful that the Doctor has a dear friend with Autism:

1.     Acceptance.  What could be better than someone who accepts you for who you are, without manipulating you into feeling like you need to change to be loved?  Well, that's what the Doctor has found in the Friend.  He has NOT ONCE ever made her feel like she's "less worthy" of his friendship.  He has never manipulated her into doing something she doesn't want to do.

2.     Another mom loves my child.  Along with #1, the Friend's mom LOVES my child.  (Well, all three of my children.)  She is in "the Doctor's corner" so to speak.  Take a moment to let it sink in how HUGE that is.  It's hard to find that within families, let alone friends.

3.     Total family acceptance.  The Friend not only cares for the Doctor.  He has accepted all three girls totally.  Fidget is often the recipient of his care.  I'll give you a quick story to summarize what this looks like.  The Friend's mom and I took all our kids to a movie one time.  Fidget got upset about half-way through, and the Friend loaned her his brand-new stuffed animal to comfort her.  He didn't make a big deal out of it, he just saw her crying and did what he could to make it better.

4.     Understanding and empathy.  This is another "story" one, because the Friend's actions explain it best.  One Sunday after church, the Doctor was upset because her paper tore.  So, he hunted down a new piece of paper for her.  No fuss, no big deal made, just saw a hurting friend and did what he could to fix it.

5.     He lends her his "brave."  The Doctor had always been cautious, often to the point of fearful.  (She is the oldest after all!)  She wants to know it's all "safe."  But the Friend isn't concerned as much about "safety."  (Sensory Processing Disorder and Autism often go hand-in-hand, and the Friend is no exception.)  He is very physical, and while he has NOT ONE TIME ever made the Doctor feel like a scaredy cat for not following, he has encouraged her to test her limits.  As a result, she is far more confident in her own skin, and in the world around her.  He has helped her overcome her fear simply by taking her along if she's willing, but being perfectly content to do things alone if she isn't.  How many friendships can make that claim?  Encouragement without manipulation.  It's a beautiful thing.

6.     This one is completely selfish -- drama-free friendship for me.  The Friend's mom and I have become close.  I don't have to feel bad when last-minute plans fall through, because she has learned an amazing amount of flexibility.  We rarely make "hard and fast" plans, because we have ten kids between us!  But if I need something, she's the first on my call list.  She can keep a confidence like no one else.  And she loves my kids.  If something comes up, she's not going to be "sharing" with 354 of her best friends on FB.  If I have to cancel, I can be honest, and disappointed, without worry that she'll think I don't care about my kids, or her, or whatever else.  She understands.  What a gift!

7.     The beauty of "messy life" lived honestly together.  Life in this fallen world is messy.  Always.  All too often, our "friendships" are based only on the best, most polished bits of us.  This breaks down quickly with a "special needs" family.  The beauty of this for me is this -- I don't feel like I need to keep up the "spit-shined" image, either.  When I am tired, or weepy, or struggling, I have a true friend who will listen, and pray for me.  And still keep caring.

        OK, I think this is long enough.  But I think it's time that NT parents advocate for our OWN children by fostering friendships with children on the spectrum.  Not because our children "can learn a lot" from the "patience" needed, nor because "those children NEED our children to befriend them."  (Seriously, I've seen that attitude several times, and it makes me SICK!)  Rather because, these friendships are an absolute gift, a treasure, rare and beautiful for the NT kids.  And their mamas.

Doing it all

          "How do you do it all?!"

           I hear this question most of the time when I tell someone I homeschool.  Rarely do I hear the "socialization" question, and NEVER when my girls are with me.  If you know my girls, you know socializing isn't an issue.  And it only takes about ten seconds to realize this.

          So I get that question up top.  Normally, I smile, and say, "I don't know how moms get their kids out the door on time for school."  In other words, I deflect.

          The truth is, I don't do it all.  I don't even try to do it all.  And quite honestly, I think it's time to stop asking each other that question.

