Journey to Good - The Reunion

    (Put together ending June 2021)

     

      Mike, 44, is downstairs laughing, snacking, and watching TV with our 3 young ones.  Problem is he's been watching TV every night again for the 2 weeks he's been back from Moore, Oklahoma and he didn't appreciate that I confronted it in a matter-of-fact way.  Thing is though that he has them contained so I can begin this.  Besides, he's dealing with a hernia, among other things, and says he doesn't feel like doing much else. 
     How easily I forgot that in the last 3 years he's come clean, has a new outlook on debt/giving, brought his heart home to me, keeps the dial turned to KLove music, and tossed profanity aside except for the occasional "freakin'".
     As far as I know, Megan, 22, is on her way home from Georgia - to stay - for now.  She's been living near family and working there as a certified technician and service adviser for these past 3 years.  As driven as she is, she's unfulfilled in her achievements; so with some money in her account, she quit to explore the road or airways less traveled.
     Miranda, 18, had moved in with Megan (and 3 other young women) last fall and began supporting herself.  That was a big deal for someone who's always gotten homesick.  She's waged war since she was 14 for her peace and she's finally won, finding it in her God-given abilities to grow and nurture anything and everything. 
     She and McKala, 16, are about an hour away in Boone, NC by now.  They're meeting up to meander along King Street with staff from the camp McKala's already spent weeks with this summer and so many summers before.  Last year
 McKala was sent home from by the Director because they found her nearly unconscious slumped over by a fan in the arena.   She spent months in the bed as we searched for answers about why her newly discovered asthma was so severe.  In March this year, after I insisted on new tests, she was officially diagnosed with "Walking Pneumonia".  Contrary to what people think, it's not pneumonia you're well enough to walk around with.  It's a mycoplasma that is not treatable with standard antibiotics because it has no cell wall.  That's why everyone seems to know someone who's died from it ...because it went undetected. 
     So, for McKala to be at camp this summer is huge.  It's her passion - God, children, and horses.  It's as though she's willing herself to make it.  She's experimenting with slacking off on the medications because she wants to be free of them.  Who am I to question what God can and will heal?
     Michael, 15, is with them today also.  He's spent 3 weeks of his summer there - 2 of them as a "captain" - 1 of the weeks interfering with the first week of football practice.  If you can truly love a thing, it's football for him.  So, as he stood looking off the porch last week making up his mind, he asked, "What if there's a another kid there like that one?"  There was boy about 8 years old who no one could get to comply or participate until the last day.  He and Michael made a connection;  the boy said he wouldn't dance unless Michael came to dance with him.  Then later in the day, several people saw that the boy was under conviction and he gave his life over to Christ. 
     Michael who never cares for the phone has called the boy at least 3 times since.  I can't ask for anything much better.
     Melody, 12, is downstairs with a seriously inflamed throat.  She, too, has been a "captain" at URCC this summer.  First, she helped with VBS at our new church where she met and befriended a girl with her heart toward God.  I never could've put it all together so well in my own mind.  God provided for Melody where I was at a loss.  She had alienated herself; I found letters saying she wished she hadn't been born - and I have reasons to believe she meant it.  
     When she left for camp, I asked God to use anything and anybody, even ones who didn't want to be used, to find her and bring her back.  He answered so overwhelmingly that I almost didn't recognize the child who returned.  She's compliant, helpful, secure, and funny.  I still can't get over it and it's been a month.
     Macklynn, 8, is downstairs also but he's normally out by the pond.  He's an avid fisherman.  I've never seen anything like it.  He carries his fishing pole and tackle box anywhere he thinks there might be a body of water.  He spends his money on lures.  All he wanted on his 7th birthday was for us to stock our tiny pond.  He spotted angler books as soon as we walked toward the shelves of the library last week.  I don't think this is a passing thing and if he sees the world through the lense of God's big water and big sky and the big catch, there are surely stranger things.
     Madalynn, 5, is the littlest.  She's spunky and confident and diverse, just like the last of most large families.  This past week, as we rode in the car, she talked the whole time with Macklynn about how they could sell the stack of books and 2 bags of clothes I had in the floor of the car.  She wanted to set up a booth on the street.  Macklynn told her they needed an abandoned building.  Then she said, in all seriousness, that the windows would be broken out and they'd have to fix them.  Macklynn said he wasn't paying for it.  They went on so much that I think they're having a yard sale now and I, for one, am not going to prevent them.
     I, Michelle, turning 42 in 9 days, just finished a small omelet with the peppers, onions, and tomatoes Miranda cooked for fajitas on the fire when I camped out with the 2 little ones a couple of nights ago - if you can call a tent by the carport, fan running, and 3 twin size mattresses "camping".  The meal was an outright sign of God's provision.  There were too many toppings left from subs the Wednesday night meal at church.  The chicken Miranda skewered was part of the 100 pounds refused by the buyer in California Mike was delivering to last year.  And the tortillas were composed of the wheat I purchased before Y2K.  No, I'm not one of "those" necessarily but let me tell you - that wheat and some oxygen savers have come a long way. 
     A "small" omelet matters because since I overate the BBQ meat after my class on Tuesday night, I didn't quite get a handle back on my eating until this morning.
     I'm about to hang more camp clothes from the washer on the line, hoping the vinegar I added in the rinse does away with the smell.  As I sit here on our bed, there are 3 piles of clothes waiting to be folded and put away.  I have literally washed all but the kids' dress clothes in the last week. (I'd complain but the washer does the job and if we lived in earlier times, we'd have fewer clothes and I'd have stronger arms.)  The mattresses are standing against the kitchen counter waiting to be taken to the garage.   On the couch, there's another pile of clothes the "Blessing" family gave us for Mike.  They're technically strangers and their name really is Blessing.  There's a box of clothes for Madalynn, from my sweet friend, Heather, even though she's expecting another little girl.  Too, Mike brought home a bag of unclaimed stuffed animals from the Oklahoma tornadoes.  I like to have had a panic attack, but for the most part the little guys have agreed to add them to their yard sale.
     There's so much to do and I take Sunday as a day of rest very seriously, so I'm really just piddling.  It's rather bad that I didn't go to church this morning.  Afterall, it only took us 8 years to find it, what I consider to be as perfect a church as we could dream of.  I was all scattered last night upon the discovery of a Clan Cross covered in cloth and positioned to burn in our neighbor's yard.  I didn't sleep well.  2 of us are sick and I sent 3 on to church without me.
     Right now, there's a kitten we found yesterday stashed away in the old Jeep Wagoneer, the only thing I personally have had a clear title to.  The kids heard a faint noise and after a foot chase, they convinced the kitten it was safe with us.
     3 weeks ago, Michael called from the Veterinarian's office where he's an intern, saying there was a woman giving away Pit Bull puppies.  I documented the loss of mine in "An Owner's Remorse."  

     "It wasn't an accident.  It was my fault.  She was in my charge.  I took it for granted, as if she were just another farm dog.
     Two and half years ago, we were driving in downtown Statesville when we saw puppies all in a row following their leashed father up the sidewalk.  The girls and I squealed and Mike rolled down the window to ask how much she was asking for them.  The haggard, young woman said she'd take $40 cash, so Mike promptly parked and walked to the ATM.  He gave the puppy to me.  She was the only puppy that had ever been exclusively mine.
     She was a smooth, honey brindle with blond eyes to match, full of worms and in need of a good home.  I did the taking her out for housetraining, not putting it off on the kids.  I taught her to sit and she did it as perfectly as her wiggly backside would allow her, but only for me and for Michael, who's grown attached to her, as well.
     So, when Michael had to be involved in putting her down, I hurt for him, even as I cried out for my own loss.  Even Mike, who was ordinarily bothered by her eagerness, was in tears.  McKala, too, has recently discovered how genuine her disposition is, no, was.  She wasn't aloof, pouty, or spoiled.  She was purely sweet, humble, and gentle, especially with the calves and children ...a Pit Bull, no less, making her attributes all the more charming and cherished.  That she contained her power made her even more attractive.
     Her downfall was the racehorse mentality and form she took on as her slender frame ran aside our cars when we exited the property.  She truly enjoyed it.  Mike's taken measures before by throwing firecrackers from the car window.  He's been gone
working so much that the job fell on me ...and I procrastinated the chance away.  So, you see that this was premature and not simply incidental for a healthy, young animal.  She was mine to protect but I disregarded it, not giving her the time she deserved to prevent her pitiful demise.
     Just this week, I'd been talking with Megan on the phone about the training classes she and her dog are enrolled in.  Still, I let my own priorities stand in the way of training the dangerous habit out of her.  So now, everyone is suffering.  Three of the older children were in the truck with Miranda's boyfriend, was driving them to church and hit her.
     He came back in the house and said Miranda needed me down by the bridge.  After that, all I heard was "Tootsie".  Mike, who would've been gone on a trip already, jumped in the car directly while I stayed trying to prepare myself.  Michael and he put her into our car and drove her to the other side of the field.  I walked toward it, beginning to weep, more out of control than I thought I'd be.  I had no idea that it would come so hard.  I'm practical; I keep my cool in tragedies.  But my cool escaped me.
     The side door was open and there she lay on Macklynn's fleece blanket, heaving for air as blood oozed from what was otherwise her God given permanent smile.  Her eyes were confused and pleading.  Her fur has always been the smoothest I think I've felt and I pet it tenderly ...and reconciled that her misery had to be taken from her swiftly.  So, I stepped away to the end of Mike's tractor trailer, waiting for her final moment.
     In my outburst, I didn't hear Mike behind me; he was broken that she had mustered the energy to climb to the back of the car when she saw the weapon.  He searched for another way, but not only did we not have the means for invasive surgery, she needed for it to end.  So, he ended it and in those few seconds afterwards, the only solace I had was that it wasn't a child in that wretched state.
     As they went to gather shovels and post hole diggers for her burial, I stayed by the barn, still surprised at the emotion that had come over me.  I've always been a little nonchalant about the lives of animals.  I'd be a liar now, if I didn't admit that I wish she could hold a special guard, as she has here, in heaven until I get there.  She was much more of an extension of me than I understood.
     As I contemplated, Miranda's boyfriend approached the soft, sunny spot, where the brook meets the creek, that we'd chosen.  Still across the driveway and by the barn, I watched as the three dug.  It was an eerily pristine sight really, the leaves blowing against the blue sky, the bright green plants and weeds growing all around, while they solemnly dug.  I knew how he must be feeling and I thought it very noble of him to do exactly the right thing alongside the other men.
     Rusty, our Beagle, Tootsie's constant playmate, is sitting here after every investigation, and I think he's finally discovered that she is in her grave.  His brow is furrowed with his head hung low.
     With all the outdoor work, I've thought a couple of times this week of our animals that didn't make it to see Spring.  I thanked God in all sincerity for the ones that did.  But here my Tootsie is in the ground growing cold.  Satan will not have his way of bitterness with me though.  I've asked God to forgive me for my negligence, to change and teach me through it.  Guilt covers me but it won't keep me, because I have young ones to look after.  I haven't even seen them to talk about their own feelings about her.
     I pray this unnecessary occurrence sharpens me in how I conduct thoughts and time with my family, that trivialness not numb my senses.  So many things 'fall into place' for us, but when they don't, we must 'make a way' for them.  That's what training is, a preparation for what can come or for, more likely, what IS coming ...whether physical or spiritual attack ...an awareness to go with a hunch or a bidding to save a life.
     Mike had to leave for Oregon; some went on to church; and Memaw and Pop are waiting with the others in the house.  I hate this for them, too, since the last time they were here, last fall, 2 of our calves were on their death beds.
     I've taken a picture of her spilled crimson blood on a heart shaped plant and will remember her more so by it ...because it's the only thing between the blessings of living in a gorgeous day and the cursings of extinquishing the vitality of a magnificent creature ...which could be any one of us ...coursing blood or shed blood.
     This concludes the chapter of the days with my happy puppy, who has sat with me through some very heavy times.  She had a 'knowing' to still herself when I was somber.  She understood my tone and busied herself around the edges of the pond, warding off perceived threats.  She'd tangle with a snake in a heartbeat but would rather submit her underbelly for me to rub.  So, that's how I'll remember her every time I look at this big collar she wore that she never quite grew into with her tall, slim, feminine frame that playfully scrubbed her back on the asphalt until the protruding studs of the collar wore down.  The age old story is found here; we hardly have an idea of the joy that's given us, until it's snatched away.
     She was part of my beautiful landscape.  I thought I'd raise her into the adulthoods of the kids.  I thought we'd age gracefully together.  However, Smokey, our black Lab, is already aging and as I sat with Madalynn on our makeshift beach this evening, he laid up right beside me, reminding me to pet him when I stopped ...glad, I'm sure, that Tootsie wasn't pushing her way in for more than her fair share of affection.  If he's good with that, I'm good with that, too.  I can't go without saying that when I came in the house from writing the main body of this, Melody, 11, had cleaned (as her helpful gesture) top to bottom from the weekend of company we'd had.  There are only certain times when acts of kindness can mean that much." 

     ... and against our better judgment we told him to bring the brindle female he spoke of home.  Although, he originally intended the puppy to be a concession for me, Michael has grown fond of her and asked to name her himself.  "Pippy Lou" it is. 
     The next day we had a blow out of a 4th of July party detailed in, "Ain't Gotta Be Bad to Be Fun.”

   “I realized we had to start preparing early this year for our 4th of July party.  So much was undone from the last year.  We've worked on the maintenance bit by bit, but much has gotten in the way of it:  Mike working in Oklahoma, Megan and Miranda rejoining us, McKala working, Michael interning and making earrings hand over fist, and all going to and working at summer camp and VBS (which I might've blogged about if I'd had the time).  Melody made friends with a Godly family there and has been spending time with them instead of fretting over worldly things.  I couldn't be more thankful for it.
     Who would complain about such good things?  Apparently me!  The night before the party I lost my mind on everybody, even though I'd given them permission to do the things that took them away from time on the house and yard.  I was overtired and certain we wouldn't be able to make things presentable before the 'event.'
     The day before I was the one who had to be gone from home all day.  I had to take Melody to her orthodontist appointment, and we had to finish holiday shopping.  I didn't buy any decoration that isn't 'Made in America'!  Later, I had my regular Tuesday night 'session'/class... actually, counseling.
     Mike had asked me Monday if I'd be home to receive a package on Tuesday.  When I finally dragged in at a quarter 'til 9, McKala said I had something on the chest of drawers in our bedroom.  I found a plane ticket there and while I was rambling through my mind what that meant, Mike walked out of our bathroom.  He'd been gone to Moore, Oklahoma for 5 weeks.  I screamed like an Army wife would!  I'd just told him last week that he'd been gone so long that I felt like I truly missed him and that we had a new place to start from.  Call it what you will but it was the truth.
     Here he sits beside me watching 'American Pickers' as I recount what turned out to be our best party ever.  Thursday morning everybody got up, even though Megan and Miranda had driven back from Oklahoma 18 hours arriving at midnight.  Melody decorated with streamers and balloons, flowers, and books; Michael pressure washed; McKala headed to work but had already taken on the clutter, floors, and baseboards with Macklynn and Madalynn; Miranda painted; Megan pressed almost 100 burgers (I bought beef every time I thought it was a good price, not knowing I'd stocked up well over 30 pounds), and I push mowed (from which God knows I need the exercise), while Mike took the kids intermittently for rides on the Harley he'd rented the day before.
     He took me to Logan's for our 24th anniversary, which was Monday!  We got to witness to someone for the first time TOGETHER as our waitress divulged the details of her life and listened intently as we told her the parts of our story that were similar to hers and what God has done with them.  He drove straight over to the dealership to rent himself a little piece of freedom and although I needed to be preparing for the party that night, I found myself on the back of that motorcycle.
     It's completely awesome that he got to be home for the party since it all started years ago because the 4th of July is his favorite holiday.  It'd been raining for days though and we weren't sure how it'd go, nor was anyone else.   It got off to a slow start but within the hour, there was hardly anywhere else to put food or people.  Kids were jumping into the pond.  Our patriotic compilation was playing.  'The Warrior Song' was on when I passed through the carport.  I half heartedly apologized for the hard core nature of it, not realizing that we had a Marine among us ...who'd just been doing flips off the trampoline into the water himself :)
     There were pick-up games of basketball in the driveway and pick-up games of checkers on the front porch. The teens soon gathered around the water slide Michael put together before he grilled those dozens of burgers.  Since there were upwards of 60 people, I asked Mike if he would pray with the 'dry ones' in the carport so we could eat in shifts.  It's still odd yet wonderful to hear him do that.
     The brindle Pit Bull puppy Michael brought home Wednesday from the Vet's office and named Pippy Lou was a huge hit.  I don't think she was put down for more than a few minutes.  She even got to spend part of the evening hammocking with some of the kids.   Our new piglet was a close second for attention.
     As the mounds of burgers, salads, treats, and fruit disappeared, the lighting of the bonfire began while children swam around the pond and others were swung on the swings.  I was utterly surrounded by friends, not just any friends but the kind, new and old, who've shared with us in our times of need and our times of celebration, people who love God to their cores, people who've brought us food and clothes; mowed our grass; taught and lent their ears to us; opened their homes to and smiled upon us despite their own tiredness, loneliness, sickness, hardship, or busyness.

     Here was a spectacle of a night ...without lewdness: cursing, bikini baring, drinking, bickering, or making out.  We did have a close call with the music though!  As McKala and I were picking out the songs from iTunes on Sunday, I added a favorite of mine.  It's the story of how a rock singer 'sold his soul' to the devil to become famous, but realizes he's really just a country boy patriot at heart with a 'Don't Tread on Me' flag flying above his property.  Problem is that although he says 'drinking from the bottle, that's not me', he also said, 'but I smoke a little weed.'  We discovered it after it was on all 12 of the CDs McKala burned for "party favors".  I can't imagine how I'dve explained that to our pastor's family when they got it home!  So, now I have a dozen on them stacked on my desk ;)
     Thank God, we escaped injuries and arguments and storms.  The display went off without a hitch after the kids played with sparklers, made s'mores, and settled down on blankets.  It didn't start raining until the last 2 cars were about to leave.  Michael offered to retrieve one to which she originally said 'no', but laughingly passed her keys to him after he 'insisted.'  And it's a good thing because he slid right down the yard to get to it.  I had to pretreat his shirt down the front and the back!  She snickered, 'That could've been me!' ...love her humor, and the dedication of another:  that although quite pregnant and adorably so, she had the sink full of suds to wash up even though almost everyone else was outside.
    These are 'my people.'  This is 'my country' in more ways than one.  All this has inspired lots of questions from the kids.  I believe we'll be cracking a few of those books we decorated with before they make it back to the shelves.  'Glory, glory, hallelujah' is taking new form!  The fact that America was founded on all that is wholesome is being cemented into the hearts and minds of our family through times like this past Thursday night.
     Today, we were still wondering whose stuff is whose hanging on our line and we were eating leftover hamburgers ...and that's just fine."






      That night a "slop bucket" for the pigs was
established.  However, I forgot to do anything with it before we went to bed.  The next morning it was empty.  I thought nothing of it and still didn't until night before last.  Smokey, our 16 year old "rent-a-dog," began stumbling last week and refused to eat.  I thought it was simply the ending of a long, loyal life - he'd never let any of us roam anywhere without his guard.  But when we took him to Dr. Miller's office Monday, after a panel of tests which we expected to find heart or lung disease, we found Pancreatitis.  I ignorantly assumed it was normal organ failure in old age, but since then I've read that a large ingestion of fatty food can cause it in a dog of any age. 
     Oh, my gracious, did the party kill him?  Not only because of the food, but I moved his doghouse out of the carport to pressure wash and didn't return it for 3 or 4 days.  That puppy aggravated him.  And I can't imagine where he thought he should start guarding against 60 or so people on the property.  I wish I'd been more attune to his needs because on Wednesday, after the Vet (Michael's been learning from) kindly kept him overnight and did one more panel of tests for free, the enzyme levels were not coming down and Smokey was sent to his resting place as Dr. Miller petted and him and said over and over, "It's okay, honey, it's okay."
     I really do like the puppy but it's no Smokey.  Now, we have 3 cats, 3 dogs, 3 pigs, 9 chickens, a pond full of fish, no calves since they went to auction, 1 squash plant, 1 zucchini, 1 cucumber plant, 1 tomato plant, and 9 Harpers.  We haven't been a whole family living under the same roof in 3 years.  What's about to take place here is your guess as good as mine.  All I know is that God is working, working swiftly, quickening, not only in restoration but also in some kind of culmination. 
     As much as I like the idea of a regimented week (which by the way never really happens because God will not let me alone in my compartmentalized world), this one will be comprised of rearranging furniture, catching up on yard work, printing off pictures and writing thank you letters. purging the garage for the "yard sale" and to make room for Megan's things, and football practice begins for Michael.  The next week Macklynn's begins his first season in pads.  God willing, we'll finish sports physicals, immunizations, and dental appointments.  I had my teeth cleaned this past week and as I lay there, I was so thankful.  You don't think about it until you haven't had insurance for a long time.  That's one of the first things that goes with self employment in a bad economy coupled with unwise financial choices. 
     It's much like the vacation we went on in May.  All 9 of us, and, yes, I take credit for "birthing" every child to the same man, had not been on a vacation together - ever and not on a "real" one at all in 7 years.  We spent a week at Panama City Beach:  "Stories by the Beach.” 

     I'm sitting in the dark in a condo on Panama City Beach.  I was determined to get going this morning so Madalynn could swim in some shade, but a migraine ensued while I was talking with a lady at the pool.

     It's a perfectly gorgeous day over the turquoise and green striped water and the white sand.  Everyone but me has enjoyed it.  And that's okay; I'm thankful there is medicine and that I don't suffer from migraines all the time or for days, like some people I know.  The Weather Channel is on.  We are especially interested because Mike could've easily been called away to drive his relief truck.  For now, it's been worked out and he'll get there soon enough.  Some of the kids are planning to follow him to Oklahoma.  How devastating for that community.  It's so crazy because just last eve as I was taking pictures of Macklynn and Madalynn on the beach, I couldn't get over how small the ocean makes me feel, how the design of the sun and the horizon proves God is the grand mathematician, how the life beneath it proves He is the ultimate biologist, and how the intoxicating beauty proves He is the master artist.  

     Madalynn and I were supposed to have a picnic and fly kites on the beach late this afternoon; instead, Mike has the 2 little ones out fishing.  I tried peeking through the curtains and the light made pain surge through my head again.  It's awfully nice to be here alone and comfortable in this white flannel gown of mine, yes, the same one I had on driving Mike's big yellow truck into the truck stop as he kept it going with ether until we could fuel! 

     Miranda is 'conveniently' driving the older ones down 'the strip' to get ingredients to broil the shark Mike, Michael Jr, and Macklynn caught last night off the pier.  Mike and I spent time in 1988 doing just that, cruising in Barry 'Somebody''s Corvette.  This beach goes back way further than that for Mike though.  He's been coming here before he can remember.  His grandparents owned a couple of places in Venture Out across the road.  He has all kinds of memories.  Our last trip here in 2006 was our last 'real' vacation.  We also brought Megan here when she was just a little thing.  That was the trip I rode back with Mike's MawMaw.

     There was another lady at the pool this morning, the one we were with in the hot tub last night.  She sat with her granddaughter two chairs down and said to her, 'The last picture I have of your grandfather was on those steps over there.  I can't believe he's just never, ever coming back.'  The 9 or so year old said something and then her grandmother took her hand and said, 'We have to talk about him so we don't forget him,' and then she cried outloud.  Man, I can't even write this without crying again.  There I was reading my book about learning to love and she had lost the love of her life.

     I brought a veritable library of Godly writing.  I set it up so the kids would have access to whatever they need right now, heavy or light.  Megan snatched up 'Stepping Heavenward' by Elizabeth Prentiss, which is the book I looked for so long for McKala, that Megan had all along on her bookshelf in Georgia.  As we returned last night with some groceries, the lady staying below us asked, "Was your daughter reading 'Stepping Heavenward' next to us this afternoon?"  I said, "Wow, yes, that's an old book; never heard anyone else talk about it!"  Turns out she has it and loves it, and so does their 22 year old daughter. 

     I had already wanted to talk with her but didn't have anything to start up a conversation until then.  This morning before my migraine took hold, I was able to ask her about her sickness.  You see, she's completely bald.  She's been fighting breast cancer since last year.  Good news is that prayer and chemo have made her clear; rough news it that radiation awaits her after her celebration vacation.  Sweet news is it that one of our girls overheard her husband tell her how beautiful she is the day before. 

     There has been story after story we've encountered here, making it way more than a getaway.  Macklynn's highlight was meeting and getting his picture taken at a gas station with an Extreme Bass Pro Fisherman.  Madalynn has made friend after friend.  The pretend play with her figurines has made her a great communicator.  As the big kids were a big hit "hammocking under the pier", having picture after picture taken of them and the beach patrol stopping to say he'd never seen it in all his time; Mike was moved hearing the handicapped man in his innertube saying 'Mama' this and 'Mama' that.  She took such tender care of him. 

     As we awaited the waves breaking and floating them out, I noticed the sophisticated woman in a black large rimmed hat consoling her teenage son.  He'd broken down in tears as he sat on the cooler.  She was holding his arm and whispering in his ear.  It made me wonder if they'd lost someone, too.  Then beside me, as family of six were playing, the little boy said to his mother, 'Thank you for bringing me here.'  She didn't hear him, so he repeated it.  He really wanted her to know. 

     It's so easy to be disenfranchised looking at all the bad, especially in this place deemed the 'Redneck Riviera,' but if you look for good, you WILL find it.  For this woman who's trying to love again ...and who knows? maybe never really did, not the way God desires; pieces of her are breaking off left and right.  She's down to a big ole pile of mush right now as she types in the haze of the remaining Benadryl she took.  All she knows is that God is moving ...and that's all she needs to know."

     As I was standing in the drizzle while Pippy Lou got acquainted with the ever escaping new piglet, Link, I realized something:  we'll have to cook for 9 PEOPLE!  We've been so fragmented in activity that we rarely sit down all together.  Plus, we've worn out all but 4 chairs.  I'm seriously considering putting 2 fold up tables together with a nice tablecloth and calling it dinner. 
     As much as I would like to've taken the neighbors up on a plot for a summer garden again, we just couldn't swing the effort this year.  However, I want to get heirloom seeds in the ground soon for Fall but not sure how much more time we want to be near people who believe that whites reign supreme.  Plus, I've been saying that when Smokey died we'd be released.  I never believed that he'd do well anywhere but here on this 7 acres, where he's been since he was a puppy.

Tuesday morning, July 23
     Last night Mike showed the boys how to fly fish with Megan's kit she brought home.  Satisfaction came over me while I watched them from the porch.  But as he was coming in, Mike presented me with his new $200 flashlight.  What?!
     Mike left this morning with Megan and Miranda for work - car packed to the brim.  Megan was home all of one day when Mike came home to say he's being dispatched to Kingsport, TN for the flooding.  Since he has the hernia, he needs the girls help for the disaster relief job he took 9 months ago.  That's really why they're here anyway - to see what in the world God can best use them for. 
     At least last night we all got to sit together for a meal, well, except McKala who came in from work on the tail end of it.  God provided again for that meal.  Megan had brought back 3 pounds of frozen beef from Georgia, so I used it for spaghetti sauce and the leftover bread Miranda made last week to toast for salad croutons.  I thoroughly enjoy watching God provide, especially now that we've weaned ourselves from "the system" and now that 4 of us really need to shed some pounds.   
      Mike has been self employed virtually his whole adult life.  Last year in a world of drowning debt, he finally let it all go.  Public assistance was surely a help in feeding our large family and since he spent nearly $40,000 in taxes the prior year, well ...  I wrote in depth, "Would I, Could I, Should I?” 

      “I'm sitting in the Social Services office applying for help.  Mike drove me here yesterday to begin the processes.  I wouldn't feel so lame if this were the first time.
     I cut several inches off my hair this morning because the 'long tall Sally' look isn't working for someone who's looking more like an outdated country singer.  I wouldn't feel so lame if this were the first time.
     I was at odds with Mike the whole 2 1/2 weeks he was home.  We're having a hard time liking each other, much less loving.  The romance reconnection superseded the friend one and we're both disappointed that our recommitment hasn't been the glorious reconciliation we had fantasized. I wouldn't feel so lame if this were the first time.
     I'm in the way again.  In the depths of my conscience, I question, 'But it's been over 20 years of this.'  God hears and says, 'I'm still working.  Would you just stay out of my way.'
     I fight for things that aren't mine to fight for.  I try to right things that aren't mine to right.  I've buffered the static for things that aren't meant to be silenced.  When I'm quiet, be sure that I'm in a clamorous battle, my pilgrimage made difficult by own interference.
     Huh, in this lobby of misfits, there's a young couple just like we were, attentive to their precious little ones, passing bananas out to keep them occupied.  He has on a familiar boot for an injury.  She is well kempt but needs to shed some pounds.  There is tension between them as she asks him to help her.  I wish I could impart something, anything to them.  Though, it'd help if I'd conquered much myself since then.
     At home, we've spent these last weeks weighing options.  The truck needs extensive repairs.  Mike and Michael Jr. had worked for days and hours when Michael discovered a temporary fix.  It's on the road now and left behind $166 in the bank.
     I just finished an interview with a Medicaid worker.  I have such dubious feelings about it all: faithless and patrioticless, that my hand resisted putting pen to paper for the application.
     Her stomach growled so loudly that we both laughed.  She explained that her nightly dialysis left no time to prepare a meal, so she went to bed.  As the paperwork went on, the conversation led to her old friend, who'd given birth to 10 children and as the last one took flight, her sister and her husband were killed in a car wreck leaving her 8 more in the nest - sobering, and goes back to what I expressed about 'mother of many' not being an automatic 'ticket' for anything - it beckons my humility - which without, no act of mine or anyone's is of Christ.
     Yesterday's worker (office #1355, a series of numbers that appears regularly for us, yet in no particular order) shared that the case load in her 12 years has swelled from 250 to well over 500.  That speaks to the economy and the depression we're already in, instead of just 'approaching.'
     Food - we had stored, more for a disaster than a depression.  It's come in very handy though.  Sauces, broth, herbs, and peppers make a tremendous difference in the taste I can offer the family; I'm so thankful for that.  I'll tell you too that opening a gallon can of nacho cheese can cause a stir of enthusiasm!  A busy summer has left our free range chickens too free and not laying; we haven't gotten to the point of slaughtering anything yet (but perhaps we should be).  I've seen where we lack in dairy and protein preparedness but have enjoyed the challenge of putting the fresh, frozen, and canned garden things together with what else we had put back (including mounds of wheat) ...which leads to my questions about the whole situation.
     I've always said I'd rather live in a tent than to break apart what we've built in teaching the children ourselves.  They're turning out 'right.'  They possibly will be the only 'right' we will have contributed.  That answer pleased one of our workers, and I will be pleased too to only leave that as my heritage.  I heard recently that the son of A.A. Milne, creator of Pooh, was quoted that his Dad spent all his time entertaining other children instead of him.  I can't go down like that.
     So, am I willing to set up camp?  I tossed about the idea of shacking up in the big storage building we still have in the mountains.  Being on top of each other wasn't appealing to anyone.  For years, I've been drawn freakishly to the notion that there is excitement in getting our hands that dirty, seeing if we might possess what it takes to live off the land.  After all, John the Baptist ate locusts and honey.  To force the children into such conditions, by quitting the over the road business altogether (as I've proposed), is a delicate dilemma.   Although, while I was gone seeking assistance today, they were all out 'running away''/roughing it' with Madalynn  ...because Daddy wouldn't take her in the truck for fear that it'd break down.  They hiked by the creek; Michael started a fire with just flint and a cotton ball; Macklynn caught several fish and wanted to cook them; they were happy as larks when they popped back out of the woods.
     We're eying up the road a cheaply priced quaint old home that has been restored on the inside but not the out.  Is it time to purchase before bad credit prevents it?  Is it even possible?  Are we prolonging the inevitable?  We're in debt out the wazoo just to stay afloat.  Family has bent over backwards to help.  What should we do?
     There is a problem in being the woman of the couple.  I love my position;  I also hand over my independence by doing so.  Husbands have authority to do as they will and in trusting God, we depend on them.  That's a very, very hard row to hoe.  I don't hoe it very well and that might be why I'm hoeing the same old spots after 23 years.
     Tithing (not to be mistaken with philanthropy which is person centered, not God centered) - I 100% believe is the missing element.  We're always against a wall that 'prevents' it, which proves to me all the more why it's the 'mystery' link.  What we've been doing surely isn't working, no matter how we've gone about it.  An opportunity to grace someone we know, who is working overseas for Samaritan's Purse, presented itself last week.  It's kinda scary to hand back 10%; at the same time, it delights me thoroughly that we could go from 'hit and miss' giving to hitting all the time!
     In the passenger's seat on the way home yesterday, I became weak, limp, almost lifeless.  You know when the ride jostles your head around?  How I long to remain in that state, away from my own defenses, ready for instruction.
     Instead, I let simple things dishearten me, like the editor's pick list from the contest I entered.  I wasn't on it.  My video was thrown together but I had a spark of hope anyway.  What am I thinking?  I'm nowhere near close to ready for a national stage.
     Our kitchen is the best stage I can think of right now.  In creatively scraping together meals, I've been in there a lot and grow more connected as I go.  Being 'center stage' keeps me in on everyone's intricacies.  I'm also grasping the excess that remains since our last 'downsizing.'  5 of us are overweight, although that's shifting already.  But too many hours are still spent on meaningless things, namely useless entertainment.  Too much clutter is creeping in, while thankfulness and kindness are in too short supply.
     So, who am I to get frustrated so readily with Mike?  It's a long journey from cursing to blessing, discontent to thankful, despicable to likeable, lazy to industrious, crude to conscientious, dependent to free.  I should know, I'm still on my own journey to good.
     In prior 'down swings,' he'd have never settled for granola as a meal, for TV service disruption, for blood clear of substance, for talking with bill collectors in my stead, and all at the expense of anyone, including the children's modest accounts.  It's true, and as I sit here waiting on another appointment, I'm slammed with the reality that Mike is not who he once was but, like so many of us, is also not who he's going to be.
     I don't cut him a break and I didn't understand myself why, until I figured today that since he's given me a voice, it's terribly difficult to restrict it, especially when I'm certain I'm right.  To settle back into a way of respect, trust, and submission is far easier said than done.  But I ...have ...to ...find ...it.
     As I was writing all this in my notebook from various slips of paper, the woman two seats down at Social Services asked me if I was grading papers.  I told her I was just cataloging more of our crazy story, a compulsion I have to write as a witness of things to come.  Her name is Melonie.  'Her' story brought 'mine' to a screeching halt.  I'm convinced I had a meeting with destiny because hers is fading away, literally.  She says she has cancer and lives in her car.  She's 51, but her beautiful hair and teeth don't show it.  We talked over healthcare, politics, and religion.  When she said she used to believe in God, I surprised myself by crying when I told her I'm sure there is eternity and it might not look like it, but God loves her.  She cried too.  I may never see the harvest of her on Earth, perhaps because I would relish it too much, but my half hearted seed planting self will pray earnestly for her because her hardness was broken for a split second and that's where hope is born.  In wrapping things up here, I'd say for you to pray for us and I hope you do; but as always, someone else, like Melonie, needs it more.  So no matter what she did to get as alone as she is, would you, could you, should you hit your knees with me before she's alone forever?  You and I were there once or maybe you're there now, so if you don't believe anything else I write, believe there's more out there than what you can see."





     Today though, I sit in a mire of "things" still, complete disarray, cars to be cleaned from all the rain and mud, and a doctor's appointment to make it to by 10:30.  It appeared to be Tonsillitis but leave it to my "wait it out" philosophy to be Strep - Melody and Michael both. 
      The "plans" this week change once again - 3 gone, 2 down sick.  It isn't just having a big family; it's letting God lead the way.  I can't for the life of me have a normal schedule and after all these years, I'm finally good with that.   Every time I try to conform to the standards of society, God trumps it with something more creative and more important.  I've learned to roll with it.

     I can't believe I stepped away from this without acknowledging what Heather is going through.  I got a call yesterday right before supper from a quiet, pitiful voice.  She took a few seconds to regain it, before she told me the doctor had just told her the baby girl she's carrying is measuring a full month behind and that the Downs threat is a real one.  It wouldn't have been such a shock if she hadn't been all but cleared of it earlier.  I cannot imagine the range of things my sweet friend must be experiencing now; because if she tests, it could induce and if she waits, it could have been something else treatable.  This I know:  that she loves Jesus, so much so that she cries at the mention of His name.
     I reread Luke - who loves the forgiving master the most, the one was forgiven of the most?

    Tuesday nights - counseling - tonight:  forgiveness, my parents - was thinking of pizza while Susan was closing in prayer.  I admitted that afterward.  She said, "If you're not hungry, it's a no brainer."  Exactly, such is the nature of lust ...and why we need to confess.  Been eating out of control, sporadically ever since I unleashed myself to temptation last week.  PMS, big transitions, accountability lifted when Mike leaves (invalid, I know but it used to be a "party for me" when he left), extra subs from church/ Mike took me out to eat/ ice cream for sore throats - none bad in themselves but stuck in "the last supper" mode, bargaining with God - blind and confused, procrastinating and justifying the very thing I know holds the key to my wholeness.  Femininity, health, dress (literally), SURRENDER, seeing God's provision in small increments, no need for approval, CONFIDENCE and cheerfulness in obedience (despite the flaws), daughters' futures, Michael's respect, unworthiness to teach/be in front of, disease, even teeth - all seems so hazy when I'm willfully involved in my sin.  When to "start" to do better, what to strive for and when - God is the designer, haven't put all my trust in Him or it would show ...and show it does, like no other sin.
    Pride be gone.

     Madalynn determined yesterday that I was going to the creek with her.  She started stuffing our backpacks last night.  And this morning she was raring to go and finally at 1, we left off, but not before Macklynn put a pot in my bag.  Madalynn wanted me to take a knife so I could kill an animal and cook it.  Instead, I snuck a box of noodles.
     As I finished reading on the porch this morning I was mesmerized by the number of butterflies and hummingbirds that've been drawn to the pink and white plumes of the Mimosa tree, but I'm not sure it compared to the ushering they gave us into the woods.  Butterflies were positively everywhere. 
     Along the trail to get in, we saw tiny tangerine colored mushrooms growing in the moss covered banks.  Then we came up on a familiar friend, Bubba, the Percheron horse.  He wanted to nibble on us more than anything.  And as Miah, our Flat Coat Retriever, caught up with us, we made our way through the tall grass of the field as I prayed a snake wouldn't bite us. 
     When we got to the bank, we observed that the water hadn't receded from the last rain, but we waded in anyway.  For Macklynn it was waist high in a good many places.  Madalynn held out like a trooper.  We stopped to fish on several sandy shoals, while she dug for things.  Miah ran the edge of the ground above us and only crossed when she had to.
     We came to a fallen tree that they were afraid was snake infested, so we turned around.  Moving upstream was a workout.  I could feel it all the way up to my hips.  The cold water felt good on the varicose veins that swell in the summer.  We finally made it to our rock destination we'd been to before. 
     I began gathering twigs and after I set them up, I found in the box only 12 matches.  I thought after the 11th that I was homefree but I wasn't.  It was a good thing that Madalynn packed crackers and carried the jug of pineapple juice and Cherry 7Up.  They put on their goggles and decided to swim.  After they insisted for 15 minutes and because Madalynn kept getting herself caught in the current, I slid ever so slowly into the frigid water.  It made me feel more accomplished after the fire didn't light.  Macklynn decided to do some "noodling" for catfish.  I had to bite my lip not to stop him from sticking his arms into holes under the rocks.  I was excited and scared for him all at once.  Madalynn stayed near to him with large eyes of anticipation.  She said it was the best day ever and that she wanted to live somewhere like "this".  There IS something about finding a place where other people don't go.
     Paradise always ends on earth.  Macklynn chasing the ball fell onto his knee against a rock and split it open.  Dumby me didn't pack a first aid kit, so we gathered the things we'd strode out, including the pocket sized Bible Madalynn brought and asked me to read. 
     Macklynn held his shorts' leg up and claimed he couldn't carry anything, so as the thunder rolled in the distance, I wagged in 3 backpacks, 2 fishing poles, and a pair of shoes.  Navigating the rocks in the muddy creek without a visual gave the excursion the element of danger, and what adventure is any good without it?  That's something I learned from the book 'Wild at Heart' and it qualifies for women also. 
     The kids were well in front of me as we approached the drive 5 hours later and saw that Michael was in his hammock reading.  He decided to fly fish as I made supper.  His Daddy redeemed himself quickly from the TV issue and had the boys out teaching them how to night before last. 
      I'm already sore from today's venture.  If only I had stayed so active in work and play all these years.  Sitting on that rock, I turned inadvertently to Proverbs 24 where it says to cut your throat if you're a man given to appetite and then that the drunkard and glutton shall come to poverty.  I turned to Proverbs 31.  She was kind, hard working, and physically strong - "She girdeth up her loins with strength and strengtheneth her arms."

August 5
     I just watched a video of Macklynn at his first football practice ever in pads.  He grunted watching it, the way his Daddy said he did on the field.  McKala, Michael, Melody, and a friend went to Michael's practice and on the way home had a bridge construction dump truck pull out of the dark in front of them on the highway.  McKala said she stood on the brakes and that it was so close that they all had sore throats from screaming.  I sat on the box where I'd been cleaning in the garage and quietly pondered that.  What if 3 of our kids didn't make it home?  McKala gave God the credit and so do I.  His mercy is unfathomable. 
     Megan and Miranda are about an hour away.  They're helping flood victims in Mike's stead because he has to have hernia repair next Wednesday.  Sunday morning two different male volunteers, one on the verge of tears, approached me and told me that the girls are such good hearted, knowledgeable, hard workers that they would be overjoyed if their own children turned out half as good.  They couldn't say enough about how unusual our girls are.  I couldn't say anything at all, except thank you.  God has done it.  He made a totally unprepared, dark young woman into their mother and did things that I can only sit back and watch in awe, instead of pride.
    A few hours later we had the pleasure of joining the work crew of Chick-fil-A at the owners' home on the lake.  They are gracious to invite the families too.  All the kids bring food and take rides on the float.  Madalynn was thrilled to stream through the water and to play with their adopted girls from China, beautifully adapted to their parents.  Macklynn was overjoyed to get out his gear and get fishin'.  By night's end, he had a hefty catfish and screamed from down below for help.  Someone rode down, unhooked it, and boxed it up in ice and sent it home for us to fry - more provision, along with 2 leftover pizzas they sent.
     As I was about to watch and learn about filleting, I overheard Mike and Michael volleying who would kill the fish, when finally they both admitted neither wanted to kill the thing.  I savored that moment, that neither is vicious enough to enjoy the act.  Michael spent a long while trying to revive a bass that had swallowed a hook the day before.  He even propped it between rocks when his Daddy called him in to watch the NFL Hall of Fame inductees.  Melody couldn't get over that we see Joe Gibbs with his grandsons at Michael's football practice and that "he's in 'that' Hall of Fame?!"  But practice is in "Race City USA" and you just never know whom you'll see.
     The fish and hushpuppies will have to wait 'til tomorrow.  Tonight was overrun with decluttering the garage.  This morning we woke to tree trimmers in the yard, then the plumbers showed up with 3 filtration systems to switch over wells.  We've been dealing with ground water seepage every time there's a downpour.  The first year we nearly burned the house down, so we hated to complain too much to the homeowner about the water:  "You Want the Truth, You Got It.” 

     I do believe I'm accused of judging some neighbors for a shocking subject that has been brought to my attention.  I've said, 'If you open the door for the devil, he will walk right in.'  If this 'accuser' knew who surrendered the information, they would no longer question me, but I'm not about revealing sources; I AM at liberty to divulge my own truth.  We all talk of God moving in miracles and blessings.  Why don't we tell some truth of being snatched from the depths?
     So, I'll tell something not even my husband knows, yet.  Remember that house fire we had last year?  I had a classmate tempt me that romantic words on the computer aren't like having a real affair.  Although I had previously determined not to, I was responding feverishly, under the influence of alcohol, tempted horribly, I saw a wall of orange at the foot of the stairs.  My fingers were on the keys.  Most of you know the damage that happened that night but that it could've been much worse.  Yes, the house was on fire.  Before that, I had a person I partied in high school with and was certain we were so wasted he didn't remember, so in the midst of an overseas group joke one night, I 'accepted' his friend request.  I soon realized he had not forgotten and was very interested in resuming the past.  I liked being wanted - my marriage at its lowest point.  Later I wrote him and told him it just couldn't happen.  Weeks passed and he popped up on chat again.  I liked that he was back.  Within hours, Macklynn was sick, paralyzed, and many of you know what agony was gone through, although he walked out of the hospital under his own power 9 days later when 4 months was the diagnosis.  Chat is off and will remain there forever.  Hebrews 10: 26-27.
     There's one more thing that my family DOES know about and for Mike's sake and to speak of his character (he boldy professed with no reservation that he left me in a place of desperation for all these years), I will tell it.  I had another schoolmate, truly just a friend that I hadn't seen since I was 14, request a 'friendship.'  I ignored it for a while and then did a bit of an interview to see his purposes.  We had so much in common in thought, in appreciation of art.  As far as I knew, Mike had no use for me and threatened divorce regularly.  I didn't mean to like this old friend so much.  Although, there were no talks of sexuality, I began to understand that there might be someone who would have this mother of so many.  I got honest with myself that I had clung on so long to my marriage out of fear of being alone.  We continued lively conversations and as I look back, I admit that I had entered into an emotional affair.  I didn't make it a secret.  I messaged openly, not really letting anyone get too close though.  Mike realized that my heart had left him completely; he said he could see the deadness in my eyes.  Then, a change like none I've seen took place in him.  It took weeks and months for me to understand that it was real and that there was no right way for me to pursue any other relationship.  I had to wean myself.  In one day it was finished for me.  My childhood friend just vanished.  Many weeks later I found out that this lover of the finer things was ...in jail.  You must see where I would have landed myself and the children if I had stubbornly moved forward with this man and ignored the obvious change of the man in front of me.  In hindsight, I should never have had ongoing conversations with him, but my loneliness told me otherwise.
     So you say 'I judge,' I say 'I know' ...that when we open the door to sin, we will be visited with its creator, perhaps within minutes or hours for those of us who profess the faith and surely know better.  If we're quick to correct our way, we may be spared.  If not, we and the ones we love may be wounded or even destroyed."



       The second year we contemplated moving, so we didn't push the envelope.  The third year, Mike's trucking business was spiraling out of control and with a couple of late payments, we didn't have any leverage.  BUT this year was all we could take.  Glory! that we don't have to buy 7 gallons of drinking water a week anymore. 
     Funny that we let it go on for so long, brown water, as though we're in a third world country right here in a five bedroom, renovated house.  It's made me stop and think all that we Americans take for granted.  Tomorrow the laundry cycle begins again; hey, clear water is a big deal.  And I have to remember to shave my legs since Mike isn't traveling. Tonight, I've just put the kitten in its hutch and the puppy in its crate.  The piglet's out of food and I'm still trying to train the puppy not to wet on the carport, causing the male dog to go behind and do the same! and trying to prevent fleas from taking over the way the last kittens' did.  We had to stay in the Holiday Inn for 3 weeks in February because the basement flooded and molded:  "Our Hotel Home.”    

     “Public service announcement:  I AM NOT writing this in a hormonal state.  I AM writing this from a hotel suite that thankfully insurance is footing. For those of you who don't already know, the basement floor and even the ceiling of the house we rent were flooded by a septic backup.
     Mike, 5 of the kids, and I have been here for 2 weeks already.  3 of us have accidentally called it 'home' this week. The hotel has a deal for guests to exercise and swim for free at the local Y.  There is a continental breakfast prepared every morning.  Housekeeping ensures we're well stocked.  And every Tuesday supper is catered.  Night before last, they sent us up with all the BBQ leftovers!
     In an unpublished post after Christmas, I wrote how I tired I am of holiday dip, sausage, and pie.  I suppose when we leave here, I can say the same of sandwich meat and microwave meals, but probably not of morning cinnamon rolls!  The stash of juice, milk, crackers, granola, fruit, and vegetables creates balance.  Another balance we've achieved has come from the 'forced' time in close quarters.  Miranda reminded me this morning how much it's like the weeks we spent in the truck with Mike when she was young.
     The things I've sought but have been just out of reach are found here.   The children have to manage to respect each other in these 2 rooms we're residing in, since I'm within earshot of every encounter.  Teaching has been easy since there are few distractions.  Madalynn is swimming well without her life jacket; Michael has begun weight training; McKala is walking and running on the treadmill in spite of the asthma; and Mike's been walking some distance on his healing leg (which was broken a week into his new job.)
     Right now I'm sitting next to the 'room' Macklynn's made with chairs, coffee tables, cushions, pillows, and blankets.  It reminds me more of the barricades of 'Les Miserables' than the place he's prepared for us all to convene for Jello at 10 pm.  Tomorrow night Madalynn will reinvent it for us to sit by the great window as the winter precipitation falls and she serves popcorn and hot chocolate!
     As content as I truly am with the circumstances, it reminds me of just how much a vagabond in this 'world' that I am.  And 'rightly so.' If I had it my way many years ago, I'd have every detail of my life 'just so':  matching beyond matching wardrobes; symmetrical bliss of interior and exterior decorating; overbooked, overachieving, likely morally numb children; and, of course, all on a budget to die for on a course to a perfect retirement.  I wouldn't have seen in any real sense that 'this world is not my home.'  I might've caved to what is readily accepted in this chaotic culture.
     I might never have known that my children need to learn how to serve, lived out daily.  I might never have understood that a spanking done properly enough to remember is far less punishment than the suffering life will put on an undisciplined adult. (And even though a parent should do everything not to bruise, even 'nature' presents itself in bruising so that we never want to 'try that again.')  I might never have comprehended that blessing and cursing can't arise from the same fountain, might never had winced at the words that come so naturally to the public at large now.  I might never have discovered that children learn more from what is incidental and relative than what is planned, that quality time can't be created in a slot.  I might never have searched for sexuality that is beautiful, shameless, and perfect in God's pretense. I might never have been shocked that our daughters suffered many workplace harrasments for standing firm. I might never have seen that young people who have no way to support themselves have no business dating, learning well how to divorce.  I might never have questioned why people think that living together, lying to each other, and cheating the system are acceptable.  I might never have spoken against lyrics of music I enjoy.  I might never have seen disaster as divinely permitted.
     I surely would never have learned that dying to myself is the whole purpose of living.  I surely wouldn't have been privy to the nuances, the subtlety that the serpent has used to desensitize, to blind throngs of people.  I surely would not know an ounce of grace without a Jesus who visits me with it.
    'Handling' grace is maybe the hardest thing I've done.  It's much like a scalpel trying to divide the cancer away from the healthy flesh.  In addressing sin, inevitably something's going to hurt, someone's going to get hurt.  In stepping away from traditions of the community and political correctness, I've seen each member of this family go through an unnamed process.  It's a time of awakening to how bad things really have gotten, a time of disdain and disgust, a great temptation to remain self righteous.  We prove the sincerity of The Faith when we choose to step back in, reenter the game ...but with renewed boldness and purpose with unreasonable amounts of grace, with inexplicable behaviour and answers, except that they be from an almighty merciful God.
     If it means that I have to habitate in a hotel room to be kept on my toes for God's will, then 'so be it.'  The mold that makes McKala sick was found AND the church that's eluded us was found, so ...as far as I'm concerned, this stay was 'meant to be.'”



       I'm only admitting it now, but then and only then did we see the end of the fleas - because I wouldn't "bomb" the house, but who knew those things can be so persistent?!

