"Swallowing the Ocean"

     That's how I feel today, like I could "swallow the ocean".  We saw that song performed live not long ago, and I loved it.  This morning a flood of thoughts came to me, so I've been furiously jotting them down to spill them out here.
     I'm "done" with the facade that most homeschoolers wear.  I do wear a mask for naysayers.  It shuts up dissenters when I say that I have an acceptance letter to Georgia Tech.  Mind you, it was for the summer quarter because of my SAT score.  I simply didn't study for it.  I was busy planning my wedding.  I was smart enough then to know that I shouldn't set sail on a new marriage and an engineering degree at the same time. 
     However, that story doesn't exhort mothers who are second guessing the ability to teach their own children.  We have to tell the truth, the messy truth.  Defensiveness has no place when we're dealing with our "sisters". 
     I may keel over if I see one more website with cutesy ideas for homeschooling.  I avoid conferences for materials altogether.  Listen, this is a lifestyle.  It's not a "project" to see how many activities we can mark off.  It's not a competition to replicate institutions. 
     We're raising warriors here.  That's what it will take to thrive in a morally cowering society.  We have no Biblical mandate to send our children onto the battlefield.  I had a school superintendent tell me and two other moms that the system needs children of character.  When the system kicked out God, it voided itself of character; therefore, my children are under no obligation to fix what it broke itself.  I've heard harsh testimony from two women recently of how they were raised in Christian homes, considered themselves to be Christians, and still wound up performing the unimaginable.  How can there be "home training" when no one is home? 
     Why are we homeschoolers trying to "fit in"?  Don't you know that our children will "give in" if they do?  Teach them to set the standard.  We need children who will rise to occasion.  As I wrote a few months ago, the "American Dream" was never viable for Christians to begin with.  Now, it's almost impossible for anyone.  As I spoke with a neighbor this morning, she talked about human trafficking.  Are we raising young men and women who will sacrifice their time and abilities to end such evil?  Or are we taking them to practice and birthday parties, never talking about the hard stuff?  Don't sugar coat things; tell them the truth about everything, about temptations, about abuses, about your past.  They won't be able to see the miracles in life if they never knew the truth of how bad things were to start with.
     Don't keep secrets.  Tell them about the finances.  Don't allow them to feel "entitled", even for the sake of education.  Don't be their maid, and don't pay them for things they ought to do.  Don't do things for them; do things with them!  Apologize often.  Say, "I don't know," when you don't and look it up with them.  Spend one on one time with each child.  Today I was walking up the driveway from the mailbox in a rush to finish things in the house.  Madalynn caught me and said, "Let's sit on the wellhouse together."  I didn't really "want" to, but I did.  Once I relaxed, I saw all the things that need to be done and was "oh so" tempted to hop off and grab a rake.  BUT I sat there and talked with Madalynn because it was the right thing to do.  5 minutes of undivided attention to a little person can mean everything. 
     Discipline them consistently, or you'll not have an environment to teach in.  Spank them properly when they're young, and you'll save yourself and society a world of grief.  Tackle the tough stuff.  Teach them to deny themselves, because only then are they useful for charity.  "Above all things put on charity ..." ~ Col 3:14.  Notice the KJV says "charity" not "love".  Love means a lot of things to a lot people.  Charity is specifically a selfless action.  Teach them to VOLUNTEER and for goodness' sake, or should I say, "for God's sake", don't have them do it to get their picture in the paper, or to go on a mission trip to nail in a few nails and run off to have fun, or to check it off for some badge.  Don't just go on field trips all the time; get involved. 
     Teach them to WORK hard, that no matter how far they go in life that nothing is "beneath" them.  Teach them to work for others, for the community, in the church.  Teach them to SERVE each other.  Teach them to get their hands dirty, literally.  Teach them that suffering well is a beautiful thing.  Teach them that suffering is part of their walk and to embrace its lessons when they come.  They'll never be deep, if they live a shallow life - apart from suffering and her instruction.  Teach them to be SELF RELIANT, to manage and to protect themselves.  Teach them some of everything.
     Tell the children what they "can" do, not just what they can't.  Tell them making love is a wonderful thing and to wait for it.  Tell them they can think for themselves.  Tell them they can try something new.  Tell them they can "do all things".  Then, tell them to beckon God's will in those things.
      Hold them accountable to self-denial.  Praise them when you notice growth that only you can see.  Praise them and praise God when they subdue natural desires.  Whatever you do, don't center their education around them.  Let them be part of the mission their parents are on.  Let them see their parents sacrifice for each other.  Travel with them.  Do things; don't just read about them.  Don't you know what Ecclesiastes says about belaboring things?  Don't teach them to read material just for the sake of reading.  Have they read "Foxe's Book of Martyrs"?  Have they read "The Screwtape Letters"?   Don't dumb them down.  Don't make them hate the very thing you're devoting yourself to. 
     Anything on the school desk beyond The Holy Bible, The United States Constitution, a multiplication chart, and a dictionary is icing.  Choose it well.  Fluff doesn't breed spiritual giants.  Moments of relativity do.  Hold the vigil for times like these which give you access to the heart and mind of your child.  Teach them that it's not always about "choosing the lesser of two evils but the greater of two goods".  Teach them that "OBEY" is not a bad word.  Don't let them be sloppy when they can do better. 
    Teach them that when they have grown into reliability/trustworthiness, that it's nothing to be proud of, but rather to give thanks to God for.  Teach them that the devil will readily trip them up with their arrogance so that they are of no example to anyone.
     There is ebb and flow in learning.  If your child isn't a natural at the things you are, then watch in awe as they bloom where they're planted.  If your child isn't an intellectual, don't disapprove of the way God created them.  If your child isn't "normal", cheer for joy because his life won't be mundane. 
     Don't be too dignified to play.  PLAY and be silly with your babies, no matter how old they are.  Make the work worth doing.  Don't worry over what you will do and how you will do it.  God will put things in your path that he wants your family to do.  Don't kid yourself that you're irreplaceable in your career.  Don't kid yourself that yourself replaceable in raising your children.  Don't believe that someone else loves your children the way you do. 
     If you have no joy or purpose or passion, reevaluate.  Don't live by a list.  Live by priorities.  Perfect can only be done if it's done in peace.
     The "don'ts" are so very much for us.  The "dos" are so very much for them.  Do let them explore; do let them cook; do let them sing; do let them repair; do let them create; do let them farm; do let them compete; do let them take risks; do let them take their time; do let them work things out; do let them explain ...all in an atmosphere of reverence.  Don't let them form close relationships with those who would carry them away from the truth.  Guard their bodies and their hearts.  When they are ready, you can unleash them on an unsuspecting world as breaths of fresh air.  Then, they will call you with stories of their witness and work.
     LIVE with your children.  Teach and train your children well. Grow as they grow; then, when you and I are old, we'll have few regrets.   
    