          The implication is that, somehow, I am SUPPOSED to do it all.  But I'm not.  I can't.  I am one woman with three children who are where I am all day, every day.  Most days, that's home.  But they go with me to the store, the library, even some doctor visits.  To have blood drawn, even (and recently).

          The truth is, my house is most often a mess.  The "guest room" is unrecognizable at the moment, mostly because it has become storage.  My sewing room is a disaster, with boxes all over the floor, and projects covering the table.  I would give my left arm for someone to come in once a week, or even once every-other-week to clean for me.  I'm not a great housekeeper even when school is on break.

          I don't grow my own wheat, or my own cattle.  I am hopeless with plants.  My oldest now has a greenhouse.  I'm hoping as long as I stay clear, the plants will have a chance to survive.

          If I make my own bread, it is most likely done, at least partially, in a bread machine.  With store-bought, bleached flour.

          Snacks are fruit.  Whole.  Not arranged into pretty faces, or skeletons with cut up bell peppers.  And no dipping sauces, either.

          My clothes, and those of my husband and children, come from the store.  (With few exceptions.  I ADORE sewing, just don't have time for it.)

          I also don't work outside the home.  Getting my children out the door is a challenge, what with all the lost shoes and whatnot.

          Lunch is usually one of two options -- peanut butter sandwiches or vegetable soup.  Occasionally there's nachos, but not often.

          I do cook most evenings.  But there's always Costco pizza and Taco Bell on the Engineer's way home from work.  And I take advantage of that more often than I "should."

          I don't lapbook (I know, you've just revoked my homeschool mother card).  I don't scrapbook.  The pictures are almost exclusively on the computer still.

          I do, however, have three children with lively imaginations, who know how to talk to adults, how to be gentle with smaller children, and how to approach an unfamiliar dog.  The girls are inquisitive, boundlessly curious about everything in their world.  They know themselves and their strengths.  They are proud of their quirks, of who God has created them to be.

          I have a husband who is, without a doubt, doing the job he was created for.  And he's good at it.

          I know I am doing the right thing for my family and myself.  But I am not doing it all.  I can't.  I won't even try.  And I won't ask you "How do you do it all?"  Because chances are, you aren't.  You can't.  And you should probably stop trying to.

          Let's give each other some grace.  Grace to not look exactly like one another, grace to not be able to do it all.  Grace to not have it all together.  Grace to let our own personalities shine.

          Please, let's stop asking, "How do you do it all?"  It just isn't possible.  And the collective guilt is killing us.

Wednesday is the New Monday

I'm sure I've posted on this before, but it's my blog (and no one reads it, anyway), so I'm going to write about this again...

Around our house, Mondays and Tuesdays are usually pretty good.  Wednesday is the day that would qualify as "typical Monday."  And I dread Wednesday starting on Thursday Wednesday bedtime.

This has to change.  I don't know how, though.  I don't have a good answer in this case.  I know I have to change it, but I'm at a loss.

Today's been pretty typical for a Wednesday around here.  It started off with the Doctor and Fidget arguing over chair placement.  And it's pretty much been downhill since.

I'll have to think on this, come up with a plan before next Wednesday, because I've let it go on too long.  And it's pretty awful servanthood on my part.

So, there's my update for today.

Encouragement

Dear Fellow Moms --
I see you in Target, in Wal-Mart, at the library, in the grocery store.  I see your online comments and blog posts.  You have a small family, a big family.  You breastfed, bottle-fed, or some combination.  You vaccinate, or don't.  You work outside the home, or are a full-time homemaker.  You homeschool, public school, private school your kids.

Your decisions are different than mine, but made for the same reason -- you are doing what you believe best for your family and children.  You are struggling with your choices, worrying that you are going to permanently ruin these amazing short people that God has entrusted to you for a time.