     "Home:  I woke up this morning to screams from the front porch.  I jumped up after a night of wakefulness caused by coughs resounding from every room.  Macklynn was hanging over the rail, sick.  He said he was dizzy and I knew he had what Michael brought home from Boone where he was packing shoe boxes for Operation Christmas Child while Mike had his orientation.  The flu, we haven't had it in forever.  The last time I remember that it was the real deal, full blown flu was when Megan was little.  Everybody 'says' they have the flu, but when you're delirious from headache and fever and can't hold a cloth to your bloody nose because your arm aches (as Macklynn did), then you have the flu.  I tried so hard to quarantine.  My best guess it that Michael spread the germs as he was coming down with what we thought was this terrible cough most everyone else here has had for weeks.
     I don't care much for TV, but thank God for it when there's nothing else a person feels like doing.  So, as all the sicklings rested another day, Madalynn and I went down to the barn, boots on and buckets full.  There stood  "Pattym" the pig, up on the fence and the calves happy to receive the feed we've had to purchase for them because of the cold.  The "other" pig, the pot-bellied one, bites at them to steal their food and caused one to jump over the gate and hang its leg yesterday, so I had to contrive some way to keep her out of the shabby barn.  An old door and a bungy strap later, I had her perplexed.
     It's funny: Miranda said the people she works with say she's a farm girl.  She doesn't think so at all.  They asked, 'You have cows?  You have pigs?  You have chickens?  You have a garden?'  Then you live on a farm.  They just haven't seen a 'real' farm, I suppose.  We dabble and mostly 'come upon' things.  We don't have any farm equipment.  Last time we needed something hauled, Michael bartered a truck wash for it.
     'Outdoorsy' we can settle on.  Madalynn fits the bill.  She insisted that I put a leash around her and that we traipse into the woods as if she were a dog, down by the creek, so she could point out where she had lost her boot in the 'quicksand.'  We hopped a few rocks and sat on the moss.  She didn't want to come back. I didn't either, but I had to keep moving.  I need to stop here for a minute though and divulge a tidbit I was 'given' on Sunday.  As I roamed the property, then sat on the ground pulling burrs out of Mia's fur, I thought over the question people pose about the number of children we have despite the narcissist (which we all are before we’re saved) I lived with.  I love creation: children, animals, plants.  God saw to it that I was surrounded by it.  He never gave me more than I could bear, just felt like otherwise  sometimes.   I had love all the time, just not always the one I wanted the most.  It's in my possession now, but its flames have reduced to smoldering coals because it went unrequited for too long.  And so the delicate balancing act continues.
     A few days ago, two neighbors stopped with two boxes of food.  Their church found out Mike had broken his leg.  The little kids were so impressed.  There were crackers, cookies, macaroni, Pop Tarts, cereal, and all manner of snacks for 'under the weather' days.  They began to tire even of those, so homemade pancakes seemed in order.  Madalynn sat on the counter and grabbed at everything I'd let her pour in.  Our pancakes aren't the same without flaxseed and fresh ground whole wheat.  Call it 'homeschooler food' all you want to, but don't knock it 'til you've tried it!  Plus, real butter and maple syrup make them taste the way they were meant to.
     Ordinarily, I'd have one of the kids make the pancakes and another one go to the barn and another one play with Madalynn.  Today I got to fill all those roles and although not much else got done, I'm happy.  It's so easy to lose touch with children, even for us 'stay at home' moms.
     I'm getting a dose of what true 'stay at home' means ...and I like it.  Mike returned to work last week and took our one car with him.  Without the ability to 'run around,' time stops, in a way.  When Mike returned every evening, I had supper cooking, the tree lit, music playing, house straighter by the day, and a little make-up on.  I can't imagine anything nicer.  Granted he was worked up from all his new information and when I do go back to town, I'll have about 14 places to go AND everyone was hacking their hearts up.  Still ...it was nice.  I don't plan to let that slip away.
    Home isn't 'always' nice.  McKala has had nightly attacks.  She wakes coughing so uncontrollably that she vomits, in turn causing her nose to bleed.  She can hardly catch a breath.  All I can do is stand there with a cloth.  She's taking all the medicine they know to give her.  I'm just thankful to go through this with her.  I'm thankful that I don't have a particular hour to rise and rush out of the house.  I'm thankful to be the queen of this castle and ...thankful that no one else can fit the crown that I alone have been given."




       Megan and Miranda got home this morning after 21 days.  They've been given permission to take available pickup trucks on deployments.  A box was delivered for them this morning with sweatshirts as gifts from a fellow volunteer, their Team Lead.

       Miranda posted today, "I love being out helping in Jesus' name. I have made friends from all over the country and will never forget the time we have shared with each of them. There are no words to describe the amazing things God has done for me and many others through this ministry. It has been a true blessing to get to travel with Samaritan's Purse. I have been on 4 deployments this summer and that just doesn't seem like enough! So, where are we going next, Megan?"

      They brought in a trash bag of leftover food: sandwich meat, cheese slices, bacon, bread, snacks, salad!  The girls are sitting on the couch telling stories now.  (The stories I got from the day I spent last week?)  Michael brought home with him a case of poison sumac.   We're going to the doctor in a couple of hours for it. 
     Mike is having surgery tomorrow.  Mom and Dad are coming into town for Melody's birthday on Saturday.  I took her to town this past Saturday, and McKala the day before to have her first cavity filled.  Love having time to know each child one on one. Michael was at Dr. Miller's the day before doing a C-Section on a dog.  Michael also stopped them in the middle of calling a plumber so he could take out the spicket himself ;)  The Vet took him to lunch and they went to the plumbing supply store.  McKala is given a meal at Chick-fil-A when she works.  And she must really be working hard because a cop stopped her and told her to QUIT working so hard!  That night Steve, the guy who invited us to Mr. Pleasant to begin with, gave us a box of tomatoes!  The big bump/acne on my nose is evidence that I have enjoyed them. 
     Macklynn has an open invitation to fish at McKala's boss's house.  They got special permission to go while the owners were away at a reunion for their Chinese daughter.  As McKala was putting chicken fat on her hook to catch another catfish like the last one, their Chocolate Lab went for it and swallowed it.  We're told there's a 50/50 chance that it'll pass.
     The little ones have kept me hopping too, although Melody has risen to the cause and cooked, played, and cleaned and even created a couple of scavenger hunts for them.  Madalynn sat me down for a massage and said, "You probably haven't had one since the 80s."  Around midnight last night, I found the big kids on the roof watching the meteor shower.  I've always been "with child" one way or another and haven't done it, so I climbed up against my better judgment.  I was distracted by .......the display of lightening in the distance.

     It's 12:20 am and I just arrived home from the hospital.  It was a unanimous decision that Mike's pain was intolerable without IV meds.  The surgery was more involved than the initial assessment, plus the incision (where the doctor said specifically he had the nurse pull and stretch) is about 4 inches. 
     Early supper was provided!  On the way home, I stopped at Arby's and got a $1 roast beef sandwich and a $1 shake.  I didn't "need" either one but it's a far cry from when I'd say "to hell with it" and pig out.
     Oh! and the boss's dog x-rayed clear on the hook!  Too, Michael helped with the C-section of a cat today.  Set out to the woods with hammock, knife, and Bible - voluntarily.
   
     Bags of breakfast food in the frig.  Provision.
    
     This Tuesday morning I woke from a dream that I dreamed I was trying to wake up from!  I've got a headache. I'm hoping it's the barometric pressure.  Three of the kids have had headaches for weeks.  I'm hoping it's not the house. 
     I'm also sore from last night.  Six of us decided to walk the 2 mile loop from the property.  That was a whole lot of Harper going up the road!  Then, at Michael's ambitious urging, we lifted weights for over an hour.  We've been talking for a while now about what needs to be done.  Megan even asked me, "Why so much of it?" and I replied, "I don't want you to settle for less because you weren't you're best."  Then I ran over to my desk to coin it before I forgot it! 
      Megan hadn't been home long from her first day of work being a Ford Tech again, but I think she daydreamed all day of going back out on the road.  She brought home with her pizza that Mike's fellow employee sent for us.  I can't remember when a man, instead of a woman, did that!  I was hit with regret that I'd bought pizza on Saturday - I didn't wait for the provision.  I don't mean "expecting" provision but "acknowledging" it and where it comes from.  It was a bit like when I got a "good deal" on some dock shoes and then someone gave me a pair two weeks later.  I took the ones I'd bought back; "no can do" with pizza.  (Monday morning - After all the coming and going, I had that "what's next?" way of thinking.  And when you draw a blank is when you know you're left with yourself.  I think we like to stay away from that, ourselves.  I spent the morning going through and throwing away list after list.  I love looking through those things and thanking God for all He accomplished.  It's kinda like going over a history list at a doctor's office and thanking Him for each box I can check off "no", especially when it's the kids' lists.)
     Saturday on Melody's birthday, both boys had games, Macklynn's first.  We saw our prior neighbors there, the ones who brought 1 year old Madalynn back when she "escaped" after the front door pulled open from the vacuum of the back one.   I told them that's what happens when country people move into the city; we lose our kids!  "Resurrection Sunday, 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, the records were never even requested from the other 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 much of the iliacs, main arteries to the legs.
     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 rib cage, 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 anesthesia 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 whoever 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, North Carolina on a .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.  You know they thought 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 people out of the country, but you can't take the country out of people.  There were sidewalks through the neighborhood, so Mike bought me a good stroller and I pushed Madalynn all over.  Before long, we discovered that the 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.  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, more than 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."




       We'd been looking for the other neighbors we had there and we soon found them with their fourth little boy in tow, a whole month old.  What a beautiful family they are.  They're a beautiful black family.  Yes, some of the most beautiful, God-fearing, humble, friendly, talented people I know are black.  And I can't figure out why color creates such a divide for people.  Surely by now we all know it's about character. (Share cropper blog?)
    Unbeknownst to us, Michael's game was postponed and since we in were in town already, the five of us went to Pizza Hut.  Megan served at one for 2 years and it still holds a sweet spot for us.  Melody wanted to go to Goodwill.   I found a button up white sweater for Megan.  She always had one when she was little and when she put it on, she might as well have been 3 years old again because time stopped for a few seconds.  We all dug and found something we "liked".  "Needed" was arguable, although virtually the only shirts and shoes I have came from there or were given to me as gifts.  There's nothing like the value of a gift.  When I look around at what we own, I smile broadest at the things that were passed along to us.  Going out to buy those things for myself just doesn't conjure the same satisfaction, and certainly not the same gratitude.
     Mom and Dad came on Thursday loaded down with their truck and a trailer full of Megan's things, plus Melody's "birthday desk", fifth in the line of handmade tradition.  He surely outdid himself this time.  Too, he brought the third in succession of Sig Sauer handguns.  3 Harpers are now armed and inducted into the Sig family. 
     Mom had found room to bring a lasagna as big as our oven, vegetables from their garden, bread, coffee, breakfasts, drinks, snacks, and paper items.  I'd determined to get to know Mom better but the most emotion I got see in her, because the work of moving took precedence, was her being tickled at the puppy latching onto the piglet's tail every time it got into the yard! 
      Mom, a sickly and anemic child, so much so that her aunts told her mother she wouldn't survive.  Mom, married to her high school sweetheart before her senior year.  Mom, literally cut to pieces when her firstborn child couldn't come out.  Mom, her baby daughter confined to a board for six weeks so her collarbone could fuse together after it was broken in delivery. Mom, her father murdered when she was 23 years old.  Mom, an only child, swept away from her mother and her country roots when she was 27.  Mom, uprooted once more a year later and settled in another place, only to be almost destroyed.  Mom, moved to her final and current state where she began her first full-time job - only to find more destitution.  Mom, with that only daughter named Michelle who was buckwild and got pregnant when she was 13.  Mom, hard to know, hard to find her heart of hearts - and it's no wonder.
     Tonight marks a coming of the full circle.   The counseling I've been going to on Tuesday nights all summer is coming to a close soon.  Tonight is the memorial of the child who never got a shot, who isn't part of these stories I write. 
     I was told after the fact that I was never pregnant.  Interesting that a clinic would perform and charge for a procedure that was undue.  I still believe that was to clear my conscience, what little I had back then.  Nevertheless, I will speak tonight not only on the behalf of mine but also of the needless slaughter of every "inconvenience".



     "I'm sorry that you didn't get a fighting chance, that I nor anyone held you sacred, that no mother held you at all.  What I know is that you are in a place I could never provide and I am the one who lost something beautiful by removing your life from an earthly existence.  It makes me love our Father more to know He brought you into His presence when you were shunned from mine. 
     I don't know what time is like in heaven, but I'm sorry you have to wait to know the one who would've otherwise protected you fiercely and held you closely.
     You were the first of an incredible line of young people.  Only God knows how your life might've impacted ours and what we'dve meant to you.  I believe your brothers and sisters and I have a blessed surprise to greet us into eternity.
     Until then, I'll know my family circle is 10% smaller mathematically but by bounds spiritually.  I'll not know until my end whom and what I missed.  I think you might be a son and I'm sorry for the world that one who'dve been raised to honor our Father was never known."



      Do I think he could hear this?  I don't know but that I acknowledge my part is key.  Parts of the song,"I Will See You Again," linger in my head.
     I just advised my Facebook friends that I'm getting a "do over" with our children and asked them to forgive me for what I'll miss.  There are a few I keep a close eye on:  one due in a month, one newly pregnant with twins, and one who required a DNC to remove her baby from her womb.  I have a lot a feelings swirling around about all this information.  Heather, who is the one due in a month may well be pregnant with a Down's Syndrome baby and won't entertain the idea of an abortion.  Good for her! 
      The memorial was unlike anything I've been a part of.  It was quaint yet formal, led by an elder of our church.  The smell of the rose permeated my personal space as the music played.  I read aloud what I had written with more emotion than I'd imagined.  Then, our two counselors placed a prayer shawl on me and knelt down to pray for me.  I was anointed with oil.  So was the other woman.  There was nothing hokey or "religious" about it.  It was special, set apart, and a first occasion for me.  To have Titus II women lift me up to the Lord is irreplaceable.  I've searched my whole Christian life for them, older women willing to not only teach me but also to exemplify respect for their husbands, commitment to their children, and love for something besides their own busy lives.
     On the way home from there, I'm apparently open to profound things and this week's was, "if I'd still be the way I am if Mike had been different?"  Some would say that at 17 I married too young.  I ask, "Would I have gotten saved when I did at 21?" ...........
     Miranda just called.  She was on her way to deliver homemade cookies to the man who sent us pizza, when the car in front of her squatted, sending her into the other lanes where she barely kept from flipping before she hit the curb.  The driver, who she said was "slow", stopped to check that she was okay but drove away while she was grabbing something.  She is okay.  Prayer answered as far as I'm concerned.  McKala got a call at 5:30 am to come cover for someone and I've been awake since, very aware and in prayer that 4 of them would be out on the road in the rain this morning.  Bizarre thing is that it happened right in front of the dealership Megan started working for on Monday, so Miranda used her phone because she hasn't started work at Chick-fil-A yet to pay for her own.  Now, I have to go tell Mike that the brake rotor had to be cleared from the road and we have to go get her.
     I went in to ask for Megan when Miranda found me.  No one even knew who she was.  I think she had been sitting there just digesting the near miss she had, not in rear-ending, but hitting the curb to avert then losing control, tires off the ground nearly in a roll into oncoming traffic.

     Saturday morning, up at 6:30, couldn't go back to sleep when I began praying (love how it's so real that time of day) for McKala on her way to work from Jaycie's house after taking her out for her 16th birthday last night and Michael hopefully sleeping soundly at a friend's after getting home at 2 am from their game in Asheville.  Sleepovers are not the norm for us and I have more reasons than I care to get into from others over the years.  Generally speaking, sleeping over is asking for trouble.
     Megan and Miranda would be rising soon to go to Winston Salem to buy parts for the wrecked car.  Macklynn has to be at the field this morning.  Melody will finish cooking for the picnic, while she and Madalynn stay here with Mike.
     After I prayed safety and purity for each one, I thought of myself and how haggard looking I've been all week and how that plays into what kind of wife I am.  I played back years ago when I struggled to keep things clean and organized, so much so, that when Mike arrived I looked a mess; but if the house had been one, the mood still would've ..........  always felt damned if I did, damned if I didn't.
     There were definitely underlying relational issues.  Too, not everyone has a gaggle of children, but we simply had too much "stuff" even though we weren't always particularly "well to do".  Even when I thought I was being conservative, we had too much:  too many toys (even gifts), too many clothes (even second hand), too many books and entertainment (even the good stuff), and certainly too much food.
     Funny that we encourage our kids to "reach for the stars" and "follow their dreams," which inevitably involves being well off or at least secure.  Problem is as Paul Harvey would, I believe, agree is that in doing so we dissect the family in virtually every realm.  Crazy that we do anything to help our children to pursue "their dreams" when they always wind up revisiting the basic addictions? food, sex, and drugs (4 pm - meeting with Jesus - revamp and if it’s not done, be okay with the fact that it might not get done today).





      "Ernie's Barn - August 23, 2013 - It was close but the kids I managed to make it to the picnic at the Ashe County Library yesterday.  It was good to see the faces of the people who didn't expect us and even better to see the delight of the one who did.
     I couldn't have all the kids up there and not go see Mrs. Poe.  We shared a driveway tucked back in the Blue Ridge Mountains for 5 years.  Since we've left, she lost her husband of over 50 years.  She tells us that she thinks of us daily, which makes it all the worse that I forgot to call her on her birthday in June.
     We all sat out on her front porch in the chilly mountain air and caught her up on all our comings and goings.  She always seems so pleased to hear them.  I noticed her frame that not long ago used to do the yard work and clean the local bank was more feeble than usual.  She told me once after Mr. Poe's passing that sometimes she just lies in bed in the morning because she doesn't know what to get up and do without him.   But she says she's fine except for an upcoming cataract surgery.
     I left unconvinced and went with the kids to see another neighbor, Ernie.  Michael walked up to the window and announced himself.  He came straightway to the door, excited to see us.  He immediately said he had something to show us.  When he opened the door to the living quarters of the arena, Megan turned around to me smiling and said it smelled just the same, with some wonderful aroma his wife always used.

     When we entered the ring, he told us to all get into the train he'd made since the last time we'd come.  And he wasn't kidding.  He took off pulling us with his 4 wheeler in the dark.  That's something we never could've imagined would happen!  That's what I mean about LETTING God make things happen, instead of us people MAKING things happen.
     Thankful that he could pull us all back up the hill, we met Big John, a magnificent 18 hand high Belgian blonde.  Then we met Little Joe, not enough hands to count but that didn't matter to Madalynn.  Macklynn found a magnet and trolled the barn for metal while we talked about old times and Cricket the mule, who instead of being broken would draw in her head and fall over!  I'm really glad Megan got to revisit some of her best memories.
     Ernie went over to the corner and came out on stilts, him 70 years old!  The kids had to give it a whirl and couldn't pass up the 2 seater bicycle contraption either.  All in all it was the nicest time we've all had together in forever.  The icing on the cake was Ernie showing us the pictures of the terminally ill children who've been coming to do some of the very same things every Tuesday.  We had no idea and were moved by the prize he puts on it.
     By 10 pm, we'd had our stay and needed to set out for home an hour away, not before stopping and picking up the 2 other cars.  Miranda assisted Megan in restoring the wrecked car to driving condition for a little over $200 in parts, including 2 wheels.  Somehow, Megan was given 4 new tires also!  Provision much?!
     The 4 cars were on the way to New Hope and not a minute too soon.  Michael had done his share by rotating the tires on the van Friday morning but ran into something that took 4 hours to get back together.  Everyone was plain worn out.  Megan had worked all week and then on Mike's car.  Miranda was sick and up a lot of Saturday night making all manner of terrible sinus sounds.  McKala had been up 'til 1 am and up for work at 6 am.  Michael had gotten back from his game at 2 am.  Melody had cooked for the picnic and babysat Madalynn while Macklynn was on the field at 9:45 am.
     Church didn't happen this morning.  I'm okay with it; although, as a friend said, 'If you miss Kevin (our pastor) speak, you always miss a good sermon.'
      I began my late morning with Exodus and coffee.  Even though, I don't normally put much effort into cooking on Sundays, I decided homemade pizza was in order.  It's quite a process but I knew I had all afternoon.  Madalynn and I took the dough with us to rise pondside, while McKala made the sauce.  It was all I could do to come back in from the sun.  It's as though the heat is the hand of God himself.
     Right now, Megan is catching a show with Mike that he and I watched earlier about the Roll Tide and War Eagle rivalry.  That's after she watched "Pride and Prejudice" for the umpteenth time with her sisters.  Michael and Macklynn started a fire and have been cat fishing.  We're all resting up for another big week.
     Miranda's first day back to work is tomorrow.  We have to finish cleaning and working on the cars. Michael has to fix the chicken coup because the piglet's decided he can come and go as he pleases in there.  Then he has to go 'throw hay,' stack bails 8 high from the field onto a moving trailer, for a neighbor.  He'll miss practice again; but after the 4 sacks he made Friday night, hopefully coach won't say much!  Macklynn will have 3 nights of practice also.  Melody will help bake cookies for the first time at church Tuesday while I'm at counseling.  Madalynn will start her much anticipated children's choir practice Wednesday night.  And you know what? I couldn't ask for much more of God's hand in the children's lives because we're 'more than just living.'
     All this but I can't stop thinking about my friend, Christi, a bridesmaid of mine and fellow writer, and her husband, Rob, who just underwent emergency surgery only to find out it's a malignant brain tumor.  I'd like to think it is only there so that God can reveal his divinity through their faith.
     'The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him; and he will shew them his covenant," ~ Psalm 25:14.'"





      Wednesday morning, up at 4 am with barking dogs.  Just read "Hidden Hardships Behind Closed Doors" ~ Proverbs 31 Ministry Devotions:  Although her life was a compounded version of mine, I identify strongly with Susanna Wesley.  A cousin thought enough so that she told me.  There is so much material available about improving marriage that we get lost in what happens when it doesn't.  Is God still as real; does everything still apply when our partner is our antithesis?  Is it that God allows it because he knows we would never grow as strong in any other setting?

 "Alone: Have you ever been in a room full of people and felt alone?  Were you thinking how impossible it would be for them to understand what's happening in you?
     Have you ever sat still because you were afraid if you moved, you'd mess everything up?
     Have you ever lain still because you didn't want to change anything about the feeling of God's presence?
     Have you ever remained still because you weren't willing to settle for less?  Do you know how if feels to go it alone?
     I read today by Anne Graham Lotz, I believe:  'Our world is looking for love.  As human beings we need to love and be loved.  But we're looking in all the wrong places.  We look for it from a parent, from a child, from a sibling, from a spouse, from a lover, from a friend, from a pet.  But our parents grow old and die, our children grow up and live their own lives, our siblings move out and on, our spouses are too busy or too tired, our lovers become jealous or bored, our friends are superficial or selfish, our pets can't speak or counsel.  Who can truly understand the need of a human heart?  Who can meet the need of our heart?  Where is love found?  Jesus revealed to Nicodemus the profound insight that love is found in the heart of God.'
     Have you ever wanted approval more than love?
     Have you ever had something to say and were prevented?
     Have you ever stopped to consider that God wants you to Himself?
     'Turn thee unto me, and have mercy upon me; for I am desolate and afflicted.  The troubles of my heart are enlarged:  O bring thou me out of my distresses.  Look upon mine affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sins.  Consider mine enemies; for they are many; and they hate me with cruel hatred.  O keep my soul, and deliver me;  let me not be ashamed;  for I put my trust in thee.  Let integrity and uprightness preserve me;  for I wait on thee.' ~  Psalm 25: 16-21.
     Is 'no' continually your answer and you don't know why?
     'Hide not thy face far from me; put not thy servant away in anger:  thou hast been my help;  leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.  When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.  Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies ...Wait on the Lord:  be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart:  wait, I say, on the Lord.' ~ Psalm 27: 9-14.
     Have you done some of your best Bible reading in tears?
     Then you're not alone."

    This Thursday  morning I've been struggling over love, real love, and as I sat on the front porch, I thought of these people, people like Miley Cyrus, who are almost beyond lost. I, too, am appalled at what she embodies, but where are the prayers? What? Have you hit your knees in her name and concern for her or do we not believe that prayer matters anymore? The same goes for politicians. How is that we think we will ...change the world with hate and disdain? And, yes, it goes for homosexuals, too. Don't get me wrong, I wince at the thought of the "act", but why would they visit the idea of congregating with us if we walk around "proud" that we aren't one of "them". I'll add to it that l do NOT agree with what a Christian leader in a nearby community stood up to say, "We are all born in sin and that homosexuality is that sin for some people." Okay, so my holy God would allow a child to be born as what He considers an "abomination"? Leviticus and Romans make it clear.  Wait a minute, are we saying that every sin is the same, to steal $5 and to brutally murder a 3 year old are the same?  Really?  I know that no sin can or will be in the presence of our Lord, but come on.  Some things are not only wrong but "disgusting, revolting" to our Creator.  Even my kids know not to put themselves under such counterintuitive leadership and immediately removed themselves from it. How can we help those who have separated themselves from God if we don't acknowledge their sin with compassion for what parts of their lives have led them there? And, yes, that's a good reason to make sure we ourselves are walking with a pure heart before God. So, do it. Hit your knees and do it; get right with Him.

     Isn't the world full enough of Harriet Olesons?  Do we not know that but for the grace of God, we too would be continually caught up in the search for satisfaction through pleasure?  Too, is it not because we aren't to judge those who are "without"/unsaved but we are to "within" but with mourning not being "puffed up"?  Read 1 Corinthians 5. It's a game changer. The thing is that so much of the church is living in outright sin that the homosexual movement slipped in almost without a battle, because we are hypocrites to shack up and/or fornicate and lust, then turn around and say that their sexual sin is intolerable.

     Recently, I finished a book named "Naked Surrender" by Andrew Comiskey.  It spells out 6 counseling "cases" for sexual deviancy and how those people have come out of it through the healing knowledge of God.  It is powerful and enlightening. 
    It's after 4 pm, my crash time.  Not sure why but no matter what time I wake, I lose steam about 4 every afternoon.  Then I'm most tempted to eat when I'm not hungry, which leads me to believe I'm hungry for something else, that I need another sitdown with Jesus before the day's out.  And if a woman lives some semblance of a "normal" life and her husband gets home around 6, then it makes sense that it's time to make peace with what got done and what didn't, to prepare a sweet spirit and atmosphere upon his return.
     However, Mike is still "here" at home and just got news from an ultrasound that due to lost circulation after the surgery, he's "lost" a testicle and will know within a week if he has to be removed.  People who know us know that if something can go wrong with a procedure, it happens to Mike. 


    Most of the family watched a movie together last night and I hated almost every minute of it.  When we went to bed, Mike had "Scope'd" up his breath and began to passionately kiss me.  No matter how many times I tried to return it, I couldn't succeed.  It felt so unnatural.  I was forcing it.  I couldn't accept what was being given to me.  It'd be easier if we could've gotten to the "deed" and gotten it over with. 
    Think me bad?  I don't know any other way to put it.  He doesn't know my soul and he was trying to reach it, call it forth?  And it felt like it was being dragged out, not wooed out, no matter how gentle he was being.  Over the years, I grew accustomed to not being kissed.  Now, I can't seem to take the very thing I longed for.
    After 10 minutes or so, he knew and he stopped.  I was holding up okay until a tear ran down my arm from his face.  In the dark, there we were strangers wanting something we don't have. 
    He decided to go back downstairs where he's being lying on a mattress post surgery in the boys' den, so he can watch TV.  When he closed the door, I cried.  Weeping, I asked God to "fix me", like the song.  I plainly said, "I am bad, all bad."  I spent so much time seeking, if only in thought,  satisfaction for my emptiness from worldly attentions that I negated even what the children needed from me, things that would've only required a few minutes here and there, just as Deuteronomy exhorts.
    I pleaded, broken, "Change me!"  Then, "Change my life."  I lamented for all the things that I've overlooked, for all the sin - mine and others' - that has brought me here, that has made me so impenetrable.  But in the midnight hour of grieving, I wasn't impenetrable at all.  I was contrite as ever, the place I'dve given anything to stay. 
    I imagined the girls all over the world whose bodies are forced to submit, little girls innocently sleeping in their beds, little boys curious about their worlds, teenagers confused and hopeless, women controlled in every single manner.  Lord, break me so that I see where I should be, where I should love, where I should step in and where I should not.  The abuse in this world lives on because we sit passively in the comfort of our homes or in self pity of our own wounds, refusing to share Your love and truth or to defend the defenseless.
    
     Saturday - 2 1/2 drive to Johnson City, Tennessee for Michael's game.  Beforehand, a few miles away, we went to shoot "on the house" thanks to Brenda, an instructor and volunteer we met this summer.  I know my P226 is rather awesome but the way the first shot resounded in that range took me aback for a second!  Miranda and Megan shot as precisely as the rest of us "Hansons".  My brother was "Top Gun" at his academy training.  My Dad is an archery champion in 2 states.  Just runs in the blood.  And according to the targets, when one of us says, "Dude, you better stay still!" then, he best do it. 
     The Lake Norman Storm was on the field right about the time storm clouds could be seen in the distance.  It didn't give 'em the upper hand this time.  We went down by 2 points.  Prayer huddle picture!? Michael was absolutely worn out at the end.  He was already sick.  The humidity was high.  And he was "in" the whole game.  However, Brenda made it a pleasure for us ladies.  She showed up with 4 great big glasses of tea and plenty of knowledge of the game, and of the Lord in between plays!
     I rewarded Michael with my favorite, a Logan's burger, while we watched Alabama finish off Virginia Tech.  Then, Miranda drove the 4 of us home in her little blue Kia Coupe.  I forgot how US 321 snakes across the mountains.  It was constant, but after 5 glasses of Mello Yello and watching his replays, Michael turned the laptop on us and we sang like a bunch of fools all the way home.
   
    I got a package in the mail today, an ornament from Christy thanking me for coming to support her at the picnic meeting at the library.

    Tuesday morning - came in from the porch, can't say how many prayers have been prayed out there - asking God for forgiveness for not having read through and studied His words with everything I have, hittin' the high spots, living in ignorance on the low ones - almost afraid to come in for fear that I live in "vanity" again today.
     I drove Mike to the hospital to have the dead testicle removed.  He wanted to stop at Chick-fil-A first.  Miranda was working a register.  McKala was working the window.  And then Megan walked up because she was there on lunch.  I thanked God for all that He has taught them and how seriously they take their jobs.  McKala, at 16, is learning to do things that only management does. 
    Today has been one long prayer.  As I went on toward the hospital, I was still feeling regret for how long it's taken me to deny myself.  That everything rides on "will" now because "feelings" are so scarce is evidence that God is using all that's happened and hasn't happened for His purposes, to change me into His likeness.  That we live with difficult people and difficult circumstances is not so much that we can overcome them but that we can be molded in humility because of them. 
     That Mike so earnestly wants me to feel toward him like the young woman he married is so hard for me to deny, but she is leaving me, not so she can deny him so much as she can deny herself.  I have to be careful not to move from my position as "wife" in seeking God's will for me.  I'm married to a man who was medicated with Ritalin when he was 5, who was in and out of trouble from childhood, who was dealt with harshly and at times not dealt with at all, who lived a life of solitude in a truck used to having his way - especially as I enabled it trying to be the "good wife".  God, have mercy on this man who's been run through the system in every way and bought into the idea that if he's gonna make it, he'll have to take it.  God, have mercy on this woman who ran through the system wide open, succeeding and becoming proud, buying into gaining approval for worth. 
     God, have mercy on these parents so that we teach our own 7 early, so that when they are midlife they aren't battling themselves instead of "battling" in Your name, conquering the world in love - instead of still deciphering wrong from right.  Lord, that they will move thoroughly through what the worldly calls "judgment", so that they will have readily and rightly identified what is pure and plead the cause of those who are not.




     "I Like How What I'm Feeling - October 2011:   This past weekend got me to thinking.   Although I didn't do much of it, I was reminded how much I love dancing.  I love loud music, too.  They both go way back for me.  The problem is I've enjoyed them at times and in settings in my life when I shouldn't have, and that's left a stain on my impression of them.   When I "got my act together", I threw parts of me away.  Some of it was becoming a mother, I guess.  But why should a husband lose his lover because she's become a mother?  Why should strippers reign supreme in the art when it was given to the secrecy of one man and one woman committed eternally to each other?
     I have a whole range of things to write about on another day regarding the way we drive ourselves into the ground with busyness, losing the passion that drives us, feeling like we're righteously sacrificing our desires.  It may seem a good notion, until our partner disagrees.  I see married men (three I can specifically think of right now) around, attractive men who aren't "womanizer" types and would hardly consider jeopardizing their families for a romp.  BUT they look distracted, like they're lacking something, maybe lonely, feeling unneeded.  If we assume that those guys should "man up", we're probably wrong.  He's likely trying; men are vulnerable also.  When we lose our physical connection with them, we sever part of the cord that binds us.
     I've written before how I desensitized myself with the "just do it" attitude.  I wouldn't ask another woman to do that, but I can ask her to be an opportunist.  He may be rude, presumptuous, a gawker - deriving his pleasure from attributes of other women.  For some men enough is never enough; I get that.  I believe for the most part though that the things which drew us together have been cast down after various offenses have separated us.  What did he tell you turned him on when he first knew you?  Have you let it go or are you enjoying turning someone else on with it?  Both are equally wrong.
     Listen, I of all people know that our hormones fluctuate, sickness and sadness come and go, tiredness runs rampant.  But when those "good" hormones are flowing, be ready to jump on the wagon (or "in the truck") and make a new experience that sets his world on fire.   I'm giving "myself" advice right now ...because I'm finally in a place of comfort and passage after all that's happened.
    The idea that the marriage bed has any perversion attached to it is quite a feat of the devil.  Like anything in life, we can take it too far.  In this case, anything that involves visualizing the involvement of a third party is pure destruction, leaving room for self doubt, jealousy, greed, and eventual actuality - involving other people is satan's playground.
     All that said, what about YOU makes YOU feel sexy?  For some women, it's lingerie.  For others, it's long nails or high heels.  I don't particularly rock any of that.  I do like my hair.  I like the way it feels on my body.  Hygiene matters and the details of their personal manifestations make for interest.  Some people think my bra size indicates others weapons in my cache, but something in my mind has disconnected that sexual appeal while nursing those 7 babies.  That's all right though because I'm all about core, so much so that I feel way more sexy when I've worked out my trunk, even if my arms and legs are still "plump".  Something about hips appeal to me which is one reason why I love him to approach me from behind at a store, even if its just to talk behind my back.  Now ...I KNOW you didn't want to know that, but my question to you is, "What turns YOU on?"  Give serious thought to it.  We try to be good wives and turn him on, but he really isn't turned "up high" until we're turned on to the same degree.  Do what makes you feel confident and bear a big ole smile while you're doing it, not a naughty smile, but a delighted smile ...afterall, he is yours.
     Make it a challenge.  I have other thoughts on the "challenge" idea, but today it means that we cease being a couple when we cease to please in the most basic, personal ways.  I'm gonna go for it.  I'm not sure where it'll lead.  I'll guard it from filth, but I'm sure it will involve dancing and things I tried to push away (that were never bad on their own).  I won't ever be a feast for the eyes naked; haven't been since I brought that first nearly 10 lb baby into existence.  I have terrible stretch marks, severe vericose veins, recently occurring cellulite, skin breakouts worse than some teenagers, a scar from a C section, and the list goes on.  I could hide under a veil of "conservatism" and just be done with anything but simple sex (which has its own good value, BTW).  I actually have an opinion about conservative garb such as the Amish wear.  Those women of child bearing age often seem not to be fighting vanity but to be covering transgressions of lax health standards ...simply put, they're fat.
     "My" fat isn't going to melt away quickly but I continue to help it along.  While that transition is happening, I can come up with all kinds of "costumes", if you will, to play up my remaining "good qualities".  "Camouflage" is probably a more appropriate word.  Is that not what we do daily with make-up and good fitting clothes?  Why not have fun with it and pass that fun onto the love of our lives, whether we "like" him all the time or not?  There's a chance he would be more "likeable" if he had the release of perfect pleasure with the woman he vowed to mate with for the rest of his life.
     Calling him a pervert because you have other priorities, or you have guilt, or you have an "image" in your mind to maintain, or you don't like it to begin with ...is, quite frankly, "your" problem (and mine).  So ....we can do all things through Christ ...let's get to doing "them".

     I stepped out to get sun on my acne prone face and in a little while I heard two gunshots.  Michael is across the way dove hunting.  I love who he's becoming.  It requires tweaking, of course, per a couple of words he let slide recently and to keep an aire of humility in his success.  

     “To Raise a Boy - 2011:   So I posted a picture (insert pic) of Michael Jr's work and play clothes hanging on the porch and stated it saddens me that these kinds of clothes are hardly necessary anymore for an American boy.   Maybe it sounds like I think I've got it all figured out.  Posting that I've got this one (kid) doing "that" and another one doing "this" portrays an image of unfaltering industriousness.  I don't wish for anyone's envy, but I do hope people will consider who their children are becoming "now" AND that children don't always age out of "phases".
     No, things here are not all about baby animals, blooming flowers, rekindled romance, sweet aromas, and "all knowing" parenting.  I have a "sunny" disposition with everybody, but I lose my cool with my own husband.  I often have to push our children to cooperate. I was enamored for years with "classical" teaching, waiting for natural persuasions to bear results and have come out of the haze to realize practicallilty has its place and it's not on the bottom of the totem pole.  Things pile up.  Days go by.  I forget how high my calling is.  This week it struck me hard that Michael will be 16 in a little over 2 years.  Realistically, I have only that time to finish impartation of what really matters and to be a woman he can respect ...as she is and not only as his mother.  In the same breath, I must remember that lifelong lessons are taught a little here and a little there ...as little eyes watch to see if we mean it.
     Michael went into Sheetz to get a slushie after his practice last week.  At the door, he realized there was a young woman (with no particular attraction for him) behind him, so he backed up (with no grandeur) to offer it to her before himself.  It startled her.  All of us in the car giggled at them, but it stayed with me for a while - first that he did it without me whispering, "Get it," ...second that she didn't anticipate it.  It seems that fathers aren't teaching their daughters to (what's the word I'm looking for? I don't care for "expect", "command", "demand") "FEEL" WORTHY of gentlemanly mannerisms.  True chivalry is dying.  Bravery, accountability, anonymous charity, sweat and blood are passing away from the American fabric.  We aren't content with small houses and meager provisions.
     Are we "grooming" our children to be what we want them to be, to be "happy", OR to have HEART to change the shriveling strength of America?  Are we considering the alternatives?  Just this past weekend McKala, 14, was given a serious offer to undergo equestrian training in Wyoming upon graduation, then to become staff at a children's camp here in North Carolina.  It was a true circumstance of being in the right place at the right time with the right attitude and reputable history.  Megan calls home from Georgia with questions still and my answers always boil down to my "right place, right time" philosophy.  It's not "my" philosophy at all really; it's simply being in God's will on all levels.  I foresee Miranda's future out in the "wide open" working with living things, plants and animals, but she also has an instinctive interest in history relating to current events and politics.  Melody has natural musical abilities but claims she'll be an ER doctor (and does have the stomach and wits for it).  Point is: I don't know what lies ahead.  I don't need to know.  I need to make sure they're the kind of people who will succeed with honor and lean on their Maker for understanding.
     I got a sample of Michael's maturity the day after he had a football injury and I was bottle feeding not only his calves, but also McKala's.  I realized one of them had the "bloats" and Michael was the only "big" kid available to me.  He limped down to the stall, identified it as McKala's, and rode with me to glean information from a local farmer to remedy the complication, #1 cause of sudden bovine death.  We drove back quickly, cut our garden hose, and Michael maneuvered it into the 1 month old calf's stomach to physically release the trapped air.  As he dillied with it to find a new pocket, the pain he was experiencing was as evident as the growing distortion of his shin and calf.  (Had we used compression it might not've been so severe.) He wasn't far from writhing and later in the ER, said the pain rivaled the 17 stitches he required when he nearly scalped himself sledding.  I asked him in the stall if we needed to get medical attention right away (fearing it was broken) but he said almost in tears (of torment) that, yes, he was hurting badly but the calf was going to die, so he "had" to stay right there.  Miranda arrived soon and took over so I could get Michael the comfort he needed.  She successfully got the hose in 3 more times over a 2 hour span and saved its life.  We brought Michael back on crutches and topped the calf off with oral penicillin and a cup of mineral oil.  It was especially pleasing, after the surprising death of the one last week, to wake the next morning and not be able to differentiate the sick one from the others.  Perserverance is a beautiful thing, but not quite as beautiful as the unity of a family moving into action on the behalf of another member.
     Of course, Michael has "gone country" with the rest of us.  We had a funny discussion about it the day he went into Sheetz and he told the girls he doesn't need to "dress" country to prove he's country.  He does clean up well and pulls off a good city boy look.  I like that we can transition that way ...in a way, "being all things to all people".  When "God talk" goes on, I see a lot of young men who automatically jump in the box of the desire to become a preacher when they get sincere about their faith.  Problem is that not everyone makes for a great evangelizer.  Believe me; I've seen enough to know.  Michael is not much for the 3 Rs anyway.  We will cover the fundamentals.  And yeah, he's sports solid, but I think he's got a little something different in store for this world.
     I won't promote my own agenda with Michael, but I will recognize the obvious.  By the way, I'll admit he flies under the radar, hoping to go unnoticed when a job isn't done efficiently.  That said, imminent danger ignites him, sparks heat that gets him off the couch.  He has a soldier in him.  Ballistics, marksmanship, pyrotechnics, and weaponry put a light in his eyes like nothing else does.  He watches it, does it, talks about it. I wouldn't dare persuade him of a different avenue because of my own fear.  I learned all about it a few years ago watching Megan's flyovers, dipping in and out of our "hollar".  We need good guys dispersed in every occupation because there are people who won't "hear" The Truth unless they "see" it  lived out beside them.  I tried to explain that to a Jehovah's Witness this week.  People need "the real deal".  If you're pretending, half committed, just stop it.  Reevaluate and turn it all over to Christ ...because it is that easy.
     I don't have an equation to raise your child right.  The only common thread I am sure of is that God knows what well rounded means for your child and you are given the keys to the answers.  Just please remember that without discipline and real work, a child won't be well adjusted; he'll arrogantly expect everyone to adjust to him.  If he has no fun or reward (notice I didn't say "bribes") to look forward to after his hard work, it's all really null.  If the fun never involves you, then don't expect to be much of an influence on him or her.
     Funny I started out on a different course with this writing, but I was swayed to present something else, so I hope someone out there somewhere finds what they're seeking.  If not, it makes for mighty fine diary documenting for me and mine."




     On top of that, he's paying most of his expenses now with the earrings he sells just about everywhere we go.
     The thing is this, what are we gearing our children toward.  It's not enough to impart truth only in word, but in every minor deed in front of our children and surely before we entrust them to the world.  I have an issue I have to address right now.  I let Michael jokingly take a piece of chicken out of McKala's "to go" box.  As funny as it was at the time, we were stealing and Miranda let that be known.  I have to have my finger on the pulse of the family all the time.  There is rarely growth of character when no one is around to prune. 
     Are we inclining our children to books that bring them to death or to life?  Have we taught them that because they choose "good" friends and "good" entertainment that it is enough?  Are we teaching them to read about morality until they're old enough to make a difference or to be "activated" - living what they're learning by working and serving?
     Fortitude is gained little by little in Isaiah 28.  Depravity is gained little by little as the Casting Crown's sing in "Slow Fade".  We mechanize everything, then go to the gym because we don't get enough exercise.  We have a baby that someone else cares for and teaches.  We want our kids to have a good job but we don't teach them to work.  We want nice things, so we're in debt and can't do the things we're called to.  We make athletes out of our kids while we sit sedentary by the field - family divided.  We make good money but no one's home to make a good meal.  I'm all for self employment but we consumers have raided Capitalism to our detriment.  Our laziness is making us worthless.
and our food is killing us.
    We seek the best education and jobs for our children so they can have "what we didn't" ...just for them to turn back and wish for the simpler days of old that we had.
     He was up walking when I got here nearing midnight.  On a morphine drip.  He must be the only only one in the hospital "up and at 'em on morphine"; he really is wired backwards: "I'd Wonder:
September 14, 2013, 1:35 am, room 310, my visits to him late in the night at the hospital have become morbidly attractive over the years.  He's on his 4th procedure in 10 days.  He lost his left testicle after the circulation to it was halted post hernia surgery.  He had an unrelated one on Monday and here we are tonight seeking relief from the large blood clot that has formed in the "empty" sac and is pressing into the nerves. Mike has a large swelling of his supraclavicular lymph node on the right side, not good, and now the skin is red, really not good.  I'd be lying if I didn't admit there were times when I wondered what it'd be like if he were gone, 'gone' gone.  The Holy Spirit would grab me instantly and remind me that he might not be saved.   I, then, would fear for my own life.  In the last couple of years, I've also wondered what it would be like if I were gone, "gone" gone.  He'd almost have to be the leader, the disciplinarian, the 'source.'  I've written before that if I could just make it until Madalynn is an adult, I would have had enough time on this earth.  Now, I've asked God if 'that' is even the best?  What if I were 'gone'?  Couldn't that be a good thing?
     Last night, I lay in bed while he was in the bathroom wondering what it be like if Mike were really 'gone.'  I looked to my right where the large framed print hangs of the snowy picture he took off the ferry that he and McKala and his truck were taking.  I looked in front of me, the Virginia Creeper coming head on.  He loved going to get the next print, loved palling around with the artist.
     I remembered the other night: when he came in for church and the smell of grease drew me to him and the kids were embarrassed that I said it.  However, the smell of his Zest soap and Right Guard Sport aerosol deodorant are like repellant to me, but would that matter if he were 'gone'?
     The old timey radio with the turntable he bought sits on the kitchen counter.  For a 'country boy,' he has a taste for nicer things and is so diversified in them.  His purchase timing has always stunk and until now, we've always owed more than he made.  It's been enough to drive me insane.  But would it matter if he were 'gone'?  Those nights after he's left for a trip and I have some 'freedom' from the intensity of his personality seem so liberating, but what if he never came back?  Truth is no one can replace Mike.
     He's random and spontaneous and brave and genius and brutally honest.  Would losing him, even with the fascination of himself that remains, be worth it?  He may drive me and the children crazy with his never ending study of himself, but truth is we never feel more safe than when we're with him ...unless he's driving the car, that is.  I have to consider that for the most part of his adult life, he's been alone in a truck, by his own choice ...nevertheless,with himself and all the time in the world to think of himself and how he feels.
     If he were 'gone,' I wouldn't get calls at the most inconvenient times about the newest global happenings.  Then, maybe I wouldn't get any calls at all.  Maybe, I wouldn't want any calls from anyone else.   I know about myself that I desire approval, but from worthy sources.  There just aren't that many worthy men.  There's no one else who has fathered my seven children.  And as much as I feel like he doesn't know me sometimes, I don't know that anyone else would either.
     I'll be starting some counseling soon.  I'd thought I'd be a help there, but I'm told I need 'help' before I can be a help.  I always wondered if I brought an indifference into the relationship, if I wasn't whole long before he and I tore each other apart.
     Tomorrow is Mother's Day.  Mike is gone showing his Disaster Relief Unit/Truck at The Cove in Asheville.  Miranda's with Megan and my parents on the way to the gulf of Florida.  McKala's at work.  I'm sitting here eyeballing the pond, hoping against hope that the sun will continue to shine; so I can partake in its glory.  I love where I live and I attribute it all to God, but truth is if Mike didn't allow or support my being here full time with the kids, my life would look completely different.  What if Mike were 'gone'?  How much would I appreciate it then, when the lifestyle I cherish switched gears, when I didn't have him paying my way?
     Say that's cold all you want.  People say, 'Don't stay together for the children.'  Really?!  What will life be like for them when you're apart?  People say, 'Don't stay together for the money.'  Really?!  What will life be like when you're supporting yourself?  Of course, there's a bigger purpose!  The Lord knows that and that's why he tells us to obey his commands.  He 'gets it.'  He 'understands.'  He 'gets' me, even when I don't 'get' myself.  He knows better than I.  He loves me, even when I don't know how to love.
     You ask, 'How then is your life not all rosey if He's so good?'  Well, my life's not over; neither is Mike's.  I have to recognize that he's wired differently than anyone I know.  I think his brain and chemistry really are unusual.  But I know, no matter the hurtful words that are spoken and feelings that are reciprocated, he has 'come clean'; he loves now to hear songs praising his Savior; he gave up the fight to be wealthy; his eye no longer wanders, even though I'm hardly a thing to behold right these days; he prayed with me the other night; and I believe he longs to be somebody he hasn't ever been.
     So, why do I seek and destroy every time a red flag goes up?  Where is my faith in my Creator?  In my endeavor seeking perfection into sainthood, which all true Christians are espoused to do,  I hold my light to him and lose sight that even though we are 'one,' we are separate beings and at times, on different paths.  All this is HARD, really, really hard; but I will never trust my ways above Christ's.  I want so badly to be madly in love, no, not really, just madly in friendship would be a good place.
     But what if Mike were 'gone,' it'd just be me surrounded by memories that, although often were tainted, were still memories of a wonderful roller coaster ride I've been on where God has molded me and toughened me and made me glad for the blessings he has given me.   The iron tea pot on the stove would remain and remind me of the time Mike found it in a yard and cleaned it up and seasoned it ...because he knew I love cast iron.  I'd want my back scratched and no one would be there in the night to do it exactly in the right spot every time.  I probably wouldn't bring myself to wear that 'over-the-top' full length raccoon pelt coat he bought me for my 40th birthday, him knowing I'd never buy such a thing for myself.
     I'd sit outside and see the road signs he had put up because he didn't see any sense in another person wrecking in the curve, much less another death.  And guess what, there hasn't been a serious wreck in the 4 years since.  I wonder if I'd be like my friend Denise's husband, who's left her Facebook page open and has been posting pictures of and letters about her even though she's been 'gone' since last year.  She took a nap and never woke up.
     I wonder if I'd wonder what I could've done differently, if my intentions were really as good as I thought they were, if I'd really tried to understand and take care of him the way he needed to be, even when he made me want to pull my hair out.  I reserve so much because oftentimes I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, but does that matter in the scheme of eternity?  I wonder if when one of the kids would smile at me, I'd see his expression.  Truth is there will never be a life for me without Mike because he's in every direction that I turn my head and in every thought or move I make, even when I'm unaware of it.   Mike and Michelle, 24 years of marriage in a month a half, still getting on each other's nerves, still harboring things, still opposite in as many things as we are not ...but still bound in something bigger than ourselves that has brought us here.  I don't have to wonder what that is.  All I have to do is believe that it is real and that it heals."