Surprises

     This morning I was reading Billy Graham's "Decision" magazine on the love seat when I got a surprise visit from a carload of Jehovah's Witnesses.  It seemed fitting to exchange the truth for their false doctrine.  The woman said she had too much reading material and didn't have time for mine.  The driver told me Billy Graham has 3 "tenants" that are wrong, one - that "hellfire" exists.  I told her the Book of Revelation said there is and that she's not to tamper with the Bible.  I told her I don't need "religion" to be saved, just the grace of Jesus.  I dropped my magazine in the seat of the car and walked back in the house.  When I returned outside, my magazine was on top of our car.  I was hoping the woman in the back seat could get her hands on it because she kept dipping her head down to see what I was saying.  I'm gonna pray for her ...and the other two.
     I had a follow up mammogram today and Melody needed to have her Christmas bicycle repaired, so she got it and the trash and a dog and two cats in the car.  The animals were due rabies vaccines.  When we got to the animal shelter for the shots, a man was leaving 5 puppies.  He said he'd given the rest of them away but had to be at the beach tomorrow.  Grrrr.
     The kids couldn't find the leash, so the county employee came to the car for the shots.  Felicia, the aloof barn cat, was no trouble.  Rusty, the beagle/bassett hound mix, doesn't like to be messed with but he surprised even me when he whipped himself around to bite.  Another woman came out and got him in a strangle hold long enough for the shot.  Meanwhile he wet everything within range.
     As she was about to release him into the crate where Cranny was also, the cat bolted and ran under the car.  He climbed into the motor and wouldn't budge.  There were 6 of us trying to coax him out, one with food.  Unbenounced to us, a guy slid under the car and swiftly grabbed him.  I apologized profusely, although she and I got such a kick out of it that we laughed all the way to the feed store to buy a muzzle for Rusty!
     On the way to the hospital, snow flurries floated in the air while the sun was shining.  It had been all day and Melody was impressed by it.  She waited while I got the x-rays that I was told were likely to be needed for clearer images.  On the 6th or 7th, the technician cleared her throat to another one and said she'd be back.  The radiologist ordered an ultrasound.  They measured, so I knew there was something. 
     The doctor said the cyst was smooth, consistent with a benign one.  BUT they can't risk not doing a biopsy.  Surprise!  I hadn't even given it any thought.  I could feel my face flushing but stayed composed and remembered this morning reading that Jesus told the disciples 3 things when he returned, "Fear not," "Bear witness," and "Receive power". 
     Here's the thing:  I'm not scared.  The fact that I still have young children bothers me most.  Else, I would deserve whatever became of me.  Funny how easy it is to believe otherwise, though.  I haven't been on hormone treatment/birth control since I was 19 years old.  I've nursed over 7 years, which supposedly leaves me virtually no chance of developing breast cancer.  I've been careful to use natural products (including deodorant) and eat unprocessed foods (avoiding nitrites), though I haven't remedied yet the dairy and meat products from steroid treated animals.  Even so, how would that explain my friend's niece, little 18 month old Mia's stage 4 Neuro Blastoma, brain cancer?
     While we were getting groceries, Melody found miniature pastel roses she wanted to surprise McKala with because she thought they'd look nice in her room.  When we got home with food, trash cans, animals, feed, and the bicyle; McKala had a surprise "get well" box from Megan and Miranda.  Today was a "score" for McKala!
     One more surprise was in store for me.  Not only had McKala been asked to the prom a few weeks ago; now Michael had also been asked to the same one.  He said they'd set a record for most homeschoolers at a prom in North Carolina.  Ha!  How it came together is a neat story.  They've all known each other since they were children and gone to camp together every summer.  I expect them to have a lot of fun at no expense to their faith.  Of course, that's not discounting for what kind of music will be played.    Unfortunately, it falls on a night that was planned for another significant event, the Right of Passage banquet we've committed to at church.  McKala has Walking Pneumonia and has been sick from her asthma for a solid year.  In that time, she hasn't looked forward to anything this much.  Mike and Michael had everything worked out before I even got home tonight, unaware of the imposing date of the occasion.  Honestly, I like the idea of the grouping.  Still, I dread explaining it to our pastor.  I hate to let people down, even when I believe the outcome will be okay.
     Here's to good outcomes altogether!
 