You sometimes cry yourself to sleep at night, worrying that one of the loud critical voices in the mommy wars will be correct, and you will wake up one morning and your children will hate you.

You are tired, tired of having the same conversation every single day.  Listening to the same fighting at the breakfast table.  Of teaching the same lesson for what seems to be the 437th time this school year.

Mostly, though, you are tired of having to defend yourself against attacks that come from people who do not know what went into the decisions your made, the research, prayers, tears, and finally surrender.  The faith that you cling to that God is ultimately in control, and that your decisions will honor Him for that reason.

I see you.  My decisions may be different than yours.  The particulars of my life are certainly different than yours.  But here's the bottom line -- God gave you those children to rear.  Not me.  Not your neighbor, not your cousin, not the friend-of-a-friend on Facebook who decided to "correct your thinking" on some decision or other of yours.  Despite the fact that she's never even met you.

I see you, and more important, God sees you.  He sees the struggle you have daily to serve this beautiful family, to be a servant as He has called you.  He sees your heart for them, which stems from your heart for Him.  And it is to Him you will ultimately answer, not to anyone else.

So, let's make a pact, you and I.  You go on living for your audience of One, and I will do the same, and I will encourage you along the way as best I can.  Maybe a smile.  Maybe picking up that pacifier that your little one dropped for the 963,082 time this shopping trip.  Maybe by educating my children about the differences of other children.  Maybe by crying in my car as my heart breaks for you in your struggles.  And you do the same.  I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, assume that you truly do have your children's best interest at heart, that you are truly competent to raise these small ones entrusted to your care by their Creator.  And you do the same for me.

Let's see each other -- truly see each other, and look past the superficial differences and to the heart of each other.  Let's stop the mommy wars, as much as we are able.  Let's be at peace with each other, in so far as it is up to us.  I'll trust you, encourage you, and cry for you at times, and you do the same for me, OK?

Let's fight this good fight together, teach our children to see people, not issues.  After all, if God had wanted sameness, He could easily have made us that way.  It seems to me that He likes the nuance, the beauty of the differences in His children.

The Unworthy (Terrible) Servant

I have been struggling for a while.  For a long time (years, maybe), I begged God to allow me to see myself as He sees me.

In my mind, I had visions of being assured of being His beloved child, of Him showing me how much He cares.

Instead, the passage that leapt out at me one morning was Luke 17:7-10.  Yeah.  Not what I wanted to hear.  Not a passage I can recall ever hearing a sermon on, in fact.  "Unworthy servant?!"

I cried.  Several times over the next several days.  Each time my attitude about something stunk, I would pray, "I am an unworthy servant."

See, I am a terrible servant.  I don't WANT to serve.  I want to be left alone, to be allowed to do my thing, or sometimes, for others to serve me.  I want to help those whom I choose, when I choose.  And my heart rebels at the thought of being God's servant.  And admitting my unworthiness.

I've been struggling again more recently.  Rebellion against the whole servant thing again.  It happens a lot with me.  Some people seem to naturally serve.  Not me.

The verse that keeps coming to mind? Galatians 6:9 "And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up."  Mostly, the "do not grow weary" part keeps reverberating in my head.  But I am weary.

So what to do?  I pray.  I am learning to pray differently.  To focus on how much I have been forgiven, on what I am to do, not on the shortcomings of others.  I am learning to ask that God change ME, my heart. my attitudes, and actions.

I am just beginning to see that I need to be doing things in service to God.  In the story in Luke, I believe that God is the Master.  It's Him I am serving, not people.  Yes, the people around me may benefit from that service, but the service must be rendered to God, because He commands it, not because they need it, or I can do it, or it's convenient to my schedule.  So, I guess it's time for changes.  Changes that do not come easily to me.

Left to myself, I would not serve.  My very being rebels at the thought.  But I am a new creation in Christ, so serve I must.  Starting with those closest to me.  The ones who know me best, and the ones that I most expect to serve me. 