 September 15, 2013 - Good thing puppies are so cute because I'm awfully aggravated with the new one this morning.  Megan brought it home Friday from work.  She'd left hers with her cousins in Georgia.
     Of course, this is after she rescued a mouse so small its eyes weren't open yet.  When she went to pick Michael up from the Vet's, they said she wouldn't be able to save it and instead of bidding her toss it, the doctor kindly suggested the "blue juice" to end its life.
      I'd go get Megan to handle her puppy's mischief but she took both boys to their games yesterday.  As the kitten, which is bigger than the puppy, and it tangle under foot out here in the coolness, I think of the ringworm we probably got from one of the cats and the 150 cc of clotted blood removed from the scrotum.  Hoping he'd get some sleep and having lifted him up in prayer for "relief and rest," I took Madalynn, who sweetly slept through the 49-42 Bama victory over Texas A&M, to McKala's best friend's party to meet up with the rest of us Harpers.  I "cheated" in every way, having eaten everything I'd previously listed I didn't.  No particular guilt fell over me.
       I'd planned to leave earlier until I caught a glimpse of Jaycie's Dad teaching Macklynn how to play pool.   I don't interrupt things like that, people going the extra mile.  So, as Madalynn gladly self inflicted almost violent shaking in their massage chair, we waited, then were given more bags of "provision" to take home!
      The older kids having committed to going to church this morning.  I on the other hand believe I'll stay here, presently surrounded by 3 dogs and 2 cats, with 2 sleeping children and 1 sleeping husband in the house.  I positively love Sundays.  "Sunday, What to Do with This Gift? 1/23/11 -   A couple of the kids requested to make it to church this Sunday.  As it stands, there are 10 of us and our new minivan only holds 8.  I thought I could at the very least let the older ones go together.  However, I forgot AGAIN in all the goings on of the week that Miranda, now 16, does have a job and they keep having her work on Sunday morning (but don't give enough hours for her to purchase her first car).   I wish she didn't work on Sundays at all.  For years I was really legalistic about Sundays altogether.  Then I read that if we want to hold up the law of Sunday rest, then we must be willing to hold to the punishment.  And I don't care to stone anyone, but child molesters, to death.                                                            
     I can't say that it always requires such a good excuse for us to miss 'congregating'; with our odd rhythms, spontaneous trips, funky illnesses, and many moves.... we are hardly regular attendees.  The people who ARE 'regulars' may not understand the regard I hold for Sunday, a gift to man from the Creator.   My God gives me a day to just rest, play, and contemplate without an ounce of guilt.  (I am still apt to feel guilty if I do anything else.)  I have an aunt who is a pastor's wife and they have sandwiches for Sunday lunch with no apologies.          
     Used to on a Sunday, I wouldn't even consider going to eat, getting gas, or grabbing some essentials.  I still try very hard not to.  As grace reveals itself to a soul, something above the law is given.  It's not just about going to church, avoiding purchases, or meditating.  It's a time to reap what the hard work of the week has issued.  It's a time to be thankful and enjoy what we love.                                                          
      Things can be pretty haphazard here, so Sunday is a good time for us to get in that family prayer, some extra minutes in the Bible, some Christian music listening and especially singing, some talks that get missed during the week, some sitting and snuggling together that doesn't require a TV, some games that have been passed up on, some alone time to praise God for the things that did happen AND for the close calls that didn't in the last week, and some time to ask Him to guide us into the unknown of the coming week.                              
     Not everyone is home on a Sunday, but if it's their heart's desire to be so, then God is already working out the timing. I love Sundays and a husband who travels some of them so that I have this time to be restored and gear up for the battles of the next 6 days."



     I'll begin my Bible reading but not before I reveal my contemplations I spent a good deal of last week emailing our pastor.  Funny that he preaches item for item what I've been convicted of for years, yet I nearly lost my mind over Wednesday night's subject of the man's responsibility to protect and provide, how a girl doesn't want grease under her nails.  You got it!  Megan's a mechanic.
     Truth is though , we Christian people send our kids off, more often than not, to non Christian universities where they accrue heavy debt and are expected to stay celibate until all the "boxes" have been checked off.  What a mess!
     So, if our girls were to continue honing in their homemaking wholesomeness of whole family living, then what about Michael?  Do we ship him off for the sake of a sport and a degree?  He's under apprenticeship right not.  In a way, he suffices and is the very thing I've touted.  I like junior college and technical school, because God knows hardly anyone knows how to "do" anything anymore.
     But then there's football.  He's in love with it.  The only fathomable way I see to send him into the debacle is to train him thoroughly to go as a "messenger" of Christ, sharing with any willing ear and  living it out before them.  What a monumental task for a young man!  To not go for his own aspirations but for his Savior's.  Do these things contradict?  Perhaps we'll see soon enough.  My wrestling will go on until I find peace with it.  Even so, he is becoming his own man.
     I think I am nearly spent in thought now and must move on to my newly found passion, exploring the Holy Book as it is meant to be read, from cover to cover.  Meanwhile, the new puppy sits shivering on my lap wrapped in my robe, while Pippy Lou wards off the bothersome piglet from gleaning her bits of food.  No, never a dull moment.  So much so, that the kids just reminded me that they're kayaking the New River after church.  Because Macklynn has plenty of money from selling his calf last summer, he gets to go along with the "big kids" who are all paying their own ways.
     Honestly!  Madalynn took the puppy to pee and in the meantime, wet on herself.  Macklynn poked his head out at the same time and said he couldn't find his water sandals.  I stepped inside with good intention of coming straight back out with the puppy after I made sure everyone had sunscreen and fussed about things left undone, when I heard Miranda in distress and found her on the floor by the door holding the whimpering puppy, inspecting because she would find no comfort.  She fell flat on her face, bearing no weight on her leg.
     I was flustered, paining at the sounds little Ellie was making.  The accident happened because I was inside popping off instructions, which Megan took for agitation, and we proceeded to have words.  I just started crying.  I think I'm going soft, my fire dissipating just the way it did when my sister-in-law I'd sworn off responded that she was glad to be included in a surprise for my parents.
     Trouble is I like for them to partake in opportunities that only come around in a blue moon, but I ramble when they come back about what's not done.
     The puppy fell fast asleep, from its adrenaline bottoming out, I'm sure.  So, everyone divided to conquer their rooms.  Then, I encouraged them to go on kayaking.  Madalynn caught wind that she was being left out.  She said, "No one will do anything with me while they're gone."
      She's right, you know.  I had a long list of things I wanted to fool with today.  I pushed it our of my mind and told her we'd go to the pond with the picnic she wanted.  She made our sandwich.  My half was chock full of mustard but I never batted an eye.
      Right now she's standing behind me on the picnic table making up all manner of lyrics in her songs.  I still don't know if the kids took sunscreen.  And I haven't even talked with Mike today since he was asleep when I took him his sandwich.  Link, the piglet, has found us and our picnic but makes no aggression.  It's not what we want, but it seems for now that we have a pet yard pig.
      Madalynn did not forget the "swimming" she wanted us to do, but I'm trying to convince her "floating" would be better this time of year.  Good times, just Mady Z. and me.




     Where have these last days gone?  I didn't have time for writing, not with the house turned upside down.  During office visits, I've had time to peek into "The Compleat Angler" and into the "Hunting from Home" where Christopher Camuto says, "But blurred lines are the rule, not the exception, here.  For a writer, there is no difference between living and working:  I am writing or backing off from having written or sidling back to it, sentences beginning to emerge from my mind due to some hunger and curiosity of my own.  Like many writers drawn to what is left of nature, by necessity I live what Thoreau called a 'border life' and have over time learned to use the resources of my disenfranchisement to continue the writing that keeps me disenfranchised.  A good system, I've finally come to realize, and the only way to be a writer as I understand the practice.  I have learned to enjoy the freedom and responsibility and to tolerate the loneliness - what Emerson called the 'solitariness' - of life along this border between seeing and saying, where an acute self-consciousness is left the task of discovering the other in whatever guise the other chooses to take ..."  Both authors explore creation, one from the perspective of God's gift and one unknowing that it is so.  I'd made a good Pantheist because there is no place I feel closer to my God than in the majesty of his outdoors:  "Facebook" post about the Mimosa, then ....."Runneth Over:     When I was having my coffee this morning standing in front of the window, I saw for the first time the great big turtle taking his exaggerated steps across the driveway and into the pond.   After a quick errand, a truly unique visit from a friend, a call from Mike on his way to Oklahoma that he was at a hospital with another kidney stone, and an empty handed return home from the kids when the store closed just before they arrived.  So since we didn't get a belt for the riding mower, pushing was on the menu again, but not before I got a few minutes to myself with the majesty of my surroundings.
     I sat by the pond breathing in the beauty of it all and not much less impressed than I was of the ocean.  It is the same sky, the same wind, much the same water brimming with life beneath and above it ...but with a canopy of leaves shielding me from the sun, which it seemed like I was praying for everything under ...when God told me to 'be quiet.'  You know, like 'be still and know that I am God.'  And when I cleared my mind to do just that, a big wind came as if He were breathing on me.   Then, I thought how my presence must tarnish the scenery.  This here 'scenery' needed to be groomed and I was reminded that even in its unkemptness, God's creation is just plain beautiful, as is each of his people.  What a relief that my Father thinks I'm beautiful even when, and perhaps especially when, I'm a mess.
     Before long, we had a push mower and 2 weed eaters buzzing.  After 3 hours, the older ones got a reprieve to go and dog sit for the night so that our good friends could flitter away to the coast for the day :)  McKala had been at work and then to 'camp' to visit her close knit friends from out of state who've returned for the summer, so it was just Madalynn, Macklynn, and me.
     Macklynn fished nonstop, catching Large Mouth Bass, catfish, sunfish, and Crappie.  He raced his bare feet back and forth to the barn for worms.  Madalynn mostly talked about things she doesn't have, which I discourage.  She just has had in her mind that a tree house would be fantastic.  (It IS one thing in all these years we haven't had.)  I raked and raked some more.  I just about have it how I want it.
     I came in sometime in the middle of it all and decided it didn't make any sense not to have supper by the pond with them, so we did.  Then it didn't make any sense not to burn the leaves and limbs, so we did.  And then it didn't make any sense not to let them roast marshmellows, so we did ...even if they were miniature ones.  Skewers did the trick!
     We sat outside way after the sun set and the lightening bugs flashed against the black silhouettes of the tree line and the hoot owl returned our calls. We added to and turned the pile over and over to let it breathe.  Finally, they played with it a little too much, blowing coals off the limbs they pretended were sparklers.  I sent them in to clean up.
     There I was again, alone in the presence of the One who lets us live in this setting.  Actually, I wasn't alone.  Smokey was there.  He always is.  I don't have to call him.  I probably couldn't get him to leave even if I wanted him to.  It was well past his time to be in his doghouse, but that's not who he is.  He stays until everyone is where they're supposed to be.  How we could take cues from a lowly dog.  Mia was there also stretched across the sand like it was the best thing in the world.  The cats even came down to investigate.  The bats swooped low for their nightly catch.  The bullfrogs and toads took turns with their songs.  And then I saw a 'shooting star.'
     I knew this was one of those days where 'my cup runneth over' ...and that I'd better put it in writing.  And so I have, goodnight.
     BUT not yet, Mike just called here after midnight to say the driver of the wrecker that came to get him yesterday and the same one who took him to the hospital today and the same one who took him on a round trip of 6 hours to get an expensive part that, yes, Mike put on despite his pain, told him about his 9 adult children and their mother who passed away 5 years ago and that he hasn't talked with anyone else about the void he's had 'til today.  Man, God can and will do so much in the midst of chaos.
     Today just got even better.  Oh ...I guess that would be yesterday.  So ...TODAY just got off to great start.  I have 2 sleepy heads in my bed and after I shower, hopefully I'll be too tired to be awoken by their squirmy little bodies because their brother and sisters are making their debut in the choir in the morning!  If you get close to me today, my cup might just spill on you.  I can't help but tell people how good God is.  Life is Good, but God is Better.  And if someone's already said that, then that's too bad."





     The magnetism of the words on the pages have kept me knowing that I wanted to return to my own writing when God gave me the "go."  Tonight, it helped that my good friend, Mary-Hope, gave me a late birthday gift and the coffee I hadn't had in 7 days needed that very companion.  I'm wide awake and my stomach has growled for the 15th time since I sat here.  Last week, McKala's Immunoligist/Allergist had a lengthy discussion with us about nutrition and then we embarked on an only chicken and rice diet to see if her ever returning symptoms could be tempered by eliminating inflammatory foods.
     I haven't had coffee, my beloved ketchup, a glass of milk, or beef.  I had a 48 hour headache at the onslaught.  When I had one of Melody's indulgently perfect cake pops, it receded.  I've had only a smidgen of bread, the size of an horderve.  I think I've lost 3 pounds and my skin is better.  I also think I have to return to the ideas about food that won't let me loose:  "Blocking the Isles:  I got to go to the little, local grocery store alone, not sleepy, not rushed and gave thought to what we've been eating.  I blocked the narrow aisles momentarily making notes to get back on track.  It's all a culmination, I suppose, of seeing the jasmine, roses, and clematis already reaching for the lattice.  The mint is returning, making me think of all the other herbs to get soon, along with tomatoes and peppers.  Miranda has already started some vegetables and flowers in the house.  We really like to intermingle them, that whole 'beauty and duty' thing.  I could kick myself for not applying these basics before.  It really is that easy and grandiosity is not necessary at all.  Miranda and Mike made staggered gardens right by the house where some landscaping was needed anyway because of washing.  And, then, there's the benefit of the dogs sleeping nearby keeping the deer away.                        
     What I have to remember is that being healthy is more than just being thin.  This 'overhaul' I'm making returned to me some notions I've had written here and there, which I found when I was flipping through to find an old friend's (uhoh, 'dear' friend, Amy's) recipe.  Freshly ground, not that big a deal once you've got a grinder, whole grain is a given here.  Most of the kids don't even like the way white bread sticks to the roof of their mouths.  Don't get me wrong; it has its place for french toast, garlic bread, and, for me, an occasional bologna sandwich.  Sprouts (easy to grow in a jar), flax seed, greens (cooked all kinds of tasty ways), nuts, berries, plenty of protein (hormones and all usually, unfortunately), and skipping the hydrogenated oils (in most PB and all margarine) are just some of the things we've incorporated into otherwise 'regular' meals over time.  I'm still trying to like olive oil, 'cold pressed' matters; I prefer it as tanning oil or moisturizer for my hands and feet, even under eyes.  And in terms of  'storing' food, it has a great shelf life.  I'm not an alarmist, but storage just can't be a bad idea.  Though, buying in bulk tends to backfire on us.  The 'good' stuff goes first and the 'convenient' next, leaving what no one really wants.  Our last trip to Sam's and $1,200 later was a bust.  I like to catch our preferred brands on a good sale and just buy a few when I can.  While I'm on that subject, I should mention that while we were on food stamps after Mike's bypass, we got $1,400 a month.   Several of us gained weight, thus my theory that the gov't likes us 'fat and happy,' so as not to have the gumption to rise up against it.                                                                                                                                                  
     With Mike's chronic creation of calcium oxalate kidney stones, he's not supposed to have wheat, most nuts and berries, spinach, okra, and the list goes on.  Please, excuse me, but he's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't.  I feel bad for all the times I put these things before him wishing him health and unwittingly contributing to his torture.  In my early 20's, I was overthetop about organic this and that until Mike hauled produce and saw the 2 kinds shipping from the same fields.  It's a bit of joke with drivers.  And then there was the fact that easily spending nearly $200 a week 20 years ago for the 3 of us was not financially sound.                                                                                                                                     
     So.... at the store there was woman exasperated with the price of a half gallon of milk.  The eight of us can put away 9 gallons a week 'easy,' so more water is being drunk in place of it.  I was looking for the water and missed it entirely when I saw that the ice cream was on sale.  I passed up the artificially flavored 'Cookies 'n Cream Extreme' for the au naturale 'Heavenly Hash.'  I really try to buy American but the Florida's Natural OJ was much more than some of the others and then I got to thinking, 'Who's to say that they aren't importing illegal workers with families who are likely burdening OUR social services programs?'  It's just something to consider.  If you saw what we saw while we were recipients of Medicaid, you'd understand my strong concern.                                                                                                                  
     I grab a Sunny D now and then, so I was checking out the label and saw what I've been avoiding: that 2% is juice, falling 3rd after water and corn syrup.  As we all know, corn syrup in and of itself isn't that different from other sugars (except honey which has medicinal properties).  The big problem is that it's HIGHLY likely to have been genetically modified - a GMO.  At least 80% of corn products are now.  For those of you who think technology is best, ask the farmers what kind of super weeds are cropping up.   Today, I just said, 'The heck with it all,' and got a couple more Ginger Ales (that ARE sweetened with corn syrup but, hey, they were on sale for a $1) that I originally got to 'stretch' the OJ that I didn't get!             
     Saving money on groceries to pay for gas is the great American challenge right now.   I say instead of buying the cheap junk, it could be a call to self reliance, growing something, homemaking something, all the way down to the baby/big people food blended and frozen up in ice cube trays.   Fresh anything is best, frozen is second, until the power goes out, and then it's all about the can/jar and what's seasonally available.  Stored/prepared meat (that we here are suckers for) so often is full of nitrites.  I've heard reports that a child's body can only 'kick out' one serving of it a week.  I always end up with greens, even if it's slaw, accompanying them - may be God's way of offsetting the damage.                                                           
     I'm back to talking about greens, but how can I not talk about the super high levels of antioxidants/enzymes in them and the herbs that are just too easy to throw in the ground and get results?  With cancer freshly on my mind, it seems wrong to give the children anything but the best and not all the kids eat every healthy thing and that's okay 'til they can get a taste for it. Wait a minute, no, we're not the folks that make whole wheat cookies, just not cookies all the time.  I don't buy Diet Drinks.  I'm willing to tangle with calories before I am Aspartame.                                                                        
     It's really all about moderation, which I admittedly do not have a a firm grasp on, but some homemade pizza like McKala made tonight, a little coffee to bump up the volume in the mornings, a little wine to thin the blood at night is temperance and pleasurable reward for the hard work of our hands and minds.  In the end, God sees our efforts and hears our prayers that our food will be fitting to the health of our bodies and the growth of our children .... without Him, we're just dying daily anyway."




     McKala is a model of self control, hoping to find a clue to why her pulse is elevated, her head aches,  her diaphragm hurts front and back, and her lethargy had reared its head again from this time last year.  Is that a sliver to question, "this time last year"?
     She's pushing through at work, so much so that no one detected her weakness until her nose bled for over half an hour.  I hope there will be resolution in good time, since she's being primed there, 1 of 5 top Chick-fil-As nationwide, for management. 
     Michael has begun bow hunting.  He's been in on a surgery to sew a blind cat's third eye together.  Melody is getting her cash flow moving by babysitting for a friend's twins after school for a few days.  Miranda just applied for an organic farm internship.  Last night Megan put her hands on her head as I sat on her bed, and she said her career was smothering her.  I knew what she meant.  She desires to share Christ openly and often. 
     A few hours ago, she brought home a puppy, (9/15 blog post?) one that someone came to the "shop" to ........  With its black and tan, it looks to be a hound.  Pippy Lou looks so big next to her, the same way a toddler looks beside an infant.  Oh, my goodness, an infant, my dear friend Heather had her baby 3 days ago without induction and without amniocentesis!
     She had 2 doctors tell her that the child she carried was likely "Downs".  She underwent evaluations the first time but opted not to the second.  It just didn't matter.  They were having their baby no matter what.  9 out of 10 who know don't.  Heather's Shelby is perfect.  What if her mother hadn't waited to see? 
     We took them a Mexican meal last week and got to see God's handiwork in such a small package, just a little over 5 pounds.  The next day the close friend Melody's been babysitting for brought a turkey dinner to us.  I know what is given comes back, but that was an awfully quick turnaround :)  almost as quick as Melody dropped the homemade cake she decorated for Heather on its top, which  determined her to make up for it with oatmeal cookies with cream cheese icing. Too, Friday night, Mary-Hope and I got to sit and share the Irish gift she'd given for my coffee.  Poor woman even had to bring her own grounds, since we ran out last week and are refraining from buying more.
     The chicken and rice has been a success for McKala.  I held out hope for it; but in true Michelle fashion, I didn't give it the credence it deserved.  Standing in the hall last night, she said her headaches are gone and that she wakes on her own in the morning before the alarm and without the grogginess.  Her heart has also quit racing. 
     I read the substance that the body deems allergenic will be covered with chemicals producing histamine, which is what causes swelling and inflammation/allergic reactions. 
     I'm impressed that answers can still be found so simply.  After all, it is what I asked God for and He does answer.  We think the culprit could be dairy.  There is the popular "Paleo Diet"/prehistoric diet that demonizes all agricultural products in favor of hunter/gatherer food.  I believe, especially since I've just read through Leviticus and found much writing to the contrary, that it is more about what industrialization does to the foods God has given.  Thus, I am convinced more than ever that I want a goat for Christmas!  And all the milk products that I can reap from her.
     Since McKala was feeling so good, she and Miranda went to the theater last night.  Megan had taken Michael across the border to South Carolina for his game, which even though we lost, he got 3 sacks and 2 tackles, but not before they stopped to find Megan a dress for the wedding she's to attend in Mississippi next weekend.  They all were home well after midnight and got along beautifully, Megan and Miranda slipping right back into family life.
     Melody, Madalynn, and I sat in the rain under individual umbrellas to watch Macklynn play.  Little did we know that the schedule was an hour behind and after we had already watched half another game, 2 other teams had to play before Macklynn's.  Then, they called the whole thing off 2 minutes shy of that game! 
     Needless to say, when Madalynn almost inaudibly whispered for me to come have coffee with her on the porch, I was pleased to find not a cloud in the sky, only the "puffs" of some tree or plant floating across the yard in the gentle breeze. 
     After half an hour or so, Macklynn joined us ...and the cats and the dogs and the pig in the yard with Pippy right on its tail.  I can't remember what I'd said.  Oh, yes, I can.  In response to something one of them did, I said we are to be holy.  I have to keep reminding them not to be crass, not to be rude, not to do things in jest, things that aren't funny. 
    Madalynn said, "I got saved a few nights ago."  So as not to overreact one way or the other, I asked, "Where were you?"  She said, "I was in my bed."  I responded, "What happened?"  She said, "I told Jesus I love Him and that I'm sorry."  That's a pretty good answer.  I inquired what she was sorry for. 
     This isn't the first little person we've had turn over their life to Christ.  Time will tell of her sincerity; we are told to work out our salvation in fear and trembling.  It will be evident and, God willing, I will be here with my finger on the pulse of her growth, discipling her even more confidently than I did the others, with better understanding of the symbolism of sacrifice I'm learning in the Old Testament. 
     Macklynn was privy to the whole conversation.  So as not to be pushy, we asked him a couple of questions and spelled out a couple of truths for him to digest.  It's really not a hard message:  Jesus wants us to give him our lives so that He can take what was bad and make it good, so we can share it with other people who are sad because of the bad things in their lives.
      I run through in my mind all that each family member is dealing with and sometimes forget that in them I have a small caravan that I'm taking with me into eternity.  Not that eternity is all that matters, but it changes how we think about things and how we do things here in the mortal world.
     Although, we're moving forward in McKala's recovery, we'll continue her allergy shots, hoping they're not part of medicine that will prove itself a fallacy one day as have so many other medical practices.  With the main office an hour away from McKala's employment, we couldn't be consistent with her visits, so after hearing incidentally in conversation about the Lovenox/blood thinners I had to administer to myself in the 2 last pregnancies (blog post? fears - heights, snakes (this week - first sight of one with no chills, and needles), he said I could give them to her.  We'll begin that today and every other day until we get her back up to maintenance dose.  She is still highly allergic to mold, which I discovered more of behind some trim in the bathroom.  The problems with older homes!
      This has been a rich week.  It's been a well lived week.  The children have been a part of it, not just reading about what a rich life will be like one day, not with mysterious vision in mind, but with a life full of neighbors, young and old, a life of community.  Isn't that what we all want, yet wind up striving for other things?  In our heart of hearts, all any of us needs is good health from wholesome meals after an honest day's work dressed in sturdy clothes; at least one person who truly desires to know and protect our heart waiting for us in a safe, welcoming home in a community where we are making some kind of impact in God's name?  As Ecclesiastes says, everything else is vanity.  Then, why, WHY do we seek other things and other relationships?!

Monday afternoon, I was feeling overwhelmed at the tasks needing to be completed.  I realized that when we had "money", it "carried" us when we might have otherwise seemed disorganized.  For the most part, the family presented well in behavior and appearance, excelling in every arena. 
     Yesterday, it felt like all of it has broken down:  the fitness, the studies, the attitudes, the property, the cars, the "presentation."  As I sat downstairs for a little while with Mike and "Gunsmoke" brushing the tangles out of my hair, I received an "invitation" from Madalynn.  It was rolled and tied with a bow.  I was to be at her tea party at 3:30 and to stay downstairs until then.  That was a whole 'nother hour and I had so much to do.  But I stayed.
     At 3:30, I appeared on the front porch.  There were sheets clipped and tacked up with the light shining through them and the breeze gently lifting them, giving it all the look of a sunny café.  They'd brought the chairs from inside and Megan's table from the garage with Mamaw's tablecloth draped over it.  Macklynn had gathered mums and sat out the china.  McKala had made good sandwiches with the turkey I'd pulled off the bone the night before.  She had cut the pineapple that was perfectly ripe and made cream cheese dip and, of course, tea, with cuttings of our peppermint.  She may not have derived the idea but she surely was the mastermind of such a setting.  picture!
     I sat with them feeling very special.  I suppose I needed it.  As Madalynn sipped her drink in her sundress, I knew that it was what it's all about, what makes life worth living, that our children are honorable and considerate.
     Right this second, they ARE those things, plus industrious.  Michael and Macklynn are walking the fence line to find and secure the places from where the pigs are escaping.  Miranda is in the carport using a belt sander to refinish the first chair of 10 that I found in the parking lot of none other than "Long John Silver's"!  Madalynn is intrigued by the process and is getting her tools for her.  McKala and Megan are at work.  And Melody is reading and writing and will be my first student of the day after I finally get a bite to eat. 
  I'm trying to "Stay Hungry" (blog post).

Thursday night:  Hyped from a "Doubleshot".  Mike told me the clutter from the attic in our living room has to go.  A coworker of his wanted to visit since Mike won't be back at work until November.  I had him tell him "no" because there is simply no where to put a guest right now.  This is the second coworker we've had to give the naysay to, so Mike is concerned that they think we live like pigs.  Of course, we don't, just close!  Not really, and wouldn't you know the one day yet another coworker was to come bring a meal, Megan picked it up instead, but the house was as spotless as this house could be!
     So, the coffee, listen, I tried to get coffee from the station's pot and it was so weak that one creamer gave "my color".  That ain't gonna cut it.  And I know that we ought to be careful who we buy from and who they lend their support to, but this one evening I returned to that old friend, a compact can with a double punch of caffeine. 
     Before I let loose to conquer these piles and hopefully before my momentum drops, I just had to stay here a few minutes and recap a few things.  While changing the oil for Miranda and McKala's car, Megan saw where the cords were showing on the inside of the front tire.  Mind you, Megan was changing their oil in exchange for driving their newer car to Mississipi.  Now, the tire, plus 2 more, needs to be replaced.  Megan has an engine to pull apart at work tomorrow, her sisters' tires and alignment, a last minute trip to find a dress.  Then, she'll drive to Georgia, make a special delivery, sleep a few hours, and hopefully arrive in Mississippi in time for the brunch.  Only Megan!
     She showed up at Macklynn's game tonight an hour away from work.  They have a thing now.  He knows that she pays attention to him when she takes him to practice and wants her at the games.  He even told me I could leave him and Megan could take him home!  I didn't leave but she did take him home, but not before treating him to dinner with some teammates.  We won in the last minute by 1 point. 
     Megan also takes Michael to and from Dr. Miller's office because it's on her way.  Wednesday night they came home with 5 pounds of beef from a freezer at the office.  He told Michael he had one of his cows slaughtered and the meat has been around since last year.  So, he gave him some.  I don't know if it has anything to do with Mike's being out of work or if it's just a generous offer.  Either way, I am so grateful and have a card ready to let him know. 
     Dr. Miller is the gentleman that every mother should hope her son to encounter.  He takes Michael to lunch and talks with him about all manner of things.  They have so very much in common, even down to the appreciation of local honey.  The girls in the office say that they are the same, all the way down to the way the walk and dress.  I just thank God for the opportunity.  If not for the recommendation of a mutual friend, the introduction may never have taken place. 
     Today after some study at the table, Michael took his ENO hammock to the creek with his Bible and his book.  I can't imagine a better setting for a young man's mind. 
     Yesterday, just as I set out to conquer the hand-me-down piles (we are more than blessed with them, but it quickly becomes a curse if we try to keep it all just because we have it), a migraine came on suddenly.  And by that, I mean blurred vision and speech.  I've learned that my system responds immediately to a tablespoon of Benadryl, medicated nose spray, 3 Tylenol, an ice pack to the back of the neck, and large doses of caffeine.   I was still disorientated the rest of the day but I deflected the assault on my brain. 
     And if I had not prayed that very morning a prayer request of tenderness on my marriage, I wouldn't have avoided that assault either.  Mike and I had a meeting of the minds.  He has been bound to the bed and disassociated in many ways from the bustle of the family.  He had a few things to say about how things are going and even though I didn't agree with where he was coming from on it, I had to agree on some points.  For, you see, I had just listed them a few paragraphs back.  If I had come to the kids' defense instead of respectfully hearing Mike out, our marriage would've suffered another battle wound. 
     I attribute the outcome to the prayer I was led to in those morning hours.  The prior evening, my plea to God was that a blanket of kindness lay on our home.  Earlier that day Melody and I had gone head to head.  I saw her writing for the day, which was a good deal about me.  She pointed out how several of us have hurt her lately.  Again, I could've excused myself on this or that based on her behavior, but I listened.  And I had individual talks with her brothers and sisters about the issues she poured her heart out over.
     We aren't careful enough with each other's hearts.  The 24 pages of J.R. Miller's "Secrets of Happy Home Life" spell it out exquisitely.  If it isn't nice or necessary, it shouldn't be said.  Unwarranted opinions are unwanted opinions.  Miranda printed off the list of character attributes the Duggars value and look for in a spouse.  I'm glad to say our children exhibit virtually all 49 of them.  When I was about to tell McKala's boss and fellow church member my final say on teaching my children is that no exclusively peer setting is ever valid in a realistic setting, he cut me short and said, "Your kids are fantastic!"

....
     Melody, 13, not involved in sports right now and not having found a piano teacher, I'm thrilled to know Melody has 2 families who want her to do photo sessions ...

Friday, 12:36 am:  Not one stitch of clothes moved.  Kids one by one filed in talking.  Mike joined in and got to see how these spontaneous late night sessions go.  It's pretty great to sit and talk about all things serious until someone bursts out into laughter over a misspoken word or melodramatic moment.  And silliness just snowballs.  I'm not trying to be their friend, just wanting to know them better, so I know better how to pray for them and love them, savoring their honest words and deepest thoughts, not on my schedule but on their release timetable ................. (and not wherever the wind blows but where the Spirit whispers). 

Sunday night - I was reminded a couple of days ago as I drove Michael up to practice in our 2004? Dodge Caravan how important carrying oneself is and how important maintenance and cleanliness are.  After all, Leviticus does spell out that it is for our protection and betterment.  Funny how the expensive Yukon XL we had "carried" us.  You know:  you can get away with some clutter and ill conditioning if you're living in the "right" place or wearing the "right" thing.  The cut of a person is revealed when the money leaves.  What stays?  The trash or the class?  I'll never forget one of the first sermons I heard as a newly saved adult.  He said he used to wash and wash his little truck.  It didn't matter that it wasn't "all that".  What mattered is that it was his.  We all should know by now that God can't do much with someone who won't manage the small stuff, who takes for granted his blessings and covets another's.
     Somehow this all reminds me of Billy Joel's "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me".  I relate so much to the music I've heard, much like the author John Eldredge conveys in his "Wild at Heart". 
     Thing is that what we drive doesn't "define" us.  Where we live doesn't define us.  What we wear doesn't define us.  That is most often used to admonish a materialistic person; but on the flip side, it begs recognition that the utilitarian in me and in you squelches the beauty, the self respect, the stewardship that should be upheld.  Who declared we conservative and meek are to be purposefully dowdy and messy? 
     Truth be known, we either never understood or maybe forgot how much God's Word speaks of loveliness.  I'm reminded of this forgetfulness every time I see a mother who has quit taking care of herself and seems satisfied, maybe even ingratiated, that her daughter is overtly flirtatious in her movements, her eye contact, and her words.  Hey, church mom, I'm not talking about the other girls; I'm talking about your girl.  "Beautiful Girlhood" - danger.  Have you forgotten the passion that once drove you and is costly when not kept in healthy parameters?  How did you get that far gone?  ....I too have been that disillusioned.
     More truth be known that in this culture, we are as afraid of ourselves as we are of the temptation a comely presentation makes.  In a lonely marriage, it is entirely too easy to incidentally attract attention from other men.  No, it's not incidental, it's GUARANTEED.   When a woman gets her "act together" and grows into all God intends her to be, she WILL be attractive to men ...even in her "modest" apparel.  See, there is no "safe ground" unless it's God's ground.  We really and truly do have to put on the whole armour of God.  I need Him, "every hour, I need Him", and not only from the hour of temptation thrust on me, but of the entertainment and comfort my mind and heart get from the validation of men. 
    Problem is there is no amount of satiation that can make up for God's abiding presence.  Say you don't have much, if any, relationship with your spouse?  Replacing him, if only in your mind, isn't going to come close to healing your open wounds.  Another problem is the man who has eyes, ears, hands, or whatever else for you probably could have them just as easily for someone else.  I've even met a man who said his wife was a good lover and good mother, yet he wanted more.  He had no boundaries, no "one big thing" missing in his life ...EXCEPT GOD. 
     We have to cast down every imagination captive to Christ.  That old habit we learned in school of scoping out the most beautiful person in the room and focusing on gaining that one's attention is the biggest, fattest lie.  Is is not God we wish to satisfy?  If we're not constantly in His Word and our hearts are not in continuous prayer, probably not.  Old habits die hard and there is only one place to bury them ...at the foot of the cross.
    All that said, there are some of us who don't care if another man never looks our way.  Her femininity is that far gone from her.  She wears layers of fat as a barrier to prevent another intruder from stealing her away.  If it only be her husband - who has watched other women, if only in passing - who has made her being into the value equal with animal made to satisfy his hunger - who has said mean things about parts of her that are physically impossible to change - who has dismissed her for his other enjoyments.  She might die if she made herself vulnerable and he did it again. 
     She is a true victim.  Most of us women are.  The question is:  do we remain victims or do we find hope in looking heavenward?  Does that mean we forsake our bodies?  On the contrary, I'm afraid the answer is "no". 
     I think it's true for each of us that there are days when our confidence creeps back up and asks if it can live among our other traits.  Today is one of those days for me.  It seemed like a good day to take a bath, the kind where I "groom" well.  Simply having, which for several reasons I'm guilty of letting slide, is a whole 'nother thing than grooming?  Shaving sometimes is a matter of not embarrassing ourselves or a matter of comfort.  Mom, when is the last time, you groomed because you wanted to satisfy your husband?  Not as I have also been guilty of, to keep peace or even because I thought I was supposed to, had to? Thankfully, someone I ..............my sanity  and revere very much, Michael Pearl (No Greater Joy Ministries) wrote that men are in no way commanded to force submission but that it is a gift a woman is to bestow on her husband.  Reading that released me from the "Just Do It" motto I'd embraced.
     The difficulty is in the transition.  My husband patiently waits for me to regain some semblance of what drew us together.  Somehow it was easier to approach him before the beginning of his transformation.  Was I enduring martyrdom as some kind of sick pleasure?  
    Not long ago, I found an old letter I wrote that says I was afraid to stop being confrontational or defensive because I was afraid I would lose all feeling for him.  Not long after, it happened.  There was nothing.  Only indifference. 
    There has always been a constant with God and me: never quit, never quit.  A couple of days ago on the way home, I heard a sermon, by Charles Stanley I believe, about the common thread throughout the Bible of God saying, "If you love me, you will obey me."  I am first to admit that I have "worked" too hard and not "relied" on God enough and have regretfully passed some of it on to our children, but read that again:  "If you love me, you will obey me".  There's no feeling mentioned there.  We women are bought out that in order for something to be worth the effort, it has to feel good, that someone else can make us feel good.
     This sexuality I brought into our marriage, the crazy things I did when I was a teen, were all an attempt to fill a void.  I was pleasing myself.  I didn't care if the guy was pleased unless, of course, he gave me recognition for my efforts - feeding my appetite, feeding my power, feeding my pleasure. 
     Mike and I brought the same hunger into our marriage, self indulgence, pleasure at almost any cost.  There are times over these years that I have been able to muster up genuine concern for his satisfaction.  Problem with feeling forced to perform is that grace is awfully hard to administer when everything is demanded.  I resolved to perform well.  Most of the time I didn't even do THAT.  In the first years of our married life, I reverted to an ultra conservative status after "Admission of what I did - last fall's blog". 
      I was horrified at what I was capable of and what I was willing to risk and how easily I became consumed.  I had my hair cut boy short.  In the following years, in what I thought was an effort to be holy, I wore dresses.  I sold my jewelry box at a yard sale.  I didn't wear make-up.  I think now what I really wanted was for no one to notice me.  I was saving myself from myself.  I'm not the only one; there are others who have pulled away in the same fashion. 
     I still enjoyed sex and I believe it had something to do with the "baby factor".  There was always the mystery of whether or not I might get pregnant; and then if I did, let's just say, it was game on.  I loved all things about pregnancy, including pregnant sex.  So did Mike. 
    In retrospect, I think it's safe to say and I know at least one person who agrees, that when pregnancy is no longer an option, something is diminished.  Some facet of the excitement, the natural process, the intended outcome is lost. 
     Just now, I stepped away to cook something, to wash Madalynn's hair, to take a call from 4 of the other kids who're on the way back home from their hiking trip.  But I had to return, although I'm surrounded by an explosion of games from the coat close I started cleaning yesterday, to ponder the predicament of the man downstairs, the man I've been with since I was 16 years old. 
     He's rather "damned if he doesn't and damned if he does".  I resisted him before his conversion and for completely different reasons, I continue to do so.  Maybe though, there is something to be said for the purely physical, to grasp the moment of mutual desire.  Thank God, I still ovulate and am very in tune, as every woman should be, to what the possibilities of it are, my vulnerabilities in it and my power in it - my power to do something good, my power to gravitate toward a man who is otherwise left alone. 
     How is it that we resolve to be roommates?  To live separately under the same roof?  I'm afraid it's more rampant than anyone would dare admit.  I have the power to do something, something against the grain, something uncustomary, something that is out of my range of goodness if not for my Saviour. 
    You see, somewhere along the way, I repossessed my body.  I decided amidst the pain that I couldn't or wouldn't share my body with him anymore, that to subject myself was too risky.  I didn't quit altogether.  I knew very well how foolish that is.  That said, I still haven't quite made it to the other side, a side of openness with a man who is new in a good many ways.  It's still very odd for me to hear him say how he spent a couple of hours in Will Graham's office palling around or spent half a game talking to Joe Gibbs while Michael and his grandson played travel ball. 
     This summer I learned about the "beauty for ashes" the Lord speaks of, about purity that I hadn't taken possession of, although many years ago I asked forgiveness for not only my fornication but also for that which I had with Mike premaritally.  Another thing Mike Pearl in "Holy Sex" taught me is that a marriage ceremony does not wash away the purposeful trespass of premarital sin and the consequences of it. 
     Purity is something I struggle with.  The sanctification of the marriage bed is hard for me.  The introduction of porn early into my marriage was bad enough, but that I took the bait was worse.  That I coveted its ability to induce desire, that I wasn't disgusted by it confuses me still.
     All this stuff, all this confusion, all this disassociation may be my "thorn" for now, that I have to cling to God desperately to be protected from.  At 21, I was under the impression that becoming a "new man" would take the desires away, that life would be easier.  I had no idea that it was just the beginning of a metamorphosis preparing me for the afterlife.  And speaking of eternity, I do believe along with our pastor, Brother Kevin, that instead of a vague existence, it will be specific ...but if we were to know, we might do as little as possible for our future post ............................................"Pretty" blog post

Type more pretty from notebook.

It's Tuesday morning and we're throwing a party on Saturday.  I have a true heap of things that have to be in the attic.  It's been out for 3 weeks now.  Mike is growing impatient, as he should be.  However, yesterday Melody and I took advantage of Miranda leaving with Michael for practice, and looked through thousands of pictures to make a "graduation" video for her.  We began at 5 pm and didn't quit until 2 am.  Mike would come upstairs "jokingly" but seriously referring to the mess.  Something about those hours of reminiscence and laughter soothed my spirit.  Even this morning, surrounded by work I am more at ease.  Besides, it isn't the real work that Megan does.  She put an engine entirely back together yesterday and had nothing but a wire or two to complete it this morning.  And McKala, she's headed to work even though she catapulted over the bicycle handles when there was a disturbance on The Virginia Creeper Trail she was riding with the kids from church.
     Michael said that he was wincing before he saw her face because he just knew that she ate the pavement.  BUT, she saved it with the palms of her hands.  The skin is gone, as is her knees'.  Never a tear.  That girl!

 Wednesday - Megan just called from the test drive she's making in the car she put back together - AWESOME!  She and Michael left at 6 am to eat at The Coffee House before she left him at Dr. Miller's.  Yesterday we ran errands:  picked up 7 bags he'd requested of corn feed from Linney's Mill.  On the way home last night; Michael and I had those and tables we borrowed from Heather and a box of clothes for Madalynn and empty trash cans and groceries and football gear.  We were loaded down as we listened to Chip Ingram coming up the highway in the dark.  The message was about purity in college and that God had told him to "wait" because he had a great future for him and a great wife and even great sex.  When it was done I told him he could turn it, thankful that he hadn't been argumentative to leave it on when up tempo music would've been more his riding style. 
     We had a big laugh or two over a song that came on as we were station surfing.  "Slow Ride" by Foghat is a song I had.  Somehow it was transferred to his iPod.  It turned out to be his riding lawn mower song.  It recently was removed while we were "cleaning up our act".  He misses it though and I can't help but get tickled thinking of him on that old slow mower listening to that song. 
     Should I have been listening to that song either?  No, because I want to go forward, not back.  I know so many couples who are revisiting their courtship, "celebrating" their fornication, if you will.  I just can't do that.  I want forgiveness.  I want renewal.  I want something I've never had.  I want sanctity, dignity, true unspotted intimacy. 
     I was thinking yesterday while we were running errands with the windows down, pondering the swirl of activity.  And it just came back to me suddenly that my purpose is to help my husband.  Now, I've had head knowledge of that for quite some time, that I was "created to be a helpmeet", which is the title to a fantastic book by Debi Pearl.  But it hadn't met with my heart in that way before. 
     As I finally gave myself permission to time out and to purge the attic, I found another letter I wrote about Mike (copy it).  I think the problem is that most of us wouldn't mind being "second" if someone would treat us as though we're "first".  I lived a life of "if only":  if only he approved of me, if only I could do better, if only he would lead me, if only I could trust him, and finally if only I even liked him. 
     I sat by the pond for all of 5 minutes when he found me with the tone of voice that questions why I was there doing nothing.  Nothing but being thoughtful of how little I have understood of God and how much more there is to understand.  Upon his beckoning, in the back of my mind I thought, "This is why it is better to leave him alone."  I went to him this morning and told him how he might gain "compliance" from us but that the "respect" is earned.  We can fake it all day long if that's what he wants, but what I want is a relationship, someone I can bounce things off of without his blaming, criticizing, and not functioning outside the realm of his own little world of me, myself, and I.  I think I not only want it but need it.  I think I've focused so much on how I can change to elicit it that I haven't asked God to show him what I need.  Though, I'm real enough to know that people make their own choices and I can't expect his changes to be all that make me happy. 
     He was right that I should be busy but I was thinking that I've listened to other people my whole life, so much that it's hard for me to hear God.  I just do what I'm told but how much do I MISS in trying to do what is good, losing what is best the way Ed Young describes QUOTE because I don't consult God frequently enough for His way and will. This transition, this dejunking is necessary for me to focus on the people in my life instead of the stuff.  Our pastor is deeply in favor as are the authors of "Radical" and "Crazy Love".  I have to learn when to stop for a spontaneous important conversations, for changes in plans, for Bible learning, for basking in creation - to live life and not control it. 
     I battle guilt when ease comes my way.  Production and performance are ingrained in me.  That can be good compared with laziness and ingratiation.  That can be bad when the Spirit isn't the center of it.  My parents would accept nothing but the best.  I was driven by it, but I wasn't moved by the Spirit, only pressure and pride.  I'm afraid I've conducted my marriage the same way.  That in submitting, that in serving, I have done what I thought was good, that he would like - and at times, missing that God might've used me differently and better, so that I would not be enabling and feeding into .............  I
    How hard is it to love someone who's in love with themselves?  I'm a communicator.  That I'm prevented from any effectual talk without it being turned on me is excruciating.  How hard is it to win a spouse with behavior only?  Well, it shows me what I'm made of.  To keep my mouth shut is an act of God Himself, so it could be said that it shows me what He's made of .  How hard is it to have sex with someone you don't like or even love?  So hard that I haven't figured it out.  Should I have let it get this far?

Sunday - I can see the fire still smoldering this morning.  Our "Bonfire Masquerade" for Miranda's and Megan's birthday was last night.  We had everyone from 94 years old to 1 month old - neighbors, good friends, church family and blood family.  There were several "no shows" but the ones who did surely made up the difference, pitching in help and laughter.  We had beautiful new Alabama "A" corn hole set my Dad made for Miranda, volleyball, horseshoes, Cracker Barrel checkers, Pop's handmade "Gotcha" game, and the bonfire; but I think the biggest hit was the little people jumping from the trampoline into the leaf pile.
     Melody left with Memaw and Pop for Georgia this morning to stay with them a week and then with my parents.  She did her share preparing before the party, making 3 dozen or so homemade carrot cake cupcakes with more of that cream cheese icing.  We all worked hard to have the house up to par.  There's only so much you can do when you're renting, but Miranda painted the bathroom a nice new color to go with the shower curtain she and Megan brought from their place in Georgia.  She also did a lot of the yard work and made her own corn hole sacks with my grandmother's sewing machine.
    We had to do so much to gear up for the event.  I didn't realize how much we really had "let go".  Again, "the glory days" don't hold up for long.  We cleaned out every closet, every drawer, and every cabinet.  Much to Mike's chagrin, that was the cause of the eye sore from the attic remaining in the living room for 3 weeks, BUT it is done.  I can walk in the attic now.  I know where everything is in the house but one sentence diagramming workbook.  We even found Madalynn's missing library book! 
     The task now is to keep it this way.  I'm not trying to impress anyone; I just can't stand the disarray.  And I surely don't want our kids to move away and live in the squalor that so many do today.  I must say the last couple of sentences sound quite nifty rolling of the tongue!
     I'm having some caramel in my coffee.  McKala and Miranda's boss's wife kindly helped make it last night, when finally we realized we hadn't turned the eye back on for her.  She'd been pushing and stirring to no avail.  But she just let it all roll off.  I love those kinds of people.  We had lots of them here last night.  No one seemed to care if a peer match was here; we just appreciated each other's company.  That's the way community should be. 
     Miranda dangled silk leaves from the orange, yellow, red, and green streamers across the ceiling.  The table setting was centered on Memaw's cheerful autumn colored quilt with yellow mums, marshmallowed and candied popcorn balls, Melody's cupcakes, and apple slices paired with the homemade caramel, all while Russian Tea stewed on the stove.  I drank so much of it that I was sure in the night that I was going to be sick. 
     During the party though, I felt great and got to have more conversation than I have in a long while.   There was all kinds of talk:  family catching up, facades of people broken down, fiscal and spiritual problems of our government ....
     Today I don't really have anything to say to anyone, not even at church, nor did I yesterday when I was outside washing windows, thankful that Mike and his Dad took the boys to their games and McKala took Macklynn to get Miranda a fishing rod with an orange reel for her birthday.  Everyone thinks I'm upset when I'm working, but for me to focus on one task is really hard, so I almost have to excommunicate myself.
    It hadn't occurred to me that I didn't plan lunch yesterday and that it isn't okay for me to impose my own "low maintenance" on other people.  It's not hospitable at all to offer grilled cheese to people who drove up surprising us with leather couches, a porch swing, a TV, Miranda's corn hole set from Dad, a bushel of their own sweet potatoes, bags of muscadines, jelly, apple pies, and a blackberry cobbler.  And the last time, they brought us a bedroom suit.  "Didn't know - Memaw was reading" blog post!  Oh my.  I thawed some beef and threw together a taco concoction and was surprised at how pouty I was while doing so.
     So, today Miranda is 19, still trying to stabilize her shaky ground.  That's all right.  She was a late bloomer in every way, except her birth.  Everything went as smoothly and timely as possible.  She was a perfectly healthy 10 pound baby born at home in the raised bed her Daddy made for me.   It WAS planned that way and was the easiest, most uneventful pregnancy and birth I had.  I was up 3 hours after she was born, showering and cooking. 
     I miss those "baby days" - no particular place to be, no particular external schedules to follow, nothing but life to inhale and hope for.  I can't go back there and I'm NOT raising any grandbabies, but I do yearn for simpler days.  I've never so highly anticipated the departure of football season.  Mike needs to be back at work.  The kids need if not routine, at least rhythm again.  We need time to decompress every evening, to discuss more than impending issues and schedules.  At evenings' ends the family needs square meals, unencumbered rooms, exhausted minds and bodies, and released spiritual gifts.
     Funny, we humans strive for every ridiculous thing, only to return to the basics, those things that were always on my list of things to do, the things that always fell behind the looming list of troubleshooting.  A good meal, wholesome company, tidy surroundings, hard work and hard play, something and someone to look forward to and God gracing it all - what else is there?  Can't believe I have to ask myself that question after a quarter of a century.  We depart from the fundamentals, only to be called back them.  How absurd.  We only have today.  Why do we live pondering tomorrow?  I don't mean not to prepare for tomorrow at all, only why overlook the people and places in our life today?  Why cast aside experience for ............?

Tuesday midday:  Everyone is occupied and I hardly know what to do.  I'm accustomed to operating in crisis mode or at least rush mode.  The house is in good order.  The evening is planned.  Michael and Macklynn are gleaning corn from what's left of a farmer's yield.  Megan, Miranda, and McKala are at work.  Melody is in Georgia.  Madalynn is sneaking a peek at little kids' TV since Mike is gone. 
     He's determined to go back to the Food Stamp office.  I think what I've done has backfired once more.  Billy Graham quotes a nurse in his book, "Nearing Home", "No one is more self-centered than a sick person."  In avoiding him and the foreboding during his ailments, I haven't catered the foods to him that he prefers.  In being his "helpmeet", it is a struggle for me to serve him the unhealthy food he craves.  But, I suppose it is he who has to answer for it.  I have to answer for obeying my husband.  WHAT?!  Obey?!  Yes, my Bible says for me to "obey" in Titus 2.  I didn't say I like the idea.  I have a book, "Me? Obey Him?" that spells it out in a way that I cannot deny.  You see, when I do deny it, I'm headed for trouble.  Even if I'm "right" about a given decision, I have example after example of how I began sinking out on my own, in my own will.  Because I wasn't just disobeying my husband; I was disobeying God.  That's where "Lean not on thine own understanding" really takes hold.

Thursday:  Just returned from doctor's appointment with McKala.  Abdominal CT ordered for right side pain.  This is after a CT last week for her lungs.  Email info on Whooping Cough.
    Mike was researching .................  Although we're from different states, his great, great grandmother and mine have the exact same name and we believe that she is buried in the cemetery next door to my childhood home.  Something to look into!  Too, her husband died of Blight disease/kidney stones.  Mike's had over a dozen lithotripsies for them!
     Case in point about reverencing my husband regardless: he didn't exactly say "yes" or "no" about Melody's trip and it's already gone awry.  We had reserved a one slot for her to spend with someone.  The one day was an effort to keep acquaintance but not enough time to feed on each other's tendencies.  I didn't make it clear enough and plans were minced.  When I stuck to my guns, I was thrashed. 
    In the this walk I'm on, it's worth it.  It's not about simply doing the right thing anymore.  It's about being right with God.  It's about sinning separating us from God.  One conscious wayward thing can cause guilt that will divide us .............. from Him.  I can't risk that with my 13 year old who is finding her way.   Not on my watch. 
     The story I was told this morning by my closest friend drives it home.  A cherished friend from her past has a brother whose wife and one year old have been kidnapped and are being burned for torture.  My child needs to walk steady, walk closely, walk knowing who she is, because one day she may have to stand for it.  Don't we know that It says "we who becometh saints are to be spotless"?  I'd say, if I turn out a genius, yet he or she is a pervert, a liar, a dead beat parent, or jail bird, that I will have failed BUT there is a whole 'nother realm:  someday she or he or I or you could be the one deciding if denying Christ is worth the relief.  What will my child decide; what will my child endure?  The way things are going it could be someday soon.
    And when is your child not your child anymore?  Not that long ago I left to go after one, an "adult" some would say.  She and I exploded in the rain at the theater where we were to see "Joyful Noise" that her Memaw was an extra in.  I had finally drawn her from her shell and I didn't care what time the movie started.  Besides, once she was "snatched from the fire" and restored, we went to see it in sweet fellowship.  21 Blog Post.
     I took her to the theater again 2 nights ago to see "Grace Unplugged" in celebration of her 23rd birthday.  She reminded me that the only other time of late that I've taken her was to see "The Passion".  I'm just not a fan of movies anymore and surely not of the actors who support anything but what I believe in. 
     The only other thing I did was take her to eat last night.  All Miranda got was the party.  Maybe even those are too much for our economic circumstances, but no matter their ages, I will always be as Job, with "every one on his day".  I may not appreciate many holidays:  Halloween Has Its Last Hurrah Post , but these birthdays are precious to me.  It was to be the 2 of us, especially after the family feud gone a hair too far last week.  But God is convicting me in a new way that authority is to be recognized no matter what I want, what I do or don't feel, or whether my rationale is better.  So I didn't slip out but told him once again where I was going ...waiting for his reply.  He wanted to go and I didn't resist.  There is something interesting about not being emotionally vested to this.  I didn't resent him ...because I was simply being obedient to God's way and not mine.  Then, at the church service,  1 Samuel 24:5-11 was specifically referenced.  I love me some confirmation!
    