Resurrection: Easter Morning, March 23, 2008

     I know I've written some of it down, if not in blog form, in the formality of legal letters.  I don't know exactly where any of it is right now, so I'll recount as of present day memory. 
     In August 2007, Mike knew he had another kidney stone.  He hadn't been able to afford the increases of self employment health insurance premiums, so he didn't have any.  His Urologist gave him medicine and advice to help him pass it on his own. 
     January 2008, the pain was no longer controllable and Mike had reason to be concerned that the kidney was blocked.   He finally missed so much work that he could apply for Medicaid, which ended up paying almost $300,000.00 worth of bills.  Before the approval, the doctor went ahead and granted medical attention.  An 8 millimeter stone was hung halfway down the ureter, the tube from the kidney to the bladder. 
     They set up Sound Lithotripsy, external waves that break the stone apart.  It was the 14th procedure he'd had in 18 years.  It didn't work.  It left at least half the stone.  They used another procedure, Holmium Laser Treatment, where a tube is inserted up the urethra and a laser beam breaks the stone.  It didn't get enough of it, so they used the Basket Procedure to grab the remaining piece.
     Somewhere, somehow in the week of attempts, a hole was created in his ureter and the urine began accumulating in his scrotum, to the tune of softball size!  The nurses came from far and wide to observe.  Obviously, they had to find out the wheres and whys, so a CT Scan was ordered.  If not for IT, I wouldn't be telling this tale today.
     In the findings, the radiologist said that he "INCIDENTALLY" saw 3 AORTIC DISSECTIONS in the scan.  You might wanna look that up.  It's what happens before aneurysms, what the actor, John Ritter, dropped dead from on the set.   I didn't understand enough about anatomy then to know that the ureter and aorta lie parallel to each other or that there was any risk at all that the unimaginable could happen.  I regret now that I didn't cover it in the kind of prayer it needed.  I was so used to the hassle free outpatient treatments.
     Would you believe that a general surgeon was brought in, was convinced they were from Mike's car wreck in 2004, and released him to go home, AFTER I, myself, told him CT Scans with CONTRAST were done then and he'd had no internal injuries?!
      Guess what, Dr. Edmiston of Boone never even requested the accident records from Ashe Hospital!  He washed his and everyone else's hands of it and sent Mike on his way.  Within 2 weeks even though he was still heavily medicated with morphine, Mike knew something was wrong.  He was writhing in abdominal pain and losing sensation in his feet (from circulatory blockage caused by the aorta's internal lining caving in on itself).
     Madalynn was only 5 weeks old, so since after midnight was when he decided he had to go, Mike drove himself to the ER in Jefferson, NC.  A few hours later, he call me from LIFE FLIGHT.  He was being transported to Baptist. 
     I have all the records:  page after page of tests, results, notes, and procedures.  I don't want to misrepresent here, but I also don't have time to pour over them again.  All I know is Easter Sunday morning while at least 10 churches lifted him up in favor, that Dr. Geary, a premiere vascular surgeon at Wake Forest University, set out in his festive pink tie to place a stint in the aorta.  2 hours later, I got a call from the operating room.  It wasn't working.  They needed to replace his abdominal aorta and the iliacs. 
     Mike's parents were there and so was Madalynn because I was nursing.  God put His hand on her that day.  As I held her to my chest, she basically slept through the entire 9 hour surgery.  I pondered, "Would she even know her father?"  I went out on the rooftop patio beside the waiting room and performed one of those prayers I'll never forget.  I made one of those "deals" we make with God.  You see, Mike and I were heavily at odds with each other.  He'd been progressively dosed higher and higher levels of medication through the last 6 months of my pregnancy.  There are things about his pain I don't and can't understand.  All I understood was how it affected "us".  I told God I'd endure whatever the rest of my life held, if my children could have their father. 
     When the surgery was done, the generous doctor came to me to explain what he did, as 40 students observed at different intervals.  They cut Mike from the sternum to the pubic bone.  They jacked open his ribcage, sat his intestines on the table, stopped his heart, and commenced work to replace his aorta, which lies perilously close to the spine.  They warned us that the surgery inherently causes nerve damage most of the time.  And it did, BUT he LIVED.    Dr. Geary drew a picture showing how badly Mike's aorta was damaged.  He said it was "riddled" with 21 to 24 mm dissections, the external lining (void of its internal lining) stretched to twice its normal size, ready to explode any minute.  There is no survival once the "explosion" happens.  Chances of survivability of the surgery, in and of itself, to prevent the rupture are very grim.
     Mike still says the most horrific part, a living nightmare, was coming back from anaesthesia breathing through what he termed a "straw".  In his delirium, he thought for sure he'd suffocate.  A couple of years later, he met a rare survivor of the same surgery and they BOTH agreed it was the most terrifying part of the ordeal. 
     Meanwhile, I was in a world of the surreal.  I was floating from room to room.  I didn't even know how serious it all was until it was over.
     Thank God, Mike's parents took over while I tried to figure out what to do with the children, who were at home 2 hours away.  I didn't have to.  The church did ...not even the church we attended, but the church Megan was visiting.  They arranged for payment to the hotel that shuttles to the hospital.  They paid our electric bill.  Another member bought us a box of groceries.  Another sent us a check. 
     Others anonymously left things on our doorstep.  Our elderly neighbors with limited income insisted that we accept $20 for gas.  It broke my heart; it still does.  It was such a witness to Mike ...and to the children.  By the way, when you share, don't ever dismiss what it does in the heart of a child.
     Mike suffered greatly.  He says it was torment in the following days.  They didn't believe that he required higher doses of pain killers.  They wouldn't take into consideration that he'd been on morphine for 6 months already and had developed a tolerance to it.  I hate that I wasn't present for him.  I had to return home with the children after 2 days, while his mother and father cared for him.  I can't really remember much more. 
     I do remember having the mattress ready downstairs by the fire place when he came home.  We spent many, many hours there: Mike, Madalynn, me, and whomever else could squeeze themselves in.  Megan took over; she was invaluable.  They all stepped up to the plate.  I also remember Miranda humbly offering the money in her meager account to help pay the mortgage.  When we faced the facts that Mike would miss a grand total of half a year from his work, we placed our house for sale and found an investment buyer within a month. The kids moved all the furniture, every piece of it, into the moving truck. 
     They walked away from everything they knew.  Megan left her flight instructor, a job she did well, a neighbor's private indoor arena she learned to ride and drive a team in, a new church family, and so much more.  Shy Miranda had just begun getting involved in all kinds of activities.  The 2 of them took the move the hardest.  We sold our beloved Boxer, Molly, and her puppies ...and gave away every other animal but Fiona, the starving kitten Mike brought home in a paper bag from the hardware store parking lot.  We sold everything we could do without: the 4 wheeler and the canoe, jewelry, artwork, furniture, yard and exercise equipment.  We left 12 acres of a "lifestyle":  riding trails, shooting ranges, campsites, stables and a BBQ pit they built by hand, sledding trails, and most of all the seasons - the fall leaves of our ridge, the snow that isolated us from the world, the rain showers and the mystique of the fog, and the mild summers closing out with rows of blackberries.  We didn't even have an air conditioner; we had an attic fan we turned on at night.  I can hear it pulling the air through the window now, blowing the curtains around and giving sweet sleep. 
     You know, I try not to recollect it too often because it makes me pretty teary to go back there.  I thank God for letting me raise my babies in His mountains.  It was never mine anyway.  It was His, then it was the bank's, and then mine.  Because the housing market didn't crash for a couple of more months (even so, we "lost" over $100K according to appraisal value, leaving from the meeting with just enough to make down payments for the move), there was nothing available to rent in our county that wasn't "seasonal".  We wound up in the city limits of Statesville on an .18 acre plot.. 
     We'd moved from a 3 story house, a storage building, and a barn.  We quickly realized we hadn't gotten rid of enough when we unloaded 3 picnic tables and 30 snow suits, as the neighbors in the subdivision peeked through their blinds.  The "Beverly Hillbillies" had surely arrived!  When the kids began target practice with their compound bows, it was ratified that the hillbillies were among them, indeed.
     God made room for us to do things in that place that I wouldn'tve imagined.  We were right next to a soccer complex with a stream running through it.  We caught crawdads there.  Michael "rescued" snakes from scared, board wielding neighbors. I mean, you can take us out of the country, but you can't take the country out of us.  There were sidewalks through the neighborhood, so Mike bought me a good stroller and I pushed Madalynn all over.  Before long, we discovered that McKala ought to babysit.  Miranda washed cars and cleaned houses.  Michael, at 11 years old, mowed every other lawn on the block and then some.
     We made the best of it and made the best of friends, Jami and Shawn.  We dejunked our lives.  He had a lot of complications, but Mike healed.  Madalynn grew.  I learned ...we all did. 
     The very day we were to sign the contract for another year, Mike checked the listings one last time.  You got it - he found this!  We drove up immediately.  I still can't get over God's providence.  I'm looking out a back window right now at trees in a hilly pasture, hearing the guinea and the rooster.  In the front is a small pond we fish and swim in, and play by on the small beach we've made.  Past that is a field where the kids built a fence for their calves, lined by a creek we wade through and float down in the summertime.  5 bedrooms and 7 acres, they're not "ours" and that doesn't matter.  God restored the "lifestyle" we thought was lost.  We even got a dog, a black Labrador.  Smokey's lived here his whole life.  He's only been off  the property 3 times and the owner didn't want to move him.  He's 15 now, a part of the landscape, and will be sorely missed when he's gone. 
     The day that Mike's life was given back to him was what I call his "physical resurrection."  His spiritual one was yet to come, but come it did.  For 3 years, I spoke with the most prominent attorneys in North Carolina about the deception involved in Mike's case, but it never made it to trial.  During that time, I wondered deep down if more money would just be another pit for us, wondered if there could be something "more." God knew that a life given to Him was surely "more" and so it happened, the thing I'd pleaded for earnestly for nearly half my life:  Mike finally turned himself over to his Father.
     Tonight, we'll go see the "Passion Play" together at our new church that's not very far from his new job; but unless they read this, they'll not know that 5 years ago today, Mike's body too was brought back to the living - that as he sits and watches the performance, 8 inches of Kevlar keep him alive.  And Jesus said, "ALL POWER IS GIVEN UNTO ME IN HEAVEN AND IN EARTH.  Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you:  and, lo, I AM WITH YOU ALWAY, even unto the end of the world.  Amen." ~ Matthew 28: 18-20. 
    