Good night, and God bless.

Out to Dinner with the Doctor

Sunday evening, I took the Doctor out to dinner.  She is my "academic" child, the one who learns things so quickly, who I am not so much homeschooling as I am getting out of her way as she rapidly assimilates knowledge at speeds I cannot accurately describe.

And in all of that, I forget how young she is.  I easily forget that she's not even a year and a half older than the Cowgirl.

I forget how fun she can be, how silly and giggly.  I forget sometimes how much a child she is, and SHOULD be.  Because, well, she's still a child, still single-digits old.

So tonight, I let her have caffeine, and too much sugar.  And laughed and giggled with her as the 57 squirrels that run in her brain (normally in the same direction) jumped track and ran in 57 different directions at once.  And incredibly intelligent child hopped up on caffeine and sugar (a VERY rare occurrence in our family!) is a sight to behold!

But fun is what she and I needed most in our relationship right now.  She's often so serious, learning so much, and so quickly, that I think even she forgets to just be a kid.  She has big dreams and plans, but I don't want her to lose sight of NOW, of FUN, and childhood.  And as her mama, it's easy for me to let those things fall through the cracks, because I am a serious person by nature.  I am a goal-setter, a dreamer of big future dreams, too.  And I too, forget how to be fun, how to be here now.  She is so very much my child.  And I am so very thankful she is my daughter.

The Cowgirl and the Concert

My middle child, the Cowgirl, and I walked to a local church for a cello and viola concert/recital on Sunday afternoon.

This is my "quiet" child, the one who tells me that she likes the quiet.  Frequently, when I take her places without her sisters, she doesn't say a word in the car.  Her brain runs on a different channel, too, on a different frequency than mine or her sisters'.

Saturday, she was watching college football with her Daddy, another activity she enjoys.  Sunday was music.  Her interests are broad -- animals, music (particularly cello), and college football.  She is funny, silly, and oh! so entertaining.  She reads people quite well, uncannily so.  Her love for others isn't as exuberant as Fidget's, but more helpful.  She will quietly do what is needed, without much fuss or fanfare.  She looks for ways to help, for things to DO.

At the concert, she asked the cellist a question during a Q and A session.  This lady knew from her question that she played some kind of instrument.  I think the Cowgirl was a little embarrassed to be spotted like that.  She doesn't really like being the center of attention, but she sure does like having her questions answered, her curiosity satisfied.

The walk home was pretty typical for her, full of off-beat funny and a multitude of faces.  And excitement to be home, to be back with her sisters.  Because that's the other big thing about the Cowgirl.  She truly would rather be home than anywhere else.

Fidget and the Play

Fidget loves people.  Genuinely loves them.  If she has met you, she "knows" you, and will be over-the-moon excited to see you.  She WILL run across the room to hug you, probably knocking you a bit backwards in the process.  And people light up when she's around.  Even as a preschooler, she has the innate ability to make each person feel loved and important.  It's a gift, and a responsibility.

So, I took her to see a play this weekend.  One in which several of the people she loves best had roles, either on stage or behind it.  She sat through the play about like you'd expect a preschooler to.  She waved so excitedly at our pastor's oldest daughter that she momentarily "broke" character and waved a finger at Fidget while on stage.  That's her effect on people.

But afterwards -- OH! afterwards! -- she hugged everyone she knew.  She shouted names, helped fold and move chairs, hugged people again, met new people, and generally worked the room.

She doesn't get this from me.  This is NOT how I am.  I meet people, yes, and will speak to anyone.  But I am not the hug-everyone, remember-all-the-names, wave-frantically, light-up-when-I-see-someone-I've-met-once type.  I am more the call on me when things are bad and I will move heaven and earth to help friend, not the let's celebrate the fact that we saw each other friend.