Friday morning:   Feeling well rested, PMS over and on top of the world!  Unfortunately everyone else's noses are drizzly.  We're waiting for the approval for McKala's CT.  It could be her Gall Bladder.  I surely didn't like seeing that quick weight loss can cause stones.  Man!  Half a dozen 1 - half a dozen the other!  The chicken and rice diet wasn't primarily for weight loss but we certainly thought it was a bonus. 
     Macklynn and Madalynn are making paper airplanes from an instructional book of Michael's.  3 of the girls are at work.  But believing more and more as supported by our pastor that acknowledging they aspire to be wives and mothers is nothing to be ashamed of.  You see, Megan has done it all.  She's being being flying solo, literally, since she was 17.  She paid thousands of dollars for lessons by waitressing, starting at 16.  She tested into "dual enrollment" college then also.  She made As in all her classes but one, the one she was transitioning from when she decided she had enough of busy work and agenda, and enrolled in a private technical school to become a certified Ford technician.  She was "student of the course" many times over and was awarded for her volunteer service.  She was hired immediately and moved into the "garage" on my parents' property 2 states away.
    In her 2nd year, she was hired as a Service Advisor and when her previous employer found out it wasn't "up her alley", he begged her back and for more money, saying he needed "someone with some sense".  But she had already set her mind on the ministry, enrolled in Liberty Online, and answered a request to apply for an internship at her church.  When it didn't happen, she decided after 3 years in Georgia and at Mike's beckoning, to move back with us. 
    All the while, she had hoped to meet "Mr. Right".  Let me tell you, there are hardly any "Mr. Rights" out there, hardly a man whose heart is after God, hardly a man that will work harder than our girls.  So, Megan is in waiting mode and it's killing her.  She used to living in overdrive.  She CAN do anything.  Question is "what SHOULD she do"? 
    Sometimes I'm afraid her Daddy and I drove her to be performance oriented, but too she is the eldest of many children, firstborn and "driven"...  I'm more afraid it's that I didn't uphold the beauty of motherly and wifely duties.  I "checked out" mentally from my marriage when Megan was 13.  Assault after assault upon my soul, I began drone mode - "going through the motions".   Then, when she was 15, Mike had a 60 mile an hour head on collision.
    I'll never forget how it felt to walk up that cold road, 6 miles from the house, traffic backed up, people complaining.  Me - 7 months pregnant with Macklynn, my parents in town for Christmas.  I finally reached the top of the hill and walked in the entrance of the ambulance to see Mike.  When I glanced around, there was a little boy on the other gurney.  I promptly turned and walked out.  I didn't know what else to do.  "Whose fault was this?!  What has happened?!  Oh my God, a child is hurt!"
     They found a clear spot to land the helicopter near the embankment of the Christmas tree farm the car had slid off into.  The little boy was flown out because he had a "bubble" on his lung which is indicative of a punctured lung, but thankfully he turned out fine.  His sister was in the front seat passenger and hit her head on the windshield when her seatbelt assembly completely detached from the floor; but by the grace of God, she only suffered a broken ankle.
    However, their mother did not escape so easily.  Although, she was driving a new car, the steering wheel column broke and was driven into her abdomen.  Her internal bleeding was so profuse that she couldn't be taken anywhere but to the nearest hospital, where Mike was transported also.  When I arrived asking questions, the nurses were momentarily puzzled at my relation to the accident.  The injured woman had lost so much blood that she looked very pregnant, but there I stood pregnant in front of them.  We quickly aligned the facts.  She was in surgery and in my opinion, with little likelihood of survival. 
     After CTs with contrast to ensure Mike was clear of internal injury, he was released with a cast on his foot.  It didn't take long to realize that something was wrong.  He couldn't lift his left arm at all.  In the following days, the orthopedic specialist also discovered that Mike's foot had been broken in half and was not reset properly.  Everything had been detached from his shoulder - tendons, muscles, and all.  His arm was literally hanging by the skin and the ER had not treated him for it.  We believe it's because they found him at fault, when in actuality the only ticket written to him was "too fast for conditions."  The brake marks met in the middle of the road.  It appeared that in the curve, they were both on the wrong side of the road.
    The woman's family kindly let me visit her and her children.  And although it was long and painful with heinous scars for remembrance, thankfully she did recover and our insurance covered it.  And after .... surgeries and physical therapy, Mike also recovered but not before spending 6 months in a wheel chair.  He couldn't use crutches because of his shoulder, so a wheel chair was the only way for him to be mobile.  The bedrooms were upstairs so he had to scoot up and down them on his backside.  Picture from hospital!?
    If not for his sad circumstances, I surely would've taken advantage of the "go light" when through an innocent discovery 2 of our girls made, I found out things about Mike that ripped me into even smaller shreds.  Actually, because the kids were damaged by it, I felt like killing him!  But there I was with a tiny baby, a seriously injured husband, and an empty bank account.  The accident took everything his self employment had invested and saved.  His parents made up the rest and we still owe them 10s of thousands of dollars to this day ...because our budget was that big!
   It wasn't time for me to leave.  It obviously wasn't time for him either or he'd been more injured in the accident.   I recognized that and had to honor it. 
    So, there he and I were, stuck in a bedroom with a wheelchair and a baby.  I had to recognize and respect also that our older kids rose beautifully to the occasion and kept the family moving forward.
And God rose to the occasion and created more character in our children in spite of and because of it all.
     The crazy thing about the story is this:  3 months prior to the accident, Mike had bought a Suburban and when in the morning light, he discovered it had been wrecked, painted over, and sold as new; he returned it.  When no agreement could be made on a replacement because of sheer number of seats, Mike went to another dealer and bought a new Yukon.  The salesman suggested he drive a new GTO home to get some paperwork.  He was sold; and true to his spontaneous nature, he rationalized that he could save gas money on his commute, and without informing me, bought it too!
   It was done and that soft spot in me for fast cars made me love its ride.  However, it only lasted about 12 weeks before the collision - with the wife of the man who didn't resolve the conflict about the Suburban!  Never laid eyes on her before that fateful night.
   Did her husband or she deserve such a thing?  Absolutely not.  Although, I don't believe in coincidence, Solomon mentions in Ecclesiastes "chance".  Does chance happen?  Absolutely so.

Friday afternoon:  I'm on a roll.  So much to say.  Michael is in the woods retrieving the card from his surveillance camera, which he paid for himself.  Earlier he received a call from the jewelry store that they need more of his earrings, one of every color to be exact.
    As he went to feed the pigs, I told him to make sure his little brother learns all the things he does before, if God is willing and opens the doors, he goes to Fork Union Military Academy next year.  "You Don't Know What You're Missing" Blog post - I've sent this to many of our representatives.  The primary sponsor wants him to speak before the ............., when it ever makes it out of committee.  I'm told legal tape is holding House Bill ..... back. 
    It's seems to be in Michael's blood to play football.  I hope not for fortune and fame but for challenge and comradary.  Compassion for animals is also in his blood, so it seems that his way is being made.  His basketball coach is alumni and out of his whole team had Michael and one other young man to his home to convince them of the possibilities.  BUT it's a boarding school 5 hours away.  Yet there are no girls!  And as much as I want Michael to be a Mr. Right, it is not time. 
    So many things must come together for me to know this is God's will and not ours.  Firstly, I have to have evidence that Michael is completely firm in his faith, that when he is shaken he will stand on the foundation of Christ.  I let them choose a lot of their own reading, but I plan to require him to read "A Ready Defense", a book given from our church to his sister during the Right of Passage.  Brother Kevin has written a book by that name and it's solely dedicated to what the Bible expects anyone who professes Christ, children and young adults included.
    When I see that Michael is reading his Bible without his Mama telling him to, when I see him consistently cleaning up behind himself, when I see him being a gentleman, when I see him going the extra mile, when I see him turning indecent music and shows and sites; then I will feel more secure about it.  I don't want to "hear" these things from him.  I want to witness them.  I don't care if he becomes a great success as much as I care that he becomes a great man of God. 
    It happens bit by bit, a little here and a little there VERSE.  It also happens while I'm not looking, when the Holy Spirit begins to take my place.  It starts happening when no person is watching, when a young Christian does the right thing even and especially in thought and in private - when there is no other reason to do so but to please God Himself.  What will he do when he is not constrained by the eye and discipline of his parents?  Then and only then will I know that I will not be sending my son away alone. 
    Even though I don't think Michael agreed so much at the time, I'm still emphatically sure that we made the right decision not pressing for his enrollment this year.  His coach urged him to, finally admitting that it was because he's "being raised by women".  To a degree, true enough.  But in so, IN BLOG POST?  spend his most valuable moments with peers or his family?! He wouldn'tve heard the unadulterated truth preached by Pastor Kevin.  He wouldn'tve met Dr. Miller.  He wouldn'tve been making earrings and seeing that there are always alternative ways of making money.  He wouldn'tve have learned to drive with this mother of his to and from practice.  He wouldn'tve been a part of the reconvergence of the family.  And there must be so many other things I don't even realize. 
    There are a lot of things to mull over about it.  Should he go the military route in the lax moral climate it's in?  Who will he room with and what kind of person will he be?  Who will he be accountable to?  Will he get the scholarship to get in?  Will he enjoy being "scholarly"?  And even, what will be the quality of the food they serve?
    Food, can't seem to live with and can't live without it.  Breakfast is what's been on my mind.  Mike will soon be up with Megan before their short commute to work.  His temptation is to stop at Bojangles for fried chicken biscuits.  Am I responsible for his answer to temptation?  I am if I don't offer an alternative. 
    Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast.  I don't know about above but here below the Mason Dixon, the thought conjures up sausage and bacon.  And as far as I can tell, when spelling out what is good and bad for us, God says fat (along with blood) isn't to be consumed. 
     There's the age old question:  if God made all things clean VERSE and only what comes out of a person defiles VERSE then why does it matter?  Because as a nation, we're sick and we're fat - that's why.  Yes, it matters if we eat it in thanks, but are we really thankful?  Do we understand that every single bite is from God?  If so we wouldn't greedily woof down portions that aren't ours to have.
     Granola, can't do granola anymore.  Nobody here likes it now, if they ever did.  Cereal, most of it is a processed mess.   Pop Tarts, ain't happnin' as long as I'm here.  Milk, we're trying to avoid it 'til we get a goat.  Since processed milk is supposedly better, butter and cheese will do.  Margarine and shortening will most definitely not!  Eggs will work, ours anyway; the stores' are void of color and flavor.  Until a few weeks ago, I thought some vegetable oils were okay.  Turns out even the "good ones" weren't produced until the 1980's and the process in far removed from natural.  I'm still not sure about gluten.  There was plenty of wheat being consumed in the Old Testament, so the true question is if the engineered kind is that bad for us. 
     To be honest, I don't care for breakfast at all.  My Mom says I always preferred leftovers for breakfast and I still do.  And when in my late 20s, I forced myself to drink coffee to survive the morning with a 1 year old and a newborn, I surely wasn't hungry for breakfast.  But this isn't about me and that's a good thing.  I don't have babies keeping me up all hours of the night or as much of a rambunctious husband with no rhyme or reason to his schedule.  I don't have to fly by the seat of my pants as much, so it's time for a change.  It's time for me put up or shut up, to show my girls that there's no place like home, their own home one day, that is. 
    We as a society are so removed from what is good for us that it's time to ask God.  It's that simple.  I'm gonna pray about and over all of it. 
     There are a few no brainers like olive oil and coconut oil, fruits, vegetables, and most meat and nuts.  I think we can and should replace quantity with quality.   I couldn't believe it though when I watched "How Do They Do That?" with the boys a few nights ago and it showed the dozens of genetically engineered versions of pecans.  What?!  Is anything safe?  Can we grow it all ourselves, co-op, barter, start over?!  Goodness, I don't know.  I know I could miss a lot of opportunities to reach "the lost" if I focus too much on mere survival.  BLOG POST - prepping, last fall? 
    I'd love a garden but with our future whereabouts unknown, making that investment is unwise.  Even a small garden began an argument this past Spring.  Hunting and fishing have not though.  Michael grilled a couple of his Dove alongside our chicken the other day.  I surely hope he gets a deer soon.  Even those are contaminated by what is in the local crops.  In my mind, living country is pristine and unadulterated.  In reality, "Living Country" POST. 

glad to be wanted

Wednesday morning - just took 2 Aleve and sitting here with a heating pad to my back, must've pulled something helping with the garage, couldn'tve been the stored gallons of expiring food I brought up to be used, but it could be because I was dehydrated.  I'm bad to not drink enough water.  Truth is I don't much like it and my joints always pay for it; even the bones in my feet will ache before I realize it.  That's nothing though compared to what I'm waiting for this morning.
     McKala had an abdominal CT yesterday for suspected gall bladder problems.  She's been nauseous going on 3 weeks and with chest and shoulder pain.  Originally, she thought she was having an asthma attack at work last week but the inhaler didn't help. 
     Too, Monday morning her Pulmonologist's visit was bumped up so we could get testing results.  We finally got confirmation that our family indeed had Whooping Cough last winter, from Thanksgiving to nearly February.  The antibodies show a "strong" .........   What was not expected is that she has antibodies for a PRESENT infection.  Among 4 doctors, no one is really sure what to make of it yet.  Did it never go away?  Has it returned?  Can it be "carried"? "SOMETHING ABOUT K" POST
     Since January, Mike has read and read and read some more about it.  Truth is our nation's vaccines aren't working because they've diluted them so as not to have as many side effects, plus there must be new strains being brought in by illegals.
     The Pulmonologist wants every family member under 20 years old tested.  We got 3 more done yesterday, but not before I was directed to come in to get masks for them first.  It reminded me of a couple of years ago when we called in about Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease.  We weren't even allowed to go in the office.  The doctor came out and checked the blisters on each one's hands as they sat on the curb! 
     Yesterday, as onlookers suspiciously watched, we were shuttled straight into a room where the lab technician came to us.  I was unaware that it wouldn't be blood testing but a swab instead.  Even Michael showed obvious discomfort from it.  After Macklynn had one nostril done, he was unwilling for the other and had to be coerced.  By that time, Madalynn had her mind made up.  Michael had to restrain her as she had a conniption fit!  It must've been "that" bad because when she had blood drawn before she didn't shed a tear.
     They've both had nose bleeds since then. 
     While the Pediatrician, with his very official looking mask on, was checking over the kids, he asked Macklynn if his throat hurt and he said "no".  The doctor said, "It will tomorrow".  When I asked "why", he replied, "He has Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease."  I'm sure it hardly showed past my mask, but I stood there stupefied with my mouth open.  I didn't think a person could contract it again.  But was Macklynn one of the ones who had it before?  I just don't remember.  That kid has had a taste of all sorts of things.  Monday he got a staple so stuck in his fingertip that I had to wedge out the corner of it before I could remove it!
     So, here we are, quarantined until we get the results Friday morning.  I told our pastor that it might be "anointing oil" time.  You never can tell!
     There is a glimmer of light in this for my own walk.  I'm back to "hungry" again.  It can take quite a while when we purposefully or carelessly get sidetracked.  By "hungry" I mean hunger pangs on a regular basis.  That's a reversal from years ago.  I'd eat at any extreme: happy, sad, tired.  Now, "tired" is what I have to stay on guard for. 
     I don't claim to understand it but I must believe it: that prayer and fasting go together like peanut butter and jelly.  If we want answers, fattening is the polar opposite of fasting.
    
     I'm still waiting for that phone call as I watch the leaves shower the ground while a storm cloud passes by this otherwise blue sky day.  Sunday was also one of those days.  I spent several hours conversing in the sunshine not even noticing the kids putting rocks in all 4 of my pockets, which is entirely different than I thought the day would go.  It didn't go how Miranda thought it would either when at their store's party, and as she sat on the edge of their boss's porch, the neighbor's dog raised his leg to her back and "marked" her!  .............We had gotten in bed at 2:30 am after Michael's double overtime victory near Charlotte.  I was unprepared for the 50 degree evening, but it was so worth it to watch the boys come together in a full blown effort to win, as the steam rose from inside their helmets under the field lights.  Toward the end of the game, I could hear Michael's laugher from the field and I knew they were in it to win it. 
     Upon their well fought victory, our best Receiver did flips.  His mother was looking on, glad for him I'm sure.  She and I met a few weeks ago and I haven't seen her 'til this game.  It was vital for me to get an update after our last conversation.  You see, after a lengthy personal talk, she was the first "stranger" I point blank asked if they wanted to receive Christ right then and there.  That's kinda sad since I'm a "21 year old" Christian.  Makes my issues with Mike being a "3 year old" Christian seem sorta minor.   He led someone to Christ as a "1 year old" Christian!  "My Mike?"!
     Say what you want about the brutality of football.  I, too, protested when Michael's Daddy signed him up at 8 years old, but I'm on board now.   The fellowship, the leadership, the testing, the tempering, the moving past the threshold of pain and finding what they're made of. 
     That's exactly what Macklynn's team did earlier that afternoon.  As the gray sky sprinkled the ground, they played the team that's always winning.  Dare I say how difficult it is for a Caucasian team to over one that is not?!
     We pushed and got a Safety to tie things up.  Then, in the last 27 seconds, we got the game winning touchdown.   The team got the first championship since the '70s!  It helped overshadow the fact that before we moved to the other side of the field, a kid had splattered throw up all over the back of Michael's coat as we sat in the stands!
     Back to Sunday, I did not want to crawl out of bed after so little sleep.  Madalynn came to crawled up to snuggle and I observed that as she lay there her hair intermingled with mine making it completely indistinguishable.  Savoring moments like that makes it even harder to get on the move.
    It was only right that I get up a go, especially since I was willing to do it in the rain and cold for games the day before.  I had forgotten that my hair needed to be washed; so after throwing on clothes from the floor, the littles and I got there a full 45 minutes after the bigs did, 20 minutes after the service started.  The circumstances of the morning and the clothes were very similar to "Day we joined" post.
     The sermon was worth getting up and driving for.  It always is though.  As a matter of fact, I caught Mike and asked him to watch it online with me since he missed it Sunday.  I love God's timing.  To ice the cake, Miranda, after washing her car and fishing with Macklynn and her new pole, is spoiling me the way she did Monday night when we arrived home from practice where I talked so passionately with 3 women at Macklynn's practice (since Michael declined his to help a neighbor pour a cement pad), who had their Gall Bladders removed and pronounced it a big problem in the area, that I wasn't the least bit cold in my T-Shirt. - reworded!
    When we arrived, the table was set with our china.  Christmas music was playing as it is now.  An evergreen candle was lit and cinnamon was steeping on the stovetop.  A plate of ham, beans, corn, and sweet potatoes was made for me.  She even made homemade applesauce.  It was so good that I think I'll never get store bought again!  All this confirmed to me how wonderful it is for anyone returning home to such a setting.
     As I enjoyed the succulent meal, Miranda detailed Megan's afternoon for me.  A man who had self diagnosed his car came intent on getting the motor of his window fixed or replaced.  Upon inspection Megan informed the Service Advisor that is was only a simple track problem.  The man was so grateful for her honesty that her tipped her $10.  Later a woman came in hoping to find out what was wrong with her car but with no money to compensate for it.  She followed Megan around to make sure she didn't do anything that she could charge her for.  The most pressing matter was coolant, so Megan put the $10 tip plus $6 more to cover it.  I don't know what the woman said or felt, but Megan's been looking for a ministry.  I think it might just be right where she is, there in the oldest Ford dealership in North Carolina. 

     The call has finally come and the CT was clear, not sure if that means clear for gall stones or for all abdominal abnormalities.  Tomorrow I'll push for an ultrasound, which is the only way to see if the gall bladder is functioning.  I'm thoroughly glad that no "acute illness" has been found.  I'm fully aware that people are diagnosed with things like Cystic Fibrosis every day. 
     Excuse me now, while I join my family for seasoned ribs and savory kale.  Life is hard but the good stuff makes up for it.

Tuesday morning:  so many things I could list like what the sound of geese migrating overhead felt like or how our family meal Friday night was so lively that it felt as though a movie scene where the camera moves around the table from conversation to conversation or how it felt like the slowdown of last week allowed the song back in my heart or how Melody's long calls from Georgia warmed my soul or how I could've permanently altered the life of another driver in the blink of an eye or how excited Dad was to play Corn Hole for the first time or how moving it was to see the pictures and hear the stories of me and my massive grandfather who was murdered when I was 5.   
    But right now I don't have it in me.  I've learned once more not to release the hold on my feelings.  I was supposed to ride to the mountains for lunch, but he assumed I didn't want to go.  As I was getting excited about going, I didn't know he would leave me hanging.  I feel like some stupid teenager letting myself get stood up.  He says he can't believe I'd think he's that mean.  I don't know what to think.  He just got a call that his blood work shows zeroed out Testosterone.  Not sure I should say this, but by God if I have hormone issues, it ain't nothing but a thang.  As a matter of fact, I'm accused of being hormonal even when I'm not.  When I'm the least bit tumultuous it must be my "hormones".  I'm pretty tired of being dismissed.  I'm pretty tired of reading marriage self help books.  I'm way past that now.  Don't you ever feel that way?  This is God and me.  What will I do?  Key word is "will".  Surely I'm on the high side of  forgiving 70 times 70.  Maybe he feels the same way.  As I let the tears roll for an hour or so, I sat in the bathroom and said out loud, "This is where I am.  And I'm supposed to 'help' him."  It's not about what I want to do; it's about what I will do.  If I don't, then I don't trust that God knows what He's doing. 
     "Only for those who can handle the truth" POST +?

   I can't help but think he left me here today because I wasn't interested in being intimate last night.  He surely didn't forget to put in his wallet the $600 I left on the dresser for him to determine to tithe or not.  He was distant after his first day back to work and I just couldn't make myself do it.  This ............. is hard enough.  I even asked God one night as I lay in bed, "How do I do this?"  Believe it or not, before it finished rolling out of my mind, I heard, "Every time he wants to."  WHAT?!  The only way this would work and not be the "just do it" torture, is to be in the frame of mind of a servant continually.  I'm still trying to wrap my mind around that, that there is more to it than my being an object, that there is something higher that I don't understand. 

Thursday night:  Halloween - When Michael and I get back from practice, we're watching "Monsters University".  Megan kindly contributed it and 4 bags of candy.  Right now, I'm sitting in the McDonalds parking lot in the car under a light post (because the van's interior front lights are blown) to write in the "Blog Journal" Melody gave me.  I ate a $1 Grilled Onion Cheddar Burger because I forgot to eat while I was in debate with our pastor about this very holiday.  Our church is having a "Trunk or Treat" as an "outreach".  When all is said and done, I'm still not "on board". 
     In it, what I HAVE come to understand is that the Bible says not to do specific things.  Everything else is a question of "why" we're doing it and even then, we can't project that on other people.  Plus, the only time I can speak forcefully on that kind of subject is when I'm confident the person is "primed" already ...and foreseeing that takes a deep personal relationship with Christ.  It's rarely as "cut and dry" as we'd like, else we wouldn't need Him at all.  And, really, it all boils down to pride:  "Pride believes self to be of greater value but will in time leave one with nothing to hold but lonely judgment," ~ Michael Pearl. 
     Yesterday's ultrasound proved that McKala's Gall Bladder is no longer viable and needs to be removed.  I nearly cried at the results because I'm so glad to get another sound diagnosis in the mysteries of her misery. 
     The last 24 hours have been laced with precious impressions of Madalynn.  She lost her first tooth, which is the "last first tooth" any of my children will lose.  In Harper fashion, she pulled it herself.  It's so very tiny and although we don't give any credence to the "Tooth Fairy", I do think she deserves a little something.
     She said the cutest thing when we headed for the car last night.  Miranda called "shotgun" and instantaneously Madalynn called "BB gun!"  Such wit.
    Then as we left last night, she overheard Pastor Kevin speaking to another man, to which she said, "I'M saved."  She's 5 years old but she had said to me a few weeks ago that it happened in her bed.  This was the 2nd time she'd proclaimed it.  McKala was also very young.  Mary Beth Chapman speaks of it too.  Who am I to question it?  I'll only disciple "it". 
      Tonight, I'm also thinking of Michael's teammate's mother.  Billy Graham's "My Hope" televised broadcast is coming up.  We're encouraged to show hospitality by inviting people from our "circle of influence" into our homes to eat, watch, listen to our testimonies, and hopefully receive the joy of Christ into their own lives.  I've thought of a handful of people for months now, but the person who popped into my mind was this woman, the one I got to share my story of Christ with many games back. 
     The conversation started when we laughed about a couple of women screaming and pacing the track around the field as though they were at a soccer game. You know the sort, who take it far too seriously!
     I was alone and so was she, so she moved up beside me to the top seat of the bleachers.  We talked about our sons and then their fathers and then our pasts.  It's as though she couldn't see my color and I couldn't see hers.  It was time for me to pop the question, if she would accept Christ.  I've never done that, not point blank like that.  What a sad revelation, that in 21 years of being saved, I haven't.  She said she knew some things would have to change if she did.  I told her Jesus would guard her for her faith and would supply her needs.  She didn't make a profession but at game's end, she did allow me to hold her hand and pray in front of anybody who wanted to see.  I hadn't done that either, not with a "stranger".  I warned her that my praying outloud skills weren't that good.  We both cried and hugged.  She thanked me as we parted ways.
     I was somewhat disappointed that a decision wasn't made but I also was overcome with how God had used me that day, my initiation into His cause for someone besides my own family, of believers and of flesh and blood. 
    Our church is hosting the airing of "My Hope".  Also, the principal of the nearby high school is opening his home for it.  He invited Michael and whomever he wants to bring.  The very night I thought of her and wrote the woman's name on my hand, Michael had also thought to invite her son!
    Another thought prevails, the 6 $100 bills Mike has in his wallet.  I spent everything else rent and $77 worth of groceries for the week.  I had been setting aside 10% cash each time Mike got a Workman's Comp check, hoping that tithing would continue even in these unexpected shortfalls.  Finally, a couple of weeks ago, he told me I could do whatever I wanted to do with it.  I told him I couldn't do it for him, that it wouldn't be "from" him, that he wouldn't be the "credit" for a joyful offering to the Lord.  So, I sat it on the bulletin from last Sunday, his first Sunday back.  And what was that subject?  Giving!  The story of God telling Elijah to go eat at the home of a woman and her son who only had enough flour and oil for one more meal.  But she gave it to Elijah when he asked and daily her flour and oil were replenished.  Wow!
      Then, my mind wondered and asked itself if I had had sex with Mike the night before so that he would tithe. My mind moved and smiled at the remembrance of videos by .....Emmanuel................ brothers Michael and I watched one night until we couldn't stay awake. 
     No, I don't manipulate my husband that way!  BUT my female wiles do tell me when my stubbornness, no matter how founded, is affecting the rest of my life.  When a man is left "wanting", all else really begins "waning".  And we women have to take ownership in that. 

Friday night:  This afternoon Mike got called out to floods in Texas, so he's off! Post from last fall?  Admittedly there was a family "YES!" resounding as the news spreads.  That sounds ugly but truth is a man is more agreeable and prospers most when he is out "conquering the world", not lying in front a TV wondering what else is going to go wrong. 
     I sit here watching Michael with his teammates.  He has on a black shirt he's had for 4 years.  He's cut off the sleeves and just keeps wearing it.   It says, "Pain is weakness leaving the body".  We should absolutely apply that to all circumstances.
     As the boys walked to the new astroturf field under the brilliantly orange Maple leaves waving in the wind that the clouds pushed in, I noticed the flag flying handsomely over it all.  "The Boys of Fall" was playing in my head.  I savor the these moments of majesty.  If I didn't know any better, I'd make a good Pantheist. 
     The game was beginning and Harold and John, 2 older gentlemen we met while volunteering in local floods, approached to see Michael play for the first time.  I was moved at the sentiment but hated they'd come to a game that was literally out of our league, very similar to BAMA playing Georgia State in a preseason game!  As a matter of fact, the other team has a high school sophomore who is so good that he's already "committed to" The Tide. 
      In the first quarter, the professionally clothed private schoolers scored 3 times, on our half a team that showed up.  I found out later Michael at Defensive End was paired against a senior the whole game.  He held his own heroically and got through to sack their quarterback in the second half.  He was a fingertip away from doing it again on the next play. 
     He never came out of the game from offense or defense except when his helmet was knocked off.  BUT, I had to bear in mind we're there for more than the glory.  I had lost track of where the woman I wanted to invite to "My Hope" was.  I panicked just a little and look up to the dark sky and asked God to show me where I could find her.  I kid you not; she was standing right there in front of me as soon as I looked down.  We sat together for the rest of the game.  Well, we didn't really sit because we were on our feet as our boys got stronger in the second half.  We still got slammed but we knew our 15 boys did their very best against the stiff competition of the 4 dozen players on a state ranked team.
     I didn't try to fool her about what it is and I asked her if she'd come.  She works on the weekends and wasn't sure if she could, but I'm still praying that the way is paved for her. 
     Since no one had made it home in time for us to leave and since I also didn't want the young ones to go because of the forecast of rain, Michael and I were once again alone and driving home.  We talked and we sang.  He's too laid back to sing on purpose with me but when the ride gets long and the song is familiar, it just happens naturally. 
      We got home after 11 pm and had to be at the Crisis Pregnancy Center's yard sale at 7 am.  Madalynn and Macklynn had agreed to donate all the things they had wanted to sell in their own yard sale and I agreed to match their proceeds.  They were so excited but Macklynn couldn't go because the blisters I thought he'd escaped from the HFMD had finally presented.  Bless his heart, he and I laughed that for him, it's the HFMEPD!  One is the ear; you fill in the extra part. 
     Madalynn was in heaven among the items.  There was a little boy there all day "helping" her try out all the toys for sale.  She was given several unsold ones she liked because she behaved so well.  We were fed and sent home with some food, nice provision for a "slow" week like this one.  
     3 of our big kids got up to help also and were glad to spend some time getting to know a young woman from our church who has helped on ministry ranches out West.  She too had had Whooping Cough AND a dose of Diphtheria to go along with it!  An immediate kinship was formed and  McKala's eyes lit up.  A new connection giving an avenue of hope for her passion for horses and missions gives her something to look forward to on her path to wellness.  We all need that, keeping in mind God's will and timing, of course.

Sunday morning:  Didn't set the clocks; woke everybody up too early; good thing is I had plenty of time to make breakfast finally.  During Mike's first week back to work, it got diverted every day, beginning with the pork chops I didn't remember he didn't like. 
     Macklynn complained yesterday and today of his chest hurting.  When I looked it up and found out there is rare complication of HMFD that inflames the heart.  Understand that Macklynn was born with a flipped heart - Post "Macklynn".  Then, he had Transverse Myelitis.  Soooo, I don't take anything for granted. 
     There's more to it though.  We all have truths we don't reveal, things we're ashamed to admit.  One of mine is that Macklynn is my "sensor".  When I was pregnant with him, I was heavily burdened with loneliness and tempted ever so much.  Macklynn was born barely missing the need for open heart surgery.  Grace extended to me and I knew it.  When Macklynn was 4 years old, I was even lonelier and more tempted to recklessly give my affections away if only in mind and Macklynn became quadriplegic.  He completely recovered.  Grace was extended once again to me and I knew it. 
    Lately, loneliness has revisited me. "Alone" Post.  My senses have wandered again and Macklynn is complaining of chest pains.  Sad that a person needs a "gauge" to keep her in fear of the Lord, isn't it?  I have to live by its readings and thank Him for them.  A child sometimes in peril because of his mother, if nothing else will cause fear and awe, that will.
     God is my friend, my confidante, the lover of my soul, my source.  It should be well with me for it to only be he and I.  He returns to remind me that in my loneliness I am never alone and not to look anywhere else for the comfort only He can provide.

Wednesday morning:  I lay in bed listening to the sounds of Michael, Miranda, and Megan readying for work.  I lay under the fan I turned on as the humidity rose last night.  I lay there having had another strange dream.  I needed a shower.  I wanted to finish the last 30 pages of the book I'd started.  And I thought they'd both go well with coffee, flavored with what remained of the eggnog ice cream McKala got me.
     The bath and coffee were fine except that I didn't have quite enough light to read.  I didn't in the orthodontist office yesterday either.  I suppose my age is catching up with me. 
      So, I sat in my Hounds tooth robe by the window on the loveseat Memaw and Pop brought us with one of the matching pillows I got from the yard sale tucked behind my back.  Except for the dishwasher, everything in the house was still quiet and I got to finish those last pages.  I'm glad that I didn't go through with my plan to do it last night.  I was groggy from all the running around.  I'd been gone with the kids' doctor appointments, groceries, library, trash, and practice for the better part of 2 days and I've hauled that book around with me the whole time.  If I had finished it last night, I might not have felt the impact that was intended for me. 
     The book came to me on Saturday as we were packing the Mission House truck with unsold yard sales items.  There was a book with a substantial name, "Beyond Ourselves," although the cover left much to be desired.  There'd been water damage and even a trace of  mold. 
     It was written by Catherine Marshall and published in 1961.  The deeper I got into it, the more timeless I knew it was.  Right in my lap plopped the life of woman I understood so much.  She went on about a female writer she endeared from the 1800s.  I only hope to reveal here the helpful vulnerabilities that she revealed and to pass on to someone else who's looking for far more than their present state of her being.  It would be a disservice if I didn't insist that each individual following these pages find her book and immerse themselves in it. 
     I cried a pool of tears when I wrapped up the book, asking God to take away every bit of the me that's left here and to replace it with the beauty of His presence.  I sat stunned that God had once again put something wonderful in my way.  There was no coincidence.  I hadn't stumbled on it.  I hadn't gone looking for it either.  My eyes were open and it crossed my path.
     That's how I have to do life.  It may seem haphazard and unintentional.  What it is is directional, Godward.  I don't "crash doors" (as Mrs. Marshall puts it) anymore.  I keep an awareness that God is constantly moving me away from my myself and closer to Him.  Otherwise, I would be worthless and am, left to my own devices.
     No longer do I go to the book store with money I don't have and hope to buy the right one.  No longer do I go to the clothing store with a closet full of clothes already and assume because something's on sale that it needs to be nabbed.  No longer do I go to the grocery store and fret over a precise menu.  And for some time now against my "better judgment" I don't worry over "learning materials or experiences" for the kids.  Meatier ones that I couldn't have provided always "show up" right when they're needed. 
     So what I would call a "natural life" is not one just of self reliant country living but one of God walking before me and setting it all up in a way I could never fathom.  "Lean not on thine own understanding ....."  It also doesn't mean I twiddle my thumbs until it comes my way.  We are ever busy with something, but I'm always glimpsing upwards for the next sign, as gentle as it may be, of what I'm to do next, whether it be in Spirit, Mind, or Body.  I am commanded to love and serve Him with all of me.  I can do nothing but teach the same to our children, alongside them and in front of them. 

Thursday morning:  I was awakened at 5 am ...again.  This happens a lot, but has happened consistently the last two weeks no matter how late I go to bed.  I'm immediately called to prayer and the surge that normally only coffee provides rises up in me.  I pray about the near misses and the what ifs.  I pray about things in a much more passionate way than I do in the daytime. 
     I've been rationalizing that I need to drift back off to sleep because I'll be tired in the afternoon, which always tempts me to eat.  When I go back to sleep though I have disturbing dreams.  I'm bad in them in a way that Satan must know is His only entryway into my existence.  My passion for Christ turns to a passion for men, one long gone from me.  It's a prime example of the demented twists the Evil One can form in the soul.  So, tomorrow morning I do believe I'll get on up when I'm beckoned!

Thursday afternoon:  Heard sounds outside my bathroom window.  Peeked through the blinds to see a sky full of leaves and the little ones running after them.  There's nothing like the spontaneous release of another year's glory.  It's as good as snow to me.
     I'd been in my room reassessing my "look" after McKala was braiding my hair into up dos last night when they got home from church and we all sat around the table laughing and recounting the day.  I cherish the candor the kids have with me.
     While they were gone to church, I stayed home with Macklynn because his HFMD has given way to Impetigo.  Upon their departure, I asked him, "How much trouble can we get into?"  He turned up the music loud and ran through the house and murmured something about rolling the neighbor's yard!  Then, he asked me to make tea, which I never do late in the day.  He was bent on watching a movie and having popcorn.  I don't like popcorn, biscuits, rice, or marshmallows; so be sure that I was doing it for him, including the movie.  He picked, "The Grinch", and although there is no mention of Jesus, I do like the overall lesson of it.  We snuggled both of us on one couch cushion under a blanket with our tea and popcorn.
     Afterwards, we played Connect Four and Sorry as I began to worry about where the other kids were at 10 pm.  no cells.  McDonald's.
    Today McKala begged to me for permission to drive Michael back up to Dr. Miller's office so she can take a second ride on the horses he adopted that he keeps behind the office.  I had to say yes, in spite of my reluctance. 
     Megan just left after having to come home to sleep off another excruciating headache.  An old knee injury waits in line with it for insurance on her Daddy's policy to kick in on January 1st.  She's so full of angst about her future that I can't help but think the ailments play a part in keeping her "still" for a while, so as not to chase the next big accomplishment but to delve into the character of God in an intimate way that no "good work" can reveal.  That can be a scary place, undressed before God. 
    That nakedness is something I'm trying to be comfortable with, absolute transparency - naked or clothed.  I think it's interesting that I find myself singing along with the radio as I get dressed and often stop to truly sing it out to God before I'm completely clothed.  I can't and don't want to hide from Him. 
    I do still hide from people, especially my husband, not as much because of the stretch marks and varicose veins but because of the things I can change and haven't.  The problem with self consciousness ARE the thoughts of self that swarm around, keeping our focus off the very ones God wants to impact. 
    POST?

Thursday evening:  What a day.  As I was speaking with Dad about the boxes of pecans he had shipped at Dr. Miller's request from the South Georgia roadside store on his way to off shore fishing, McKala and Michael got home with great anticipation on their faces to tell a story.
     After they helped put up some shelves, they got to go on a farm call to "check" pregnant cows, as in arm ............ "check" and then got to watch spaying and nurturing and were treated to lunch by Dr. Miller.  Afterwards, they went on an afternoon horseback ride.  As they raced across the field, Michael spotted something out of the ordinary.  Undercover agents were happy to go and pick it up.  It was another instance of cognition acquired from the shows they watch with their Daddy paying off!
    Presently Michael is muzzle loader hunting and Melody is preparing the chicken she's wanted ever since we had it at a banquet in the Spring:  mozzarella stuffed chicken wrapped in bacon along with green beans and potatoes spiced as though they were Red Lobster biscuits.  She is growing right up.  I'm so glad she had such special treatment in Georgia: quilting, antiquing, dress shopping, day tripping to the beach, Judgment House attending, Georgia Aquarium and Atlanta Symphony visiting, nail doing, cousins

Friday morning:  Read, eat, teach, and clean.  Every list I've ever made as an adult has had some variation of these words on it.  No matter the busyness, the distractions, I always return to them.  They are the heart of the matter, this life. 
     If I don't read God's directions, how will I know where I'm going?  If I don't eat properly and moderately, how can I be pleased with myself and wholly used?  If I don't teach the children everything that comes to me within a day, how will I reach them?  And if I don't keep what I'm blessed with clean and orderly, why do I deserve to have it?  If I don't do it all in love with some measure of fun and creativity, then it's hardly worth doing at all. 

Sunday morning:  Clock was set for 8:15 am but Madalynn was up making herself coffee before 7.  I try not to let them have it more than twice a week.  It would've been adorable if she had been quieter.  We keep lots of things in glass jars and they clanged 'til I couldn't go back to sleep.  It wouldn'tve mattered anyway because the dogs were agitated and barking. 
     I'm still not good and awake.  I guess because I carried a heavy load yesterday.  Not only did I clean up the basement some more but also prayed heartily for several people in my life who need to know my God.  Then, at church with around 250 other people we watched "Ring the Bell".  Loved it and found myself crying a handful of times. 
    A good friend we don't get to see often asked it we wanted to go eat afterwards with her and her girls.  I told her, "Only if it had a dollar menu!"  Arby's was quickly agreed upon and the 14 of us "took it over", if you will.  We got the store to change the channel to the BAMA vs LSU game and proceeded to have a happy time. 
     My friend and I managed to get in a lot of soulful talk under the radar of the other rambunctious conversations.  She has so many of the same thoughts for her fellow man on her heart that I do.  It was just the icing on the cake for such a monumental day, a day where I fully clothed myself in the armor of Christ so that I might "win some". 
     You see, only hours before, I'd gotten a reply of forgiveness from someone I'd harshly parted ways with just as I was beginning to blog:  "Standing in the Gap".  (night in Charlotte)
     So now, I can hear Madalynn sleeping soundly on the loveseat with the picturesque scenery of colorful oak tree through the window above her.  The two ducks she showed me this morning are still peacefully enjoying what the pond has to offer.  Yesterday, I sat there taken by the beauty of leaves riding on the waves of wind, some spiraling to the ground and some resisting as they lay flat and floated as far across the yard as they could.  I'd been praying there an hour before I realized it.

    This Monday morning as I waited on a neighbor who called and said she wanted to bring some meat from their freezer and a bag of clothes, I sat on the porch and soaked up the serenity of my surroundings.  Leaves weren't whisking about but falling silently one by one.  The only sounds I heard were the birds singing and the crunch of the leaves beneath the puppy's paws.  I don't need to go
on a "retreat" as long as I have this one.
     For a reason I still don't remember I began to think again of the anniversary that did me in.  It must've been 10 years ago.  I looked as good as I possibly could.  I had a tan from the nude sunbathing that the privacy of our balcony afforded.  I had on my white linen pants and turquoise top.  My hair was sun bleached.  I was swimming every day and although I was pregnant with Macklynn, you couldn't tell yet.  I was ever so amorous though, as I was with every pregnancy.
     Mike was coming in off the road.  I had everything, I mean everything, just so.  The kids assisted in setting up and serving us at formal table with flowers on the balcony.  We cooked Filet Mignon.  I had Champagne, as he prefers it over wine.  I had music, personalized music.  I had planned to seduce him afterwards out in the woods of the property.  I had actually hoped to fulfill my desire to perform it in the rain and had bought a small tarp for the ground. 
    At some point during our meal, he said he wanted to go in and watch the race ...and he did ...and I was annihilated.  Should I have gone in with him if my heart had been in the right place?  Probably.  But I finished off the bottle and closed the doors of my heart.  I couldn't subject myself to it anymore.  I had given my best and my best was not good enough. 
    Because I was focusing so much on outward things because it was all I knew to do to entice him, especially after he hated my prior humility get up of long dresses, no make-up or jewelry, hair pulled back.  Perhaps my heart wasn't in the right place then either.  I was hiding.  I was hiding from men and from my own self.  I was tipping the balance too far no matter what I tried. 
    Every man but my husband seemed to notice me.  And I could fend them off but there was one, one I saw every day because Mike had bought us a membership at the pool.  He was a life guard straight out of the service.  The kids were young but old enough to tease that he had assigned himself to be "my" lifeguard.  I couldn't escape his gaze.  He was young and beautiful and quietly intelligent, and I was at my prime and dejected.  I quit wearing make-up, anything I could think of to detract his attention.  What I should've done was just quit going, but I would've had to explain the cause to everyone.  Isn't that how we get trapped in our circumstances?  We can't and won't be honest enough to admit our frailties, to confess outloud our dark thoughts to somebody, anybody?! 
    Thankfully, I had a friend who recognized the pull and used the word "dishonorable" to describe the situation, and THEN I got to hear the magnanimous Neal Hatfield in the gymnasium at my friend's church.  He was speaking to young people, as he always does so profoundly, about purity.  He didn't know until I told him last year that he was preaching to me. 
    You see, God won't leave you or me.  He put people and events in my way to bring me back, to rescue me from myself, back to reality.  Then, I was wholly broken and clung to Jesus ...because aside from my children, He was all I had.  At that time, although I'd been saved 12 years, I didn't understand that I was idolizing human love, marriage even.  I wouldn't be happy unless I'd found a way to make my husband happy.  I really thought I was right in that, that I didn't deserve fulfillment until I could get into the far reaches of my husband to make him happy.  Even though I knew I couldn't "save" him, I thought I could get to him somehow.  I had to; I was losing feeling ...and what I thought was my humanity.
   
     Last night, we trekked to the church to see perhaps the final message from 95 year old Billy Graham.  The church's local high school principal also showed it by projector on the side of his barn and then gave a spontaneous heartfelt testimony.  With the glow of the bonfire, I can't imagine a better setting.  People were moved but not like we're used to seeing at the stadiums Billy Graham has graced.
    The volunteer counselors at our church didn't have anyone come to them even though the room was full of people.  We couldn't persuade any lost person we know to come with us.  Megan commented on the way home that maybe "we're too far gone".  Later, Michael said something I've never heard him mention, that "maybe we are that close to the 'end'". 
    Maybe they're right and just maybe, this final call of Dr. Graham's to reach the lost turned into a call of WHO will reach the lost.  The ones who've been confronted by his preparatory message to bring people into our homes and churches to view the program are likely forever evangelists.  The ones of us who have never point blank asked someone if they want to receive Christ have done so now and have embarked on our very own mission.
    "home churches" until the 3rd Century
     Heather called me just after I came inside to update me on her friend's brother's abducted wife and young son.  I've hoped that since the typhoon hit the Philipines they would be given an avenue of escape.  Presently they are on a ship that is docking today.  Today is the attempt for escape.  It's so surreal that I write about and pray for this woman and child on the other side of the world suffering at the hands of evil men.
     As I went on and on about what "My Hope" as propelled me to, she was holding back an even bigger story.  She has a heart after God.  This I knew and of her husband also.  They've just had their 5th child and have dedicated their lives to teaching them and learning to live hardily off the land. 
    Her husband has a burden for the hearts of young men and along with his fulltime work, had returned to classes to follow into what he thought would be the next step to being a "youth minister".
Like Michael, he's not a happy camper unless he's outside hiking, working, playing ...so classes were a tortuous necessity.
    God knew their hearts and a piece of property they'd dreamed to buy as an investment is now being benevolently financed by someone who caught wind that God had changed their dream to one of  a camp to train young men the ways of God.  It's come about swiftly to people who are otherwise unassuming walking the walk in their daily lives.  I'm overjoyed at the prospects!  And that they want our children available for this mission. 
     Give God you heart, your plans, your life and he'll meet you where you are and do things that you can't even contemplate.  - pic of <3 on tree

Thursday morning:  Macklynn and Madalynn are tucked into my bed with McKala ready to watch "Anne of Green Gables".  I'm about to pick up a few things at the store for her after I visit my elderly friend who was at the birthday party we had.  She lost her 16 year old daughter to a 3 month ordeal with doctors and the hospital when her gall bladder ruptured. 
     I'm searching for the right understanding to thank God for modern technology, to understand how big a deal it is that they could make 4 small holes and burn out a gall bladder that was swollen 3 times normal size, and to be home in bed resting 7 hours later. 
     What else is a big deal is Mike deciding, against lots of advice, not to sue the doctor and to trust McKala into his hands.  Mike called me from Texas before the surgery and asked if I would pray with the doctor and McKala.  I'm not too good out loud but God led me through a short yet eloquent prayer.  In Mike's extending the doctor the "grace card", I think the doctor's heart is lent to us. 
     I asked him in the post operative conference if he had, not only been "saved", but if he is "walking with Christ".  He leaned forward and told me, "I don't share this with many people, but ...."  He told me vividly about the day he met Jesus and how he prayed on the way to work that God will use him.
    Sometimes when you think you need to share Christ, it's just a way of helping other people start sharing Him also.  I went ahead and gave him my last "My Hope" video in hopes he would be inspired.
    Taking a bath brings out the "woman" in me for some reason, so as I did so I thought over a lot of things this morning.  Two nights ago I saw that an attractive single woman had "friended" Mike.  Funny how a person can go from nonchalant to vigilante in no time flat.  I sent him a message right away that I wasn't comfortable with it.  It was interesting also that the very next morning, an attractive single man from my high school hometown sent me a friendship "request".  I told him "no" and why.  Crazy how our pride makes us think we can handle it and that we're weak if we don't.  Of course, we're weak - that's why we stay in so much trouble when we don't surrender it at the foot of the cross. 
     Here's the thing: "good looking" we say is vanity and of this world and is fleeting.  Then why is that we respect it so much?  Yes, I said respect.  Men, and even I, respect a woman more who takes obvious measures to care for herself.  It's really not about what we're born with.  Dependence on pretty faces makes way for flabby bodies all the time. 
    Now, I don't mean the "salon" look.  Fake is never a substitute for natural beauty.  We all have God given attributes though and need to nurture them, especially for our spouses or the future spouses of the yet married.  "All that's overrated."  Oh, really?  Then I guess breakfast to a hungry stomach and blankets to a cold body are also.  Basic needs are basic needs.
    How is that our husbands get bound up in porn?  Yes, a percentage are just perverts with an insatiable appetite where too much is never enough, something their parents never nipped in the bud, such is the fate of most American young men. 
    But, there are other men who are good willed and simply starving for affection.  Right off the bat, I could name 5 I know.  I can see it in their posture and in their separation in public settings. Their wives trust them and know they'll never abandon their families, but they leave them dangling, empty and susceptible. 
    When is the last time you had an orgasm?  Isn't it ecstasy?  That's what porn promises the man who enters.  Perhaps he's too lazy to do the work that an exciting love life demands OR he's quit trying because you've made the kids and the house and the work and the church and the friends and the shopping more valuable than he is.  Perhaps you have too big a burden to carry and you need to rethink how you spend the hours of your day.  Perhaps he controls you into a life of perfection but you know something has to give.  Be willing to give up every thing ....and reveal your heart to him.
    He's a jerk and you don't want to be intimate with him?  He must have breakthrough moments, the moments you married him for.  Pounce on those and give in to him.  As dutiful as it seems, find pleasure in it somehow.
    If so many of us weren't on the "pill", I'd say to be keenly aware of ovulation because emotional walls come down when the freight train of the body's desire to become pregnant overruns them.   Your husband will be glad to  assist you.  Is that selfish?  I suppose so.  But the ice has to break somewhere. 
     And for goodness sake, don't be guilty as I have of lying there non participating.   There's nothing more unattractive or disappointing.  On the other hand, there's nothing more humiliating than lying there for a man who has no interest in your soul.  Only you can find the moments that God lays out to seize for His good will.
     The good Ed Wheat said to sleep naked.  Simple, isn't it?  Not if you have to get up a hundred times a night with a baby.  But we'll use any excuse won't we.  I have.  I've even stayed in the bathroom until I was sure Mike was asleep, but the one thing we still never do is intentionally go to bed without the other.  Going to bed at separate times on purpose is a marriage crusher.   Harsh as it sounds, you might as well get the papers ready.
     When's the last time you looked at yourself naked?  I don't mean you, the one who's at the gym every day appreciating the guacking of men and the jealousy of women.  You're aloof and far too into yourself to be concerned with what your husband thinks of you.  I mean, you, the one who lays your life down for your family, who misses social functions to be a mother, who gets your kids things they need instead of treating yourself.  When is the last time you felt comfortable naked?
     I've been pregnant 63 months of my life and nursed for 116 months.  As my husband made the mistake of telling one the kids a few years back, "that 'they' are all used up", I have to admit that's how I feel a lot of the time.  No matter the weight loss and perhaps because of weight loss, there are things that "ain't never" going back to where they were. 
     That's something that each of us, even if it's just age related, have to contend with at some point.  Then we have to decide if we're going to be Indian Givers and take back from our husbands the bodies we once surrendered to them OR if we're going to make the best of it. 
    For me, the "best of it" isn't going to be the erotic dance lesson tapes I trashed a ways back.  It's not going to be the thigh high boots I nearly killed myself in at the steak place.  It's not going to be the reminiscent rock music that draws forth the vixen I used to be. 
     It's going to something similar to the laugh we had when the mood came and Christian music was blaring on the radio.   As I approached the bed, I was tempted to turn it but I didn't.  I can't keep carrying the connotations of my past with me.  I need something holy, something in white.  I can't even do "dirty Santa", not because I'm unwilling to try new things for my husband, but because my heart can't bear anything else that makes her ugly, makes her look back, makes her compare, makes feel any less than pure. 
     It's not going to be in broad daylight without being in close proximity because my "naked" isn't pretty.  It's still no excuse to hold my body hostage from my husband.  Creativity is something women are inclined toward, so let's use it.  There are low lights and sheer fabrics for those of us who don't have the benefits women of color do.? They also age so much more gracefully than we do.
    There are bubbles - Pic and Anniversary Post. 
     So, aren't our husbands worth pushing away those extra bites and working in some extra movement throughout the day?  Exercise always falls last on my list as if the children and house are more important than my confidence and willingness as a wife.  If I would follow God's order for the day instead of my own ideas, I'm sure He would supply plenty of time for me to cover each base.  But I resist; I excuse; I procrastinate. 
     So, let me ask that again.  Isn't obedience to God to VERSE worth pushing away those extra bites and working in some extra movement throughout the day?  Be honest.  Or do you not mind your husband eying other women because it keeps him off your back?  You may not notice but the rest of us do.  You may not care but you will be held accountable and your children will pay the price of the example you set. 
     I don't know what floats your husband's boat but you know.  I keep my hair long but my toenails and fingernails are nothing more than trimmed and clean.  I wear color on my eyes but I don't pluck my eyebrows.  And listen, we can argue about the evils of make-up all day long, but it's just color.  How you use it and who you are trying to allure is the issue, the issue of the heart.  Solomon spoke of the jewelry that adorned his wife and the smell ...............