Surveying for Spring

     I just came in from surveying for signs of Spring.  You know how "I" know it's Spring?   Every year the toads convene to sing their songs and lay their eggs in the pond down in the front yard.  Our young ones run barefoot in pursuit of them. 

     After church, I set out today to plant my spring garden in the patch in front of the house.  Macklynn and Madalynn were chomping at the bit to get to the toads and wanted me to take part.  Last year they caught 5 gallon buckets of them.  Michael reminded them that it isn't humane, so they netted as many as they could, until Madalynn belly flopped into the mud and made her way to the tub.  While I was retrieving the tiller, Macklynn got chilly from the cold front and decided a bath sounded good to him, too. 

     I was left alone outside.  I strolled down to the barn to find my metal watering can Mike bought me from the old hardware store in West Jefferson before it closed.  Cranny, the lone kitten, appeared and stretched himself out from between truck parts to see what I was doing.  I eyed the manure and hay compost the animals had created for me.  The calves thought for sure I was there to feed them and since they're nearing 600 pounds, I wasn't going in for any digging.  I didn't want to draw Michael away from cleaning the guns after target practice, so I resigned to surveying the "grounds".  First though, I leaned over the fence to grab the calves' horns; oddly they're warm.  They like to roughhouse that way, us holding onto their horns as long as we can.  The pigs ran over to see what was up, so I scratched Patty's ear 'til McKala's calf shewed her off.  The mean orange rooster watched and stood guard before his brood, while old Smokey waited steadfastly beside me. 