God has given her a genuine love for people.  A love that makes them light up, feel special, and seriously look for her in a crowd.  Older kids and teens seek her out for hugs and smiles.  Adults light up when she walks in the room, because she is THAT excited to see them.  And she really, truly MEANS it.  It's not an act to manipulate.  It's real.

Oh that God would grant me the ability to love like my youngest!  Genuinely, and without reservation.

My Weekend

This weekend did not turn out at all the way I expected.  Saturday afternoon, I went to a play with Fidget, and then on Sunday, I took the Cowgirl to a cello/viola concert, and the Doctor out to dinner and some shopping.

Three very different activities, two of which were entirely unplanned on as of Saturday morning.  My wonderfully flexible husband allowed me to traipse off with each one in turn, and the time spent one-on-one with each was an enormous blessing to me, as I hope it was to each of them.

So this week, I will be sharing a bit about each child.  Not much, but a bit about how each outing went, and things that I see in each of them.  Why I am thankful for each of them in our family.

Lessons for my Children -- I Mean, Me!

I have been reading the Little House series aloud to the girls each afternoon, about a half-hour a day.  As we read the stories, I marvel at the sweetness of both Laura and Mary.  I am touched by how little they "neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed" or even want.

And I am tempted.  I am tempted to point out to my children, "See, girls!  You see how Laura and Mary were excited to receive a cup for their Christmas present?!  And how a peppermint stick and a little cake were a bonus, and more than enough?  And how that shiny penny apiece were 'almost too much'?  See girls, they didn't have much at all, but were thankful for every little thing."

But then I am reminded to look at Caroline.  "Ma" cooked over an open fire, either outdoors (let that sink in -- she did all her family's meals camping-style, even when they lived in a house!) or indoors (over her fireplace).  Glass windowpanes were a luxury not always to be had, and when Charles brought home fabric for her to make a new dress for herself, she didn't tell him she'd rather have picked the fabric herself.  No!  She told him it was all too much.  Her heart was that of a homemaker, a loving wife and mother.  She had so little, and asked for not much more than that.  And she was thankful for it all.  She found reason to be thankful when her chimney caught fire and almost burned her home and family down.  She found reason to be thankful when her home was burglarized as she and her children were standing there, looking on, unable to stop the thieves. 

And I am convicted.  I have so much -- too much, if I am honest.  All of my needs, and the vast majority of my wants, and yet I want "more."  Instead of thankfulness, my heart is greedy.  I know that more, bigger, newer, faster, better won't make me happy, but I sure want to find out for myself.  Just to make sure.

The little apples don't fall far from the tree, I'm afraid.  If I am ungrateful, I cannot expect to find gratefulness in my children.  If I am constantly seeking fulfillment in "stuff," I cannot be exasperated when I notice my children doing the same.  I cannot lecture them into a better way.  If I do that, all I am teaching them is hypocrisy.  I am teaching them that as long as the words are correct, the works don't matter.  And that is a lesson far too easily taught and learned in this world.

So, I keep these thoughts to myself.  I am learning.  And one day, maybe I'll understand this whole parenting thing.  Possibly in time for the grandbabies to start coming.

Building Up, or Tearing Down

Have you ever seen a building implode?  In mere seconds, a building that took months to build becomes a pile of rubble.  I know there's a lot of work that goes into it beforehand, to make sure that the building doesn't fall down on the neighbors.  But in the end, tearing down only takes minutes, or even seconds.

Building that building took months, or even years.

Let that sink in.  Building up takes far more time and effort than tearing down.

I can build up my brothers and sisters in Christ for years, decades even, and all that can be undone in moments by bad choices.

My witness can be decimated with just a few bad decisions.  And Christ's reputation is harmed.

I can leave friendships and family relationships broken and bleeding by my refusal to take the log from my own eye first.  It's really not that hard.

And yes, there is a time to tear down, as well as a time to build up.  There is certainly a time to tear down rotten walls, or poor foundation.  But then the rebuilding comes.  And it takes time.  Much more time that the tearing down.