     I think I could go on about it tonight if not for the recent information I got about the kidnapped Filipino mother and child.  They're on a ship close to port with many children about to be sold as slaves.  I don't how she is able to keep contact but this is the last news.  It nauseates me and lets me know how much bigger the world is than my own.  Still yet, the conspirers are likely men who came from homes that were not at all committed to the Lord, void of love.  And for the night, this has come full circle.

Friday morning:  Came to the conclusion that I'm getting lazy.  Ecclesiastes warns of "much reading".  I'm  not at all apologizing for reading my Bible because  I'm learning in Deuteronomy how much God cares for his people.  It makes my "experience" with Him reach way down in my soul to learn things I would not know otherwise.  It conjures up the lyrics, "I'm sorry for the 'thing' that I've made it", ~ Back to the Heart of Worship. 
   But I've noticed the temptation to have another cup of coffee to get going with the cleaning.  Normally I thrive on cleaning and organizing.  Crazy how quickly with writing and driving and reading and talking, even related to wholesome things, that we're overtaken with apathy of the body.   Gotta switch things up.  You don't use, you loose it.  Maybe heartache or injury have taken hold.  There is a way .......

debate at any cost = pride

Monday morning:  Stayed up until I was drunk with sleepiness.  Received information that Jenna and Christian were at port close to Georgetown, Penang in Malaysia and that she, by some miracle of a hidden phone, had made known she was making a run for it last night no matter what.  This morning there is only silence.
    Last night there was mention of abductions from the airport and meetings at banks and children and injuries.  The romantic in me wants to believe that it's real and that I can make a difference.  The cynic in me has reservations that it doesn't add up and sounds more like a movie re-creation. 
    I contacted the only person I could think of who has connections with that side of the world.  I hardly know her and hope she won't be eternally leery of me.  But I couldn't be the one who did nothing if this turns out to be anything other than a ploy. 
    Of course, I prayed.  That's why I was up so late.  A small army of people had come together to cover the entire evening in prayer.  And now, we wait to see if these lives have been preserved.

    To light back down to my world is difficult; however, we have dental appointments in a while and McKala has an appointment with the Pulmonologist tomorrow.  She's run a fever before and after the gall bladder surgery and thinks her symptoms may be the onset of pneumonia. 
    She's lain in my bed all weekend as we have come and gone.  Friday night was Michael's football banquet.  After 3 hours of personal stories for each player and acknowledgments for everyone involved, came time for the All Conference winners.  This is what I posted when we got home: 

 "Michael Harper Jr was 1 of 3 Varsity All Conference! Coach said he wreaked havoc in the backfield and no one gets past him on offense. No telling how many sacks! Looks like my singing, grilling, hair cutting, earring making, pig farming, hunting, hammocking, football playing, veterinary guy is on his way! As long as God goes before him, then it's all fine by me. He played in worn out cleat...s from last year and paid for any extra equipment. Sure, we paid for the gas; but he didn't ask for one single thing extra, not even to stop and get a drink or food. At times I seemed bothered by spending my evenings 45 minutes from home; but riding along as my 15 year old son learned to drive was irreplaceable - while we talked things over or we didn't, or we listened to a sermon or we didn't, or we laughed or we didn't, or we sang aloofly or we didn't at all. That's time I don't get back and for once, I don't need a do over ...because it was time very well spent."

    Guess that says it all.

    I  was a bit worked up after thinking about how many directions this could go.  When the season began, he'd been battling knee issues; but they've diminished.  He's grown stronger and become a more strategic player.  He reports that his legs feel like they're growing again.  He's even acquired a "benefactor" who took him aside after the banquet, gave him his card, and told him he expects to see him at good football camps and to call him if money is an issue.  Wow.

    After Michael and I watched the highlights video and thumbed through the complimentary album, he stood at the door to go downstairs to his room as we talked about our family.  In reference to another member, he said, "You shouldn't make plans you can't change."  Rather profound from a 15 year old.  He continued to say that he just waits for things and they come to him.  My take is that he's sitting ready for the next big thing God places in his life.  There is nothing, I mean nothing, I could want more for him. 

    Saturday, Megan made broccoli and cheese soup and cleaned the kitchen for me.  She still can't seem to stay home for a whole day, so she was trying to convince someone to go see Thor 2 with her but no one wanted to spend the money.  Sometime in my scurrying around, it occurred to me that I hadn't been anywhere with her since her birthday.

     Then it became evident that I should not only go with her but pay her way when I remembered that she had taken our van to work and stayed late to replace our headlight and blower motor resistor, but wouldn't take money for it. 

    Let me say that there is no power lent to any being that is not from God, so I am not about Greek mythology or super heroes.  But permit me to make this observation without sounding sacrilegious.  I've been thinking for a while now that there could be some resemblance between Jesus and the Thor figure.  Not that it matters much in the scheme of things what Jesus looked like, but I can't imagine that even in all his humility that he had the sunken, pale faced, mousy haired appearance of so many illustrations. 

   He was a carpenter, working with his arms.  He was a traveler, colored by the sun.  He was a man of all men.  I do not mean in the sexual manner.  I just mean .....................

    Since I was wide awake with the Coke we shared, it seemed a good time to go on the hunt for the flat folded cloth diapers I'd committed to give to the young couple in our church who have just become parents to a son.  The father holds an interesting place in our history:  one day a couple of months after we began choir, he, the music pastor's intern, touched me on the shoulder and said he'd known we were familiar but had just pinpointed that we were the neighbors who shared the gravel drive off the Blue Ridge Parkway when he was a boy.  How neat that we would converge there. 

     I don't remember how his wife and I got on the topic of diapers, but I have 24 of them ready for her in hopes that she'll find the value in them that I did.  As I told the employee at the store, "Funny how everyone wants to 'save' the world but refuses to use cloth diapers!"  Makes no sense, except to say that when things get messy, people bug out.  And never mind the cost that's accrued. 

     Same goes for breast feeding!   "Let's go natural, well, until this isn't so glamorous."  Ugh. 

     Anyway, a small expeditionary team of Harpers made it to church yesterday and I am so very glad I was there to hear exactly what was meant for me, that it is time to

It's Monday, the 25th, and I haven't been home long from leaving Megan at the Charlotte Douglas Airport.  She's already in Dallas awaiting the connect flight to Austin.  She's driving a relief truck and trailer back to the North Wilkesboro, North Carolina home terminal.  That kind of excitement is her cup of tea.
     Lately, I wonder if our push, that we thought was support, for her to choose a career has made her stir crazy when she's home for any length of time, like she can't be alone with herself.  Did we condition her to perform a role she was not designed for?  Does she even enjoy the company of children anymore?  Has she "outgrown" the idea of home making?  Is she too used to having what she wants when she wants it? 
    As I raised her, I told her time after time that she'll need to "quit" any career that takes her away from her children.  Have I set her up to fail?  How impossible is it to "drop" everything you worked for and are in debt to?  What was I thinking?  Idealism, that's what I was thinking.
   By instilling hard work and independence, I may have inadvertently cast her in a dimension God never intended, to have desensitized "thick skin", as if Mike and I in our marriage woes didn't cause the children enough of it already.  Now, she's in thousands of dollars worth of debt, working a job that is much more tolerable than the fast pace in Fulton County, Georgia but with no real means of paying off her debts early.
    All this said, she made the "challenged" shop hand his choice flavor, strawberry, cupcakes on his birthday this week ...so the spirit of hospitality does live on in her after all. 
    Not that Miranda and Megan were ever alike, but Miranda has witnessed her sister's quandary in enough to time to forego her it.  With the support of our pastor and after another near miss of an accident, Miranda recently posted, "Stay home or on battle field?"   She's considered the options and is preparing to walk in faith where God leads and who He leads her to, meanwhile readying for that day.   She's willing to do without the things and the freedom that the money she made earlier this year would buy her. 
     After the surgery, McKala continued with a fever hovering for days just under 100 degrees.  I was ever so thankful when the NP determined that with her headaches and bulging ear drums, it was a sinus infection and unrelated to the surgery. 
     She's had her fill of TV and is reading my Catherine Marshall book from the yard sale.  She got out this weekend to see the Christmas "Light Up" of town and then the next evening to visit with friends who spontaneously invited our whole family over for spaghetti and decorating of their .............. home.  What an undertaking for their family of 4!  We sat around their kitchen in boisterous conversation until 1 am.  Later, I smiled upon the realization that the teens never stowed away to the themselves but stayed active in the adult dialogue until we left.
     Michael dropped a buck on Tuesday, gutted and skinned and sectioned it all by himself with the exception of the hind quarters I cut up for him.  That was nothing compared to the time a neighbor brought over a deer when Michael was 5 years old.  Mike was out of town and I had never done it, but I had to pull through for my excited son; so he and I spread it out on a tarp and tugged and cut late into the night.  We couldn't have been more satisfied with ourselves. 
    Wednesday, Michael and Melody had dental appointments.  We took with us 3 of the dogs and the kitten to have Rabies shots.  We also had 3 TVs and the trash for the landfill!  Oh, and we picked up dog food and salt for the well filter on the way back.  We do look like rednecks sometimes, but we get it done!
     Melody and I had a rough week.  She's not understanding that secrecy is a breach of trust.  Earlier I was ready to report that she too is embracing the aspects of creative femininity.  She homemade and piped nicely 4 dozen cookies for Macklynn's banquet.  She's made store bought quality cards to thank our Georgia family for having her.  She gets better and better with the photo shots she does - pix of Macklynn and of Madalynn
    Now that another season of football is over for us, I'm making some calls to re-enroll her in piano lessons.  Her appreciation for soulful sounds doesn't need to go undisciplined and unknown to the world.  She doesn't know it but I plan for her to participate in the Christian interpretive dance class I'm signing Madalynn up for.  That way she can move passionately without the temptation to flout herself, because that girl has got some groove in her backside!  I hope we can align it so she can finally get in the kitchen of our church to help prepare Wednesday fellowship meals.
     Everything our children do should be for the purpose of representing, worshipping, and honoring their Lord.  It doesn't have to be boring or goofy or redundant; but they have to learn to be vessels of the Lord, dying to themselves by lending their being to anyone but themselves. 
    Question I think a lot of us should ask is:  "Is my kid under the false security of salvation through the head knowledge that Christ was real, opposed to the heart knowledge of a brokenness that meets and needs Jesus Himself?"  I know a couple of parents who've seemingly thrown a sibling in the Baptismal ceremony with their brother or sister for "good measure".  Last night as I stood under the hot water streaming from the shower head, my chest hurt wondering if I had ever unwittingly done the same.  "O Glorious Day" ...When there is no apparent outward sign of the humility that is part of a living relationship with the Son of God, we would be in error not the question its reality.  Is that traumatizing to a child?  Possibly.  Is it worth not letting the child glide through life under false security?  Absolutely.
     The only time we don't all sit together as a family in service is on Wednesday night when the little ones have Awanas.  Macklynn came back from his class because no one was there.  I didn't think much of it until I went to get Madalynn and there on his would be class door was an orange sign saying, "Meeting in the old fellowship hall".  It meant there was a party and when I sat Macklynn down to tell him so, in his disappointment he finally grasped the importance of the ability to read.  He CAN read.  He just hasn't been interested enough to be proficient at it.  I wouldn't let that go on forever, but was lying in wait for "a moment such as this". 
     This week he has earnestly given effort to everything I've asked him to read.  We read in the Cabela's sales paper about sh o t  g u n s and r i f l es and s a f es and b l a ck  p ow d er  p i st ol s.  We read his sweat shirt and Monopoly cards.  "There is a time for everything under the sun."  There is a natural course, a time when everything becomes relevant.  And THIS is Macklynn's time!
     Never mind that he can do multiplication and division like mad and might would even be diagnosed as somewhat autistic if I let that happen and let him have that for an excuse.
     Madalynn, I've been sleeping on the bunk above her since McKala decided she can't sleep with my snoring.  As if that's not bad enough, I wear a retainer AND my tongue hangs out sometimes.  I don't even know where to begin to fix all that! 
     The bunk's a pretty good vantage point, especially to watch Madalynn's midnight concert last night.  She has a small guitar with which she makes up the most mature lyrics about her Saviour.  She has not backed away from her proclamation of salvation. 
     We had The Lord's Supper at church yesterday, our first at our new church.  I knew we were to go forward in rows but there were only 3 people in front of us, so I stood up for our row to join them; but when I turned around, all my kids were still seated.  They were following directions and one even made light of it in the sanctity of the ceremony.  I'm the first to admit I'm not much for ceremony, but as they thought I looked out of place, it was they many more times who looked defiant in not following the parent.  I immediately visualized/coorelated it with Mike, how it must look to onlookers and that it should look to them when even if Mike is making a questionable move, how much worse we look than he does when we don't comply.  It's a simple matter of respect and the order God created.  Period. - reword
     In the confusion, I told Madalynn to stay because I take seriously the charge for ones who haven't made a profession of faith not the partake.  In a loser move, I completely overlooked Madalynn's recent statements, so as I sat with my arm around her, I asked if she gave her life to Jesus.  I will continue to look for and disciple the fruits of it, but in that moment she was a member of the body of Christ and, again, who was I to say no?  So, ignoring what anyone might think, I made my way back up with her and explained in her ear that she was taking the body and the blood that Jesus gave for her. 
    Me, I've been up and down this week, from the sounds of home reverberating in my head so loudly that it felt like I was going insane, to the chills on top of chills I got as my Father reassured me He was there to take care as I lay still in His presence on my bed with the lights on in the night.
    Most of the week I was Sheena, Queen of the Jungle, since ovulation is upon me.  Mike is so worried he's going to miss it!  He couldn't get the equipment packed quickly enough, until he was struck with aches and fever yesterday.  One thing I know is last time he came home sick, he brought The Whooping Cough from New Jersey.   Another thing I know is I have to guard my "exuberance" from ingratiation of the attention it gets from men and instead of subduing it, purposefully submitting that enthusiasm to the prompting of God to supply a word, a touch, a smile, a gesture that a fellow woman is in dire need of.
    What I'm saying is instead of stomping out the aforehand Michelle full of zeal and pulsing life for the .............................
     It's 1:21 am and the forecast is for ice and Megan is on a plane.
    
Tuesday morning:  Megan made it to Austin and Miranda made it to Chick-fil-A despite the freezing rain.  I sit here at my desk in warmth looking to my left through the side by side windows that showcase the front yard.  No need for curtains to diminish what God puts on display.  The branches of the trees next to the creek are white.  The steady downfall of raindrops gives the pond moving texture.
     My husband pays the electric bill that keeps us from freezing.  He pays for the food I put in the refrigerator last night.  The work of his hands puts gas in the car.  No, he doesn't "have" to do it anymore than I "have" to take care of the kids.  We CHOOSE to.  And when we recognize the sacrifice, it is far easier to respect the person in the position rather than to presume it's what comes naturally and is easy to do.
    I began the book of Judges this morning.  I'm dismayed to see how quickly the Israelites fell away, "And the people served the LORD all the days of Joshua and all the days of the elders that outlived Joshua, who had seen all the great works of the LORD, that he did for Israel.  And Joshua the son of ervant of the Lord, died, being an hundred and ten years old.  And they buried him ...and also all that generation were gathered unto their fathers: and there arose another generation after them, which knew not the LORD, nor yet the works which he had done for Israel.  And the children of Israel did evil in the sigh of the LORD, and served Baalim ..." ~ Judges 2: 7-12.  Are you kidding me?  After all that God had brought their people through?
    That's why, that's why we have to teach our children diligently, to enlist them in service, true service.  As I just watched the testimony of Reed Robertson, it reaffirms to me that the more "comfortable" we make our children, the harder the task is for them to depend fully on God.  How can one die to himself when he has everything he wants and doesn't need? 
    I had never seen until last week this verse:  "For the LORD hath made Jordan a border between us and you, ye children of Reuben and children of Gad; ye have no part in the LORD:  so shall your children make our children cease from fearing the LORD," ~ Joshua 22:25.  Now, they resolved their tensions but the gist of their concern remains.  Why aren't we careful about who our children are growing up with, getting their ideas from?  And to answer before you ask: no, our children are in no fashion commanded or even recommended to influence the world before they voluntarily possess the whole armor of God as mature and founded Christians. 
   Too many of us have been raised and are raising Pagans.  It's put perfectly in Barrett Johnson's article, "How to Raise a Pagan Kid in a Christian Home".  Do yourself a favor and find it.

Sunday evening:  I just finished reading the best 24 pages I have shamefully put aside since reading what I must've been 10 years ago.  I remember sitting in the passenger seat of Mike's yellow Freightliner reading it.  The 5 kids and I had embarked with him on what turned out to be a 3? month journey zigzagging America.  We slept in a hotel every 3rd night, else we slept Mike and me on the bottom bunk, Megan and Miranda foot to face on the top bunk, Michael and McKala in tiny sleeping bags between the front seats, and Melody and her little self tucked under our bunk in the storage space. 
      We'd just bought our house and property in the mountains and simultaneously fuel prices went through the roof with Hurricane Katrina and with tensions in the Middle East.  We decided we'd hit the road with him so he could run continuously.  We have pictures of the San Diego Zoo, of the wind surfers on the Columbia River, of a Canadian McDonald's, of Hershey Park, of the Rio Grande, of train, of the Amish mule teams, ...............................................  Most of the children have been to 46 of the states.  Pix
     The short book I speak of is J.R. Miller's"Secrets of a Happy Home Life" first published in 1894,  There is hardly anything to look to for improvement in daily living, only to look backward to a time before we became our own kings and queens, every pleasure at a snap of the finger:  any delicacy for our tongues, all pleasurable sounds and visual entertainment at our disposal, the advantage of coming and going in safety and comfort at our own bidding, dressed in whatever fancies us. 
     Miller wrote, "One instrument out of tune in an orchestra mars the music which breaks upon the ears of the listeners.  One discordant life in a household mars the perfectness of the music of love in the family.  We should make sure that our life is not the one that is out of tune," and "A happy home does not come as a matter of course because there has been a marriage ceremony, with plighted vows and a ring ... Happiness does not come through any mere forms or ceremonies; it has to be planned for, lived for, sacrificed for, prayed for, and ofttimes suffered for."  It reminds me how I'm put off by the shows about extravagant weddings and gowns and receptions.  What is there to look forward to and how will the husband keep her satisfaction after the "princess bride" has been at the pinnacle of self involvement?
     "No man is fit to b a husband who is not a good man.  He need not be great, nor rich, nor brilliant, nor clever, but he must be good, or he is not worthy to take a gentle, trusting woman's tender life into his keeping ...The world has read and heard quite enough moralizing about a wife's duty to be always winning and attractive, retaining the charm of girlhood amid all cares, toils, and sorrows.  Of course; but is a husband under less obligation to love his wife and always to be lover-like?  This is a good rule, which should work both ways." 
     He quotes John Ruskin, "What do you think the beautiful word 'wife' comes from?  It means 'weaver'.  You must either be housewives or housemoths; remember that.  In the deep sense, you must weave men's fortunes, and embroider them, or feed upon them, and bring them to decay.  Wherever a true wife comes, home is always around her.  The stars may be the canopy over her head, the glow-worm in the night's cold grass be the fire at her feet, but home is where she is; and for a noble woman it stretches far around her, - better than houses with ceilings of cedar, or with paintings of the masters, shedding its quiet light for those who else were homeless."
    Miller's wisdom goes on to say, "Home is the true wife's kingdom.  There, first of all places, she must be strong and beautiful.  She may touch life outside in many ways, if she can do it without slighting the duties that are hers within her own doors.  But if any calls for her service must be declined, they should not be the duties of her home.  These are hers and no other's ones.  Very largely does the wife hold as a sacred trust, the happiness and the highest good of the hearts that nestle there.  The best husband- the truest, the noblest, the gentlest, the richest-hearted - cannot make his home happy if his wife be not, in every reasonable sense, a helpmeet to him.  In the last analysis, home happiness does depend on the wife.  Her spirit gives the home its atmosphere.  Her hands fashion its beauty.  Her heart makes its love.  And the end is so worthy, so noble, so divine, that no woman who has been called to ba wife, and has listened to the call, should consider any price too great to pay, to be the light, the joy, the blessing, the inspiration of a home.  Men with fine gifts think it worth while to live to paint a few great pictures which shall be looked at and admired for generations; or to write a few songs which shall sing themselves into the ears and hearts of men.  But the woman who makes a sweet, beautiful home, filling it with love and prayer and purity, is doing something better than anything else her hands could find to do beneath the skies."
     "If a man will insist on his wife fulfilling her part, he must also insist on honestly fulfilling his own part, - all the sacred duties which are his as a husband.  What, then, is the husband's share in this happy home making?  'Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the Church, and gave Himself up for it' (Eph. 5:25).  A husband is to love his wife.  Is love despotic?  Does love put its object in a servant's place?  No; love serves.  It seeks not its own.  It desires 'not to be ministered unto, but to minister.'  It does not demand attention, deference, service, subjection.  It seeks rather to serve, to give, to honor."
     "There are men, however, who would do this, whose love would sacrifice even life itself for a wife, but who fail in daily and hourly tenderness, when there is no demand for great self-denial ...A true woman's heart craves gentleness.  It is hurt by bitter words, by coldness, by impatience, by harsh criticisms, by neglect, by the withholding of the expressions of affection."
    There are as many beautiful words about sibling love, but I have to step away from my desk in little bit because I've committed to making calzones.  Besides, Madalynn stands beside me very inquisitive of moving to the "Jalepenos".  Mike has found an opening with his organization for an equipment repairman for a year there in the Philippines.  Am I willing?  Am I the "The tender and delicate woman among you, which would not adventure to set the sole of her foot upon the ground for the tenderness, her eye shall be evil toward her husband of her bosom, and toward her son, and toward her daughter, and toward her young one that cometh out from between her feet, and toward her children which she shall bear: for she shall eat them for want of all things secretly in the siege and straitness, wherewith thine enemy shall distress thee in they gates," ~ Deutoronomy 28: 56-57. 
    What about "Send Me"? 
     All afternoon the kids have come to me with ideas of things to make each other for Christmas.  Our sparse Christmases have been the best ones.  This year the girls have asked to shop for yarn and old sweaters and lace and cloth.  I like the coming back to the heart of things that's happening.  I like that they'll make prudent wives without negating that the wife's touch of  pretty things matters.

Thursday morning:  Just had one of the kids call me "hypocrite".  When I asked why?  They paused and said with back turned, "Because of who you are."  I told you I'm not who I wanna be.  Like the Tim McGraw song, "But I'm better than I used to be." 
    Is it because of the lapses, the gaps I've left?  Is it personal struggles I don't conquer?  If it's the daily living, I don't know how to reply.  It's always something, like having to wash 3 of the dogs last night for fleas because this morning I had to have them at the Animal Shelter to be spayed or neutered at 7:45 (for minimal fee of $25 that each family member paid for her own animal).  The kids had to have the van back asap because Mike left early in his and didn't know that Megan's keys were in it also.  So, they had to take her to work on their way to process boxes in Boone for Operation Christmas Child.  It's something they've been doing for 10 years, since Megan was old enough to volunteer and way before Mike worked for or was interested in the organization.  Kinda neat how that worked out. 
     The girls had apparently been arguing the whole time I was gone.  One supposedly HADN'T woken the other up in time.  The one who's in trouble and couldn't go was furious that the others HAD woken her up.  One had something to say about the other's make-up.  One had something to say about another's lack of make-up.  Somehow that turned into one looking like a "whore" and the other looking like a "lesbian".  And left one crying that she couldn't find her one and only good bra.  I felt bad for that one because, although she was sick too, she watched and fed the little sicklings this week as I took McKala to follow-up appointments regarding her surgery and her sinus infection.  So, I made the others wait for her while I found her bra.  Then, she was the very one who dressed me down so.
   I was stunned.  I just stood in the middle of the room for a while after they left.  Do I cause it by self deprecating? If that's how she feels, there's no point in defending myself.  Even if I did, I know there are big holes I've left to trip myself up in.  I could let my heart bleed, more, but all I know to do is to press forward.  All I know is that every day I start out one way, ends up another.   And I can't help but think it's meant to be so, to keep my eyes off things and academia and goals.  Do I neglect in the meanwhile?  What about those fundamental lessons I've postponed for the children?  Is this a wake up call?  Or is it an emotional ploy prompted by the Devil himself to move me from the natural, God-ordained course of educating for a lifetime?
    All this AFTER I made mandatory reading of the aforementioned "Secrets of Happy Home Life"!  All but one had read it.  "The possibilities of happiness and blessing among brothers and sisters can be realized only by cultivating the love that seeketh not its own, that is not provoked, that beareth all things, endureth all things, and never faileth (1 Corinthians 13:4-8).  Love's first lesson is that of giving up one's own way, denying one's self, suffering in silence.  Where this lesson has been learned, or is being learned, in a household of young people, each thinks of giving to the others, not of exacting from them.  Each cultivates gentleness and kindness.  The speech of the home grows quiet and tender, is never loud and angry.  The Golden Rule is the law of each life.  There is love, and love that reveals itself in a thousand little ways of courtesy and thoughtfulness-nameless things, but things that make up a home happiness on which heaven's angels look down on with delight."  Even so, they lashed out this morning.  Proof that head knowledge must never be confused with heart knowledge.  It is the reason so, so many people are under false security of salvation. 
     The disregard for "The Golden Rule" is why I believe we are sick, if not today, most of the time.  I've heard it preached that if you're sick and you're going to work, then you oughta be at church.  I beg to differ.  That preacher has not had 5 young children come down sick by Wednesday afternoon.  I can't remember how many times the countdown, 3 days from Sunday, has played out in our home.  Our society is so driven and inconsiderate that it assumes "everybody's gonna get what's going around eventually" or even better "it builds the immune system".  Goes to show you how little regard we have for those who are susceptible and weak:  pregnant mothers, babies, the elderly, and the chronically sick.
     There are times when we truly aren't aware that we're coming down with something and that was the case Monday when I took Madalynn for her long awaited "day".  She and I helped a neighbor friend with their small farm so they could go on vacation this summer.  They compensated with a gift for me and money for Madalynn.  It was just before my birthday and she was bound and determined to get me something with it.  We determined that we would make a day of it.  And due to all these extenuating circumstances, that "day" didn't come until Monday. 
     We started out early enough to not be in a rush, so that when I passed a middle-aged woman walking up the highway in 44 degree weather, I turned around to ask if she needed help.  It seemed to be a good lesson for Madalynn and seemed safe enough, especially since I had my Sig just under my left foot. 
     She said she was only walking to the gas station for cigarettes.  I thought for a second or two and decided since I'd already stopped that I'd give her a ride anyway.  For a minute there I felt like "The Dog", you know, the bounty hunters, always being nice and giving the offender a puff to ease them in their peril. 
    She got out and said, "Thanks."  I said, "I might as well take you back."  "As long as you don't smoke in the car," I laughed.  I guess it surprised her as made her purchase I searched in my bag for something, a tract or something, to give her.  I'm still new at this and to be honest, I didn't stop for that purpose, but she seemed to need the Lord for all the trouble she was having.  What I left her with was an invitation to our church.  She was worried, or excused herself one, for not having anything to wear.  I told her no one needs to be at the mall getting into debt of what to wear at church.  I laughed and told her being clean with no parts hanging out would work.
     Madalynn wanted to stop at the store to see if they had flippers before we went swimming at the Y.  I had waited too long and they were out of season.  But we did find me a birthday a present, Mary J. Blige's "A Mary Christmas" CD.  I love the strong voice of a woman and they don't always mesh with the Bible so I don't spend time listening to some of them anymore, but there is no denying the God-given talent of ones like Melissa Etheridge and Christina Aguilera.  I love me some Nicole C. Mullen now.
     We popped in the CD and headed to the pool.  The night before I was worried that I didn't have anything appropriate to wear.  Even as a Christian I had not been careful enough about "coverage".  When you wear a 36 G, it's a task to find something to fit.  When your son gets to be 15, you FIND something that covers at all cost.  Just before we left for Panama City last summer, I found a "flouncy" top that served as a bathing suit.  It's feminine and colorful AND covers everything AND keeps the wearer from being the "opponent" of other women in a public setting, quite freeing actually.
   After Madalynn dutifully passed her swim test, she threw me the foam ball to swim after for as long as I could last, "accidentally" throwing it anywhere but "to" me.   We had fun with not particle timetable or place to be.  That's what having a "day" together is for us.
    She wanted to eat at Chick-fil-A and as she ran up and down the indoor playset, I observed a larger family than ours settling into their meal.  Finally, the oldest daughter and I made enough eye contact that I asked her the inevitable overdone question, "How many there of you?"  She said, "There are 11 of us and my Mom but my Dad was killed ..."  I interrupted as she was speaking because I suddenly realized they were the ones in the paper and on Facebook, the ones whose father had recently been run over in his horse and buggy by a car.  But the girl was so cheerful, I thought. 
    So I asked another probing question, "Was your Dad close to the Lord?"  She said, "He was the closest person to Him that I know."  That was the answer to the cheerfulness; it was peace. 
    The 18 year old young woman was poised and a pleasure to speak with.  Soon 4 or 5 of her brothers and sisters formed a semicircle around me and we talked for well over an hour.  I got their number but the funny thing is I never met their mother as long as we were there.  I'm sure they, as my own children do, reported their "findings" to her though :)
    I had gone in that day from having a conversations with someone who had unlikely ever known God to those who serve him whole-heartedly.  I think as many days as possible should be so, that we are reaching out to those who are "without" and drawing near the ones who are "with", so that our spirits are in balance.
    Madalynn had caught wind that the new Disney movie was out at the old theater and for only $3.  Me trying not to lay down the law too hard went ahead and took her to see.  It was beautifully composed and a work of art to behold BUT was full of magic.  And where I thought it might be cast as an evil, the magic prevailed in the end for good.  THAT is never a good thing.  There is never, not ever good in magic, which is power apart from God.  And so, I am no fan of  "Cinderalla" or any similar story of good fairy vs. bad fairy.  For Heaven's Sake, there IS no good fairy!
    With all these things and the little things in between, Madalynn was pooped.  As good as our day was, I still love those moments like not long ago when I was given out, drifting in and out of sleep and she, resting beside me, asked, "Is it illegal to catch a whooperdoodle?"  I said, "A what?" 
      "A whooperdoodle, you know the bird in the night?"
      "You mean, a whippoorwill!"
      "Yes, is it illegal to catch one?"
      "If you could only find one, probably not."
     As simple and as short as that conversation was, it penetrated my heart immeasurably and tickled me that she lay there thinking of such things. 
      Sunday I lay with Mike and watched a marathon of one of the only shows on TV I can tolerate and actually enjoy a little, "Undercover Boss".  A reoccurring theme was single parenthood.  It reaffirms that God's standard of chastity and loyalty is only what's best for us.  And before anyone frowns upon the lowly "working class", consider that at least these people bore their babies while so many of the upper crust simply "do away" with theirs, as though a procedure sweeps their existence under a rug.
      The prior afternoon our friends pregnant with twins, Jami and Shawn, came to have Monte Cristos and watch the Iron Bowl with us.  Mike, the eternal antagonist, pulled for Auburn and literally jumped for joy when they ran the ball all the way back to their end zone with no time on the clock and for the victory.  It was just enough to shake up another of his kidney stones.  He's had so many ailments that it's too easy for me to overlook them day in and day out, having little compassion for what he suffers.  My kidney hurt once since then and although it was probably a reminder to drink more water (because I don't really like to), it made me think of Mike and what he deals with regularly.   And as much as I urge him to take better care of himself, I'm not exactly ship-shape myself.
    The first time I saw Jami and Shawn I was getting some sun in the back yard of the house in the subdivision just after Mike's Triple A Bypass Surgery.  They were looking at the house next door.  She had her arm around him and to be perfectly forthright, I wasn't comfortable with it.  I've never told them that.  It's a shame that I felt that way because before we knew it, they had moved in and were the among the best neighbors we've ever had.  Now, we are close friends, went on a cruise together, and have made a tradition of spending every 4th of July together even though we live nearly 30 miles apart now. 
    Then why in the world was I uncomfortable to see her place her arm around him?  She's white and he's black.  It wasn't "acceptable" where I went to school south of Atlanta and it was "unheard" of in the mountainous county we called home for 12 years prior to the subdivision.  There were only 100 or so black people to begin with.  Saturday night, I posted a picture of Madalynn asleep against Shawn's arm.  She's loved him since the first time she saw him when she was only 6 months old.  And THAT is the way it should be.
    Not that I ever in my whole life took issue with the "blackness" of an individual, Shawn is one of the nicest guys I've met, more good hearted than many a white guy.  Not that I was ever against interracial marriage, I just hadn't had any exposure to it.  The only thing I'd experienced was a good friend in high school who dated a black guy secretly and when she was found out, I was made to ignore her for fear of my reputation.  I've found her since and made things right.
     I will not compare interracial relationships to homosexual, as though I have more ground to conquer.  One is born black.  One is not born gay.  One may have tendencies but that makes no one gay any more than it makes my mechanically minded daughter a lesbian.  One may have role imbalances in their family, but God wants to heal them not replicate them.  If we care and I wonder how many of us really do care, we will eagerly teach against the lifestyle that disgusts God (after all that's what an abomination is) not so we can separate ourselves as some kind of hierarchy but so we can establish God's order in the healing of every person He lovingly breathed life into.
    Black Friday shopping with Melody and Mike we saw every kind of person.  On the whole it was a good experience.  I only had 3 things in mind:  a pair of jeans for Madalynn, rubber pants for the cloth diapers I'd bought new parents, and good socks for Michael because he needed them for the new boots he'd gotten himself.  He doled out almost $200 for a pair he'd wanted/needed for some time and found on sale.  He felt nauseous the next morning at the thought of having spent so much.  Within a couple of weeks, he was able to sell 36 pairs of earrings to the new Western Store that's along the way for lots of travelers to Boone.  I thought it fitting for one so frugal.  He humbly bought what he needed and was recompensed with the work of his own hands.  And he had enough left over to spend $50 snowboarding Thanksgiving night with a couple of his cousins.
     Mike is always "connected" and was reading about China's show of power with their new fleet of jets.  Interesting that the U.S. flew 2 of ours over and let them know about it afterwards.  So, who really still has the power?  But will be that way for long?  What are we all out here doing shopping on Black Friday?  Supporting the Chinese economy, of course.  And with such needless items!  Things that take up our space, time, and thoughts.  For every moment we think of an object, it's one less moment for a person who needs our thoughts.  For every moment we spend losing the battle of temperance (otherwise known as self control), it's one less moment for a person who needs our prayer.  For every moment we spend on self consciousness/shame/shyness, it's one less moment for a person who needs our touch. 
     That's what drives me crazy when people say, "Well, it's not hurting anyone."  Whatever we're doing may not be "hurting" anyone, but we're very likely "neglecting" someone.  What's the difference?  I have to ask myself the same question.
     And speaking of China, their sheer numbers give them power, so much that they feel they need to limit themselves through atrocities.  Other religions are gaining strength in sheer numbers also.  Even though I'd had 7 children myself,  I didn't completely understand the message of "be fruitful and multiply" until I read the Old Testament myself.  It is woven soundly into the teaching.  Israel was great in number and that matters.  In our times, in this culture, we'd rather gather things than living beings into our lives.  It's a travesty.  And it's why Christians are becoming the minority.
    I've been here sedentary for 3 hours and must prepare for the surprise stay of a volunteer who worked alongside Mike in Texas.  This is something unique for us and I'm not sure this guy knows what he's getting into, but at least I can have everything wiped down and presentable as possible.  Our pastor is adamant about hospitality and I had just written it in bold letters on my calendar.

Saturday morning:  I sit here in the quiet, except for an occasional cough from a bedroom.  It's dark and rainy outside, but the Christmas lights inside make me feel cozy.   McKala, Michael, and Melody are dog sitting at Jami and Shawn's house so that they could have the evening in Boone for Jami's graduation from Appalachian State this morning.  I'm supposed to be there but realized last night that I had no means to get there.  Our van is with the dog sitters.  Mike's car is inoperable in need of an alternator.  Miranda has to drive to work in Megan's car because after many months of being 89 days late due to the circumstances that landed her back in North Carolina and the fact that McKala, who agreed to pay half the payment, is out of work still; we finally let her car go back with the bankruptcy from the trucking company that Mike had for the better part of 20 years.
   Is bankruptcy "okay"?  Ideally, no.  But I'm glad to be in a country where there is no "debtor's prison" because there are times when you do your best and your best isn't good enough, likely because you were never on God's straight and narrow to begin with.  It's mercy; that's what it is and closely related to forgiveness of debt every 7??
    Mike was in debt to everyone and their mother, truly: mine and his, trying to keep afloat his owner/operator business, when the blow that took the wind out of his sails finally came.  He was on a highway in Alabama on a "Super Moon" night.  He leaned over to pick up something rolling on the floor and left the road.  There was very little shoulder and when he found himself in the grass of the divided highway, he thought he'd ride it out UNTIL he met with a culvert.  Instead of ramming into it, the truck went over it and airborne.  There weren't tire tracks for many yards in the pictures.  He crossed the oncoming lanes of traffic, went up an embankment, and in slow motion heard the truck moan as it rolled over.
    He was left standing in the passenger side window, unharmed for the most part.  And because it was 5 am Sunday, no one was out on the roads to collide with.  Mike had driven over 1 million miles in trucks and never had a chargeable accident, but there he stood in the only truck he'd ever paid off and it was totaled, only insured for $13,000.00.
    Megan was living in Georgia and was able to retrieve him.  I left North Carolina in time to meet them as they made it back to Georgia.  I remember jotting down intense words on the way.  Oddly, I also remember Wisteria hanging roadside all the way there.  But I never wrote about any of it for the chaotic reality I came home to face.
     Mike decided that with bad credit after the aortic bypass, the best thing was to rent a truck.  The dealership with whom he went under contract was not careful with the maintenance of their vehicles and within 6 months, Mike had lost $20,000 worth of business because they would not place him in another truck when his broke down.  Payments soon lagged and one morning after a trip in for routine maintenance, they decided that although Mike had $4,000 to give them, it was not enough to stay their repossession. 
     When he called me to come get him, I was so deep in prayer and tears that I got a ticket for tailgating a State Patrol officer!  I wasn't speeding; he just wasn't moving out of the fast lane in a speed increase zone. 
     Mike couldn't believe it.  He was sure it was an unmarked car, but it wasn't.  I was that distressed, never saw the lights or the letters; until he let me pass him and flipped them on.  I continued to cry true tears and showed him all of Mike's belongings in the back of the van.  He kindly explained to me how to get the ticket reduced as he handed it through the window.  That I did, for a $50 fee.  It seems to be a racket since the courthouse knows anyone would rather pay up than have it reported to their insurance company.
     Before long, Mike found a place in south Georgia he could buy a truck with the refused $4,000, right or wrong.  It was Michael's birthday; so to make it up to him, he stopped at the renowned Ruth's Chris Steakhouse.  You know, where a steak alone is $60.  Mike has always doused us with fine things, but, God bless him, his timing is rarely good.  We were broker than broke.
     With suspicion, he begrudgingly bought a truck with a 48 hour warranty.  On his first trip out, part failure began and he was too far away to make them honor their word.  It was the remnant of the wind that finally blew him out to sea.  He spent every bit of money including our tax return to replace the government mandated emissions system, which had been improperly installed. 
     Mike and Michael worked tirelessly and sometimes for days on the truck each time he brought it in from a trip.  By fall, it was hopelessly losing oil pressure, about to blow a head gasket and would hardly pull a load.  There was nothing left to do but to surrender it.  We watched as the gentlemanly wrecker driver hooked it up and drove away. 
     All Mike could do was go to work for someone else and hope he made enough money for us to maintain.  He hauled produce and trees to Washington state, home for no more than 36 hours a week.  "And He's Off" post?
     Then one day, while looking for an alternative because at that point I was ready and willing to live in a hut before we forfeited the call on raising our children, there it was:  Samaritan's Purse in need of a mechanic/driver 20 miles from our house.  It was a shot in the dark, or so it seemed. 
     When Mike got the application, there were strict guidelines and specific references required.  We didn't even have a home church to put down, but as God would have, Mike's foremost reference turned out to be his unknown would be director's uncle.  He went on for more than an hour with the highest praise for Mike's ability and experience.  And after 15 hours of interviews with 3 different people, Mike was hired. 
     Floored.  That's what I was.  Tears well up now at the thought.  My God is big but did I believe Him to be that big?  Must not've. 
      One year later, we've harbored a guest from the organization, a volunteer named Daniel from New Jersey.  He left yesterday.  He humbly slept on a mattress in our living area because we did not have a bedroom to offer him, nor do we our parents when they come.  He washed all the dishes one night after a meal, helping any way that he could and spending the rest of his time playing and conversing with everyone.  Although, he with his collegiate psychology and I do not see eye to eye on Biblical absolutes, he was amicable and courteous regardless.  And now he is a permanent fixture in my prayer life. 
   I learned a new term from him, Nouthetic:  counseling solely based on the Scriptures.  It's what his parents do, so I promptly told him that it is the only counseling that is the truth.  Perhaps it would be a downgrade for him but don't we all, including myself, have to die to our knowledge and pride to be of significant use for the Lord?
    I believe he was concerned with how I go about the days with the children.  It's not easily explained but perhaps better observed.  Mike had a dental appointment for a broken tooth one morning, so Daniel stayed here rather than go in to volunteer.  4 of the children had pooled their money to pay for movie projectors for SP missionaries.  I had Macklynn fill out the form and prepare the envelope with a hand written return address. 
    The sun had reappeared after a week of rain and freezing weather, so the day before McKala had put up two of the ENO hammocks on the porch.  I climbed into one with Macklynn and Madalynn to read "Owen and Mzee", the detailed story of the bond formed in a refuge between an orphaned hippo and a century old tortoise.  They asked questions and laughed and sounded out words for me. Later we came in and searched for an update on them since the story was written in 2004.
    As I did some work in the kitchen, Macklynn "carried" numbers in the problems I created for him.  After McKala made biscuits and ham that morning, she read more of Catherine Marshall's book but wound up watching something with Miranda and Daniel on his computer.  Michael was downstairs reading Phil Robertson's testimonial biography and resting from this cold that knocked him on his backside, not so much though that he couldn't muster up the energy to go to Dr. Miller's for the day. 
     Melody was supposed to be reading about Amy Carmichael, but I'm afraid she was designing a card for which a day later she wrote a purposeful and grateful letter for the symphony ticket she was given last Friday.  LETTER  She too has a math workbook.  It's the only subject that hard as we  try in daily living does not get adequate attention left to itself.  I regret that I wasn't more consistent with it over the years, but God is extending his grace, as I speak, in guiding me anew. 
    As we well ones trudged out for church that afternoon with Daniel, I stopped so Melody could represent herself in selling more of her seasonal bows, a couple of doors up from where Michael sells some of his earrings.  I don't know that our guest ever saw the evidence of "school" because it was happening so effortlessly around him.
    Yes, this one is a late reader.  And, yes, that one didn't know a particular knighted pirate.  And, no, the other didn't know the difference between a lapel and a collar.  But, our new friend now knows they at least have him on geography ;)  We're all forever learning and what may not have dawned on him is that he unwittingly took part in their teaching.  Why is it believed that those labeled "teacher" are the only ones responsible for teaching?  Watch as a child "absorbfully" learns in the relevance of conversation and relationships.
     Early Thursday morning I had to deliver two of the cats to be sterilized.  When I had returned by 8 am, I decided since everyone was under the weather but me, that it was a perfect time to visit my soon to be friend/neighbor ("A Pig" post ...if not before) with the evergreen that McKala and Miranda's employer, Kathy, sent specifically for her from the party they had on Sunday, where Miranda so sweetly tried to give her free massage door prize to me and where we had contests decorating people up as trees and Santas.  I very gingerly decorated the extremities of our subject giving the rest of the access to his wife who was wrapping him in streamer paper.
    Virgie delights in company and phone calls to which she picks up saying "All right" instead of "Hello".  I love it when she does that.  She's known to have been excitable, to say the least, when she was younger.  She prides herself on all the hard work she's achieved.  Apparently, she was still clearing fields when she was 83. 
     The woman who has surrounded herself with flowers and plants couldn't have been more appreciative to add to her collection.  Isn't it good that God used Kathy to provide a gift so near Christmas that He knew Virgie would enjoy?
     I took her an cream cheese icing sandwiched in oatmeal cookies that Melody made the night before.  As we sat at the quaint table in her basement where she lives permanently because of the moderate temperature and noise levels, she and her daytime caretaker, Sue, quickly became aware that they had conflicting appointments that morning.  I was there and there was no reason I couldn't help.
     After we got Virgie's oversized red and white jacket on her, she put on the crocheted hat trimmed in white that she made herself years ago.  She put on the matching scarf under her collar, then her gloves, and pushed her walker to the door. 
     After I made sure she was seated well in her truck parked at the top of the cemented incline, I put her walker in the back.  I've never traveled with an elderly person.  I was careful not to treat her like a child.  Though, I told her I couldn't let anything happen to her on my watch because her family would kill me, not that they aren't the nicest of people.  Her grandson delivered hay to us when we were in a pinch.  We know her granddaughter as one of the other lifeguards at "that" pool we were members of. ; she was so friendly that McKala, only 7 at the time, bought her a pair of shorts to give her when the season was over.  And her son (as well as her caretaker), whom I've only met once, wrote us a check last year when Virgie told him Mike broke his leg the first week he SP ("My Mike" post).
     We got to the doctor's office, which happens to be the one we frequent also.  They have two nurse practitioners who were childhood friends.  They negotiate time so that neither of them spends more than two days apart from their families.  Going to see them is something I look forward to.  One of them is preparing to teach her triplets.  My heart smiles at the things we have in common and how our conversations get away from us. 
    It smiled even broader as the other NP carried on with Virgie.  Their banter was better than watching any Hallmark movie.  As Virgie looking much to me like Mrs. Claus explained to her in great detail why she was there (because she never misses a beat, only ever repeating to ensure she was heard) I could see the obvious concern of the NP.  She listened to her so intently that is was though I wasn't even in the room.  And that was fine because as I heard Virgie tell her that she'd just found out that a slow growing tumor growing against her inner ear is what's causing her "unequilibrium" and that she doesn't want to live that way because she has a better place she's going, I was struck with love as tears suddenly streamed down my face.
     Nelson Mandela died this past week.  I read a while back that he did 100 finger tip push ups a day in his incarceration until he was released at 72.  What excuse do I have?!
     We have Billy Graham in his last days, possibly lost to us by the year's end.  We're losing a generation that tried to redeem us, to their new lives present with the Lord.  We were asked recently if we visit nursing homes.  I ask if we visit the lady or gentleman down the road and is it out of pity or of honor? 

Tuesday morning:  Tomorrow is New Year's.  Today I sit here wrapped in a blanket drinking from the locally crafted pottery cup Heather sweetly gave me as a belated birthday gift.  The scent of caramel flavor rises from the coffee Megan gave me for Christmas, along with a another cup that reads, "When your heart speaks, take good notes."  What she didn't know is that I had an ongoing dilemma about it.  I was sure in our financial straits would run me out of coffee altogether, good or bad.  So, I appreciated it all the more. 
     The girls have a jump on the New Year.  We got our manufacturer repaired Wii back on Christmas Eve.  It was as though it were a new thing.  The motor had burned out on it only days after last Christmas, leaving the new games unused.
     They've danced and exercised to the point of soreness.  I'll join in as my PMS wears off.  I'm convinced that PMS signifies the body's protest against not becoming pregnant, angry at the opportunity stolen away. 
      I wouldn't be up except that at 7 am Miranda called from the parking lot at work to report the car was "smoking".  It's more likely the hole in the radiator Mike and Megan discovered as they were replacing valve covers week before last.  I know that if God got our first fruits that we would not always be coming in last. 
     I heard our travelling guest stirring within 30 minutes.  He's back for the 3rd time in December, but only for the evening as he travels on.  He has no way of knowing that if not for the ground beef  Dr. Miller told Michael to get out of his freezer; our soup would've only been vegetable.  He more than compensated with thoughtful gifts for each and every one of us.  In return, the girls made him a one of a kind toboggan that he seemed very pleased with.
    It was a DIY Christmas.  Night after night the girls crocheted and knitted matching scarves, head bands and leg warmers with bows and large buttons.  McKala made a couple of great big customized memory boards and for me from the scraps, an apron that looks more like a handsome dress a BAMA fan would wear!  Miranda made jerky for Michael from his own from deer.
    Michael thought to put Dr. Miller's favorite quote on a plague.  He routed the letters and burned the wood to highlight them, then finished it off with polyurethane and hooks.  When he delivered it, he felt bad that he hadn't also gotten something for Dr. Miller's daughter, recently licensed and partnering.  He and I looked high and low until he was fed up with shopping.  That's what's so nice about stumbling on just the right gift because shopping for the sake of shopping is tiresome and often unproductive.  Poor guy settled on a large coffee cup with a bear and chocolate inside, only to find upon returning that a lawyer's office had delivered a mammoth basket of the very same things.
     For a tree that was bare beneath, the gifts were accumulating.  Initially, the kids had drawn names but as ideas flourished, soon almost everyone had a presents for everyone and that adds up to over 40!  Try as we may to steer clear of gift preoccupation on the Lord's birthday, it was still a humbly sweet morning, each taking turns at opening things that were specific to their tastes, wants, and needs. 
    Turns out, Mike and I were only able to afford candy and socks for the children.  Before you worry or chastise, know that, yes, we could've pawned or sold something.  Instead, we did as we have in recent years and set off for the day.  The rightness is debatable, but we drove to the theatre where we wound up pairing off.
    I unintentionally gave myself a gift when I took the little ones to see "Saving Mr. Banks".  I came to understand that the author of  Mary Poppins, Mrs. Travers, and I have some things in common.  I only wish she had found her saving grace in Christ and not in mysticism.  Otherwise, I enjoyed her depth and spunk immensely.  The little ones were extremely patient through what turned out to be a movie for grown ups.
    I was glad to reward them with a meal at Denny's.  Once it was not, but now it is rare for all of us to be occasioned to eat out together.  Buffalo chicken, fries or pancakes, and flavored Coke for everyone!  I'm afraid it's tradition from the many trips on the road with Mike.