    Since Melody had the attic open greatly relieving me of the seasonal wardrobe exchange, I wore her wader boots and went past the barn where Tootsie's buried.  I stood there and smiled for the time I had with her.  I mosied further to the creek, Rocky Creek, that borders the property.  Looking down at it made me question whether I want to move, not whether we should, just whether or not I want to.  When everything greens up, I love to lie on the edge, feet dangling ...listening to the new leaves rustle and the water move by.  Much like what Michael must've felt like yesterday.  He asked McKala if he could use her ENO hammock to read the book I got him.  We didn't know it until he returned, but he'd ridden over to another branch of the creek, hung the hammock, and read Truett Cathy's "Wealth, Is It Worth It?" as the sun made it's way through the woods to him.

     I moved a couple of boards from the field that were left after Mike's trailer was repossessed.  I assessed all that needed to be done and where it would fit into our new "routine".  Ha!  It's not like the days when the kids were younger and we could "drop everything" to finish off a project.  Although, I think ...no, I KNOW they're better off for it.  Character was built there and as Michael recently wrote for a testimony, he meets with God out there.

     So do I.  Ecstasy - The Daffodils announcing the coming of better things - The leaves of other bulbs rising from the cold ground.  The Lilies that Mike gave me through the years of nursery hauling are making their entrances everywhere.  The Thrift is blanketing the bank of the pond.  The Peonies are pushing up ...Heaven must smell something like Peonies.  Miranda's Tulips are already half grown across the high retaining wall.  With my "Alabama" hoodie pouch full of junk from the yard I'd collected, I made it back around to my garden bed and got down on my knees to pull back weeds wondering if the asparagus was on its way back.  "Yeess, there you are!"

     My spinach, brussel sprouts, Romaine lettuce, collards, broccoli, onions, potatoes, and garlic will have to wait a little longer.  Besides, tomorrow may be a gully washer. 

     There's no "moral" to this story.  The story IS the moral.  God is good.  No, He is GREAT. 

    

Redeemed

     BAMA fans, I did you "proud".  That word is entrenched everywhere!  Let's just say I "represented" up here in Carolina!  I thought of editing the picture to not reveal the uncomplimentary "midsection" shot but it would defeat the purpose of the ongoing confession of my last great stronghold and its tentacles into my life.  Plus, I must've pulled my shirt down to ensure no skin was showing, thus the "1" is drooping.  Ha!  Regardless, I'd worn the shirt to town for McKala's blood tests and errands yesterday, then only had 20 minutes to get ready for the concert last night.  I couldn't think of what I wanted to change into, so I left it on.  I'm a fan of Big Daddy Weave's music but not enough to know much about the band.  So, when Mike's brother, Jay, came out on stage with his Cam Newton BCS Auburn jersey, I just shook my head.

     Funny thing is that I began to feel uncomfortable on the hour long way there.  I'd busied through the day and didn't give any forethought to the concert being in a church.  I'd put on too much eye-makeup; I had on my black team shirt and black cowboy boots (that were just resoled for the 3rd time - ain't no "fad" for me); and I had on my jeans with the knees blown out.  Granted they're my "fat" jeans that I never dreamed I'd still be wearing.  Nevertheless, I looked like I should be going to the Lady Antebellum concert Mike took me to 2 years ago.  That's the day the picture beside my blog posts was taken.  A lot has changed since then, in my heart but not my body. 

     A lot has changed in Mike since then too.  Did anyone catch that:  MIKE took ME to a Christian concert?  I didn't ask him to go.  He found out about it on his own and wanted to go!
     First up was Citizen One.  I've heard their song on the radio but was unable to recognize the raw talent of the lead singer.  Incredible, he's incredible.

     Second was Chris August.  If you haven't heard of him, you haven't been listening to contemporary Christian radio, at all.  Oh, you think it's "hum drum"?  Boring?  Yeah, well, maybe I've thought that too.  Dig deeper and you'll find songs that stir your spirit.  He wrote "Starry Night" and told the theater of listeners that 3 years ago in the exact spot there in Greensboro is where he heard people singing his song with him for the first time.  He has "soul" in his voice and guitar that I'd put up against anybody on the radio now.  I related to him also when he talked about his asthma.  McKala's still limits her so that she can't walk, work, or play without her pulse racing.  It's so contrary to who she was before. 