Every day, I must decide if today is a day of tearing down or building up.  I must make a conscious choice as to whether or not I'm going to build up the foundation and walls of my husband and children, of my relationship with God.

Today, I chose to build.  It's slow work, sometimes painfully slow.  But one day, I will reap the rewards of the work, if I do not quit.  Maybe (probably), some portions will need tearing down one day.  No one is perfect, and I am certainly no exception.  But as God helps, and He allows, I will build up those around me.

Celebrating the Moment

Two days ago, Fidget read her first book.  Actually, she read her first WORD, and then went on to read the rest of the book.  And one more.

When she read that first word, the Cowgirl came running around the corner screaming, "Did she just READ?!  Did Fidget just READ?!"

"Yes, she did!"

Lots of girly screaming ensued as my middle daughter celebrated with my youngest.  We did finish the book, and then posted a picture on Facebook.  The Cowgirl and Fidget then proceeded to celebrate with high excitement, squealing and running around and dancing and so forth.  Then I loaded up the girls into the van and we got ice cream.

These moments are the ones every homeschooling mama lives for.  The celebratory ones, where everyone is present.  The high excitement and encouragement of sisters.  Those "ice cream" moments.

Nice, or Kind?

I very much dislike the word "nice."  It brings forth images of people with no real life in them.  No opinions, no truth, no ideas.  I believe it's the foundation of Political Correctness, of "Your Truth" and "My Truth."

Kindness, however, is a part of the fruit of the Spirit.  Kindness is sometimes not at all "nice".  It sometimes requires hurting someone's feelings when there's been a wrong done.  Kindness steps on toes, extends grace, and comes from a heart of obedience to God.

Niceness is a self-centered plea along the lines of, "Everyone, please like me!"

Kindness does not care about being liked, but simply desires what is truly best for another person.

Kindness often involves hard conversations and awkward silences, allowing the other person space, and the Holy Spirit time to work.

Kindness is what drives me, as mom, to expect obedience from my children.  It is what pushes me to raise the standard high for them, to push them to try and not give up.  Kindness is what impels me to speak the truth lovingly to my children when they are in the wrong.  It is the same thing that protects them when others would harm them.

"Nice" is not what I expect of my children.  "Kind" most definitely is.

In the Wilderness

In the life of every homeschool family with more than one child, there is a day -- a day where the children bicker, where the end of mama's patience has been reached, where grace is needed more than ever, but it seems that there is less than ever to give.  When obedience is just a pipe dream, and mama begins to question her calling to this journey.

We typically call that day Wednesday.  At least so far this year, Wednesdays have been our wilderness.  They seem to last from the dawn of time until eternity, and every. last. minute. seems to be wrought with trouble.

I don't have any easy solutions.  No steps to stop sibling strife, or fool-proof ways to teach absolute obedience, or even just ways to make it through the day without major tears.  None.  And really, even if I did, it would only be management tools.

Because at the end of the day, the trouble is the heart.  And I cannot change their little hearts.  I cannot change my OWN heart.  I can only point them (and me) to the One Who Changes Hearts.  I can fix my heart on His, and pray that will spill over into my family, into our Wednesday wilderness.

I am not saying that managing behavior is unimportant, just that it isn't the main thing.  The main thing is the gospel.  Pointing little hearts to the One who can change them, mold them into His image. 

In the end, I pray that through all of this, my girls hear, see, taste, touch, and smell the gospel each day.  And when I fail (and I will, more than I will succeed), I pray that they can see true repentance and grace lived in a fallen world, with frail and imperfect people.

You see, we're all the same -- my children, me, you, your neighbors, their kids (and yours, too!) -- we're all sinners in desperate need of a Savior.  And pointing each other to Him is the most loving and kind thing we can do.