   8 am the phone rang again and the guinea began bidding the morning hello; so as not to be angry,  I went ahead and drug out of bed from my 2 am appointment with sleep.  Might as well have because the neighbor's Pointer made his daily arrival to romp and bark with Pip and Ellie, that is until Miah, only 5 years old herself, scolded and put an end to all the rough housing.
   One by one the little ones awoke and reported not so much for duty but for affection, first Macklynn  hoping I'd give him permission to play the Wii since he's sick for the 3rd time this month.  Most of the time Madalynn finds me standing so that she can wrap inside my robe.  Today she's on her 6th day of 21 of Amoxicillin for the threat of Lyme Disease.  I "incidentally" found a small, but not tiny, tick on her neck as we were entering the home for that spaghetti dinner we were kindly invited for a month or so ago.
    We're acquainted enough with ticks to check for a rash the following days and I did.  But then Friday before last, she said her neck hurt, and lo and behold the skin was peeling away in a quarter size circle.  My hope is that it was superficial from the bite, but my awareness of what it did to the friend of friend tells me to be preemptive.

Wednesday, New Year's Day:  I wake up accompanied by an old friend, a reminder of who I was and who I can still be if not completely reliant on the Lord.  I didn't know I had herpes until I delivered our first child.  I was recovering in the hospital and noticed a painful place on my right hip.  The doctor wrote it off.  I had it tested later and it proved him irresponsible.  Incidentally ...he's no longer delivering.
     It proved to me that it could be worse.  Megan was a perfectly healthy 9 lb 13 oz baby and I only have trouble with outbreaks when I become worn down.  The father of a friend considers his a blessing because it's the barometer that makes him slow down and take care of himself. 
     Yesterday afternoon no matter how much caffeine I had, I was crashing to the point of delirium a couple of times.  I shouldn't have pushed; by now I should know what's coming. 
     This is the consequence of my sin.  I'm forgiven but the evidence remains.  I wish I could sit every girl down and make her understand. 
      There's medicine to keep it subdued but I choose not to take it because I think the "cure" is often worse than the symptom.  I'm forced to take it towards the end of every pregnancy, but with the third it didn't prevent.  McKala came two weeks early.  Labor came quickly.  Mike was out of town.  My mother lived 10 miles away and rushed me to the hospital that was much further away.  I had a new midwife but she was associated with a doctor who practiced in another county.
     I'll count my blessings for him, although his lackadaisical manner my mother-in-law witnessed almost wound McKala up in the neonatal unit. 
     Within a handful of hours I was in full labor.  I knew the mandatory C-Section was coming because of the outbreak.  The nurses told me to stop pushing because the doctor wasn't there yet.  I had no control whatsoever.  My body had overtaken me, determining itself to bring forth life right away.  Anyone who has never experienced unmedicated childbirth has missed the opportunity to be part of what must be the most empowering process a woman can endure. 
    I distinctly remember lying flat, arms strapped to the operating table and involuntarily lunging forward as my back arched to drive the baby forward.  In what was literally split minute timing, the doctor arrived and they injected me into unconsciousness, while Mike who had driven there like a banchee could only witness through the door window.
    Instantaneously, she was spared blindness and/or death.  It's that serious.
    Yes, there's medicine for that, too.  But I've seen too many times where medicine was no match for the doings of the evil one. 
     The C-Section was debilitating.  I never expected one.  I refused virtually all pain killers so my milk would be unaffected.
     I had only gained 20 pounds and surprisingly bounced back into some old clothes pretty fast.  Mike and I "celebrated" in the neighboring subdivision under construction in the new Suburban he'd bought.
     It didn't take long to find out I was pregnant with our 4th child.  I was dumbfounded.  My scars were still tender and I was pregnant again!  I walked around the whole pregnancy as if I might break at any moment, so concerned my belly could come apart. 
    God kept me together when everything but my belly was coming apart.  Mike had made mistakes, big ones, and was not ready to pay the price.  Some people just "say" they're going to end it and then there are people who "do".  He gave me reason to believe that he wasn't just talking. 
     It must've been late and the three girls must've been in bed because I remember feeling alone after Mike left.  I don't remember a lot of things, but I remember exactly where I hit my knees and cried aloud to the only One who could make a difference.
     I was in front of my bedroom window as if God could see me clearer there.  My heart might as well have replaced my mouth because what I was unable to speak was surging out of my chest causing physical pain. 
     Sometimes, I've wondered if I've prayed out of self preservation.  There I was mother of three young children and fairly certain of another.  I'd committed to the Lord on my own accord to stay home with them.  With no one but Mike to support us, I had no one to turn to but Jesus. 
      To have been counseled what's in my new favorite song/anthem, "Keep Making Me," by The Sidewalk Prophets, would've more than benefited me.  It will you.
      It was not for me to be a widow that night.  Mike came in, laid his handgun on the counter, and presented a pregnancy test to confirm what we suspected.  Six months later and home in a new state full of the unknown, I gave him his first son in natural delivery with no complications except that the cord around Michael's neck had made him harrowingly blue. 
     This afternoon Michael can't figure out why I'm so grumpy, typing here at my desk with headphones on to muffle out the sounds of the hockey game.  How do I announce, "Okay, everybody, back off;  I'm broken out,"?  Occasionally I tell one of them, to be fair instead of leaving them hanging.  In general, I don't want to make anyone worry about catching the disease when it's active.  Maybe they wouldn't even feel comfortable hugging me.  I don't know and I don't focus on it.  I focus on cleanliness and to the best my knowledge in these 23 years of parenting, none of the children have contracted it.
     The odd location of my outbreaks has made it bearable and easy to quarantine.  In some ways, it's more like shingles.  It's been many months since the last one and it usually is.
     I will always carry this reminder of the things I did when I was young.  There is no cure.  However, there is a God who can give and take.  He chose to take when I broke out again the day before Melody was born.  I pleaded with God.  I knew the meds hadn't worked and that a C-Section was the necessary evil.  With my hands full of 4 other children and whatever the other circumstances were at the time, God heard me and took away what was more than I could bolster. 
     The next morning there was no trace of it.  That never happens.  There's steady progress that takes days and weeks to fester and to heal.  God healed me in one night.  It is my one and only immediate healing ...that I'm aware of.
     As they normally do, contractions started early in the morning.  I had Mike carry me straight to the hospital because I knew how quickly she could come.  After checking me, they turned me away, told me to go home.  I refused and walked the floors.  Within one hour, I was in active labor. 
     I had one of those "by the book" nurses, who insisted I lie on my side.  I said no.  She checked me again and after she pushed the lip of my cervix from a 9 to a 10, she pronounced to the doctor that I was ready to push.  I told her I wasn't. 
     The doctor went to the corner of the room and called his office to tell them he wouldn't be there when they opened because I "wouldn't" push.  All I saw was "red" and that silly old fashioned hat the nurse was wearing.  With the fortitude of a monster, I pushed three times and she was born. 
      I didn't know it was possible to burst every capillary in her upper body and head, including her eyes.  She was so bruised that when the other children were brought to see her, three year old McKala said in the most concerned of tones, "Mama, we have a black baby."
      That would've been fine except that even the whites of Melody's eyes were blood red.  I felt terrible that my frustration had put forth that kind of force.  I had never heard of such a thing and was guilt ridden about the repercussions until she was cleared on an eye exam.
       Right now, Melody is watching a movie in my bed, where the only TV with satellite service is.  She's the age I was when I became the girl I used to be. 
       Recently as I was peering out the window praying for her and the things we battle over, God put in my spirit as real as I'm sitting here that, "You let her grow up too fast."
       There was no denying it.  She has three older sisters and gets to do things they do.  She ponders things they didn't because they didn't have older sisters chatting over them.  She's been introduced to social media.  They didn't even have social media.
       All the blame can't be dumped on 21st Century culture alone because when I was 13 in 1984, all I had in my room was a black and white TV and a phone with a cord. 
       A person would think after getting pregnant the first time I had sex that I would've learned my lesson, that I would've cared about my body and my reputation.  That's the lie that uploads the myth that abortion fixes anything.  I cared less about destruction, not more.  I didn't even know that what we did to my baby was as bad as it was, but what was written on my heart did and it always does.  There's no escape except to repent or the recoil and strike again. 
       I like to think I was atypical but I'm afraid there are many other girls like me.  I was new in town, new in the state actually.  It was a well-to-do town south of Atlanta and there were always funds and ways of getting into mischief.  At one time or another, I had artwork displayed at The High Museum, was class president, gifted student, club officer, homecoming candidate, contest winner, and varsity cheerleader.  Cheerleader, that was until the family I was babysitting for two houses down from mine caught me with my boyfriend in their second story bedroom.
       As my boyfriend finagled his way out the window, the father was knocking the door down.  He was an accomplished black belt veteran of war and my guy wasn't taking any chances on meeting him.  He was rightfully infuriated but talked with me as if I were his own while he walked me to my door. 
       My mother had warned me already and had to follow through pulling me from the team.  All of a sudden, it didn't matter that I was one of the three first freshman ever inducted to the squad of one of the biggest high schools in Georgia.  People said it was because my mother was the principal's secretary and for the handicap I had in tumbling, I can't blame them.  But I got the spirit award for the Cheerleader of the Game the very first game.  That meant something.  Funny how it still does. 
      I was only 14 and could work the crowd ...and that was the problem.  Magnetic personality is only good if you know when to stop.  I didn't, but I was good at hiding it.  I didn't flaunt that I was a man eater.  In school, I was bit of a goody two shoes, preppy, if you will. 
      I'm glad to report that I wasn't a hateful one though.  I got the most affirming letter of my youth from a high school friend not long ago.  "Leah"  I'm sure it's good that I wasn't accused of being unfriendly.  In fact, I was friendly to everybody, especially to masculine older guys.
     I may have well been filling a void but in truthfulness, I must acknowledge the visceral part of my nature.  I remember it as far back as eight years old.  The Solid Gold Dancers were regulars on our TV and I vividly recall impersonating them in my room, even manipulating material into scanty costumes to perform in. 
     Am I the anomaly?  I don't know, but that's why "be careful little eyes what you see" matters.
     By the time I was 15,  I had seduced as many bad boys.  I confessed to my unsuspecting mother.   For the life of me, I can't remember her reaction.  I only remember feeling utterly alone and out of control.  It's one of the reasons I believe I did not come to know the Lord the way I professed to when I was at VBS the summer I turned 9.
    It stands to reason that when I met Mike while I was yet 16 years old that he swept me off my feet when he said he loved me and wanted to marry me. 
     As I look to my left, I see him out talking with our neighbor who just let Michael take his turn at bush hogging the field, which rescued him from the quandary of today, last legal day of hunting, of killing the only adult deer he's seen consistently who also has twins that could survive ...but???.  And  before Mike went to observe, not trying to persuade one way or the other, I stated it's something Michael wouldn't learn in a military school.
     We went for the full on tour and interview for the prep school 2 weeks ago.  It was impressive except that when I asked Michael of his thoughts about the school he's been determined to attend, he replied, "It seems boring."  Before I would give my views, Mike said, "It feels like prison."  Then we drove a half hour to Appomattox to hear a park historian show and tell how and where General Lee surrendered to General Grant ...another thing he wouldn't get in the seclusion of the academy. 
     Have we put in his mind that he should be a veterinarian?  Admirable as it is and as fitting an occupation as it seems to engage his future family in, is it what God has ordained?  A question forever on my mind.   
     What I know is that he loves football as much as he loves animals.  Will he be asked to give one or both up ...or are they part of the bigger plan?  Is it his to find out?  It will be soon.  For now, I will walk through every door God opens, praying I do not miss an opportunity for him.  Those ones we don't think of, the ones that don't make sense are the very ones that we should trust in.  It's another reason I'm enjoying daily words that fly in color off the pages of the Old Testament - ordinary people living their lives honorably before the Lord were used to befuddle the rich and the proud.
    Wouldn't you know Mike unknowingly brought an article in just now, right now:  "Farewell to Football, former Michigan State player chooses ministry over NFL"?
    That Mike, always under my skin but always pulling through on the big stuff.  He worked out his paid vacation to extend from last Monday to this Thursday.  I feel stifled as if I'm being graded.  An ounce of disapproval dredges up unwanted feelings of contempt and distain.  I know I need to serve him, not only because he's my husband but also because he's a fellow human being.  Every now and then over the last few days, I've asked God point blank to turn my heart toward my husband.
    This morning I woke up thinking again about what our pastor said, "to run toward our problems".   If I give myself to Mike, then I'm not being taken, much like a victim giving the goods away to a would be thief. 
    I've been getting the 21 "Made to Crave" emails from Lysa Terkeurst and I agree it couldn't possibly be all a bodily thing but a harmony thing.  If I stay primed, healthy, and energetic; then I can initiate, not just to be sexy but to be a genuinely willing participant.
    As these thoughts were making their way to the keyboard, sure enough, something happened between Mike and me that plunged me back into our past.  It's astounding how fuzzy memories become so vivid when set off by the exact same emotions.  One particular vision keeps replaying.  I was standing in the dark on the top of a mountain in our driveway wearing my long white gown watching him drive away.  I think this time Megan was privy, herself outside asking him not to go.  He always was flighty.  And I didn't want to be the idiot left standing there having said the wrong thing that took it too far.
    I suppose I never will be able to speak my peace without being outdone.  Somehow he feels the same way. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
    It'd be easier and simpler instead to share the rest of the good things December brought us.   To say I haven't gained an ounce during the season is probably a first!  We were invited to dine in the home of more friends and I got to do things with the little ones that I often forget to do these days.  Mark and Kathy had a birthday party for Jesus and although we missed the Christmas play at church, we got to snuggle and watch "The Nativity".  The writers used quite a bit of creative license, which I don't often approve of, but they made the humanity of Mary and Joseph relateable to today's struggles.
    Michael went to Dr. Miller's office party where they presented him with a Carhartt vest embroidered with his name to match all the employees, although he is only an intern.  Megan said she didn't think she'd seen such a pleased look on his face.  Another evening was spent with hot chocolate and a ride around looking at lights in town.  Other days spent helping at Operation Shoebox and there was an employee Christmas meal in the dining hall with Franklin Graham two tables away.  Afterwards we went to visit our dear Mrs. Poe, 75 year old neighbor for those 5 splendid years on Long Branch Road, who's spent little to no time in the hospital.  ....I ran up to Virgie's the other day where she gave me an envelope from her bank as though I were family and told me to make certain I bought something for myself with the $10 bill.  Ronnie gave me money to get Macklynn and Madalynn Crappie fishing poles.  When I returned with them, he was sitting on our couch having brought a bag of food and other gifts.
     The same afternoon Heather and the kids delivered individually decorated and wrapped homemade gingerbread men.  We've been trying to have my sweet friend, her husband, and five children over for three weeks now and it has continually fallen apart, mostly because of sickness. 
     I have a "short list" of people we intend to have over.  Hospitality, not "the place to be" kind, but "the place to witness" kind.   One thing our traveling guest has shown us is that we need one more often because we keep everything presentable and act more peaceable.  Funny that we would feel compelled to have company when we are running so low on supply.  Although we were down to $3 the first go round and were out of a good many things, we still had dry milk, brown sugar, venison, sweet potatoes and summer squash, wheat and popcorn, oatmeal, rice and beans, and napkins for toilet paper. 
    God is keenly aware and supplies everything.  In his new faith, where Mike sees despair, I, in mine have learned to recognize God's hand in daily provision.  I become impatient to the mask across his eyes and spiral into anything but the picture of Christ's love.  Difficult it is in either case but how different it is for the woman to follow and submit to one who is her junior, not inferior, but junior in dying to oneself, in learning to forfeit selfish preferences and pleasures?  I expect that when there is none of me left, I will understand and see how it had to be so, that I with seniority  somehow remained last, even now, to be recognized and cherished.
    I can't be the only one.  There have to be others who can't find anyone who understands her predicament on her journey to good.  Perhaps God has saved us to Himself. 
    We have a "cry room" for babies at our church since we worship as whole families.  Sometimes I feel like going there for myself, to just cry it out.  Although I showed no other signs and the center where our 600 members meet is dark during service, Madalynn saw that I couldn't gain control of my tears on Sunday.  She reached over to me and put her arms around me as though she were the mother.  As alone as I feel so often, I never really am and shouldn't pretend to be.  It's just that one thing I yearn for but can never quite achieve, like roping the wind I suppose.  That's when I need reminders of who Mike is and is not"What Mike Would Do" post?
   He says he tried for three years to retrieve my heart.  He said he'd try forever, but forever ended soon enough.  He took me to every fine place he could think of.  He swept me away for motorcycle rides, a cruise, a massage weekend, and a jet ski trip.  He brought me treats on his way home.  My heart doesn't lie with those things, not that I dismissed the good will; I just knew that most of them were things he preferred anyway and that spending money comes naturally to him.  
    I need to do life with him.  I need his friendship before my heart can beat as a lover again.  It can't remain the feel good thing the shallow girl that I was did. 

Sunday night:  My New Year begins tomorrow now that our Christmas season has passed with Mom and Dad's return to Georgia with my little niece Maggie.  My brother's wife is the one who embroidered the sheets for Granddaddy and Grandmother.  She did a lovely job and I know Mom thought so too, but what really got her attention is that the pillow cases flip over to Memaw and Pop's names.  Hey, when you can kill two birds with one stone, you gotta go for it!
     Sometime in the process of getting to know my new sister-in-law, I began to hope that the olive branch would penetrate Mom's staunch composure.  She was totally in the dark that the woman I'd never laid eyes on, and had sworn not to, had become my "pen pal".  I suppose only time will tell because I couldn't.?
     What did lend itself to a little excitement was the Sugar Bowl.  The only time I find humor in Mike's antagonism is when he pulls for anyone BUT Alabama.  I had one of my BAMA shirts, so Mike put on his Oklahoma shirt and had one of the girls take our picture.  He sent it to the conditioning coach who had given him the shirt.  He commented back that he was about to enter the field.  I'm not normally impressed by much, especially name droppers, but I had to give it a smile. 
     This past summer the coach and Mike met when SP cleaned up what was left of his house from the EF-5 tornado.  He also invited Mike to workout in the private gym and indoor field with them.  He was a little more than happy that day.  I had forgotten that he also told Mike to bring Michael to their camp this coming summer. 
     The pregame interview with AJ McCarron added another dimension when the other AJ in the story was from my hometown, Centre, Alabama.  He explained that his umbilical cord around his neck gave him Cerebral Palsy.  I told Michael it is reason for him to wake thankful every morning to not be the same, although AJ Starr is quite the satisfied one now that he is the team equipment manager.
     When I found out Mom and Dad had missed it, I had to replay it for them because our little town never makes news.  Sure enough, Dad is certain he played basketball with AJ Starr's grandfather.  Their family was the first to be integrated into their school in the 1960s. 
      We've watched a game every night.  I got to see my man Ingram and my man Lacey play with the big boys.  Tonight I also got to see the first Thor movie.  Funny how there really is never anything new under the sun, only good and evil.  We just replay over and over in silly scenarios as if God gave us mind enough to think outside of Him. 
     I've had enough entertainment, late nights, to and fros, decorations, and the delicacies that C. S. Lewis spoke of ....quote.
     I don't know what will become of me in the New Year, so I'll not make any predictions except that God will have his way with me, finally and completely.  You see, I have made two vows in my life and have not fulfilled either one well.  Perhaps I should've thought through them better, but I was young and simple.  Even still, God will abide by me to keep them and to keep them well.
     The first was to the man I married.  We soon realized we had no idea what we were doing and no business doing it.  Nevertheless, I became pregnant with Megan six months in.  I travelled north to ride MARTA with my sister-in-law's boyfriend into Atlanta for my classes at Georgia State University.  One of the few things I remember is the foot long hotdog stand in the hallway outside my social something-or-another class and the apple juice I craved.  Ignorantly I ate anything I wanted and when Mom called to ask me over to eat supper when Mike was out of town, I'd take her up on it  whether I'd eaten already or not. 
     Sometime after I had Megan, I made the second vow.  I was sitting in the little seesaw swing, miserable with myself and vowing to God that I would get the weight off no matter what.  I've done it a few times but never stayed consistent.  I have a flyer I pulled out recently that reads:  Desire is your "want to", Dedication is your "try to", Determination is your "got to", and Discipline is your "how to". 
     I'm almost there.  The discipline, the constant is all I lack.  I'm coming back around to the smooth side of the month, which is when so called sex ed classes should teach girls to mark their calendars and retreat from young men at all cost!  I'm healing from the outbreak.  I'm not sore anymore from nearly falling out of the attic.  Oh, I didn't tell you; yeah, I stepped across the entry and missed grabbing a rafter and would've fallen into the carport if not for my ribs catching the other side. 
     Talk about thanking Jesus!  I'm sure I sounded like a member of a full gospel choir - a hushed "thank you, Jesus" as I lay stiff across the hole, a louder "thank you, Jesus" as I realized nothing was broken, a joyful "thank you, Jesus" as I was able to stand, and a couple more shaking my head on my way down the ladder.
     Anyway, I'm in pretty good condition for someone who has taken her health for granted and I believe God can restructure me into what is good.  He has my spirit and my mind and that my body comes next finally puts it in the right order for the right reasons. 
     Michael is ready to help and also was back in the summer before I had my cyst removed.  There went those best laid plans.  I was overjoyed the breast tissue was removed and found benign, but it was deep and took a long time to be comfortable again.
     Michael is ready for my help to accelerate his learning.  I go back and forth daily, even hourly, where this might lead - to send him away early for higher education and for the love of a sport?  Watching games on TV will pull anyone into the hype.  I think he CAN do it but SHOULD he do it?  Will he become full of himself so that he has to spend the rest of his life undoing it?  Isn't that what happens in this society?
     Should he remain in the community where God continually blesses him?  Should I send him away from what has created the desirable character he has?  Should we be sending any of our kids off into anonymity and debt to institutions that betray the name of God?  Our pastor raises the question also.  Could he not be found a man of honor and hard work to be placed among men of men where God sees fit?  Must he be celibate for so many years until his "education" is complete?  Can he do both?  Shouldn't he find a wife whose reputation can be traced and a courtship that can be held accountable?
     Then other days, he seems unchallenged and frustrated.  It seems like he's outgrowing us and could be meant for bigger things. 
     It preoccupies me so much now that recently a friend thought him to be my favorite child.  I've since looked to Heaven and asked God to make it abundantly clear what is best. 

Wednesday afternoon:  Before daylight, I woke with a sinus headache probably from the heating system battling 5 degree weather.  I used nose spray and took Tylenol and went back to sleep.  When I awoke again, Madalynn was pressed up against me, so since all the big kids were gone for the day, I slept some more, which I couldn't do without Mike taking care of me. 
     I had a dream that I was passionately pursuing Mike.  It was blushingly realistic.  I didn't know God would present in such a way after I asked Him to turn me toward Mike! 
     Macklynn had already started playing the Wii game he bought last night with the money Mom and Dad brought him for Christmas.  Melody has another headache and was crocheting in my bed, so she asked that since she'd read some, I delay her math another day. 
     I've learned not to let the turn of day steal my Bible time.  I finished the life of King David.  It's hard to reconcile the killing and the polygamy until you read what blood meant and what chaos double heartedness in marriage caused.  I've asked God to show me, to show me just what Jesus did for me.  New P - I saw that David made fairness his priority and was kind, loving, and respectful to everyone he met.  Then when I began to read about King Solomon and the dream he had where the Lord appeared and said, "Ask what I shall give thee," to which Solomon said, "I am but a little child:  I know not how to go out and to come in ...Give therefore thy servant an understanding heart to judge they people, that I may discern between good and bad ..."  "Then God said unto him, 'Because thou hast asked this thing, and hast not asked for thyself long life; neither hast asked riches for thyself, nor hast asked the life of thine enemies; but hast asked for thyself understanding to discern judgment; behold, I have done according to thy words .................................
      Man, that just touched me.  I looked to God and cried and cried. 
      Refreshed, it seemed like a good time to take a bath.  What about teaching?  What about effort toward and peace in the marriage and home?  Bath on my own time?  When's that?  Besides, "Never Be Normal".
       I hadn't shaved my legs in I don't know when.  As several of us were piled up watching a ballgame in my bed the other night,  Melody felt my leg somehow and said how soft it was.  That's how long it'd been since I shaved.  A shame, I suppose, but you know what my condition has been these couple of weeks and after 20 years, my husband doesn't know how to "just" snuggle.  So, I haven't made myself snugglable.  Every now and then, I remember that I should be glad that he even wants to be next to me.
     While I'm feeling all femme fatale, Melody has agreed to curl my hair for church tonight.  I was writing a letter for the birthday of a woman whose friendship I lost almost two years ago, when I was interrupted by a commotion outside.  The neighbor's bird dog had broken through the ice on the pond and was struggling.  By the time I got my pants on, it had made its way out and I was glad to see the little ones witness a lesson firsthand. 
     In a few more minutes, another disturbance called me out.  Pip had one of our Buff Orpington chickens by the neck.  McKala accidentally let it out this morning then couldn't find it.  That McKala is doing things in the barn again is music to my ears.  She says she has ten times the energy since her surgery and respiratory recovery.  She and Miranda did what they called a "coop makeover" yesterday after Mike's coworker spent the night because it was so cold and snowy in Boone that he couldn't get home.  After we ate supper, Mike sat and told story after story of fights he had in his youth.  Then, it dawned on me, "I'm a lover and he's a fighter."  Me loving the wrong way and him fighting the wrong fights.  Look what God has to work with!
     Just now, Ronnie stopped by to give the kids a unicycle he'd found.  It's leaning beside the door for when we all get home for church tonight.  As he was walking back to his truck, he said he has $5 when they come to eat with us Saturday night for whoever learns to ride it first.

Saturday afternoon:  Two situations arose yesterday, both dealing with women living with their boyfriends.  It never ceases to amaze me how people think I'm inciting something because I'm in the mood to.  They don't stop to think how long I may've had it on my mind. 
     I'm learning God's timing, to not say anything until something is blatant.  Shamelessly living together is blatant disregard for the statutes of God.  To call oneself a Christian and openly commit sin should cause fear in a soul and when it doesn't, then I know it's time to speak up. 
     In 2 Samuel, Nathan said to David, "Howbeit, because by this deed thou hast given great occasion to the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme ..."  Why are we so selfish to cast darkness into an already black world?  When Christians are more concerned with justifying themselves, then it only makes sense to wonder if they even know Jesus at all.
    Paul said, "Know ye not that the unrighteous shall no inherit the kingdom of God?  Be not deceived:  neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, nor thieves, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom God."  Yes, then it says, "and such were some of you ..."  but does the blood of Christ cover it now?  Of course and enough remember it with such contempt that you are tormented to continue in such behavior if you know the Lord.
    "But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be once named among you, as becometh saints," as stated in Ephesians.  Saints?  Yes, saints.  Me?  Yes, a saint.  Hard to comprehend and uphold enough to "let your heart therefore be perfect with the Lord our God". 
      Why is it that we love ourselves more than God?  We won't rock the boat for fear of upset.  Why do we parents who claim Christ compromise our faith to support our children in their sin?  Because we care more about our relationship with our children than we do about their relationship with the Lord. 
     OR is it because we really don't understand sin?  How many churches are preaching prosperity?!  When did chastisement, admonishment, rebuke, reproach, confrontation become "bad" words?  When we made religion to suit us. 
      When did denying oneself get lost in the definition of Christian?
      When did we start knowing more than God?  When did we become more important than our would be children?  The structure God created and ordained is to protect them from in-and- out Daddies.  It's to secure a paradigm of harmonious home life.  Is every home that follows the template harmonious?  No, but those are from other sins .....

Thursday afternoon:  "Thank you for the affection our dogs show for each other.  Thank you that I could pay the rent and that our landlord waited for half of it, even though we were already a month behind.  Thank you that we had turkey in the freezer from when Mom and Dad came, so that I could make barbeque sandwiches with it for lunch.  Thank you that Michael paid for the pig feed because he decided to take over their care so we could keep them.  Thank you that each has a wholesome place to work and looked beautiful, at that, as they jumped in the car to leave when I brought it back this morning.  Thank you that Miranda showed up with groceries for us bought with the money she owed us from the wreck. 
     And tonight, thank you for the exercising in the basement that's going on right now, the unison of laughter rising up the stairs."
     All I can do anymore is thank God for His ever present mercy.  I woke last morning at 2:30 am and couldn't for the life of me go back to sleep.  The only time that happens to me is when God is calling.  I prayed for 3 hours, then got up to get ready to leave with Mike at 7.  We drove up the mountain and down the Blue Ridge Parkway to get to Samaritan's Purse Training and Conference Center in Blowing Rock. 
     At Mike's request, I wore my raccoon pelt coat again.  For my pleasure, I took "A Time for Remembering" and thought I'd go relatively unnoticed.  When we entered the room for devotions, I was met with hug after hug, some admittedly to feel my fur.  I was treated like family by the Billy Graham Rapid Response Chaplains from all over the country there for FEMA training. 
     After a former drill sergeant gave an undeniably poignant talk, I snuck away to the cozy lobby of the building they got for a tenth of its cost.  I placed my coat in the high back of the leather chair so that it draped over my shoulders, and I commenced to reading. 
     Almost everything about Ruth Bell Graham made her my kind of woman, from her love of second hand things to her never ending questions to God about ....................   I identify with her having to make decisions, manage the finances and repairs, and train the children, so much so that I felt the sting of coming tears many times. 
      If the book had been mine to write in, I would've underscored, "A true mother is not merely a provider, housekeeper, comforter, or companion.  A true mother is primarily and essentially a trainer."
     And God bless her, she wrote "I reprimand them sharply - more probably peevishly.  The very tone of my voice irritates them (I know because if it were used on me it would irritate me).  They answer back - probably in the same tone.  I turn on them savagely (I hate to think how often! And how savage a loving mother can be a times).  And I snap 'Don't you speak to your mother like that.  It isn't respectful.'  Nothing about me - actions, tone of voice, etc. - commended respect.  It doesn't mean I am to tolerate sass or back-talk.  But then I must be very careful not to inspire it either." 
      Know that there is much more to her and that I am barely halfway through the book.  She lived a life different than the normal ones our imaginations drum up.  We've lived that fly by the seat of your pants life that drug us away from routine.  I fought it tooth and nail, but I believe we are more resilient for it.
       The writer told of the time Ruth was given a fur coat, but she refused to wear it out knowing the press would tear her apart for the flamboyance.  She agreed to wear it on walks and rides.  Later, she auctioned it, only to have it returned to her.  Sitting there as if I were "somebody" in mine, feeling full well like I did on my walk on Sunday - nothing much more than a small spot on a very large map, I understood her, that she never wanted to be mistaken for flaunting the life God had opened to her. 
      In my warmth and comfort, I thought is was wise to get a cup of coffee before I fell asleep from my wee hour meeting with the Lord and embarrass my husband with snoring through a gaping mouth - even with a small supply still, I'd determined coffee was unnecessary and hadn't had any since Sunday.
     A kind lady who'd worked for Franklin for 15 years brought me a little bag of homestyle cookies and we talked about how God is in the details of life.
     As the test takers began to gather in the lobby, I continued to be engrossed in Ruth's story but finally it was time to go over to the headquarters for lunch.  We walked out into the dusting of snow that'd begun.  Mike knew it was going to and was very happy to see me in it wrapped in the coat he he'd given me.  To me, it's very Grizzly Adams-ish, not only warm but fun to wear, except that I hate for anyone to have their first impression of me in it.  Because I am normally so understated that I forget jewelry my Dad and Mike have given me, and even my wedding band if I don't make a point of it. 
     Lunch was some sort of wonderfully flavored baked chicken, potatoes, and green beans, much more fine dining style than cafeteria.  We sat with another driver and his wife, and a chaplain and his, who have invited us to their home in Florida for what they do best, marital counseling.  I suppose there isn't a chance that we shouldn't take them up on it. 
      As we were leaving and mingling, Mike saw a baby and headed toward it.  I'm not certain of the details, but he quickly learned it was the daughter of Corey and Cissie Lynch,  Franklin Graham's son-in-law and daughter, not only that but Corey is a Safety for the Indianapolis Colts.  He graciously stepped away from the table and answered every question genuinely and politely that we popped off.  In a frenzy to not overkeep him, but for Michael's sake I asked him every question about being a Christian in the NFL that Mike hadn't already asked.  I was left with a much better taste in my mouth for what I would've imagined to be a money mongering, intolerable environment. 
     As we skirted away, Jane Graham and I met eyes and she smiled at me.  I suddenly felt like a peon among giants.  I know they are only fellow workers through - not for - because we can't do anything "for", Christ ...but I was still in awe and later when we also met Cissie while her tiny Margaret smiled at Mike, I thought surely she could see straight through to the giddiness and simplicity of plain ole me.  She is a beauty and has the grace of her grandmother whom I was so caught up reading about just hours before.
    We walked back out into the snow, falling gently, lacking wind to drive it the ground.  It was all I could do to look away from it to where I was going. 
     We took a tour of the grounds.  I was impressed to see more than the Shoebox facility I'd seen year after year.  The SP World Medical Mission was especially meaningful to me after reading about the cases Ruth's father treated in China and at times under heavy threat of attack.  The piles of medical supplies and equipment made it more real for me and told me again that I have everything I need.  Earlier Mike had said, I could window shop while he was in training.  Why should I shop, if only in windows, when I don't need a thing?  Why do we "shop" for the sake of shopping when the world is in need of everything?
      Mike decided to take the "old way" home, the gravel road we used to get there from the Parkway.  We hit  a frozen patch and slid right into a dirt bank.  Mike said, "Hold on," never slowing down as he nailed the gas, determined not to have to call a wrecker.  As startled as I was, I knew that kind of adventure and confidence is exactly what the young me was drawn to.  How to set it back in order? - He brought home a stack of booklets.  I didn't know until after our misunderstanding in the kitchen over whose plate was whose that there were nine workbooks that he'd planned to lead the family through, being the first time he'd ever done so. 

gingerly

Friday night:  Megan and Michael are gone watching "Lone Survivor" after she went to the Sheriff's Office to finish up her Concealed Carry Permit.  Miranda, McKala, and Melody were crocheting bunnies, bears, and flowers.  Now Miranda and McKala are doing Zumba in the basement, followed by weightlifting, while Mike's allowing Melody, Madalynn, and Macklynn, who's had fever and headache all day, to watch a new movie in our room. 
      I've read under our dim lights as long as I can.  Even with more light, I believe my eyes are weakening with age, so I've come here to my screen to incorporate something about Ruth, "On February 17, 1965, she awoke at 2:30 in the  morning, disturbed and dejected.  Feeling the impulse to pray, she knelt beside her bed.  Inexplicably, tears flowed as she found herself petitioning God ..." for  two particular men at the time, but she other times, "And there were periods when the rhythm continued, day and night, night and day; light giving way to darkness, darkness giving way to dawn, with her seeing it all, watching from the vantage of her sleeplessness.  'Insomnia,' she scrawled in black ink and underlined, scarred pages of her journals.  In the cool darkness her senses became refined, a radar detecting the pulsations of the universe.  Through the parted curtains she watched the moon, hanging over Rainbow Mountain, pallid, a ghostly face upturned in a black pool; she heard the whispering stream west of her window; anxieties, failures, unfinished tasks rose to the surface of her brain like old wood in the water."
     "It may be," she wrote, "that the night seasons are the only times He can get a word edgewise."
     
Wednesday morning:   Mike and I got home yesterday from New Jersey.  He had to pick up a kitchen trailer that's been used to feed the volunteers rebuilding after Hurricane Sandy.  Macklynn and Madalynn had both been fighting a fever, headache, and vertigo.  Common sense told me timing was bad, but I decided to pray about it and see what God thought first. 
     Mike and I needed the time together.  The girls said they could handle the little ones and sure enough by Monday, there was no trace of illness.  God knew it would be so.
      To conserve gas lately, we've had to pick which church service to attend.  Since "The Passion Play" choir practices are mandatory and the church blesses us with such low cost good meals on Wednesdays, that's what we've chosen.  So, it was a treat when Mike said for me to get on up for church since we'd be out Sunday morning.  I was glad we got to hear the world travelling and ministering Shane Willard.
     I was a zombie and Mike wanted more spirited riding company, so he got me some 59 cent coffee.  It didn't take long for the familiar surge to arrive.  Must be something like heroine in the vein.  That lets me know that I need it more than I should.  A friend and I discussed last week the evolution that the coffee cup has been through.  Her 1950s set is similar to tea cups.  Now, we use mugs and make the false claim that we only have one cup!  To top it off, a show I watched on the history of caffeine claimed that the French Revolution was borne in coffee houses.  Granted there is good in that, but I too am manic with coffee and not necessarily flying by God's instrumentation.
     Interesting that Mike STARTS drinking coffee while I'm STOPPING.  He's always said it reminds him of a truck stop, people with a cigarette in one hand and coffee in the other. 
     As we drove up the highway in the 5500 Cummins Dodge chariot, we sang "In the Long Run" by the Eagles.  Before long, we'd have to turn it back to Christian music.  You almost have to do that now.  Used to you could enjoy "decent" songs from different genres.  If all else failed you could find some traditional, patriotic, God fearing music on country radio.  Not so anymore.  The new Gold Standard of lyrics is driving a truck into the woods with a girl and bottle of "feel good". 
     And, you know, I justified that for a while about 4 or 5 years ago.  Trying to kick start our relationship, I imagined that since I'm married that it could be about my husband and me.  But how exactly does one get away with that when the kids start listening?  Surely you don't want them to think of you and your husband all tangled up in the woods.  So unless you like the idea of your son singing about enticing someone's daughter into the boondocks for a moonlit dip in the creek, then I suggest you stop pussyfooting around with the music and put an end to it.

    For someone who never even liked country music until she was an adult, I surely do wish some artists would join the ranks of Josh Turner and sing me some consistently good, God loving country music.

     When we got to the hotel, I had just enough time to swim but as I was checking the temperature for the chill I already had, and Mike pushed me in.  I'm sure I looked as pleased as a wet cat.  I thought I'd remedy it quickly with a dash for the hot tub.  It was the exact same temperature as the pool.
     We dried off as quickly as we could, got in the elevator, then raced each other down the frigid hallway.  Cold air was blowing through the vents!  It was a better hotel so I couldn't understand except for poor employee work ethic why even the omelets were cold the next morning.
     But for the time I enjoyed the cinnamon roll, all was forgotten.  Ah, I had forgotten that it was the same hotel which began my love affair with them.
     Monday was Martin Luther King, Jr day.  I had read last week, "At the 1957 New York crusade King would sit on Billy's platform.  Three years later the two men would fly together to Brazil to attend a banquet for Baptist leaders.  There King said:  'If it had not been for the ministry of Billy Graham, my civil rights work in the United States would have been harder.' "
     I, like most everyone in my generation, knew who Billy Graham was.  But Miranda tells me just now of someone her age who didn't.  And, of course, there are others.  What a shame.  I never went to a crusade but my best friend was saved at one.   Miranda thinks that's funny; but she forgets that I'm 42, so 30 years ago  when our friend was saved, Mr. Graham was in still in his 60s.
     When we got to the kitchen trailer, everyone was gone for the day.  The device for the landing gear that raises and lowers it was dead; so as Mike tried to coerce it into going with us, it broke off entirely and the front on the trailer frame leaned into the asphalt.
     This was supposed to be a hook and drop run.  Mike's mind raced right into gear.  He got the jack out of the truck and started collecting boards to stack a little at a time under the frame.  It took over an hour but in his 23 years of trucking, he's had to fool with every kind of obstacle.  
     I did whatever he asked me to do without complaint.  When I questioned him if he was cold, he said, "At least it's not 100 degrees."  It made me think of all the hard hours he's put in over the years.  He catches a good bit of flack for "just being a truck driver", but an excellent truck driver deals well with customers, backs in anywhere, trouble shoots, loads impossible loads, knows the laws and the roads.  There's a spot in Virginia going up a mountain that is his favorite in all of America.  It's a 180 view.  He says he hit 1 million miles in his Freightliner there.  There are toll attendants who know him and truck stops that expected him, like the one in "Who Needs a Vacation When You Have a Mike?" post.
     As I watched him work, he deserved honor in my mind's eye.  We've lost some ground on the details of love, but I could never discount that Mike's the man for the job.  After talking this morning with someone whose husband would rather play video games than work, I surely need to recognize Mike for all the things he's capable of.  As a matter of fact, I was inwardly embarrassed that I was encouraging this young woman to remain hopeful and non yielding to the forces that would have her divorced in no time.  Yet, just last night I had lit into Mike about how "so and so" wasn't going to get paid with "such and such".  It wasn't that I was wrong.  It was that I wasn't reverencing his office.
     I don't like to think of my husband as some kind of president but God ordained his office.  And although to a degree, every time I have to inquire of God because I go unheard, I grow further from him yet closer to my Lord ...God sends me back into the throes of battle so that I might slowly and finally learn who He wants me to be.  He knows, He sees, and He can resolve anything better than I can ...if only I would stand down.  Something else Ruth said is, "Sometimes beautiful women develop from adjusting to difficult men."
     We were 15 minutes from the rebuilt Sea Side Boardwalk on Jersey Shore.  At the urging of Andy, a volunteer we enjoyed meeting, we drove over to see the roads being put back down after the sewers and water systems were plugged with sand from the hurricane.  We walked down to the water as the wind whipped my hair fiercely.  It was nice but not nearly as much as the quiet little cove dock that SP has rebuilt, along with an entire home for someone whose was washed off its foundation.  Now, it's up on wood poles and ready to be passed down for more generations of their family living on that small lot.
     Funny that we would run into our house guest again.  We ate out with his girlfriend and her family, who are also volunteers.  The conversation was robust.  Since Mike and I had them hemmed in at the end of each booth, they didn't have much choice!
      We had to spend an extra night.  The next morning we woke to gray skies heavy with snow.  The 30 foot high window of the lobby made it pristine as I had another cinnamon roll and coffee.  I wanted one more cinnamon roll but it wouldn't have been worth it for how I'dve felt on the drive home.  I already got an unwanted glance in the mirror at myself the night before while I was changing. 
      There is no way around admitting that the reason that I don't want to be physical with Mike is that I look and feel terribly out of shape.  Miranda weighed this morning and has lost 9 pounds in 3 weeks.  They say it's funny that I urged them to it but haven't been participating myself.  I think my excuses have run out.
      I had postponed my reading while Mike was driving because it just didn't seem right.  Haven't you seen a man out on a joyride while his wife has her nose stuck in a book?  That's no kind of fun for him. 
     Since I am a passenger side driver in the snow, it seemed like good timing to read some more about my new friend, Ruth.  She pained over every person's soul, especially "the least of these".  I dare say she is a kindred spirit and I could hardly imagine anything better than spending eternity with her on the new earth.  God chastise me if I soon forget the things that her life has taught me.  I began earnestly praying right then that God would only allow for the marriages of our children to those who want nothing more than to introduce people to Jesus. 
    It's a good thing that I hadn't put on eye make-up because as we made it back to the shop in NC, my face had dried of so many tears that the skin of my cheeks was taut.
     
     
Monday morning:  "Thank you, God, that the dogs only barked once last night, giving me a good night of rest.  Thank you that we all have wellness.  Help McKala get to work in the dark of this morning.  Help me in all that I do.  I commit to You what and when I read, teach, clean, and eat.  I can't do it any other way anymore. Thank you that I have nowhere to be today but here to do all the things that matter most."
     Mike and I rested in bed together all day yesterday.  It's no longer in my nature to stagnate, but staying in our room seemed like a good thing to do even though he hadn't asked me to.  I think the last time was:  "Rendezvous" post. 
     The kids came in and out of our room yesterday, fending food for themselves, but finally the majority were in our floor or bed by day's end.  The Pro Bowl was on and during the commercials, Mike peaked his interest with The Grammy's.  The few segments we saw proved for me that the tide has turned.  There is no moral return unless a great revival pushes back the wave of Humanism that has engulfed our culture.  Could it be that a Grammy is one of the "golden idols" of the day, similar to the olden images of false gods?
     I could've put up a fuss, but what we saw spoke for itself.  I could've put up a fuss about a good many things yesterday, but I am not my husband's conscience and I don't want the children to remember me that way, as they would if something happened to me right now. 
     We had already missed their graduations, so while Megan, Melody, and I made it a point to drive an hour away to Jami and Shawn's baby shower for their twins, Mike took off toward the mountains to sled from Ernie's barn .  He said he didn't call because he knew I'd say something about the gas money.  Before I left, I had also said he should get out of bed and do something with the littles; I meant like a board game.  But Mike, he just does things big.  If they're of God is between them.  That's the hardest thing for me to stay out of and for the older kids to conform their respect to.  Plus, have I not written proof here along the way how God prepares for the children and me despite anyone else's decisions?  "Oh me of little faith," ~ the title of another good book. 

Tuesday morning:  Snow just began to fall.  Madalynn's "In His Steps" interpretive dance class has been cancelled and so go the 10 other errands I had.  They were never errands anyway but missions.  The "things" we have to do are only avenues to get us to the "people" we're supposed to see.  Brother Kevin said it similarly.  I can't imagine what we'd be doing without his guidance.
     I'm groggy.  Mike woke up at 4:30 and made small noises and movements that kept me awake.  God grant me more patience with and compassion for a man who can't sleep long, has hormonal imbalances from the surgery and lifelong chronic kidney stones, and aches from the various procedures he's had.  I whine that he whines, but who am I to do that really?  I am scarred from years of him using his imposition for gain, but who am I to say that it is still the case?

Tuesday morning:  Been awake since 5 am.  Mike can't sleep more than 6 hours lately and I need at least 8.  Bad timing for someone who's trying to stop coffee.  Michael told me yesterday that if I didn't drink coffee he wasn't going to study with me.  Then, Miranda said she read that people who sit and drink coffee alone for half an hour each morning are happier.
     Problem is that I was starting to need more and as a pick-me-up in the afternoons sometimes.  The coffee high is a false feeling of wellness and energy.  Over these last three weeks, the kids have asked numerous times what's wrong with me.  I am seeing that life without coffee reveals that I'm not as happy or healthy as I might've imagined. 
     It began before that though, my solemnness.  Studying through the Bible is taking me to a place, a place between heaven and earth.  Sometimes I feel so close to God that I can barely function in daily things.  Most of them seem so vain and empty.  He is simplifying my life so that I can perform the necessary tasks and be on to the souls of the people in and around my home, and everywhere else I wind up.
     Saturday, Megan invited me to tag along while she got her nails done.  She affords herself that luxury since her cuticles are always stained from oil and grease.   Mike caught wind that we were leaving and wanted to go.  It was met with resistance because he soon commanded the morning.  Eventually though we made our way to the mountains we called home for 11 years. 
    He drove us to the airport where Megan learned to fly. They'd removed the shirt backs they traditionally cut out and sign every time someone does their first solo.   When she found her instructor, her heart was wrenched by the uncontrollable shaking of his hands.  He said that last December, the Parkinson's symptoms came on suddenly.  He'll probably lose his pilot's license this year.  For a man who does nothing much more than fly and work on planes, it's especially devastating. 
     We left with a mission in mind, that Megan, holding back tears, would pray and return to do her part in making sure he is right with God.  We left too with that shirttail.  Mike wants me to have it framed for Megan, to remind her that on May 2, 2007, she did something most people, much less girls, will never do.
     Before returning home, she sought out a couple of rental properties.  One would require that we sell or give away all but 2 or 3 of our animals.  It would be in exchange for New River access and a place Mike would feel much better about spending so much rent money on. 
     After all the tension in the car with Mike on a manic roll, Megan still sent me that evening a blog post titled "Let Him Love You" (get site).  Funny how we think our kids might be destroyed in the trials of our marriage and we become eager to find a way out, until we see that they learn, that they are wise, maybe more than we are ourselves. 
     The evening of the Super Bowl was surely a test.  I had invited Sherrie and her two daughters down.  For whatever reasons, I was in quite a tizzy a couple of hours beforehand.  And when I found that something that was mine was gone, a switch flipped.  Funny how we manage to press forward and then that one seemingly insignificant thing sets us off. 
     I don't do it often, but I got in the car (in my pajamas) and drove off.  In years past, I might've turned up the hard rock music.  I might've driven like a bat out of hell.  But I didn't.  I did turn on Christian music and I did scream at the top of my lungs so much that it hurt.  And then I prayed out loud.
    I returned a half hour later with better composure.  But Mike had left to watch the game somewhere else. 
     The girls were making homemade pizza and needed more sugar for the dough; so even though my hair was wet from the shower, Sherrie drove me to the store.  We talked in the parking lot, on the way back, and in the driveway for what must've been 2 hours.  I'm not one to call on a friend when I'm at a loss, because those are the times when we need God the most, not a person.  But it was nice to have someone right there in front of me who completely understood everything I said, not only out of compassion but out of strikingly similar experience. 
     It was as the though the game wasn't even happening.  Might as well anyway for the blowout that the Seahawks accomplished.  Days before, Mike had sent me a testimonial video of several of the players, so I was pulling for them.
     Lo and behold, during the game Mike was giving his own testimony to an Outlaw biker and two other men.   One said he hadn't been to church in 20 years, yet he spoke scripture with tears in his eyes.
     Mike and I didn't speak about much more than that until he called me the next morning and apologized.  The old Mike would never have done that, witnessed or apologized. 
      And then the day took off from there when we realized that it was 60 degrees outside on a February afternoon.  McKala put on her new workout digs to get some vitamin D while she read.  Miranda and I sat on the swing to prepare for an essay she's anxious about.  Madalynn built a fort with the rocking chairs and blankets.  Macklynn drug out his tackle box and rubber boots to fish, while Michael fenced off a section of the pasture in hopes that his hogs will mate.  And although, Melody chose to lie in bed to finish her overdue library book, it felt like fellowship. 
     I am most honored to fellowship with my children.  Of course, I have to train, admonishing and disciplining, but days like this one make me elated/intoxicated, make me know that there in nothing better than sharing space, time, and hearts with the loves of my life. 
     Once Mike and I can do the same, it will be complete.  Until then, regardless of my feelings or lack thereof, he still is the head of our home and I am reminded daily of the Lord that I am to be his helper, no matter my own preferences, which I am learning to discharge.  As I yield my own desires, I find out they really don't matter.  Happiness is in knowing God and sharing Him with whoever will listen and praying Him to those who won't.   