     Third and last, Big Daddy Weave.  Throughout the night, there was as much testimony as singing.  You'll not get that at a Lady Antebellum Concert.  And I surely didn't at Def Leppard, Van Halen, Bon Jovi, or 38 Special in the 80s.  I was so wasted that I have no memory whatsoever of even being at the 38 Special concert.  We can laugh over old times; but in truth, it isn't funny.  Is music to you just what makes you feel good or is it something you can offer in praise to your Creator?  It can be soulful and powerful and loud as you want it to be, but with a beautiful, clear conscience.
     Big Daddy Mike Weaver is a "big" guy.  I knew the song we love was coming when he laid his heart out for us all.  In 2009, upon the delivery of his 3rd child - I believe, he commenced on a regimen to lose 90 pounds by the end of the year and broadcasted his goal, for accountability, I suppose.  On December 31st,  he weighed in 6 pounds under and it crushed him.  The image he needed to uphold, the deadlines of weights and dates took him back down to the "fat kid" who broke under the word "failure" that he draped himself with.  The pounds came back and as he was struggling in the garage one night, he said God came to him in what might as well have been an audible voice.  That's when "Redeemed" was created.
     So, as he began the song, my Mike was one of the first to stand.  And then he lifted his hands.  You see, I've never seen him do that.   So, what the song meant for me suddenly shifted to him. 
     I've never "done it" either, not in public.  I can raise my hands to God in all kinds of private places, even the bathroom when I'm listening to songs my life strongly coincides with and might die if someone walked in on it.  This thing between "God and me" is sacred.  I mean that.  It's holy ground.  I never want it to look like a show.  It's hard for me to worship in front of other people, even our children.  It's hard for me to pray outloud because so much of what I say is what words can't.  It's the revelation that I made an immediate connection with in the book, "O me of little faith".
     Awkwardly, I put my hand up anyway.  It's like I'd crossed over to the "other side".  All of a sudden, I saw it through God's eyes - a mass of people with their arms reaching for Him, surrendering.  That's what it was for me anyway.  Matthew 18:20 ~ "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them," had new meaning.
     The "concert" ended not in some kind of "finale" but in a meek, lengthy beckoning for lives to be given over.  I wouldn't trade any concert in the world for it. 
     We meandered around afterwards until I discovered what Mike was really doing, staying to get a picture Jay and me.  You know why we had to wait so long, midnight?  Because Jay was still praying with people.  Hey, their music is real; their faith is real!  We caught on his way out and got the picture.  You do see the Alabama shirt says number ONE and the Auburn shirt says number TWO ;)
     The line was at its end for lead singer, Mike; so, my Mike and me went to meet him.  My Mike told him that he'd just begun listening to Christian radio last fall.  He was still "owner operating" living on the road, when every time he'd find another sydicated KLove station, "Redeemed" would be playing.  He even called me about it.  You know by now I don't believe in coincidences.  He told him that when there was no end in sight of continuing "business as usual" is when God put him at Samaritan's Purse.  What he forgot to tell him is that "Redeemed" is his ringtone :)
     As Mike had a few words with the drummer, I got to tell "Big Daddy" my own experience.  Facebook friends might remember I posted that I was in the garage downstairs bench pressing when I heard "Redeemed" for the first time.  I stopped everything and sobbed.  The next day I heard on the radio that the song was written in his garage as he was working out and the devil was waging a battle of self worth against him.  I couldn't believe it and maybe you don't, but it doesn't matter because it was affirmation for me and that's ALL that mattered. 
     I told him that it's hard to comprehend why a person can get so many things right except "this one thing".  Big Daddy gave me a fist bump :D ...because right then and there we understood each other.
     At 1:30 am, Mike and I found a Waffle House.  Halfway through my favorite, omelet and hashbrowns, I asked for a box. 
    