The Other Side of Boredom

          It seems like everywhere I look, someone is pinning or posting or blogging about boredom and children, with titles similar to "27 Activities Guaranteed to Beat Boredom!" or "101 Boredom-Busters to Help Your Kids Have the Most Fun This Summer!" or "Be the Coolest Mom EVER!  Tips to Keep Boredom at Bay This Summer."  (Note: none of these are actual titles.  I just made them up based on pins and blogs and posts I've seen.  Though, some titles really are that silly!)  This is my response to that whole category... 

          Here's how the conversation has gone in our house a few times per child, usually sometime between their 4th and 6th birthday:

          Child:  "Mama, I'm BOOOOOOORED." (glassy eyed stare)

          Me: "Boredom is good for you." (unblinking stare, and silence)

          It usually only takes a half-dozen or so times for them to learn that their boredom is not my problem, and they stop.  If this happens again when they are older, I will quote the saying, "only the boring get bored" or maybe find another such quote for them then. 

          Why do I believe that boredom is "good" for them?  It's what I have seen that lies on the other side of that boredom. 

          Boredom is the monster lurking at the end of entertainment.  It's the sneaky swamp-thing that lies at the end of the movie, or the dull nothing at the end of a book.  It's that beast that dulls the mind after a party or outing or field trip.  I have found that boredom most often comes when I am left to my own devices to come up with something to occupy my time and thoughts. 

          But at the other end of boredom, when I have faced that monster, that swamp-thing, that nothing, is my creativity, my imagination, my best and brightest self.  The overcoming of boredom, if channeled well, is beauty, and creation, and fun!  If not channeled well, this can become destructive, ugly, and mean.  I must choose, and choose well! 

          Mastering boredom helps my children exercise their imaginations, to test what they are capable of, to see the beauty of their own imagination.  I have watched them make toys from paper and tape, read books that challenged their reading level, create their own games, turn sticks into ninja swords (then run across the yard, brandishing their ninja swords at imaginary enemies), and many other things.  All because of boredom that was channeled or staved off because of active imaginations. 

          If I had chosen to entertain them instead, none of these things would have happened.  And, knowing my children, the entertainment would have ended, leaving a vacuum (boredom!) that had to be filled time and time again.  It becomes an endless spiral.  For my girls (and I suspect, most children), the more "entertainment" given to them, the quicker the boredom sets in.  When largely left to do their own entertaining, I seldom hear "I'm bored!"  (Almost never, in fact.) 

          I guess I need to remind myself of this, under the relentless pressure to prove I'm a "good mommy" by endlessly entertaining my children, or providing them expensive and electronic means to entertain them.  As I see pin after pin or read blog after blog or FB share after FB share of what "good mommies" are doing to entertain their children, I often wonder if I am messing up.  Then I look outside and see my dirt-covered children smiling and laughing in the back yard, making up their own games and feeding crickets to the chickens.  And I realize I'm not.  I realize I don't actually feel the conviction do be doing these things, just the "mom-guilt" because I'm comparing myself to others.  I'm picking that burden back up, one I'm not meant to carry.

A Week at Home

We sold one home and bought a new one in January.  The home we bought didn't have evaporative coolers or air conditioning.  (Known out here as "swamp coolers" or "refrigerated air" respectively.)  So, this week, we've been having swamp coolers installed.  Yes, two of them, because of the layout of the house.

This has forced me to stay home this week.  We have to let the men in and out of the house, as well as put the dog up while they're here.  The exception was Tuesday, when the girls had violin and cello lessons.  But, the contractors had a previous engagement that day, anyway!