Saturday night:  I went back to sleep today until 2 pm.  Then Mike went to get the wings he was trying to dine out for last night with the earned income credit we got because the government says we're below the poverty level!  The kids asked, "Really?!"  It's tight around here but we don't feel "poor".
     They'd quit serving food already.  Instead we "hung out" there with Megan and Miranda for a while until I saw things I didn't want to.  Some song came on that sent all the "girls", EXCEPT mine and a few other self respecting young women, running to the dance floor.  Within seconds they were dancing on each other and by the end it looked like a full on orgy.  I felt sick to my stomach and just turned my back to it all, ready to leave.  I told anyone within earshot that we didn't have to do that to turn the heads of guys in my day.  I remembered how I used to be though, having meaningless sex at the drop of the hat if it was someone I aimed for.  Funny how I place so many demands on it today.  I understand that I was in sin and that it should not be emotionless, but it was so good then with no strings, yet I bind it up with them now ....Next paragraph:  Mike said he wasn't paying it any attention and that I was the best looking woman in the room.  He said that I am everywhere we go. 
     This time I believe he was sincere.  He tells me from time to time that I should sing, that I should write a book, that I should do more with photography.  I've dismissed it though because it appeared to be a wantonness for money as if my job at home wasn't enough.
     This part of what I came upon today from sunnyskyz.com,  "A Husband's Amazing Response to 'She's a Stay-at-Home?  What Does She Do All Day?'":  "If your mother quit her role as mother, entire lives would be turned upside down; society would suffer greatly. The ripples of that tragedy would be felt for generations. If she quit her job as a computer analyst, she'd be replaced in four days and nobody would care. Same goes for you and me. We have freedom and power in the home, not the office. But we are zombies, so we can not see that.
Yes, my wife is JUST a mother. JUST. She JUST brings forth life into the universe, and she JUST shapes and molds and raises those lives. She JUST manages, directs and maintains the workings of the household, while caring for children who JUST rely on her for everything. She JUST teaches our twins how to be human beings, and, as they grow, she will JUST train them in all things, from morals, to manners, to the ABC's, to hygiene, etc. She is JUST my spiritual foundation and the rock on which our family is built. She is JUST everything to everyone. And society would JUST fall apart at the seams if she, and her fellow moms, failed in any of the tasks I outlined.
Yes, she is just a mother. Which is sort of like looking at the sky and saying, "hey, it's just the sun."
Of course not all women can be at home full time. It's one thing to acknowledge that; it's quite another to paint it as the ideal. To call it the ideal, is to claim that children IDEALLY would spend LESS time around their mothers. This is madness. Pure madness. It isn't ideal, and it isn't neutral. The more time a mother can spend raising her kids, the better. The better for them, the better for their souls, the better for the community, the better for humanity. Period."  Matt Walsh is tired of people telling him how lucky his wife is to be a SAHM, as Dr. Laura Shlessinger calls us in her book "In Praise of Stay at Home Moms".  It's an affirmative exceptional read!
     This afternoon when Mike restated what he said about me last night, he cajoled, "That's why I've stayed with you, because you make me look good!"  The kids looked over him and said, "Why is she with you then?"  He grinned and said, "Because I make the money."  Now as cold as it all sounds, there is some truth in it.  Men providing and women responding to it are basic in our DNA.  Think about it:  when a man doesn't work and/or a woman quits caring about herself, it falls apart.  "It just does," as my mentor Susan is always saying.
      Thursday night I got to run up to the local diner to have pie with Mary-Hope, a good friend I only get to see every 3 or 4 months.  She's several years my senior but we share so many commonalities of experience that we are inevitably drawn to have these lengthy conversations.  We discussed Leslie Verdick's new book on marriage, how if you're going to stay to "stay well", letting God render what He wills in and through you.  I don't consider myself a "needy" friend but it surely is nice to have a sit now and then with someone who "gets" every word I say.  And I got to do that twice in one week!  God has smiled on me indeed...
      Wednesday night was no different when my young friend and her two boys who lived with us rode with me to church.  I haven't asked her yet but I don't know if she's ever been to church service.  I was so glad she accepted that I didn't ask anything else. 
      I'm not a logistics person, so I didn't give any forethought to how the boys would respond having not seen me in 3 years.  Manuel was almost 4 then.  When I drove up, his smile got wide and screamed, "Michelle!"  I thought she must've put him up to it, as a courtesy of course.  But he sat next to me for our fellowship meal and would intermittently rub my sweater, then my hair.  Finally, he reached up around my neck, gave me a solid hug, and said, "I love you, Michelle." 
      He cried and cried when I left them at their car.  I had wanted to make amends with her, never imagining what else I would gain.
      Tuesday evening Michael got another local store to sell his earrings.  They broadcast it on their site, spawning 100 likes and many orders.  Afterwards, while Madalynn was in hers, Melody discreetly went into the interpretive dance ministry class she had sworn off.  I had to act as though it were no big deal so that she wouldn't bolt.  She's that self-conscious, not in a shy way but in a "cool" way.  Later, as the kids were buying gifts for the four of them who have birthdays next week,  I broke down and bought some reading glasses.  I've always had perfect vision and could almost literally find a needle in a haystack, i.e. a dart in the grass; so it disturbs me a little.  So does the refocusing when I take them off. 

Sunday night:  I just gave McKala her allergy shots after she crocheted a scarf for my Brother's wife who refused payment for the beautiful embroidery she did for the grandparents' Christmas gift.  Michael is making earrings.  Madalynn and Macklynn both are sick with headaches.  Melody's been unusually cheerful.  Megan has slept off most of the day and I think Miranda is refinishing a chair.  Mike's had The Olympics on all day.
     I admire the athletes' dedication.  I just can't help but believe the awards and trophies we aspire to are present day idols:  The Grammys, American Idol, The Super Bowl, ....  I believe our screens are our idols; if we can't win the esteem, then we can watch someone who can.  (If we check the screens before we check with God, then they are idols.  If we spend more time with them than with God, then they are.  If we waste away in front of them, then they are.  If they draw us away from God, then they are our gods.)
      I believe our "groves" are our screens and our "high places" are the pedestals where we put public figures. 
     After 3 distinct instances, that go better unnamed, involving alcohol this week; for me it will have to join the bench with coffee.  Although I normally have no particular cravings or issues with it (and I even found a verse in the OT that includes it in an offering feast - Deut 14:26), I am convicted this weekend to lay it down.  If alcohol is required for a good time, then it never was a good time to begin with.  If your control over alcohol makes someone else falsely assume they have it too, then it's no good.  If alcohol makes you numb toward God for even a short time, that short time could irrevocably change your life.  If you gave someone a My Hope video and they saw you drinking, they might be cool with it; but what if they're bound to it in a way you can escape from but they can't.
     Funny though how Christendom at large is so worried about alcohol when how many of its members pop a "happy pill" every day?  You have a lot to get right before the Lord if His presence is not more sufficient than popping pills to stay happy.
      Then there's food.  As I peruse Deuteronomy at the 5 am hour, woken by throbbing gums, I'm struck hard with 31:20, "For when I shall have brought them into the land which I sware unto their fathers, that floweth with milk and honey; and they shall have eaten and filled themselves, and waxen fat; then will they turn unto other gods, and serve them, and provoke me, and break my covenant."  Then in 32:15, "But Jeshurun waxed fat, and kicked: thou art waxen fat, thou art grown thick, thou art covered with fatness; then he forsook God which made him, and lightly esteemed the Rock of his salvation."  No, I do not take this as an allegory since Proverbs 23:2 says, "And put a knife to thy throat, if thou be a man given to appetite."
     Fat is just one more thing we've given into.  From heaven we must look like the world of Wall-E.  You know what fat is to me?  It's the outward evidence of how many times I've taken pleasure or comfort with something other than my Lord.
     Deut 30:19, "I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live:"  It's not an addiction, it's not a condition; it's a choice.  "Choose life."
     One more thing came to mind as I sat wrapped in a blank under the light of my lamp:  that I will know Moses one day, that I will live with all the people whose names made it into my Bible/the ones whose hearts belonged to the one and only God.  I don't mean like some old gospel rendition of "Glory"; I mean real life.  I have a life waiting for me.  I have saints to meet.  How will I compare in their presence?  How much more "dying to myself" I must have!

Friday morning:  Valentine's Day, which I don't normally encourage the kids to observe.  After all, it is for "eros" love but commercialism would exploit it for any kind of love.  However, I decided since Madalynn's birthday was day before yesterday and our family of good friends was coming over, it seemed like a good time to depart for the sake of the little girls having some fun with the cards.  As each older kid realized it, they asked without exception, "Mama bought those?" 
     I made a great big lasagna too, to which they also asked the question, "Mama made that?" Because McKala followed in Megan's footsteps as our "Italian" cook.  Goodness, you'd think I'm a terrible mother; however, who was smart enough to make sure her daughters are good cooks? 
    Lasagna is surely not the meal I wished I'd had when the nausea set in that evening.  I lounged on the couch until the chills set in and the kids covered me with five blankets.  At 2 am, I could no longer fight it off.  Then, as Michael predicted, I felt a little better.
    Yesterday as everyone suited up to partake in the 17 1/2 inches of snow that God graced us with, I lay in bed with less nausea and more headache.  This morning at 5 am, I got up with sore hips and joints from lying around so much.  I can't imagine how Virgie must feel having been in the hospital since Saturday. 
    Her birthday is Madalynn's.  I started calling her early in the week to make sure she'd be around.  After she didn't answer my calls for a couple of days, I started calling her family members and found out she'd had a brain bleed and was found unresponsive.  I had the money to run lots of errands and pay overdue bills on Tuesday: so I got her some things to take to her hospital room, being certain to get roses, since she said the ones we got her last year were the first ones she'd gotten in 40 years. 
    When Michael and I arrived in her room, she was groggy and I wondered if that would be her state of mind from now on, until I found out she'd been prescribed muscle relaxers for her discomforts from being bedridden.  I found too that she still had her strength when she hugged me hard into her glasses as we got ready to leave when her family arrived for the night.
     I haven't told her yet that I love her, but I do.
     Manuel called me last night to tell me that he misses me.  I'm still in awe that he remembers me at all, but I'll take what he's giving; the love of a child is nothing to be taken for granted.  I don't know where this is going, but I'll be something better to that family than I was before.  I was caught up in my own pities, which made be a bad candidate to be a firm witness of Christ. 
     I'm in need of and thankful for the flowering friendships with like-minded people.  The Jenkins fit that role to a tee.  I invited their whole family over celebrate Madalynn's birthday.  On top of blessing us with their day, they brought the snow with them. 
     Their little ones made me warm in rememberance of the preciousness of those days.  The young girls played up and down stairs without a fuss. Macklynn played with their two year old son as if he were his brother. The young men and women congregated with us around the table eating and talking in the kind of fellowship only God can orchestrate.  To see Heather's rugged husband tear up at his vision for teaching young men the role of God in their lives said it all.
    Melody presented the three girls and their mother with the matching crocheted headbands she'd made for them to wear for the preplanned photo session, that never happened because the fun never ceased.  Melody also made the cake pops for the all the little guys to dip into chocolate and sprinkles, with only one mishap when Madalynn stepped across the cord of the melter.  It wasn't nearly as bad as the splatter of the candle I knocked over my desk a couple of hours earlier. 
     Come to think of it, Melody dressed Madalynn for the snow, too.  How many things does she do that go unnoticed?  I'm quick to catch her in a rude tone or unfinished work, but how quick am I to compliment her when she helps voluntarily?
     Midday, Mike and Megan arrived home from work via her coworker's 4 wheel drive.  To her embarrassment, we ran out and asked him to stay.  I've known of him for quite a while now.  He's that decent, meek one, minding his own business and if he has any intentions, not making them clear yet ...while everyone who does is not in God's will enough for Megan to regard.   I wonder how many a good guy is passed up as he works up the gumption to lay his heart on the line.
    What I do know is that he stayed late into the night as everyone went sledding and sat around laughing afterwards ...and that he picked Mike and Megan up for work this morning.  She had her pink scarf on with her uniform and jacket, maybe hoping for something we're all afraid doesn't exist anymore. 
   In the early hours this morning, I read Nehemiah.  "But thou art a God ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and forsookest them not."  At the end of the prayer is the confession in regard to God's wonderful grace, "For they have not served thee in their kingdom, and in thy great goodness that thou gavest them, and in the large and fat land which thou gavest before them, neither turned they from their wicked works.  Behold, we are sevants this day, and for the land that thou gavest unto our fathers to eat the fruit thereof and the good thereof, behold, we are servants in it:  And it yieldeth much increase unto the kings whom thou hast set over us because of our sins:  also they have dominion over our bodies, and over our cattle, at their pleasure, and we are in great distress."  How is America any different? 
     What I am certain of is that in between these verses as he describes the journey of the Israelites and how they "dealt proudly and hardened their necks and hearkened not to thy commandments" sums up my Christian walk and is no wonder that I too have been wandering around for 40 some years.  That I have to opportunity to be quickened in front of my children makes it unthinkable that I wouldn't accept any chastisement and instruction that the Lord deems good for me.

Saturday afternoon:  Careful what you ask for, right?  Worst Valentine's ever.  Started off well with Mike asking what he could bring me to eat.  I told him grilling burgers might be mild enough for my stomach.  He had Megan search town for a heart shaped cookie press for them. 
     We were having a pleasant enough day but I was dragging, not keeping track of the time when Mike arrived home and I hadn't asked the boys to shovel a place in the drive for them.  In a reverse of roles, Mike was not the one to lose his cool first.  Had I made certain it was done, some of it could've been prevented. 
    There was still the disappointment I gave one of our girls an earful of after the call Michael got from Dr. Miller's office.  They had a cake for his 16th birthday, but he wasn't there because she refrained (out of respect for her "ride" with a 4 wheel drive) from taking him along. 
    Michael has a infamous history for birthday success.  Something's always falling apart.  This one was no exception.  By night's end, it became so heated that one of us set out in the snow on foot.  In some ways, I knew that one was probably just wanting to be alone with God ...but I had to go looking ...just to make sure they knew we cared.  A couple of hours later after 5 of us were out looking, we converged.  I had a quiet confidence that it was okay all along, but I still looked to the moonlit sky to and pleaded that God direct my every thought, every word, every bite, every everything from there on out. 
    I can see where I could've done things differently so as to head off many of their pains, how much more disciplined I could've been, how much more love I could've dredged up ...instead of hoarding what the Holy Spirit had endowed me with.  Funny how you pray in frustration about someone else and if you really are trying to get through to the Lord, he will change more of you.  So if someone is killing you, count it to the cost of "dying daily".  It is good no matter how it comes if it drives you into closer intimacy with your Father.  "Father", that's what I hope that one, out alone, was groaning for into the beautiful night.
     This morning I prepared maple sausage, thick bacon, eggs, and biscuits.  I set Michael's place with the pressed apple juice he and I like, milk, honey, and syrup under the blue and black streamers Miranda hung and on the plates I had arranged.  In the center of the table was a three layer banana pudding cake, a recipe Miranda had discovered and Melody had made, since he loves banana pudding.
     Seems like everybody got him a shirt, all according to his preference and need.   As much as I tried to think of something like a party or a place to go, I couldn't piece anything together like I normally can.  After last night, I thought surely he wouldn't want to go anywhere with us, but he finally left with a couple of his sisters for Winterjam, a tour comprised of several top Christian performers.
    He had a look in his eyes this morning as if he'd fall apart at any moment.  I wondered if he thought that we didn't make much ado over him, but that's not really part of his nature.  It was deeper, something that no special event or occasion will brush under the rug.  I think the straw had broken the camel's back.  Any young man who just found his parents are sending him to go to The University of Alabama's football camp this summer, plus going deep sea fishing with his grandfather, should be overjoyed.
     As I sat on the tractor tire under the eave of the barn this morning after feeding his hogs for him, I watched the glistening drops of melting snow hit the rubber and splash like fireworks.  I watched the sheets of snow patterned after the aluminum roof waiting their turn to plunge to the ground.  I saw the cloudless sky in brilliance over the snow that hurt my eyes and was reassured that every day there's another chance for every one of us, young and old, to get it right, right with the Lord, no matter the circumstances.

Thursday night:  Mike is called out to Georgia for clean up from ice damage.  Melody had a orthodontist appointment.  We left about the time Mom and Dad returned to Georgia from the birthday visit here.  We bought hundreds of dollars of groceries at BJ's Discount.  Then, as we were leaving the last parking lot, the key simply would not turn.  The first reaction was to find the release button for the wheel, but it was still moving. 
     What to do?  What to do in "Race City USA", Mooresville, 45 minutes from home?  We wiggled, jiggled, tugged, pushed, popped, tampered all we could.  We asked a couple of guys if they had any ideas, but nothing they tried availed. 
      We had McKala's new phone I discouraged her from getting.  However, when Miranda used it to find out what we needed to do, I ate my words.  We walked a ways to Walmart to get graphite spray while Megan left work over an hour away to rescue us. 
     Miranda sprayed inside the switch.  It readied it, I'm sure, but didn't quite do the trick.  Megan brought her tools and had the panel off in no time.  Between her hammer and screwdriver, she had the ignition cylinder freed up in about 10 minutes as we were transferring all those groceries while a nice man from inside named Charlie kept checking on us. 
     When I heard my car crank, I screamed out how incredible she is!  I don't get excited about much, so she knew just how happy I was right then.  I could say I swelled with pride, but that wouldn't be true.  I swelled with thanksgiving for what God has made her. 
     Pride is not even once named as .....................pride of life ....


Sunday evening:  I just finished a can of tuna with horseradish and crackers.  Melody wanted me to grill the chicken but I'm not feelin' it today.  Last Sunday the weather was pretty and everyone was gone but Mady Z and me, so I opened the garage doors and cleaned it out.  It didn't feel much like work, but I wished I had rested when I "broke out" again as I was healing from the last.  That's never happened before and tells me something about my wellbeing.  By Wednesday night, I couldn't muster up enough energy to go to church, so I sent the kids on. 
     I didn't even know what I'd do while they were gone.  It was just me alone in the house for the first time in I don't how long.  After I scrolled through dozens of hairstyles for my upcoming (and "overdue" according to the girls) appointment, I fed my CD into Madalynn's new karaoke machine and sang with everything I had for 2 hours.  It was way better than things I would've reverted to before.
    Tomorrow we'll put our noses to the grindstone.  It might be a little hard after the exciting couple of weeks we've

Friday morning:  I've been on my knees in the loveseat looking over the back of it at snow falling again.  This time the trees and power lines are coated with ice.  The Robins are flying from tree to tree hardly able to carry their engorged red bellies.  The Orioles and Cardinals fly with them.  The Wren keeps lighting on the porch wishing the snow would go away, I'm sure. 
       I'm supposed to be leaving in 5 hours to spend the weekend with Mike in Augusta, Georgia where so much havoc was wreaked from ice a month ago.  There is an unexpected accumulation of 3 or 4 inches of ice, sleet, and snow.  I suppose if I get to go, it will be tomorrow.  I really was looking forward to it.  Funny how the heart revamps with absence and time.

Monday afternoon:  The kids counseled me to go Friday.  When  my bag and I were ready, not only did McKala have the phone we're sharing but Miranda had the keys.  When they finally arrived, the good thing was the power came back on, the bad thing was I hung a scooter under the car as I exited the carport. 
     I sang so hard all the way down to Georgia that I was hoarse when I arrived.  The GPS had been set on shortest route instead of fastest, I was just glad to arrive.  Mike got me back in the right direction as he remembered the area I was in from his years of driving, all the way down to the buildings. 
     To my surprise, he'd booked the Holiday Inn after assessing the size of the mattress in the tractor trailer.  I was glad I'd set my mind on our physical encounter as I drove down because we had the most gratifying experience we've had since a steamy summer night in the big yellow truck 5 years ago.  There's this thing we Christians do.  We get so spiritually minded that we nevermind the body.  It's not all vanity to make sacrifices of ourselves to please the other and to make it memorable. 
     Another thing I didn't know is that Mike was to give his testimony in front of 40 or so people the next morning.  When it was done, he was worried that he'd forgotten things or mixed them up.  All I heard was truth and confession.  What I saw were several people wiping tears away.  One volunteer said later that he appreciated how Mike affirmed me.  The lady part of a Billy Graham chaplain married duo came to me and said she completely understood how I must feel, the complexities and all.  She could finish virtually all of my sentences with her own experience.
     I was put on a team to drag limbs and logs away as they were meticulously lowered by a tree climber.  It didn't "just so happen" that so were 3 young women who go to college together.  They were all ears as they worked to clear Ms. Rose's yard.  They too had heard Mike's testimony which validated everything I had to say about staying the course. 
    The next homeowner's name was Jimmy.  He was still mourning with tears the loss of his wife last June after 53 years of marriage.  She lived 10 days after she was diagnosed with colon cancer. 
     Finally we met Ms. Williams in her back yard.  She helped drag out limbs and logs with the best of us.  We all stood in awe of the ropes used as pulleys by the sawyer who also happens to be a physics professor. 
     When I asked Ms. Williams about her family, she told me about her sons and that one of them works as the maintenance man for the church they attend.  I was relieved to know she knew the Lord and that her recently deceased mother did also.  She told the story of her mother's decline, faith through it all, and the day of her death.  She thanked me for listening.  It's surely was good that I'd done my talking earlier. 
     Although my team didn't lead anyone to salvation on Saturday, it was enough to encourage the fellow believers we met.  It's true, God didn't say, "Come as you are, stay as we are."  We've gotta share and grow.  Else there's nothing alive in us. 
      Others did usher in new believers and told their stories after the dinner the cook volunteers made us all.  Madalynn just now asked why I smile when I'm writing.  Must be the same reason the tears lept off my face when a very young girl was at the altar praying aside her mother Sunday morning. 
      Although I was supposed to leave after lunch, Mike got one more night for us.  One of the office volunteers very graciously let us drive her black convertible Mustang to lunch while she sat in the back seat, to tour the oldest house in the area, and to cruise downtown Augusta.  Mike tried his best to get us on the grounds of the Augusta National Golf Course where the Masters will be in a couple of weeks but all we got was a story the guard had about Bangkok and the quickest way to turn around. 
      It was a really good day until a couple of the kids called late. I hadn't called them at all over the weekend so as not to dwell on them instead of Mike, but I took the call against his wishes and it wound up ruining the night.  I cried myself to sleep. 
     I cried this morning.  Truth is though:  if I'd obeyed him, none of it would've happened.  Obeyed?  Yes.  Even though I didn't think he was right?  Yes.  Even though he didn't consider my feelings?  Yes.  God has given him a post that is to be honored, even when I'm not "feelin' it".  Did it change my "affection" for him?  Yes.  Didn't say he could have it both ways.  But because I chose my own way, I'll never know what might've been last night.
      Funny how familiarity breeds contempt but as soon as I'm gone, I'm able to begin again.  God knows it and allows it, so that we love Him first and foremost. 

Sunday afternoon:  Siv Ashley gave her testimony at our church this morning.  She is a Cambodian native, who at 13 years old had her family enslaved to the ................ gov't.  She saw a band of soldiers molest a 10 year girl, realizing in horror why her father had shaved her head so they would assume she was a boy.  When she joined in an attempt for escape, they were captured and the men had holes drilled in their heads to get a confession for who the ringleader was. 
    Siv's father had taught her what he knew of Jesus, so she prayed that he would be spared and he was, but he died in shackles.  She thought she was the only member of her family alive after her brother's back was broken when he couldn't work quickly enough from malnourishment to suit the tormentors.
     One more attempt was made for freedom and this time she was swept up by an American soldier and taken across the border to Thailand where she found her aunt.  Her father always told her she would make it to America one day and when an elderly lady and her church adopted her aunt's family, she came with them. 
     Our pastor seemed to be closing quickly to appease anyone who was displeased with "going over"; however, he said that none of us could have comparable problems and if we thought we did, we could meet him after the service
      Madalynn wanted to meet Siv.  She was a kind person who stooped down to talk specifically to her, telling her not only did they have an elephant when she was little but also a monkey.  I had her sign the book to Madalynn.  She was very happy that it was hers alone.   
      When we got home, Mike had left a message for me to call him.  He was asked by the host church's preacher to speak this morning.  Apparently, once he started he couldn't stop, so the preacher never even preached.  He confessed his meth use.  Afterwards, among others who came to him, was a mother and her son, whom she'd just bailed out of jail for meth.
     What do I say to that?  I'm not much on responses because I don't want to take away from what a person has laid out before me.  So, I tuck it away. 
      Tuesday, Melody, Madalynn, and I visited Virgie.  It was going well.  She showed off the bonnet she'd crocheted years ago to Melody.  It was the red and white one that she had on the day I took her to the doctor.
     She was eager for her son to make a call to his sister, so finally he did and put Virgie on the line.  She was very frank and hardly sympathetic until she got off the phone and couldn't speak for the tears that were coming.  Her daughter's husband who's had MS more than 30 years has double pneumonia and will likely die.  Virgie lamented that she could be of no use for her daughter from the rehab center. 
     And just as she was recovering, she found out that her other son was admitted into the hospital this week.  You could see her frustration that she couldn't go to them.  I haven't seen Virgie cry before, so it surely drew my heart closer to hers.  I believe it did Madalynn and Melody's too. 
     Wednesday night, I managed to cry again.  PMS will do that for a woman.  (I must be thankful though that I have no female "issues", not even cramps, and am as right as rain.)
      Five of the kids are in the Passion Play that our church presents and I was watching practice for the first time.  When they mimicked the sound of the nails going into Jesus, I knew it was coming.  My face was burning.  My senses were confused when the crossed was raised and came close to falling forward when it wasn't set properly.  Everyone broke out in nervous laughter when "Jesus" was saved from face planting the floor.  I felt nauseous.
       Megan hasn't felt much better this week.  She had finally given her pursuer a chance.  When his cousin found out and professed his own feelings toward her, she was made privy to what she suspected all along.  Now, he won't look at her or speak to her.  And the pursuer has been sent on his way with prayer that his pursuit of Christ was true.
     Miranda's books:
     Plowing gave a clean break from ...............
     Reading Tozer ....


     Friday morning:  Just me and the young ones here.  Thank God because the house is a wreck.  I have calls to make and bills to pay.  I'm feeling behind at every level.  I need a catch-up day. 
     I was walking to the mailbox yesterday and on my way back was replaying every scenario in my mind about Michael's future, when I was interrupted and heard, "Michelle, I've got him."  Those exact words, casual as they may be. Think what you want about it, but I don't recall ever hearing God say my name before.
     It happened so quickly that I unconsciously stopped walking and tears sprang suddenly from my eyes, as I searched the sky above me. 
     This morning as I prayed for many people and I got to Michael, I had confident assurance, no pleading necessary. God's will WILL be done.

Saturday, midafternoon:  I stayed home from the biannual horse auction most of the kids went to.  Hopefully, they'll see Ernie and Ronnie both.
      I have a long list of odds and ends to tie up.  I don't even know where to begin.  One might say I should be more together.  One doesn't consider the traveling husband, the sick child, the needy neighbor, the sleepless night, the broken appliance, the cash flow, and the rest of the list of variables.  Was I supposed to ignore that a longtime friend was profoundly saved last night?  Was I supposed to squelch his thirst for the truth because I had things to do? 
    I can't be all things to all people all the time.  But I CAN be the right person at the right time in God's will.  Sometimes that throws my "together" off.  Sometimes I throw my own "together" off and those are the times to avoid. 
    We are to press forward, putting aside our lists and plans, to be led.  That is what faith is.  How is it faith when I have everything jotted out just so?  It is discipline indeed.  Discipline, the thing that alludes me.  But for what do I wish to gain discipline.  "For thy name's sake" as King David spoke of frequently or for my own sake, reputation, and approval?
     What a tight rope it is.  Fall to one side and I am reckless and immature; fall to the other and I am harsh and legalistic.  Michael and I spoke of this just last night, "For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that.  But now rejoicing in your boastings:  all such rejoicing is evil.  Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin," ~ James 5: 15 - 17.  Man, that one gets me every time.  It's the catch all sin clause.
     This morning I could barely keep my mind from racing with all that's going on when I opened my Bible, bookmarked in Psalms, to find where'd I'd circled in a prior reading, "And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it."  Only a few verses before that reads, "So teach us to number our days." 
    What I know is that I am not working at optimum efficiency.  What I know is that to get my focus on other people, I have to conquer my shortcomings, putting them at the feet of the cross, so as not be self focused all the time.  It takes discipline to overcome day in and day out.  So, I can write about it until the cows come home; but if I don't do something about it, I stagnate and am reminded that I am the same today as I was when I wrote "A Long Way to Go" post a year and a half ago.  And the trade off  almost a year ago

Thursday morning:  So much on my mind.  I suppose I would lose it if not for the Word of God.  I'm in Psalm 119.  Verses 65-71 say, "Thou hast dealt well with thy servant, O Lord, according unto thy word.  Teach me good judgment and knowledge:  for I have believed thy commandments.  Before I was afflicted I went astray:  but now have I kept thy word.  Thou art good, and doest good;  teach me thy statutes.  The proud have forged a lie against me:  but I will keep thy precepts with my whole heart.  Their heart is as fat as grease;  but I delight in thy law.  It is good for me that I have been afflicted;  that I might learn thy statutes.  The law of thy mouth is better unto me than thousands of gold and silver." 
     What are my words compared to those?  I think all I can say is what has happened this week.
     Sunday I stayed home with Macklynn.  After I read and then sang up a storm while I straightened the kitchen, he and I watched an old movie, "Rascal."  We sat on the couch in the boys' basement bedroom with the curtain pulled, talking all throughout about the movie.  Not long after the rain cleared, he gathered the gloves, ball, and bat for a round in the field.  Michael had told me how good a player Macklynn is but I got my own taste of his accuracy and speed.
     Meanwhile, Mike and Megan were out of town cleaning up more trees, which is where Megan preferred being when they asked her to present a Bible to a homeowner.  The first she refused but when she called me and asked it they shouldn't find someone "better", I told her that nothing coming from her would sound fake.  She took them up on the second summons.
     Miranda, McKala, Michael, Melody, and Madalynn were to be present for dress rehearsals of The Passion Play that afternoon.  Our pastor's family kindly invited them for lunch so they wouldn't have to meander around until then.  They were refreshed to see how "normal" it was, not in the worldly way, but in a delightful way. 
     Monday so much needed to be covered, then I got that 4 pm feeling.  There comes a time when we need to "cut our losses" and transition into the evening instead of trying to force feed the day with our demands.  I can't even remember what we had for supper.  I do know though that I felt well enough to go downstairs and lift weights with Michael.  That morning reminded me that how could I not, since I have no limitations with my health?  It was only the second time in 2014, but it felt like the beginning of something.  Today I'm so sore.  It feels good to feel though. 
    I had read Sunday, "I will sing of mercy and judgment:  unto thee, O Lord, will I sing.  I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way.  O when wilt thou come unto me?  I will walk within my house with a perfect heart.  I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes:  I hate the work of them that turn aside;  it shall not cleave to me.  A froward heart shall depart from me ..."
    THAT is good stuff.  What we miss when we don't read our Bibles!  Insert a couple of paragraphs up
   Tuesday we departed from the usual; and all, with the exception of Megan and Mike, took off to town, first to see Jami and Shawn's new arrivals.  Gracious, at the sweetness of fresh babies. 
McKala had a couple of follow up appointments.  In between, we went to see Virgie again.  She already had a crowd of visitors who'd just come from the funeral of her son-in-law.
    McKala's second appointment cleared her of any ailments except seasonal allergies.  The doctor, who is from Egypt and is a Muslim, was bent on another subject.  When he'd asked what McKala's plans were and I spoke in her defense that although she hoped to work out West, what she really wanted to do was meet a man who loves God, to be his wife and have his children. 
     He latched on to that and started showing McKala pictures on his phone of his son who has a four year degree at 20 years old and is about to enter Chapel Hill to become an Orthopedist.  We giggled it away but he persisted.  I had my "in".  All I had to do to introduce the subject of Christ was to ask if his son was a follower.  But I didn't.  I let his position intimidate me.   In Psalm 119, David said, "I will speak of thy testimonies also before kings, and will not be ashamed."  What a lost opportunity.  We have another appointment in three months though and I will be ready to be activated.
     Melody sold and delivered five more beanies to a family friend and Madalynn had a fundraiser for her dance class at Chick-fil-A.  She got to hold the door and look very much like a big girl. 
     Along with some other errands, it was a fulfilling day.
     So, was yesterday.  I try hard not to run around more than one day a week, but I had put together several things that Melody needed.  Her hair hadn't been cut in many, many months.  She had nothing but hand-me-down bras.  And she and I started this thing 4 years back for Ruby Tuesday, just the two of us when we can.  And I got a coupon in the mail, so we did.  I had water, chicken, mashed potatoes, zucchini, and their blonde brownie a la mode in my tiny empty yogurt cup that I've determined to carry around to portion desserts.
     All nine of us met up at church last night for dinner, for play practice, and for teaching.  Brother Kevin taught on being "in" the world and not "of" the world.  He had a little ditty on tongue rings.  Mike, Megan, and I could barely contain ourselves because Mike had one back in his late 20s.  He decided to quit dipping but had to have something in his mouth.  He said he'd wear it for a year and that's just what he did.  Strange as it sounds. 
    Mike decided since we were half way there to visit his friend who gave him the glowing reference  for his current job.  We knew he was in bad shape.  The doubly sad thing is that his son died of the very same cancer "Funeral Post"
     Jack already had visitors when we arrived.  His wife's family was talking about old times.  The 12 children used to get together with their spouses and rent a tour bus for vacation in memory of their parents.  That, in and of itself, is charming.  Then, they told of pranks they did on each other. 
    His wife went as far back as the sharing of a homemade bottle she and her brother had to share until they had a struggle over it and it broke when it fell.  They buried it in the flower garden.  That must've been 1936 or so. 
    Everything was cheerful until Jack looked at Mike and said he had to say the hardest thing he's ever said yesterday.  His voice broke as he told him that he'd called the state patrol's office and had them take him off the "rotation".
    He's owned a towing business forever and the trucks are being sold.  He said the sergeant on the phone had to excuse himself for composure and call him back that evening.  Officers from three counties have been coming to see him daily, even situating him in his bed if need be. 
    The ride home was a whirlwind of feelings.  So much has gone on this week.  I even had a high school friend radically saved.  I say "radically" because he was instantly healed of the pain and pill and alcohol addiction from three back surgeries.  He is "in" in a big way and it excites me in a world of people who reject the salvation that is right in front of their faces, like the husband, of a young cousin, who's moved to another state and evens speaks of signing over his rights to their toddler daughter so that he has no obligations. 

Monday evening:  Mike and Macklynn are fishing in the late afternoon sun.  I lit into Mike a bit yesterday about lying back when he gets home from work every day.  So, when I posted a picture of the first big bass catch of the season for Macklynn, he must've decided to join him.
    In the exuberance of warm weather, the big girls sunburned themselves today and then decked out to walk when Megan got home.  The four of them giggled all the way down the driveway and erupted in unsympathetic laughter when Miranda fell over the dog. 
    Michael's making earrings after his run.  We got his acceptance letter last week along with at least half the fees deducted.  As happy as we were that what we presented to them was acceptable, we are waiting to see what more financial aid is available. 
     Last week Michael wore his "Real Men Love Jesus" shirt to work with Dr. Miller.  It says everything he doesn't have to say.  He also slipped a few dollars under Macklynn's pillow after he pulled his teeth.  We don't fool our children of the existence of fairies, but it was all of goodwill for Michael.+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Friday noontime:  Ordinarily it only happens at Christmas but Saturday all of us went to eat and see a movie, "God's Not Dead".  There were scenes when the audience erupted in clapping, so glad to see the ready answers made clear for us.  Do you have a ready answer?  Oftentimes, the simplest, most straightforward one stumps a cynic.  But if you don't know scripture, your words hold little power.  "A Ready Defense" by Josh McDowell is a book I intend to have Michael read before he potentially goes away this Fall.
     Tuesday after we visited Virgie and her family asked us to fill in several hours a week when she returns home, Mike texted and said a great big family was coming to our house in a couple of hours.  Thankfully, Miranda and McKala were home and went straight to making the house, even the carport, presentable. 
     I'd met that family already when I was in Augusta, Georgia with Mike.  He had to drag me away the night I met the mother. 
     They pulled up in a big outfit: 5th wheel trailer, truck, and 15 passenger van with kayaks atop.  They welcomed us in to tour their setup:  a nice living space and bunks galore, even two that looked as though they were bookshelves for the pint sized ones.  Adorable is what it was.
    I had kept in mind that Miranda had been anxiously awaiting the new season of the Duggars and the courtship of their daughters, so I invited them all in the house to watch.  Funny that we would be watching it with so very many children, 16 minus Megan who was out riding a 4 wheeler. 
    They actually have 12 children of which 3 are adults.  The family travels half the year volunteering with SP and spends the other half operating their contracting business in Montana.  They are a beautiful example of balance.   Their children are nothing less than delightful, a good group of respectable hard working young men and a group of sweet natured little girls with a big sister who responds to the needs of her family with grace. 
    They already had a trip planned to tour JAARS, Jungle Aviation and Radio Service, and asked us to accompany them.  To make it, we all had to hit the road at 7:30 the next morning.   After overcoming more than a couple of traffic complications, we finally arrived. 
     It was much more complex than I had imagined, the work that one young man, Cameron Townsend, began in 1948.  There is a museum of linguistics that was intriguing.  I was flabbergasted to learn that there are still over 1,000 tribal "heart" languages left to translate.
     It wasn't long before one of us told them that Megan flies.  As word travelled, they implored that we get Megan there sometime.  Unfortunately, she'd had to work.
     The kids got to warm up to each other on the playground during our picnic.  We'd hoped they could make it to church with us also; but when we separated, the GPS got them lost. Later as we all were retiring, we could see them and their flashlights searching the pond for toads and especially bullfrogs.  We smiled on the peaceful scene. 
     As they literally were saying goodbye and pulling the equipment out of the field, Mike called to say the dad had an interview for something called Site Management Team.   And that meant they all got to stay another day!  Michael and the older boys shot guns.  The little girls played dress up.  The younger boys played with Hot Wheels and the Wii.
     Their mom had them bring up a whole chicken, sausage, shrimp, vegetables, rice, pots, and utensils and commenced making gumbo for the whole bunch of us.  Thankfully, Melody had made "no bake" cookies to send them off with that morning.  So, everyone munched on them all afternoon.  Interesting that the recipe pops up so often on social media now; my mother and brother have been making them over 30 years and call them "Boiled Cookies". 
     I don't think Dana and I stopped talking more than a few minutes for her to check her email.  The kids had not one skirmish, excepting that Macklynn got carried away on his Wii Football game.  So one of her young boys rightly called him down with, "Pride goeth before a fall."  Truth is:  it was blissful.  We ended the evening with campfire s'mores and fishing, laughter prevailing in our midst.
     This morning, as yesterday morning, the young ones came to our door little by little to squeeze in more time before their departure.  As we were putting forth our last few words, I noticed the littlest, 2 years old, wouldn't make eye contact.  I said surely he'd slept well; then, his mother said he upset that they had to leave.  I think it's how we all felt, as though we were losing a treasure we had just found.  But it isn't so with the abilities we have to communicate these days. 
     So, they drove away with a couple of little ones crying.  Madalynn sat on the brick wall looking forlorn until I told her I would ask if we could Skype.
     Macklynn finally woke up enough to have a bath, chocolate still on his face from the night before.  Melody had gone back to sleep and all my older guys are at work.  Here I am with many things to do including preparation to attend a viewing tonight.  Jack has died.  

Saturday night:  This morning everything seemed to come unraveled.  Miranda then McKala tried to wear hoochie mama shoes to the funeral.  The pork chops got turned before they were seered and made a watery mess.  All of Macklynn's pants were dirty.  Mike was getting antsy to leave and I lit into him about a few things that burn me up.
     The girls found other shoes to wear.  I banished those from church altogether; there are no two ways about it, stilettos are sexy.  We salvaged the meat.  And Miranda remembered that Macklynn may've grown into the suit in my closet that was Michael's.  Mike and I didn't really patch things up until a little while ago.  
      The service went as any man's should who is present with the Lord.  I kid you not though that a bird which had been *pecking at a loft window for a good part of the time flew away as one of the three pastors quoted Psalm 24:3, "Who shall ascend into the hill of God?"  Men in uniform took up the three rows in front of us.  There's just something about it and I imagined Michael dressed so.  Exitting the doors, we saw the casket arrayed with the American flag on the back of a wrecker.  It was and extraordinary procession.  The gravesite was high on a hill, 2 spots up from his son's.  I hope the view of the surrounding Blue Ridge gives the family solace in their visitations and that they feel higher to God there. 
      This afternoon we parted ways, some to the play and the rest to home.  I went to the pond, while Macklynn fished, and I started reading "The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life" in the sun that is springing up life all over the yard.  It's a precursor to Catherine Marshall's "Beyond Ourselves"; it was her "go to" book, aside from the Bible.  Hannah Whitall Smith bled her soul in the this book published 1875.  She had nothing of an easy life, yet her understanding of faith seemed impervious to it. 
     Chapter 8, "Or they say, 'It is all well enough to talk of trusting; but when I commit a matter to God, man is sure to come in and disarrange it all; and while I have no difficulty in trusting God, I do see serious difficulties in the way of trusting men.'"  "For nearly everything in life comes to us through human instrumentalities, and most of our trials are the result of somebody's failure, or ignorance, or carelessness, or sin." 
     To turn the page was hard for me.  I looked into the sky and told God I was afraid, not for the truth it would tell but that I had not wholly accepted it before now.  Isn't that the chagrin of most sin, that we have gone on for so long, wasting away what could've been? 
    "What is needed, then, is to see God in everything, and to receive everything directly from His hands, with no intervention of second causes."  A series of Biblical truths followed.  Then she wrote, "It may be the sin of man that originates the action, and therefore the thing itself cannot be said to be the will of God but by the time it reaches us, it has become God's will for us, and must be accepted as directly from His hands."  God "takes note of the minutest matters". 
     "Take Joseph," she quotes, "'as for you, ye thought evil against me: but God meant it unto good,' ...it had been undoubtedly a grievous sin in his brethren, but, by the time it had reached Joseph, it had become God's will for him, and was in truth, though at first it did not look so, the greatest blessing of his whole life ...thus we see how the Lord can make even the wrath of man to praise Him, and how all things, even the sins of others, shall work together for good to them that love Him."
    An experience she'd heard about was? "that not a cross look, not a harsh word, nor petty trial of any kind could reach her unless His presence moved out of the way to let them through."  "I am convinced it is the only clue to a completely restful life." 
     There is so much in this book that only a person who doesn't want to know God more would delay to find herself a copy. 
     It doesn't matter how many marriage seminars or much counseling we attend if we do not understand this cornerstone.  It does not matter how much we "love and respect" if we can't get deeper than the words and actions, especially when the other person does not respond as promised.

Sunday noon:  I have neglected the assembly once more.  So much driving to and fro church for practices and services rendered the decision.  I did get some needed sleep and read further into Hannah Smith's chapters.  "Does not the Christian who is the most strenuous in his longings and in his efforts after it, too often find that at the end of the year he is not as far on in his Christian experience as at the beginning ...they are trying to grow into grace, instead of in it ...to grow in grace is opposed to all self-dependence, to all self-effort, to all legality of every kind.  It is to grow as the lilies grow, or as babes grow, without a care and without anxiety ...how utterly helpless we are in this matter of growing.  He does not need to transplant us into a different field ...he makes His sun to shine and His dew fall upon us, and transforms the very things that were before our greatest hindrances into the chiefest and most blessed means of our growth ...if you will only put yourselves absolutely into His hands and let Him have His own way with you:  'I will heal your backslidings ...and I will restore to you the years that the locusts have eaten.'  "Should you ask ...how it is that they grow so rapidly and with such success, their answer would be that they are not concerned about their growing, and are hardly conscious that they do grow ...you will find that such souls are not engaged in watching self, but in looking unto Jesus.  Self-effort and self-dependence are at an end with them.  Their interest in self is gone, transferred over into the hands of another.  Accept each moment's dispensation as it comes to you ...for that moment's growth."  We should not, "usurp the gardener's place nor try to act the gardener's part ...be content with what the Divine Husbandman arranges for you, and with the care He gives you." 
     As I was soaking it all in, it dawned on me that she must've been my age when she wrote this.  I checked and rechecked by writing it on my hand, 1875 minus 1832.  Yes, 43.  Makes my kinship with her stronger and somehow more meaningful. 

Monday afternoon:  Slept in on this drizzly morning.  Had plans to get the week off to a good start, but there are times when debriefing trumps everything.  The kids and I laughed over the past busy days and went over the ones to come.  Tomorrow brings many errands and visitations.  Wednesday holds a dental appointment and church.  Thursday Heather and I are to prepare an Italian lunch and to coddle Jami's twins as she gets some time to recuperate.  Friday is Madalynn's recital.  And Saturday is the church's Resurrection Day picnic on the lawn.  The girls are excited to make fruit salad, deviled eggs, sliders, cookies and cupcakes.  Even so, there is no reason for me for me to jump on the bandwagon of pleasure eating. 
     I did drive over 10 miles out of the way to buy chocolate milk today.  If you had Promised Land milk available from the Jersey cows of Texas, you might too.  Have mercy!  But it doesn't mean that because our routine will be no routine this week it's okay to jump on the sin wagon. 
     I know people who want to order our lives only want to help and that God is not the author of confusion, but I think a set plan of action leaves nowhere for the grace of God, for including his people and purposes.  The key is to remember that weeks like these are not an excuse for our personal liberties, that it's not okay to allow ourselves to find more satisfaction in food and fellowship than we do in the intimacy of and obedience to our Lord.

Thursday night:  Today Heather and I took Jami and Shawn Chicken Parmesan and Chocolate Éclair Cake.  We held the boys in hopes that she would get a much needed nap or shower, but it turned out more to be a memorable meeting of mother minds.   Heather couldn't resist putting Jami's flowers in her planters.  She got to get her hands dirty again when we made Resurrection Gardens at our house.  4 of theirs and 6 of ours had the best of days playing in the yard while the little ones .............in the floor.
     This morning my grumpy let loose.  I'm sure now that my sleepiness paired with coffee to cope send me toward my Herpes.  I can't say that I've had any emotional or physical duress.  I should've just slept whenever, however. The coffee only transports me into a tizzy.   I'll only legitimize my fit by saying that our life of leisure is really getting to me.  Like I told one of the young ones in the store yesterday, God didn't make a healthy body to sit in front of a TV. 
     Turns out I have "those" kids, the ones from a big family that get overlooked, fly under the radar, and run amuck.  I took them to run errands by myself on Tuesday and was actually surprised at how coarse and inconsiderate they can be.  Then, I took them to open their savings accounts with their leftover Christmas and birthday money yesterday.  I was appalled at how rude they were in a quiet, professional setting.  What a wake-up call. 
     I can only be thankful that they are still young and that there is time for them to turn out well like Michael.  The school's admissions director stated clearly that they want Michael on campus and that he does not want money to be a barrier.  Apparently, his recommendations were stellar.   Sunday before last, his sister nudged me at church to see him praying at the altar.  If I recall correctly, he's never done so.  On the way home last night, he broke the silence and said, "Everyone who says they're a Christian should read 1 John".  You can bet I read it first thing this morning and he surely is right.  Except for my rant on him about the unkemptness of his possesssions, he's had a good week, getting a new order for 200 pairs of earrings.
    He knows that he'll need to pay the $3,000 for his uniforms, while his Daddy matches it for the registration fee.  I, with the girls, had already determined to take Virgie's son's offer.  In a couple of afternoons a week, I could earn an amount that would likely please the admissions officer.  Her family meeting today holds the answers. 

Sunday at dusk:  Mike and I just finished watching Bubba Watson win The Masters in Augusta.  I opted out of going to the Chick-fil-A party at Mark and Kathy's (especially since we went skating, saw a ballet, and had a picnic on the lawn of the church yesterday).  I would like to have sat by the pond but it seemed good to lie down with Mike and just "be".  I admit I dozed off and on for two hours, but I was coherent to watch the final three holes.  I did take special interest after finding out last night on the Billy Graham Evangelical Association's site that Bubba is a Christian and takes part in Wednesday night Bible studies with other golfers. 
     I was on that website because Mike said they're hiring a part-time proofreader.  I haven't filled out an employment application in 20 years.  I had no degree or work experience to list, but I answered the rest of the questions to best of my ability.  They may never have received such an unconventional one. 
     When I finished, I found Mike watching "The Passion of the Christ" with the little ones.  I wasn't sure it was good for us to continue, but I picked up where he left off reading the subtitles to them.   They closed their own eyes during the worst brutality.  Having just been in or present for the play at church gave the movie validity they could connect with.  We had the Lord's Supper at church this morning.  I told Macklynn he could not partake.  He was visibly upset with me and I asked why.  He says he got saved in his room two months ago.  I told him we would discuss it later; I am anxious to have that conversation. 
     The body and the blood hurt me as I recalled what we saw last night, his flesh shredded and his blood darkening from his long torment.  How is it He took that for me but I can't withstand some hunger, some discomfort for Him?  Over many years, I thought it was something I shouldn't bother Jesus with; I mean wasn't it the least I could do to keep myself in shape for Him?  FOR, that was the error in my thinking.  There is not a single thing I can or want to do FOR Christ, only THROUGH Him and because of Him. 
     I read just now as I was finding, "Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.  And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus," when I also saw a previously underlined passage, "Let your moderation be known unto all men.  The Lord is at hand," Philippians 4; 5.  It goes quite well with what I saw in my Bible near Brother Kevin's reference to "examining ourselves" this morning, "For if we would judge ourselves, we should not be judged," 1 Corinthians 11: 31.
    No, we shouldn't be whiners, complainers, haters, nor should we be dramatic and high maintenance.  Why is it okay then to be less than moderate with our foods?  Why won't I stop long enough to think how it affects how others perceive Christ in me, how it looks dismissive and pompous?  And why in the universe would a nonbeliever want to get on board with a bunch of pigs, who have an obvious imbalance between mind, body, and spirit?
    I've looking for the prayer and peace verses for Michael and me because we aren't sure if we can conceive a way to pay for school.  Loans aren't an option.  He's been preoccupied for more than week now but won't say so.  I'm glad that he's had things to physically occupy his time while he waits.  He shot his first turkey yesterday with ........................................  Mike stayed with him and he also took him to see "Draft Day" the night before.  Mike took me to the Olive Garden last weekend.  As many times as he's tried to like it, I know he doesn't; so I know he went exclusively for me. 
    While Mike and Michael were at the theater, I had the three young ones in Mooresville for Madalynn's recital.  We had to leave a couple of hours before anyone could've gotten home from work.  I showed up with a snubby attitude.  I wasn't expecting much, perhaps because I hadn't seen much. 
     There were something like 15 classes from different locations.  I was sold from the first performance.  Not only were the lights and music professional, but the movements to the lyrics won me over.  To watch girls of all ages and backgrounds dance to worship God was to witness true "girl power".  There was no slinking around, baring innocent skin.  I thought I'd have to get on my feet when some older girls danced to "Church Clap" with Lecrae.  One particular girl was really gettin' with it.  I loved it and hoped it made Melody think twice about dropping out this year. 
    Towards the end, my Madalynn finally took stage, front and center no less.  Michael W. Smith's "Rise" came on and as I saw my youngest child sway her arms with carefulness and the utmost grace, I thanked God that McKala and I had "stumbled" into the print shop that sponsors the troupe, where the owner gave us his testimony and a card with Mrs. Donna's number. 

Sunday, Resurrection Day:  Megan was gone before sunrise to visit another church and family.   Michael was the young adult who was asked to read the day's scripture for second service.  In his pink checkered button up, he opened his Bible, only to drop the slip of paper from his KJV that had the ESV verses from 1 Thessalonians 4: 13-14 he was asked to read.  Considering that he had never spoken before a crowd, much less hundreds, he recovered well, even making light of himself. 
     (Our church is very oriented to the involvement of young adults in every facet of worship.  Brother Brown just published a short book, "To Date or Not to Date," by Energon Publishers.  After I read it and was hooked, line and sinker, I asked Megan's "friend" to read it sometime.  He sat and read the whole thing at our kitchen table, which impressed this mama.)
     The extent of the involvement of eggs for our celebration was Miranda checking the hen in her hutch for chicks.  After four weeks of waiting, she found out she'd jumped to conclusions when she was ridding the eggs and cracked the shell of a viable one.  As she took it away from the house, she discovered a large snapping turtle captive in the sinkhole by the creek.  She screamed for Macklynn to come down to see and before long they were all down there watching Michael catch and lift it with a fishing net.  I watched them file into a procession behind the watering trough they brought it to the house in.  Funny thing to be doing on Easter. 
    I downplayed commercialism so much this year that I accidentally didn't plan a meal.  I was excited about the deal I'd gotten on pizza, so as not to spend time cooking and cleaning on Sunday, when I realized a couple of days ago what I'd done.  It worked out nicely because Mike wanted to go straight outside to fish and lounge in the hammocks.  Today was arguably the prettiest day of the year. 