O Glorious Day

     I wasn't sure it would happen.  I thought Mike and McKala might not make it since his is the next truck out for disaster relief and she gets to go with him before she nails down a job.  Megan had her finals due Friday night.  Miranda had to work until midnight.  But those 2 girls showed up from Georgia anyway at 2:30 Saturday afternoon. 
     I stepped onto the front porch to shake something out and there they were, down at the field petting the calves.  I leaned over the rail and breathed in the sight.  Even after they came up the drive, Miranda headed to the pasture to the see Patty, the pig.  Macklynn went straight for Megan's bags and gladly brought them in.  When McKala took him to buy some groceries that afternoon, he made her sit still until he could come around and open her door.  This is vital for a child who is so self conscious.  He'll shut down in a heart beat if he's embarrassed or in trouble.  Sometimes I wonder if it was the trauma of the Transverse Myelitis or if it's just who he is, a lot like his Daddy, a brilliant live wire.
     Anyway, Miranda was the crux of the occasion.  Even though most family and friends didn't make it, Miranda wanted it to happen sooner than later.  She was saved when she was 12.  We were not led to join any particular local church because of how the youth were managed, so she was denied Baptism.  She tried to explain it to her coworkers last week.  Later, one mentioned that Miranda was going home for her "bar mitzvah".  When another one was recounting how cold her baptism was because they forgot to turn on the heater, that same woman had no idea what they were talking about.  The example of "immersion" was completely foreign to her.  Does it ever occur to us in our daily living that there are people who only go by what they're told and by the traditions of their families?  People need to know the truth: "...Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost." ~ Acts 2: 38.  As our pastor, Brother Kevin, says, "You are not there by coincidence."  Wherever you are, there is someone who is "dying" to know the truth of Christ and His Living Word, the Bible. 
     I found some comic relief when Miranda told me that in another conversation, a fellow employee shushed the foul language of another because, "she said, 'Miranda's father is a mercenary!'"  I know she had good intentions and just misspoke, but how funny!
     I'd warned the kids not to ask Megan and Miranda to take them anywhere, since their time with us wouldn't last much more than 24 hours.  Wouldn't you know Miranda had already decided to take the ones with February birthdays to the movies?  So, when they got done sitting around and singing impromptu songs like "Are You Washed in the Blood?" (which I stood hearing from the other room, in chills), we went to see "Escape from Planet Earth".  It "only" had a couple of subliminal messages and was all in all about brotherly loyalty ...nice message since Megan and Miranda were at each other's throats ...amazing to me how they live together as opposite as they are.
     We got home around 10 pm, needing to prepare for Sunday.  The little ones got their baths, while Megan helped McKala figure out the problem with the sewing machine she'd left her to use.  (Michael had managed to rip a hole in the only decent jeans he has.)  Then Megan helped McKala with her lasagna for Sunday's lunch.  I ironed in Miranda's room, where she was resting.  With a cold coming on, she felt terrible the whole weekend.  Too, there were 3 of us fighting our hormones!  Oh my.  I finally went to bed at 1:30 am, thanks to "springing forward". 
     Sunday morning, chaos ensued.  There's a time and place for everything.  It was NOT the time for me to fuss at all the things I found undone when I went downstairs to rouse the troups.  By the time we got in the car, most of us were "fit to be tied".   I know it's just Satan's way of preventing us from whole heartedly participating in the morning worship, so you'd think I'd get a clue by now of what's happening WHILE it's happening!
     We met with the other "baptizees" before the service.  There were 10 ranging in age from 12 to 88.  Yes, I said "88".  How wonderful.  As we made our way downstairs, Jake came through the door.  He'd driven from a neighboring county to be there for McKala and her baptism.  He's doing all the right things.   And, yes, McKala was baptized too.  So was Melody and so was Michael. 
     Sometimes parental pride (which I shunned last week) gets the best of us ;) and one couldn't help but see Mike's pleasure at the presence of ALL our children filling up the seats beside us.  It didn't take Madalynn long to curl up on Miranda's lap and fall asleep.  I had the camera and was so tempted to take a picture every time we stood and Miranda was left seated because Madalynn was wrapped around her. 
     There was something good in the delay of the baptisms.  Miranda made the decision to repent of her sins when she was 12.  Now she's 18.  McKala was very young, 6, pursuing me incessantly but made a firm decision when she 11.  Now she's 16.  Michael was 9, giving his life to Jesus the same summer that Miranda did.  Now he's 15.  Melody was 8 and wrote recently of how her heart felt as she answered the call.  Now she's 12.  I had time to make sure that they are "sure".  I got the opportunity to make certain that their salvations weren't only emotionally charged quick fixes to guilt trips or misunderstandings, nor acts of compliance.
     Mike motioned for us all to leave when the participants were dismissed to get ready.  He wanted a front row seat in the old santuary where the baptismal pool is.   The first to be submerged was the elderly woman.  She just couldn't quit smiling.  She'd had the truth obscured by Jehovah's Witness for many, many years.  Every story was special.  I've never seen couples baptized together.  There were 2.  The tears were overflowing well before the kids' turns.  Enter the Harpers!  The kids tell me they whispered among themselves of being in together, when the preacher had the same notion!  He bid them ALL in as we onlookers laughed and worried a little that it wouldn't hold.  (The kids say it did splash out some :)  The laughter continued when Brother Kevin nearly went under with Michael and his big self.
     Their public profession came full circle.  That's what counted as much as anything, "public".  That Macklynn and Madalynn got to witness it was so good.  It gave credence as an outward sign of faith and it spawned conversations and questions I'm glad to answer.
     The only regret I have in it all is that I wasn't careful to notate the exact day of each one's decision to follow Christ.  I can't even remember the date I was saved.  It was in the spring and I was a 21 year old sitting in a couselor's office.  (Thank you again for sending us there, Memaw.)  I, too, didn't get baptized for several years.  I finally did with Megan 6 years later in The New River.  Now, in October THAT was cold.  True enough, it's a walk and a "day" isn't as important as a "life" devoted to Christ.  Though, a legacy I'd like our children to begin in their own families is to celebrate their "second births" even more so than their first.  There's no Biblical mandate for it.  I carefully say "but" here ...because if we're going to commemorate sentimental things, they should be substantial instead of supersticious, as are most of the holidays we entertain.  I love birthdays because with our big ole family, it's a time to tell and show each child how important they are to me and bless them on a day when every other day makes them just one of the pack ...which isn't a bad thing, by the way.
     When we got back to the house, the temperature was in the 60s.  While the lasagna cooked and before I knew it, Michael had Megan out in the field across the creek letting her ride his motorcycle.  She returned glowing that she still had "the touch".   McKala and Jake were out fishing by the pond with Michael, Macklynn, and Madalynn (with her new birthday pole).  Melody rode her bike and hit a few softballs.  And even though she had a headache that 4 Tylenol didn't touch, Miranda showed us how she normally gives the cats' shots.  She and I sat on the swing together till we were so comfortable in the sun, we couldn't move.  Mike and Megan sat down the porch in the rockers.  Man, just like old times, all of it, just being family.  O glorious day. 
    