As I sit here, the girls are playing in the yard, coming in and out on a relatively cool morning. 
We've played with kinetic sand (one of Fidget's birthday presents), and discovered that it's sand and silly putty, according to one website. (Here)  We've decided to buy some sand and silly putty and try to make it.  (Once we can leave the house, that is!)  Maybe I'll take pictures and post them here.
We've played Just Dance Disney, and learned that the Cowgirl dances circles around all of us.
The girls had a "sister sleepover" (read: they all slept in one sister's room), and have begged for another.
We've done minimal chores, and just enjoyed the time together.
The Cowgirl has been reading Black Beauty for the last couple of days.  She rarely puts it down, even to eat.
Last night, we let them stay up late and watch The Lego Movie.
This morning, we watched YouTube videos of bagpipes.  Why?  Because the girls had never seen bagpipes before, and their cello teacher had asked them if they had.  Being curious children, they wanted to see and hear bagpipes.  They learned they like bagpipe music.  With their family tree, that's a good thing!  (The Engineer has neckties in the family plaid.)

In short, the girls have had the kind of week that should be every kid's summer -- bubbles, and squirt guns, and mud pies, and books, and laughter.  No real structure, no real agenda.  Lots of time to be "bored" and discover what lies at the other end of that boredom.

I'm looking out the window, and I see Fidget with a blanket tied on, cape-style, tail dragging the ground.  Probably, she's some kind of princess or queen.  Most likely, Frozen related.  How she isn't hot, I'll never know.  But I do know her hands are covered in mud, her face dirty.

I can hear the Cowgirl, turning pages on her book and occasionally commenting on the pretend going on around her.

I would love to bottle these days, to save them for the dead of winter when the days cold and short, and so is patience.  I would open the bottle, let in the sunshine and fresh air, the laughter and laziness, the boredom and what lies on the other side of that boredom.

All-in-all, it's been a good week.  A week of "yeses" said because there was nowhere we had to go.

Things I Love: Fidget

Today is Fidget's birthday!  She's so full of fun and life and energy.  She's loving and kind, and has never met a stranger.  We are so blessed to have her as our youngest, and I can't wait to see what the next year brings for her.

Showing love today was "all about Fidget."  Starting the morning was French toast.  After that we went to the local children's science museum, and ate at her choice of restaurant.  Well, her second choice.  The first one was too expensive!  Then on to Costco for groceries, and then home.  So very grateful for this little human who joined our family not so many years ago!

Things I Love: Roses

We bought our house in January, when roses are not blooming.  Basically, we had thorny sticks in the "flower bed" when we moved in.  And the Doctor and I had a conversation that went something like this:
Her: "Mama, wouldn't it be great if one of those bushes had pink roses for you and Sarah, one had yellow for Mary, and one had purple for me?"
Me: "That would be wonderful, but, doll baby, lavender is the closest to 'purple' in roses, and they are fairly uncommon.  Don't get your hopes up."  (I had never seen lavender roses on the bush, just infrequently in stores.)
Her: "Maybe one will be red, then."
Me: "Maybe so."

Well, wouldn't you know it?!  When the bushes started blooming, there are at least two pink with creamy centers (one light pink, one dark), one yellow and one LAVENDER!  At least two of the bushes have yet to bloom, so we'll see what they are (maybe soon!)  I cannot believe the gift God gave my girl.  She wanted lavender roses, and God gave her lavender roses.  And this morning she said to me, "I like these better than red."


Today, I cut the six roses that were in their "final days" and brought them inside.  Normally, I would leave them outside, but I thought we needed a "pick up" after all the party planning, cooking, and cleaning that went on before and after the party.  The girls love "their" roses, quickly claiming their favorite colors.  They are a spot of beauty, I must admit.

Things I Love: My Kids' Friends

We just had the birthday party for the Cowgirl and Fidget.  And I must say -- I LOVE their friends.  Those kids are amazing little people with amazing parents.  Young as they are (and there are some young ones!), they are just a joy to be around.  I am very thankful for them, and for their places in my girls' lives.

Showing love today was easy.  I worked in the church nursery, so that parents could worship without distraction from their babies.  Our church totally welcomes the tinies into service, but we also provide nursery for those who would prefer that time without distraction.  And I so enjoy that small act of service each month.  There truly is nothing quite like snuggling the littles for a couple hours.