Pancakes, Pristineness, Pride, Possum, and Pig

     Yesterday morning I ground some more of that wheat from 1999 for pancakes to keep everyone's appetite satiated since we were hittin' the slopes.  We didn't get to go last year, so the kids were especially anticipating the trip.  Michael Jr drove us all the way up.  There was excitement in the air when we saw from afar the white peaks after the weekend snow.
     It was a pristine day, crisp and clear, hovering in the 30s.  The wind was strong enough to strow the styrofoam cups I'd brought all over the parking lot.  We had everyone, sunscreened and chapsticked up, or so we thought. 
     We had a plan, that Melody would assist Madalynn on her first outing in skiis, that Macklynn would stay near them on the easy courses, and that Michael would do his own thing for a while and then pair up with Macklynn.  McKala couldn't ski since she'd cut her finger with the new Case knife she bought and had to have stitches, with no tears I might add!  (I can't laugh; I did nearly the same thing.)  She was consoled easily by Jake's spending the day with us.  We only wished Miranda could've been there and that Megan gets to one day.  (About the time we started going, 6 or 7 years ago, Megan had begun working already.)
     Madalynn clung to Melody, making it almost impossible for her to have any fun.  I had tossed around the idea of trying it myself this time, but couldn't find my snow pants and resigned not to.   However, McKala said, "Just do it, before it's too late."  You see, I've NEVER done it.  I've always been pregnant, nursing, or chasing around a toddler.  The last time we went Madalynn face planted a bench and fell out of a chair.  It was one of those days I'd just soon forget, except for the conversation I had with an ambassador's wife about the antiquated/industrial reason for school and why they homeschool. 
      Anyway, I had to rent a snow bib and get rigged up to ski.  I didn't see much reason to take the class that was part of the package of  "Homeschool Ski Day".  I'd get over on the "bunny" course and help Madalynn a little.  I mean, I have good coordination and all.  I can throw a ball, hit a target, swim, water ski,
dance enough to hold my own.
     I didn't even make it to the conveyor to get up TO the bunny hill.  I hit a slick spot and was down in a millisecond and had no idea whatsoever how to get back up.  As people went around me, one nice lady said to just release the boots to stand.  Madalynn had gained confidence and went up without me, even though she hadn't gone down by herself yet.  When I tried last night to ensure McKala hadn't taken pictures of the scene, she told me their view was blocked but that Madalynn, on her way up, called to them on the balcony and proclaimed matter-of-factly, "She fell and can't get up!"  Thankfully, the lady who kindly gave me advice also waited with Madalynn at the top.
     I finally just carried the skiis up the belt.  The hill didn't look so high from the bottom ...but I knew there was only one way down.  I had envisioned that I'd put Madalynn and her skiis between mine like so many other parents sweetly do.  There was no way in Hades that was going to happen and of course, we fell half way down the dissent, clamouring for each other. 
     If you want to be knocked off your pedestal of pride, just try something you've never done in front of everybody.  I could say that I stink at skiing and that would be ladylike, but I'm gonna say here that the reality is I suck at it!  I have never tried anything that I just couldn't do.  Everyone says benevolently that I just need practice.  Not likely!
     It made me want to retreat and retrieve the swagger of the sun I'd gotten, my down vest and cute boots with the rabbit fur gloves that the kids bought me for Christmas.  You see, that's my ground, the lodge, knowing every song on the Classic Rewind from Sirius Radio:  The Cars, Van Halen, The Black Crowes, Santana.  And, yeah, that's my kid out there.  And, yeah, trying to prove to the other moms "I still got it" ...though in actuality, my 7 kids got the best of me.
     As I was about to bail, they announced that the beginner's class was starting again.  Uh, yeah, better do that!  Madalynn and I eventually made it over there and spent an hour learning the basics.  And, yeah, she caught on way better than I did.  The generous young woman of a teacher said it was just that I wasn't committing.  I was thinking, yeah, I've been pregnant more than 63 months of my life, trying NOT to jeopardize my footing ...so, yeah, this was uncomfortable for me.  I really enjoyed her though and am glad to say I tried it.
     In my oblivious state, I didn't know that Michael had already escorted Macklynn down one of the big slopes.  They spent the next 2 hours going up and down it together.  I have a whole new respect for their abilities and courage, all the kids'.  Melody was right there with her brothers.  She busted it, got up and kept goin'.
     After the class, I was done for; so Madalynn and I went to disrobe from the gear.  I decided we'd do that in the locker room, instead of the bathroom, and made a quick turnaround.  As I was putting my boots back on, 2 men came in.  They turned around quickly but came back laughing.  They said they thought I was in the wrong room and they were right!  As we were laughing hysterically about it, another man came in and exited ultrafast when he saw me.  Still laughing, I told him, "It's okay!"  HE didn't think it was okay.  Just wish I'd had a camera for the look on his face.
     When everyone finished up, by Macklynn's invitation we sat reclined in a semicircle around the fireplace and talked, until Madalynn wouldn't permit it anymore.  She was seriously tired and had been copping an attitude all afternoon.  On our way, we passed the outdoor ice skating rink.  Madalynn had really wanted to skate but I told her I wasn't going to reward her with it.  McKala said it was the only thing she'd really wanted to do.  Macklynn was game, especially since he'd just drunk one of the giant Cokes I'd gotten them from McDonald's.  They were all jacked up on caffeine and ready to fork out some more money.  I have to say the FIREPIT sold me.
     So, there we were in the dark and the splendor of the backdrop of Ski Mountain.  No skating for me.  I  sat by the fire, took pictures, and soaked up the kids' interaction:  having a blast, whole rink to themselves, going round and round to the Sirius 80s lineup.  And, yeah, I knew all those songs too, whether I was a fan back then or not.  They snuck in some 38 Special ...so, yeah, Melody and I sang along, to each other across the way, "So Caught Up in You, Little Girl" and "Hold on Loosely". 
     Watching them was a time when I could've gloated in pride as a parent: all the help they gave each other throughout the day, all the things they accomplished.  BUT pride is never, not even in a parental way, a good thing.  "Every one that is proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord ..." ~ Proverb 16: 5.  Now you say, "BUT ..."   What?  Do you or I think that we have earned what is good, that God did something for us that He wouldn't do for another?  No, being "proud" of our children should be nothing more than JOY that we are a part of it.  Why do I deserve better than what the father, of the sweetheart girl we met last week, has?  She's a small 15 year old with serious limitations but with an exact awareness of what's going on.  Mike and I agreed that she was the happiest person we'd seen in a while, smile permeating the room, reaching out to her father for reassurance every few minutes.  He has a beautiful thing and we have a beautiful thing.  Ours is no greater than his, so we have nothing to be proud about.  If anything, how can we not exhort our children to use their endowments to provide for ones less fortunate - true charity, the opposite of pride.
     On the drive home, I thanked God earnestly that none of us were hurt and that tredipation still has a place in my life.  As we came up the drive, a big possum crossed our path.  Although Michael was dead tired, he lay in wait for it to come out of the culvert, to kill it before it killed our chickens.  Since we bedded down after midnight, I tried to let them each wake on their own this morning.  And they have one at a time, risen with red faces and sore bodies.  But, alas, I had to wake Michael because Patty, the pig, was on the loose.  Thus another day begins.