Monday morning:  I feel more and more akin to Sampson.  My haircut isn't doing me any favors except that I don't get the terrible knots I did before.  Although it is still many inches down my back, it feels as though many measures of my femininity are gone.  I've noticed the several other women who've have gotten spring cuts and that they too appear to have a less graceful appearance. 
    I was going for the more clean cut, updated look.  I believe what I should've done was to groom it better.  For now, I need to work on my body instead of my hair anyway.  (Covering the sin of slothfulness and gluttony "as a jewel of gold in a swine's snout" with hair, make-up, accessories, nails, and clothes is not good.  That time, money, and thought really should be spent on health because "favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised." 
     I just finished all of Proverbs and although I've read it before, it seeped into my soul this time.  "Hast thou found honey?  eat so much as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled therewith, and vomit it," 26: 16.  "It is not good to eat much honey ...," 26: 27.  "For the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty ...," 23: 21.  Funny how we only want to fuss at the drunks but don't see the loss of efficacy we have when we are too full, when food and the thoughts of food and the guilt and the insecurity and defensiveness that come afterward consume us, making it an idol ???
    In Proverbs 31: 27 Lemuel's mother had told him, "She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness."  "She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms."  The virtuous woman spoken of did her husband good and not evil all the days of her life.  Her husband's heart trusted in her.  She provided food from afar.  She considered a field and bought it worked with her hands to make it fruitful.  She did what was required early in the morning and late at
to make fine clothing for her and her family and to sell and deliver.  Strength and honour were what truly covered her as she stretched out her hand to the needy and gave portions to her maidens.
    I do not believe for one second that she neglected her children in the process.  I think there's a chance that her daughters are grown at this point and that she did these things in the realm of her husband's protection and trust.  Our productivity does not mandate that we have two masters.  But a position at home is no excuse for slothfulness either:  "The desire of the slothful killeth him; for his hands refuse to labour," and 18: 9, "He that is also slothful in his work is brother to him that is a great waster."  However, "The soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing: but the soul of the diligent shall be made fat," 13: 4.  How many of us are fat on the outside and starving on the inside?  "Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are issues of life," 4:23.
     The Proverbs call out the rich, "He that trusteth in riches shall fall ...," 12: 28.  "There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing:  there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches," 13:7.  "He becometh poor that dealeth with a slack hand:  but the hand of the diligent maketh rich,"  10: 4.  Proverbs has much to say about diligence: careful and persistent work or effort.  Even "the thoughts of the diligent tend only to plenteousness; but of every one that is hasty only to want," 21: 5.  In these chapters, get rich quick schemes are described as nothing but bad. 
     Doing anything hastily except in seeking the Lord is explicitly wrong.  And I of all need to know that, "In all labour there is profit:  but the talk of the lips tendeth to penury," 14:23, penury:  extreme poverty.  How easy it is to write and talk of good things instead of doing them?
    Happiness is continually linked with Godly wisdom.  Simple mindedness is related to foolishness, "O ye simple, understand wisdom: and ye fools, be ye of an understanding heart," 8:5, and "A foolish woman is clamorous: she is simple, and knoweth nothing," 9:13, then 1: 22, "How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity? and the scorners delight in their scorning, and fools hate knowledge?"
    How many precious hours have I wasted with scorners, "He that reproveth a scorner getteth himself shame:  and he that rebuketh a wicked man getteth himself a blot.  Reprove not a scorner, lest he hate thee: rebuke a wise man, and he will love thee," 9: 7,8.  Even in our families, this is why winning them by our behavior is vital.  Endless arguments and debates are a loss to everyone who is involved and especially to those, namely children, who are forced to witness. 
   "Proud and haughty scorner is his name, who dealeth in proud wrath," 21: 24.  The seriousness of pride is the number one thing I take away from this.  "Every one that is proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord ...," 16: 5.  "Only by pride cometh contention ...," 13: 10.  15: 25 says "The Lord will destroy the house of the proud ..." "The fear of the Lord is to hate evil:  pride and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I hate," 8: 13. "Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall," 16: 18.  Convenient that so many of us have it memorized as only "a fall", exempting the "destruction".  In 18: 12, "Before destruction the heart of man is haughty, and before honour is humility."  It's repeated in 15: 33, "The fear of the Lord is the instruction of wisdom; and before honour is humility."  That just sits well with me.  How we like to rush to places of honor before we are made humble.  I wish that Christians would eradicate the word "proud" from their stable of adjectives.  Even to be proud of ones children is to take credit that is God's alone to take.  Pride is the antithesis of gratefulness.  They simply cannot coexist. 
    Another thing we misquote is, "He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chaseneth him betimes," 13: 24.  How simple minded is it to flippanting pop off, "Spare the rod, spoil the child."  God's Holy Word says that we hate our children if we do not use the rod.  How arrogant are we to assume that God's procedure of correction for our children is errant in some way!  Is He not the same yesterday, today, and alway?  How selfish are we to leave our children to be chastised by society as they grow older, because of the work we didn't do when they were young?  "Chasten thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying," 18: 20.  "The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame," 29: 1.  What I've done is leave my little ones to themselves.  Yes, we're home together but that doesn't mean I'm tending to them enough.  The older kids have many issues and needs.  As independent as they are, I'm trying to cover all the bases and make up for lost time in some cases.  However, without balance, I'll wind up having to do the same thing with the younger ones one day.
    Madalynn had pushed one too many buttons the other day and her timing was just right since I had just read, "He that spareth his rod hateth his son."  As a matter of fact, she got two spankings that day and has been quite good ever sense.  Not only did I punish her, but I corrected her onto a better path.  I purged away from her the self loathing that Michael Pearl mentions, when a child knows they deserve discipline, thus putting it upon themselves.
    Funny that I'm always striving to teach "this" and be "that", but what God has provided these last weeks is ample opportunity to play and interact with them, not things that I plan for which are the falsehood of "quality time," but things they were already involved in with "quantity time."  I won't have a captive audience for influence if I don't know them as people and share in their interests.  As the saying goes, "If we don't listen to the little things they say when they are little, they won't tell us the big things when they are big."
    The other word that rang out in all this is "fear".  We've all heard, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge ...," 1: 7.  But the Bible is slam full of verses like, "Be not wise in thine own eyes:  fear the Lord, and depart from evil," 3: 7.  Water it down by inserting the word "respect" all you want and in doing so, water down your faith.  The fear of the Lord will make you more than respectful of Him.  It will make you in awe of Him.  It will make us want to, "Honour the Lord with thy substance, and with the firstfruits of all thine increase," 3: 9.  It will make us want to, "Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established," 16: 3.  How many of us want to feel something first?  That's not Biblical at all.  I wonder if it's not even Biblical in "love" relationships.  Should we not search out what a person believes before we give our heart over to them?  Will God not order it all for our protection? 
    You say your marriage can't be repaired?  "Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established."  Do the loving part instead of the feeling part of your vow.  I could easily be the pot calling the kettle black here.  It is no easy task for sure, but I know that God knows better than I.

Sunday morning:  Interesting that I would begin Song of Solomon on the warmest morning of the year thus far, while I must be ovulating.  "For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; the fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give good smell.  Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away," 2: 11-13. 
     Yesterday began so far apart from these ideas.  I had bought frozen foods for the weekend, knowing that we would have a skeleton crew and that I had some projects to complete.  What possessed me to think leftover cheese sticks and ice cream were okay for breakfast?  How fitting that I soon came to Ecc 11: 16-18, "Woe to thee, O land, when they king is a child, and thy princes eat in the morning!  Blessed art thou when thy king is the son of nobles, and they princes eat in due season, for strength, and not for drunkenness!  By much slothfulness the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through." 
     There is no arguing that indulgent meals make for a lazy body.  And that America's obsession with caffeine is only a bandaid for the sluggishness our rich meals ...........I finished the day in defeat by popping some kind of Philly Cheesesteaks into the oven and homemaking funnel cakes we always make after seeing and refusing the price of them at a festival like we were at on Thursday.  Last night, I had started on Hannah Whitall Smith's book the chapters on temptation and the errant idea that Christians will not face them, plus the falsity that a temptation is a sin in and of itself:  it is only Satan tempting us away from our walk.  The thought that entertains the temptation is what leads us to the chapter on failure. 
    She explains that discouragement from failure is precisely the devil's victory and that "in this life and walk of faith, there may be momentary failures, which, although very sad and greatly to be deplored, need not, if rightly met, disturb the attitude of the soul as to entire consecration and perfect trust, nor interrupt, for more than the passing moment, its happy communion with the Lord.  The great point is an instant return to God.  Our sin is no reason for ceasing to trust, but only an answerable argument why we must trust more fully than ever.  From whatever cause we have been betrayed into failure, it is very certain that there is no remedy to be found for it in discouragement." 
    "For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again:  but the wicked shall fall into mischief," Proverb 24: 16.  "He, that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy," Proverbs 29: 1.  To those of us who believe we can go on about our way with no recourse, "Be not righteous over much; neither make thyself over wise:  why shouldest thou destroy thyself?  Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish:  why shouldest thou die before thy time?" Solomon says in Ecclesiastes 7: 17.  There it also says, "It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools, " wake up call to the culture.  What songs of fools are you listening to?  Perhaps the one about going to church on Sunday and cussing on Monday. 
    I appreciate Ecclesiastes so much that I could post the whole book here, but you do yourself a favor and read it through and through.  Let it sink in what the wisest, richest man came away with. 
    Today, I will let Sunday have her way.  I hope to rest in the sunshine as it heals my erupted skin and I wait for my stomach to empty and growl.  I think it might not be considered work to finish going through the mounds of clothes we've been given and put them away.  It's like shopping for free.  They are quality, attractive clothes.  I won't have to pay for a thing for Macklynn or Madalynn thanks mostly to Heather and my sister-in-law, Jessica.
    Yesterday was a day of deep sea fishing for Megan and Miranda, who are on vacation in Florida with Mom and Dad.  McKala and Melody spent the day at Uplands Reach Conference Center learning more about being a Daughter of the King.  It's the sleepover Melody made and sold her beanie hats for.  Michael left at 5:30 am to turkey hunt on Dr. Miller's land.  By 9:30, he was at the office then left to help him with worming and castrating his cattle for the rest of the afternoon.  He went straight to weedeat Ronnie's property, since Ronnie mows our grass for us. 
    This all was after I took Michael shopping in Charlotte Wednesday so he could buy his cleats, then deliver his 50 pairs of earrings to be sold by Slickhorn Store at Merlefest on Thursday, where we helped in the "drop-off" booth until midnight and by default were in for free, which otherwise would've costed us over $20 a piece.  To hear Alan Jackson playing his bluegrass nearby wasn't half bad either. 
    So, today is surely one of needed rest.  For Mike it is more of a preamble in the wake of the coming storms.  The forecast is full of turmoil.  It came very close to here on Friday and gave Virgie quite a scare at the rehab center, when they took them all to the hallways.  She's to be home again on Thursday, when the girls and I are to begin sitting with/assisting her in the afternoons between the hours that her daytime help leaves and she goes to bed.  If we cycle it out right, I will have the money to meet Michael's tuition, as well as spend time under the influence of a dying generation. 
    The call from the head of the school to say that he will not let money be the obstacle that keeps a young man like Michael off his campus was one more open door closer to his August 11th arrival on their grounds.  It is good that he could be spoken well of "in the gates" among an established doctor of veterinary medicine, a director of a camp and conference center of the highest standards, a pastor/elder of an ever growing church, a basketball coach who is the owner of an accomplished business, and a football coach who runs a factory.  Not that any one of us is deserving of anything except that which God has allowed, but that Michael has worked diligently to be trustworthy has been notable enough for these men to speak on his behalf. 


Sunday afternoon:  I just came in from the blooming dogwood and the pond brimming with new spawn of all varieties.  It's Macklynn's lab, a microcosm of God's underwater world.  The fish have learned his ways, so he's had to up the ante and bait them with chicken skin and fat or, even better, slugs.  Mike went out to fish with him yesterday for many hours.  Ironic that I had determined to clear my mind of duties and spend some time with Mike in our bed in front of the TV, as much as I don't like it.  And there he was, determined to be present with the children and me, a priority I am always expressing. 
    The thing Mike learned to do quickly in his ...........................was to change the nature of fulfilling his pleasures.  He derives his listening pleasure from Christian music.  He satiates his watching pleasure with wholesome shows.  He is at home instead of running and eying around.  He feeds himself with treats instead of drugs and alcohol. But it all still revolves around pleasure.  "He that loveth pleasure shall be a poor man:  he that loveth wine and oil shall not be rich," Proverbs 21: 17. 
    How many of us are loafing around in the guise of Christendom pleasure and resources, when in truth we are as lazy and self indulging as any worldly person is?  When our pleasure is good, it does not excuse what we are not DOING good.  "Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin," James 4: 17.  How much work is there to do; how much praying is there to continue; how much refining is left to do in us?  How many years did I waste believing that being "good" was good enough?  How much are my children having to be admonished by God Himself because of my failure?  Thank God that there is still time.  Thank God that young men who claimed to know God didn't make it into the sphere of our daughters for long.  Even though I had not trained them altogether well in diligence, they knew enough to detect posers.  Do you? 
     Lately I have expressed sorrow often to our children for the things I lacked in their rearing.  The other day when Michael received an email paying tribute to him with devotion, Megan said, "See Mama, everybody likes your kids!  You must've done something right."  I don't think a higher compliment could've been paid ...not that a person should or can be always liked, because Jesus warned that the world would hate us as it hated Him. 
    Megan seems to have finally landed on a young man who is the real thing.  But because it did not come along in some fairy tale kind of way, she questioned it.  How often are we looking to be swept off our feet when there is a man nearby who would walk alongside us through the fire?  Or even wash our feet in the humility of Christ?  The idea brings tears to my eyes, not that a man would stoop so low for his love, but that he would stoop so low when the world does not require it of him.  Last week I saw a wedding album of a young couple in our church.  And, yes, the groom, instead of propelling a garter through the air, was washing his bride's feet.  If only we taught our sons this concept, which is the full truth of the Bible, that he should die to himself for his wife.  How sad it is that there are sons who've been raised up in our churches who are never taught at home that a wife is for more than obeisance.  How pathetic is it that we mothers don't teach it, despite whether fathers do or not? 
     Who was Timothy's influence?  How many times are the words of a mother marked in the Bible?  Find out, so that we mothers of daughters don't have to be frustrated to find a young gentleman, even in the church. 
     I should move on to something lighter.  I had a cheese stick wrapped with ham, and a pickle.  Lots of salt, I know, but it's a start.  Mike has brought home a diet from the doctor.  The lists are full of wise choices.  I, too, have followed programs that dropped my weight:  Adkins, Weight Watchers, even Kellogg's.  You see though, that I am still battling that demon.  Because, as Gwen Shamblin says, I controlled the food, not the desire.  Although, I'm not in agreement with the use of artificial sweeteners, I suggest that anyone who sees overeating for what it is, sin, follow her guidance. 
     I asked God to change my heart on what I have become desensitized on, not to change my pleasure from one thing to the other, to fill up on vegetables instead of fats.  Either one is still eating too much.  Only to change my pleasure to the moderation that we are to make known to all men in Philippians.  Think it doesn't matter?  Read your Bible. 
    And sleep naked.  Yes, sleep naked and see if you feel like you are your husband's or if you are your own.  Funny how I demand the spiritual love making that Michael Pearl's book, "Holy Sex," describes, and I myself am not "all in".  I am not surrendered at all.
     I keep returning here.  I cannot go about my life, bypassing the fundamentals, not with any amount of peace anyway.  Hannah writes, "The teaching here is simply this, that anything allowed in the heart which is contrary to the will of God, let it seem ever so insignificant, or be ever so deeply hidden, will cause us to fall before our enemies.  Any root of bitterness cherished toward another, any self-seeking and harsh judgments indulged in, any slackness in obeying the voice of the Lord, any doubtful habits or surroundings, any one of these things will effectually cripple and paralyze our spiritual life.  We may have hidden the evil from our sight, refusing even to recognize its existence, of which, however, we cannot help being all the time secretly aware.  We may steadily ignore it, and persist in declarations of consecration and full trust, we may be more earnest than ever in our religious duties, and have the eyes of our understanding opened more and more to the truth and the beauty of the life and walk of faith.  We may seem to ourselves and to others to have reached an almost impregnable position of victory, and yet we may find ourselves suffering bitter defeats.  We may wonder, and question, and despair, and pray; nothing will do any good until the accursed thing is dug up from its hiding-place, brought out to the light, and laid before God ...Beneath apparent Christian faithfulness, may be hidden an absence of Christian love.  Beneath an apparently rightful care for our affairs, may be hidden a great want of trust in God.  I believe our blessed Guide, the indwelling Holy Spirit, is always secretly discovering these things to us by continual little twinges and pangs of conscience, so that we are left without excuse.  But it is very easy to disregard His gentle voice, and insist upon it to ourselves that all is right; and thus the fatal evil will continue hidden in our midst causing defeat in most unexpected quarters."
    "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me and know my thoughts; and see if there be any evil way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting," Psalm 139: 33.  This keeps me from ever believing I have "made it", that I am home.  Hebrews 13: 21 says now may the God of peace, "Make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is wellpleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ; to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen."
    Perfect, yes, perfect.  Check how many times your Bible brings up perfection.  It is a never ending process and to give up before our lives on this Earth are over is sin.  It is one of my greatest pet peeves to hear someone say, "I'm not perfect," as an excuse for something.  It's nothing but cop out and an unreliance on God way, work, and will in our lives. 
    I surely don't think I will be what the world calls perfect in my husband's eyes.  I spend so much time plucking hairs from my chin that I don't take the time to pluck my eyebrows.  I have so many things to do with my hands that I don't have manicured nails.  I have my hair twisted up so much that sometimes I forget to fix it.  A reasonable weight attained, I will never look like I did when I was young and before I had babies.  The terrible stretchmarks will remain and the varicous veins will protrude.  I've had braces 3 times and still have an offset tooth. 
    It isn't that I will be the picture of beauty, but that I will tend to things that are pleasing to my husband as I obey the leading of my Father.  In daily living, I will live in the freedom of Christ which will make my countenance "merry".  I will do this in his timing, not according to some event, which likely would not be the pinnacle I thought it would be, and will only lead to disillusionment ...or if it is, the pride that follows closely with looking good to the world.  I wrote a while back that I felt that God would not let me possess certain things until my heart was given completely to my Lord and to my marriage?  How many of us work to be beautiful, only to be handed over to the world in our lust for their approval? 
    I have asked God that He prepare my "portion" meal by meal, since I have overlooked the natural gauges that were put in me.  And since gluttony has become so commonplace in our society as to be accepted as a disease.  I need Him to remind me that taking more than I need is stealing and lying,  that I am thankful for a meal that I'm about to greedily devour.  I've asked Him to change my heart so that I cannot continue to sin this way.  I asked Him to battle this thing for all the ways that it damages me and the ones around me.  I asked Him to prepare my wardrobe for that day, not just to fit into an old pair of jeans, but to be dressed as a Daughter of the King, shamefaced and modest.
    Today I was prevented almost hourly.  Do you have people like that in your life?  Of course you do and probably more than one.  Hannah states that, "It seems strange that people, whose very name of Believers implies that their one chiefest characteristic is that they believe, should have to confess to experiences.  And yet it is such a universal habit that I feel if the majority of the Church were to be named over again, the only fitting and descriptive name that could be given them would be that of Doubters.  In fact, most Christians have settled down under their doubts, as to a sort of inevitable malady, from which they suffer acutely they must try to be resigned as a part of the necessary discipline of this earthly life.  And they lament over their doubts as a man might lament over his rheumatism, making themselves out as an 'interesting case' of especial and peculiar trial, which requires the tenderest sympathy and the utmost consideration."
     She moves on to say, "And then they wonder why they are permitted to walk in such darkness, and look upon themselves almost in the light of martyrs, and groan under the peculiar spiritual conflicts they are compelled to endure.  Spiritual conflicts!  Far better would they be named did we call them spiritual rebellions!  Our fight is to be a fight of faith, and the moment we doubt, our fight ceases and our rebellion begins.  I desire to put forth, if possible, one vigorous protest against this whole thing.  Just as well might I join in with the lament of a drunkard and unite with him in prayer for grace to endure the discipline of his fatal indulgence, as to give way for one instant to the weak complaints of these enslaved souls, and try to console them under their slavery.  To one and to the other I would dare to do nothing else but proclaim the perfect deliverance the Lord Jesus Christ has in store for them, and beseech, entreat, command them, with all the force of my whole nature, to avail themselves of it and be free.  Not for one moment would I listen to their despairing excuses.  You ought to be free, you can be free, you MUST be free!"
     I must warn you that if you don't give some effort to finding this book for yourself, you will be missing what any modern day counselor can't compare to.  My McKala ordered this book on her own when she finished Catherine Marshall's, paying all of $4.50.  I expect that now they should be flying out of the warehouses. 
    I remained diligent to finish the processes I'm being taken through today.  Here's the thing: we can't let circumstances, feelings, or people cause us to do what we know we aren't supposed to.  Even when things aren't going my way, I have to be vigilant to have forward progress.  Saying, "the heck with today," is sin in the disguise of procrastination, just like when I throw my hands up when the time allotted for lessons falls through with the children and I do nothing instead of something.   Not that my "allotted" times are Biblical anyway; we're told to teach little by little, implying that we are to live and teach closely together in work and play. 
    Understand that Hannah had no easy life. 

Monday morning:  The forecasts were correct and people have died, an 11 month old here in North Carolina this weekend.  Mike was able to log onto the Arkansas State Patrol's communication and heard an officer crying.  He said that there were 40 entrapments on the highway.  Mike is packed.  He was so worked up last night that he couldn't sleep, not that he was glad at calamity but that being on the road is in his blood.  He got a letter when he returned home from his last deployment and I'm taking the liberty to share it:

Brother Michael,

Greetings in the name of Jesus, our wonderful Lord.  What a real blessing you were on Sunday.  God used you in a wonderful way.  Thank you for allowing Him to speak through you.

I believe you are in the center of God's will with Samaritan's Purse.  I have watched you over the last four weeks as you went about your job.  You smiled, laughed, and worked all at the same time.  What a blessing you are.

The prayer of my heart is that you will stay True to Him and continue to be blessed 10 fold by God. 

Thank you again for all you did.

P.S.  Thanks for the Truck Ride ...

In His Care,
Pastor, Michael L. Davenport

      What must I be to draw this kind of behavior from him, as Solomon's wife did? 
    After I read the whole of Song of Solomon, realizing how far we are from it, I took Miranda's holster and walked the two mile loop with the dogs running in and out of the woods and tall grass.  The wind blew my hair, signaling that the storms are coming here soon.
    Does it mean that I have less faith because I carry a gun?  I think about it from time to time and the command for the disciples to go out without weapons.  Do you lock your doors at night?  Do you lock your car doors in the city?  Do you have less faith because of it?  At the very least, it's a good deterrent.  Besides in Luke,  "Then said he unto them, But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip: and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one."
Truth is, women don't need to be walking around alone.  McKala and Melody are sleeping hard.  They got all of five hours total sleep this weekend.  McKala was there to volunteer with setup and cleanup.  She got to have some fun though.  Melody was there to have fun and learn, but worked along with her sister.  I like a good balancing act. 
     I'd rather walk with someone else.  It's a great time to pray though.  I asked the Holy Spirit to remind me of the ones who need it.  I thought more about the things I wrote yesterday, how we think about what's for lunch, how we think about what to wear, how we think about what someone else thinks about us ...or even worse: when and where to take a selfie, (which is nothing but false humility, often with ugly faces just to get away with being seen one more time).  "And he said unto his disciples, Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat; neither for the body, what ye shall put on," Luke 12:22.  I don't mean not to provide a decently priced, healthy meal for your children and husband or not to provide economical, modest clothing for your family.  And God forbid that we brag that we don't like to cook, but how much time are we overspending on it?  What about letting God show us what he wants us to have?  I just finished a small bowl of Cheerios from the three large bags we were given.  Would a dietician say I need carbs?  I doubt it, but I added pecans and had what has been provided.  Verse "eat what is given
    While we are thinking about our next shopping trip or the news we want to tell a friend, people are dying!  It makes you feel alone not to have the people and things that make you feel good?  Good!  "Give us help from trouble:  for vain is the help of man," Psalm 60: 11.  In your marriage, alone?  I can finally say that there can be good in that also.  For a child, alone?  Sad as it may be, "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up," Psalm 28: 10.  People cannot separate us from God; we separate ourselves from God because of self pity or codependence. 
     We should be dependent on nothing or no one but God (yet do not use it as an excuse to bypass your husband).  Even a prideful girl who appears to have it all together is dependent on approval from people.  I remember that the same girl who gave me the idea to sit in the sun with conditioner and lemon juice in my hair yesterday, was also the same girl who I overheard telling another on the front lawn of the school during senior lunch that she didn't think I was pretty enough to be homecoming queen.  Now, I suppose a lot of people thought I had it together back then; but because I was dependent on my peer's approval, it struck me so hard that I remember it to this day. 
    That girl in school who is full of herself and would be easier to shun needs prayer and possibly your friendship.  She doesn't know that and that's okay.  Don't get sidetracked if she decides to like you and invites you into her world; you have to woo her into yours. 
    That older lady who is retired and thinks she's got the good life now really has an empty life.  She needs your prayer and possibly your friendship.  She needs to read Billy Graham's "Nearing Home." Quit trying to find friends like yourself.  God will soon enough give you one.  Quit trying to find a mission.  You are already on one.  There are people everywhere you are, especially in your community.  You know, it didn't even hit me until after I took Star and the boys to the Passion Play with us that I am friend to the fatherless and that I am helper to the widow Virgie.
    A last thought on diligence:  this weekend I missed on Saturday and hit on Sunday.  That comes out to a big stagnant average.  I may conquer one day and lose the next.  I withheld my body one night and even resorted to my old ways of coveting/fantasizing then the next night feeling beloved.  The beauty of God is that He knows where we are and where we've come from, but we take advantage of it and slide by.  If not for diligence that God instilled in me (and you), I wouldn't be three quarters of the way through the Old Testament.  If not for diligence with tidiness and cleanliness in our home, we would not be able to be hospitable.  Where more can we influence someone than in our home, but if your home is too soiled and piled up with needless things, you won't open it to anyone?  Oh, you say you will, that a person needs to accept the condition of your home.  I don't believe you.  I also don't believe there is such a thing as a perfect home where we spend hours learning, working, and playing there; but there is a difference in an ongoing work and no work at all.  And if you have assigned the work to yourself as if you are a maid to your family, then you have been foolish and your children will grow up to be slobs.  When your husband refuses to help as if it is beneath him, then you have a whole 'nother problem that can only be laid before the Lord so that you can remain unbitter.  He will sustain you.
    A concept I've been concentrating on is the one of "failure".  In lifting weights, it's something Michael and I have discussed.  Funny that we designate a particular number of reps to be suitable.  What about doing it until you can't do it anymore, the point of "failure"?  It's a good way to get hurt if you don't listen to your body's signs of true pain.  Otherwise, why don't we do everything like that, with all our mind, with all our soul, with all our body?  Because we believe it's okay to live up to someone else's standard, that if the government makes it legal it must be okay, if the church looks past it it must be okay, if our husband says it's okay then it must be okay.  Interesting how many women get themselves trapped into deviant sex and images because their husband said it was more than okay with him.
    Interesting how many women think it's okay for someone else to raise their children because the work force beckons them in and the church, or their neighbor, or their mama will watch the kids for them.  But who is training the children, not just guarding them?   I heard James Dobson speak on it this weekend:  "Given the delicate nature of infants, perhaps it is understandable why I remain unalterably opposed to the placement of babies in day-care facilities unless there is no reasonable alternative. Children may appear to be dealing adequately with a series of temporary caregivers, but they are designed to link emotionally with a mother and a father and to develop securely within the protection of their arms. That belief was rarely challenged for some 5,000 years, but many women today feel they have no choice but to get back to a job as soon as possible after giving birth. If you are one of them, let me say respectfully and compassionately that I understand the financial and emotional pressures you face. But to new mothers who have other options, I would strongly recommend that you not hand your babies over to child-care workers, many of whom are underpaid, untrained and who will not share your irrational commitment to that infant.

My opinion on this subject is based on hard data. The National Institute of Child Health and Human Development conducted the most comprehensive study of this issue to date. More than 1,100 mothers and children at 10 premier child-care sites across the United States were evaluated when the children were 6, 15, 24 and 36 months of age. Preliminary results were reported in USA Today as follows:

"Working moms worry that if they leave their infants and toddlers in the care of others, relationships with their children will be affected. News from the federal government says they are right to be concerned. Longer hours spent in child care in the first three years of life tend to mean less positive interaction between mother and child." Preliminary findings confirm that leaving a very young child in a day-care facility is associated with less sensitive mothering and child engagement. The child also tends to react less positively to the mother. In other words, the bond between mother and child is affected negatively by early day-care experiences, especially if the mother tends by nature to be insensitive.

The data reported above were issued when the study was incomplete. When it was concluded in 2001, the researchers announced even more disturbing findings. They said that children who spend most of their time in child care were three times as likely to exhibit behavioral problems in kindergarten as those who were cared for primarily by mothers. These results were based on ratings of the children by their mothers, those caring for them and by kindergarten teachers. There was a direct correlation between the amount of time spent in child care and traits such as aggression, defiance and disobedience. The more time spent in these out-of-home settings, the more frequent the behavior problems. Dr. Jay Belsky, one of the study’s principal investigators, said children who spend more than 30 hours a week in child care "are more demanding, more noncompliant and more aggressive. They exhibited increased anti-social behaviors such as fighting, cruelty, bullying, meanness, as well as talking too much. They insist that their demands be met immediately." This is not good news for the 13 million preschoolers, including six million infants and toddlers, who are in child care in the United States."

     The above I offer in support of what my experience has already proven. 

Monday sunset:  I just ran sprints uphill with Michael while he checked out the feel of his new football cleats.  My stomach was growling before but I determined to go ahead and do it.  He was the slug shot moving 1800 fps and I was the 9 mm moving 900 fps.  But it was something instead of nothing.  I came in and found my "portion" in the frig.  It was Macklynn's plate of lasagna and salad he left yesterday when Mike came home with wings.  More carbs, I know, and even though I hadn't eaten a lot, I felt the full signal (we all have one) and rushed to put the rest of the food on the porch for the dogs.  I don't like wasting food more than anyone else, but it's either waste it or wear it.  And the dogs and pigs surely don't mind me wasting it.  Funny how we pray for healing but don't take the steps toward wellness, which is wholeness because the "physical" has to carry the hands and feet of the "spiritual".

Saturday morning:  Volunteers, including the big family of Ticknors, from all over have descended on the Midwest.  It reminds me of the cartoon, Rescue Heroes.  "Rescue Heroes ACTIVATE!"  It's so strange still to see Mike on the local or FOX News.  He forwarded me a story of a family of eight who huddled under the staircase in the storm, when the father and two teenage daughters were sucked away.  Only the five were left alive and are still honoring God in His sovereignty. 
   Which is why, I should not let this past week of chaos get to me.  Ironic that I would've just written on neatness and hospitality, when I got a delivery from neighbors but didn't have a couch for them to sit on because of all the clothes I still haven't prepared for drawers and closets.  I will say though that the sink and hall bathroom were in good order, that is until there was a free for supper.
    Wednesday morning, thinking severe weather was imminent, I backed out of a Q & A session for wives of SP staff to meet with Jane Graham.  Instead I called to check on a fellow member of the church.  Two hours later I had made a fast friend.  But my car and bathroom still weren't clean, nor was the kitchen. 
    I decided to salvage the day with Macklynn by reading the "River Monsters" autobiography Michael had picked up for him at the library.  I'm sure that I do not read to my children as often as I should.  Yet, I refuse to read children's book after children's book full of foolishness.  Well written is one thing, but I will not have them read for the sake of reading, which is how so many people justified the reading of Harry Potter's witchcraft.  "Well, it got them reading!"  What?!
    Too, I always bear in mind what Solomon had to say, "And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh."  How is that we have put  education on such a pedestal as to make it an idol and to make our children lazy in the work of the Lord?  (My day as a volunteer in Augusta gave me insight into the mind of Christian college aged women.  They said their fellow male students of the private school only want to be youth or music ministers, that their hands are as smooth as the women's and their skinny jeans as similar.)
    Macklynn and I were still enjoying Jeremy Wade's good writing at his appointment to be checked for bladder infection yesterday.  It threw me back to the days of reading "Huckleberry Finn" to Michael.  Neither of these books is "Christian" but they are well written, as are many Dr. Seuss books, whereby some of our children learned to read.  Miranda learned by "Who is My Mother?"
    Speaking of, I read, "A mother's sacrifice is her child's reward."  Although a new mother we know just received her teaching certificate in the mail, she's bent on finding a way to stay home with her twins.  I cannot applaud and support her enough.
    Lord, teach us to "number our days," to only dwell in the past in remembrance of what God could've and should've let happen and to only dwell in the future what mercies we have in new beginnings.  To do anything less is to show God that the gift of today is insignificant.  As I walked in the fog the other morning, I felt communion with God as though he had bent down from heaven and had surrounded me.  I was glad to have broken that third pair of ear buds so that I could hear the rushing creek and the birds singing their morning songs.  I passed antique blossoms from homes long gone and prayed for the ones I know, grouped by the particular sin that is confounding them.  I prayed that God help the ones like me.  I prayed for the ones who hurt people's faith, the ones who run their position of ministry like a business, so concerned with helping that they hurl overbearing criticisms at the very ones doing the helping.
    I thought, too, how hard it is for me to hear the words of someone who blatantly overlooks in their own lives the sin I struggle with.  When we're battling our flesh, we ought to keep this in mind.  I often subconsciously tune out the words of a fat teacher/preacher.  They haven't dealt with the heart of the matter themselves.  If they are anything like me, God has to fix the inside before we can be trusted with healing on the outside.  God knows what we're apt to feel and do with healthy bodies when our souls are not healthy.
    We are to "abstain from appearance of evil".  Matthew 18: 7, "Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh."  Aren't you tired of offending people?  Aren't tired of being a hypocrite?  Aren't you tired of showing the way you have not even found yourself?  Of course, we have to persevere and share Christ amidst our fallen selves.  But does there not come a time where we can show and not just tell them to "go and sin no more" as our Lord Jesus Christ told Mary Magdalene.
    How many of us were like her, like the women in Isaiah 3? 

     ^"Moreover the Lord saith, Because the daughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretched forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and making a tinkling with their feet. Therefore the Lord will smite with a scab the crown of the head of the daughters of Zion, and the Lord will discover their secret parts. In that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their tinkling ornaments about their feet, and their cauls, and their round tires like the moon, The chains, and the bracelets, and the mufflers, The bonnets, and the ornaments of the legs, and the headbands, and the tablets, and the earrings, The rings, and nose jewels,The changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crisping pins,The glasses, and the fine linen, and the hoods, and the veils. And it shall come to pass, that instead of sweet smell there shall be stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sackcloth; and burning instead of beauty."
     Women, how many of us still carry on this way and even in our church?
     How many of us have to have the newest accessories?  Girls, how much longer do you spend on your hair than in your Bible?
     Something's got to give.  In my own life too.  That's why, in this walk of physical renewal, I want God to prepare a wardrobe for me fit for His daughter.  I have a short book, "Your Clothes Say It for You," and there is a lot of truth in it.  Though, even dressed in skirts, a woman can have much vanity.  Again, it remains a heart issue and not a legal one. 
     Mary Magdalene, I will be glad to know her.  I think I would understand why someone in her shoes would wash Jesus's feet with her hair.  Present day, I would warn anyone of the dangers of relationships with the men in our lives.  We have so much freedom to work, to minister, to socialize, to travel that we are put in situations that were aforehand unheard of, much to our protection from self destruction. 
     When we ignore the chiding of the Holy Spirit to return to a pure and single minded heart ("a double minded man is unstable in all his ways"), God speaks to us in ways we can hear and it could be through the ones we love.  I was pregnant with Macklynn when the summer of temptation came to me.  I entertained the thoughts so heavily that my destruction was imminent and I repented as heavily.  But I revisited the feelings.  Then, Macklynn was born with his Dextrocardia,  a backwards heart which often couples itself with sterility. 
     Four years later in the height of our marital dysfunction, one the girls opened a Facebook account for me.  I didn't care much about it.  Until an old "encounter" showed up on my wall during his business trip.  I convinced myself that he had been too "high" to remember all the same things I remembered.  I let him stroke my ego and ask questions.  It didn't take long for me to be swooped back into the world I lived in.  Again, for the passion I let be flamed, I repented as vehemently and left the conversation as quickly as I had entered.  My mistake was the revisitation one afternoon.  Within that very day, Macklynn was paralyzed from an extremely rare reaction. Post?
    I was involuntarily jerked into reality.  Although I do not believe for a minute that Macklynn was being punished for my sins, I do believe God used him as a wake-up call.  If only I had remained in the trust and comfort of my Father, would Macklynn have had to experience the fear and pain?  Solomon said that time and chance happen to us all, but the peace we could have knowing that we aren't the cause - "woe to the man by whom the offense cometh"! 
     Macklynn began complaining of pain in the area of his bladder a month ago.  I checked my heart right away.  Sure enough, I had brushed against notions that I ought not to have. 
Is it fair that a child should suffer the consequences of a parent?  No, but it happens every single second of every singe minute of every single hour of every single day of every single parent.  Every single bad decision trickles down to our children.  Should we not want to lead more Godly life if only for that cause?  Much less the temptations that Satan brings to our children's minds when we ourselves are caught up in the selfsame sins?  I don't know for certain how that matches up with doctrine.  I do know that "we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities ... ." 
      And I can't forget the day of the fire, one of the days I began this book with.  An old friend, nothing more than an old friend, had started up a conversation.  I had been drinking a glass or two of wine nightly to "withstand" the atmosphere at home.  The private conversation crossed a boundary it shouldn't have.  In a moment of clarity, I knew that I had fallen to my old cravings and that it shouldn't be so.  I walked away from it, clearly stating why.  The punishment came in my revisiting the situation, again under the influence of alcohol.  How intriguing it is that I had found justification in the Bible to drink and that now the veil has been lifted off my eyes as I confess and can see that the alcohol was central in all these trespasses?
     I had literally just made the choice to reenter the conversation, when with my fingers on the keyboard, I turned left and saw the color of flames on the wall.  Upstairs, the kitchen was on fire.  Not only was a pot of oil on fire but so were the cabinets, as the flames licked the ceiling and the smoke rolled across it.  Even though there was a newly installed fire extinguisher and even a lid somewhere, I grabbed the pot first to get it out.  But the back door would not come unlocked, so I had to set the pot in a chair to carry it to the other door, splashing burning oil all over the floor, shoes, and coats.  Melody had gotten the little ones outside already.  Miranda had taken the kitchen sprayer to the cabinets, while Michael, McKala, and Megan stomped out the fires I had started. 
     When I stepped down out of the door to the carport, the pot slid off the chair and under Megan's Jeep.  Unbelievably, I had to crawl under the Jeep and grab the handle again.  And finally I got the burning pot and chair into the yard. 
      My hand blistered severely and don't think I wasn't glad that it was all that happened.  "For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth."  I was glad to have been chastened and knew I deserved it.  My family did not, but they were drug in anyway. 
     Looking back, if anyone could've seen my heart and my speech, they would've thought for sure that I wasn't a child of Christ.  That's why have to be ever so careful in that "judgment" we pass on people.  However, it does not mean that we should refrain from confronting sin in their lives.  The trick is getting to know the person well enough to discern their salvation because singling out the sin in an unsaved person is basically pointless. 
    What have you not confessed?  Where do you know God was scourging you but you don't want anyone to know?  Don't you know that it's your testimony?  Dredge it up.  Did you go through the fire for your own sake only?  Secrets are nothing but a playground for Satan.  All these years, I have taught my children that secrecy is the worst of things.  Yet, I lived as if I were an exception. 
     God has spared me finality.  That couldn't have been more clear when Mike sent me a picture of the casket his coworker and son had handcrafted for the son and brother who committed suicide.  It could not have happened to nicer people.  If they have been dealt this hand, how much more do I deserve?  I will live my days with that in mind, leaning heavily and surrenderously on the mercy of Jesus.
    There is one last though, the emotional one.  How often do we lean on the friendships of our male counterparts?  How often do we give pieces of our hearts away along the road?  Be honest.  How many times have you been a Mary Magdalene in body, in word, or in thought?

Tuesday, May 20:  I thought it wise this morning to take Virgie's tomato plants to her on foot.  In the coolness, I committed to memory by their blooms the locations of several blackberry bushes.  I smelled the honeysuckle along the roadside.  When I reached the top of the hill between her house and ours, a large chocolate Lab charged at me before I even reached his yard.  I began to talk to him sweetly as if he were mine.  I walked ahead intently, hoping to convince him that I wasn't a threat.
    He wouldn't have any of it.  He took a stance a foot and a half away from me.  He showed every last one of his teeth and growled deeply.  His hair stood up on his neck the way Smokey's used to.  All I could do was sway the tomato plant between us to distract him as I backed away.  This one time I decided not to "pack" was the closest I ever came to being bitten.  I looked to the sky and told God, "This is your dog.  Stop him."   Not that I TELL God to do anything, except that I believe and know He CAN do anything.  He controlled the mouths of animals many times in the Bible.
   I'm here to tell about it, which means I escaped the dog's wrath.  I'm glad I didn't have my gun, not only to prevent a neighbor war but also to test my faith.  My help came from God and God alone.
    McKala and Miranda will be here within the hour to put out the plants we bought yesterday.  We're getting a late start on the garden, but it's better than no start.  We have 42 tomato; 48 jalepeno, 4 bell, 16 banana pepper; 32 pickling cucumber; 20 yellow squash, zucchini, and eggplant; 16 okra; plus dill and cilantro; corn, beans, butternut squash, watermelon, and pumpkin.  Miranda wants to take Michael's place as the custodian of it all. 
    McKala should soon enough manage the products of goat milk.  Her lungs are completely better.  As far as I'm concerned, she's healed.  The only lingering effect is the hives she breaks out in.  We believe she has a cow's milk allergy.  A couple of months ago, goats just "appeared" in the pasture.  The landlord said he was given them and that they're young nanny goats named Peaches and Mosey. 
     I had intended to buy one of Heather's baby nannies and was embarrassed to request a stud service instead.  She talked it over with Britt and they've decided to give us their baby billy.  She is the kindest of friends.
    She came with the children Saturday night to visit with a jar of their first honey.  She left with a jar of our first jam of the year.  McKala and a family friend, Sloan, had paddled the New River the previous day, then realizing the keys were left at the origin of the trip and had to walk all the way back to get them.  After they slept in, they picked local strawberries with Macklynn and Madalynn, then spent the afternoon eagerly preparing 16 quarts.
     Melody spent the weekend in the mountains with more family friends, a mother and her two daughters; otherwise, we just don't "do" sleepovers.  It isn't worth the risk.  Early into my mothering my mind was set when  I learned  of wickedness that went on in the sleeping hours of my friends. 
     One of the girls had already volunteered to assist at the "prom" of a nursing home.  Melody was glad to go set up but didn't know how much fun it would be until it was over.  An 86 year old man named Edgar partnered with her for at least a dozen dances.  After two or three, he told her about the passing of his wife.  After two or three more, he told her about World War II.  In a couple of more, he talked about his paintings.  Then, he showed her the book his wife made for him on their first Valentine's.  They shut it down, the two of them dancing to songs like "Rock Me, Mama" which she said he really bounced around to.
     He said that we must come visit him and we will.  Thankfully, Virgie is just right up the hill and not in a home.  Her family is doing such a respectable job to make sure she gets to stay in her home.  Sue, her caregiver for the last four years, stays Monday through Friday, 8 to 3.  A granddaughter and her daughter swap weekends.  Her grandson, wife, and baby stay weeknights.  And a woman named Anita and I alternate 3 till 8. 
     Her son and his wife keep all these arrangements despite his stay in Baptist hospital last week for complications from a brain shunt.  His sister is mourning the loss of her husband to MS.  And their brother's wife has lung cancer.  I think that leaves no excuse for the rest of us to not do all we possibly can to personally care for our elderly members. 
     Virgie says she not paying anyone to sit around and stare at her, so we've been cleaning her ceilings.  The seafoam colored basement she lives in surrounds her with momentos and pictures of her past.
      The first day she had me polish her chifforobes while she took her nap.  As I was on my knees, the fact that all my grandparents are gone came to mind.  I became a little emotional that I get to be a part of this lady's life.  She likes for me to sit and eat dinner with her after I've warmed it, and she likes for me to try what she's eating.  I've had buttermilk with cornbread, and a banana and mayonnaise sandwich for the first times.  They weren't half bad.  And I share things we have here with her.  I imagine a slice of Pizza Hut pizza or a Chick-fil-A sandwich is like sirloin to someone who's spent two months in a rehab center.
     The second week, after she prayed a confident prayer of mindfulness for the sick, the lost, and the youth of our country, I realized just how quiet it is when we sit together.  We younger women are so silly to yearn for "girl" time when we could be having "lady" time.
     What we wouldn't take for granted after we've heard a woman cry of out frustration of having to explain to someone where everything is because she can't jump up and get it herself.  She expressed over and over again how she'd like to be doing the cleaning.  How sad it is to see a robust woman lose her dignity from the effects of a urinary tract infection.  She was so sick last week that I asked if it was becoming a hospice situation.  Come to find out her medicine needed to be changed and within days she was hydrated again and was getting herself out of her easy chair and scooting to the bathroom with her walker. 

     Tuesday evening:  Virgie called several times while we were putting in the garden.  She'd offered some bean seeds and I forgot to send someone to get them.  She doesn't miss a beat or a phone number or a name or a circumstance or what she has for leftovers or what time to take her medicine or how much something costs or where her flowers are located.
    Now, I'm on the porch listening to the frogs and watching the lightening bugs while the wind barely sweeps strands that fell down from my ponytail across my neck.  Mike is home and watching TV with the kids.  I suppose I should be in there too because he worries that I don't want to be. 

Wednesday midday:  I did just that.  I went inside and piled up in front of that confounded television ...because that's where I needed to be.
    Monday morning Mike called me into our room and asked me to read to him what I was reading in my Bible.  So I sat my pillows up beside him and began midway through Jeremiah.  I was a little uncomfortable at first, having to share my time with God and doing the reading instead of my husband, but it's what he asked me to.  Then, he prayed a beautiful prayer seeking God's will.  That morning I couldn't have imagined such things would happen.
    And to top he off, he said he thought my reading glasses were sexy.
    We had a couple of defining phone conversations while he was gone.  One day he told me that a young woman showed up in need of counsel.  Her husband had joined the Service to pay his school debt but he left one as person and came back another.  Mike began to cry and said the way she feels from the things he does must be how he made made me feel.  
     Funny how a person wants to be validated but can't leave it at "thank you" when it finally comes to fruition.  I immediately thought of all the times my heart had not been loyal and right before God and my husband.
    He called another day to tell of a property of five houses a family lived on and how they all went to the basement of one of homes to survive the tornado.  The house was hit and caught on fire, then the 14 of them literally kicked down a block wall to escape. 
    He also met "a Duggar".  One of the young men was on a team that came to help. 

    It's just as well that Mike wasn't here these three weeks.  One Monday, I got up early for my walk.  Macklynn had slept with me and got up also.  Then, Madalynn heard us and was raring to go.  I hadn't planned to take them since they walked much slower than I.  So, quite honestly, I begrudgingly let them go.  It was the pleasantest of walks, no thanks to me.  But by the time we got to the second mile, I thought I'd barely make it home. 
     I was just plain perturbed and even wondered if it could be "pelvic congestion" which some say we get when we're sexually inactive and that it is a permission slip for masturbation.  I beg to differ.  Even if our husbands promote it, it is still an act of self ingratiation and quickly gets out of "hand" and into the heart.  In a day or two, I knew the cause.  My scourge had found me, likely because of my series of busy days.   As David said, "For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: and there is no soundness in my flesh."  Before that he said, "My wounds stink and are corrupt because of  foolishness."  If only every young person could know before they choose fornication what a disease like this will do to their daily lives.  Everyone believes a pill is a cure, a fix all.  My C-section was proof that it is not.. 
     I drug through the week as my body tried to fight off her invaders.  All I know to say to people is that I feel unwell.  Who really wants the whole story?  Although, when I don't tell them, they must think me some kind of slacker.  Even my own children did, whom I finally lashed out at in truth.  If I had gently warned them ahead, there would have been no need for such an occasion.
    It reminds me to hesitate on my impressions of other people because they may be enduring something that they just don't know where to begin to explain. 
    
     That Tuesday Michael drove us to the airport to embark on his "tour" of the deep South.  He'd never flown in anything except the Cessna Megan used to fly them all individually around in during her lessons.  He told me about their fishing stories when they returned Sunday but I've yet to find out how being above the clouds changed his perspective.  I'm just so very glad he has come through in safety. 
     Macklynn and Madalynn have stepped to the plate during Michael's absence:  taking the trash, washing and vacuuming the car, pulling weeds, using the blower, planting, keeping their rooms and bathrooms clean.  Pretty good what kids can do when we raise the bar.  Megan took apart the weed eater and fixed it; then she and her "friend" did the whole property.  I see that he works hard.  I got to talk with him after she made us all chili and apple pie, how he feels about the work of a stay at home mom ...Mike is gone so much that someone has to do the "interviewing" now before they cleave together .  I've been gathering eggs successfully skirting around the rooster and I've been watering the pig after diverting his attention so that he doesn't sling mud head to toe on me again.  (Not a Natural)?
     The Saturday before Michael left, he was to take Taylor to her senior prom but took Macklynn fishing with Sloan earlier in the day.  Everyone was gone but Mady and me.  I had in mind to accomplish a big list of things, but she realizing we were alone asked for a tea party.  I said, "No."  After she went on the front porch, I rethought it and put together bits and pieces of danties we had around the kitchen to surprise her. 
     After we prayed and had eaten some of it, she looked at me eye to eye across the table and said, "You are the best mom." 
     If I had stayed in my busy mode, I would've missed it. 
     And come to find out, it was good that my intense mood was changed because a friend in desperate need of reprieve arrived.  Her little people frolicked in the water with mine while she and I had our traditional cup of coffee with brown sugar and evaporated milk. 
     Megan was able to fix her car and refused payment knowing what kind of straights she was in.  Aren't these the times that our skills were given for?
     Meanwhile Michael got on his Sunday cowboy look to escort Taylor the way he did last year.  Mike had met her mother and upon realizing she didn't have a date, he suggested that Michael be.  And after the two met and even though Michael fully understanding that Taylor has specific disabilities and a childlike mentality, he was honored to take her still.  They had a truly good time, dancing the night away; it even spilled over into the bowling alley.
     The next morning was Mother's Day (Mother's Day post)?  Madalynn was to be baptized.  We were in such a hurry to get to church that I walked past the gifts the children had displayed on the table.  The had tried on button up shirts at Goodwill for me;  must've been over $100 worth.  I had truffles, kitchen things, muscadine juice, a jeweled bookmark, aloe plants, and that glorious Promised Land chocolate milk (which has a verse from Deuteronomy on the label), and a float intended for me to enjoy my day on the pond after we grilled burgers, smothered with sautéed onions and mushrooms, horseradish and southwestern mustard, provolone cheese and bacon, oh, and some BBQ.  For me, nothing better than that could've come from a restaurant.  But the prize event of the day still had to be kicked off and could only be matched by "O Glorious Day" post.
     
    Megan ushered Madalynn into the church's new baptismal pool.  She wore the gown that Mike's mother had sewn for Megan when she was baptized in the New River.  Brother Kevin told the story of the talks McKala and Madalynn have in their bunks and of the night that Madalynn grew quiet, leaving McKala to think she was asleep; when in actuality she was asking Jesus to be her Lord.  McKala, towel in hand, received Madalynn from the water. 
    I was so pleased with the outcome, not even cognizant that I had forgotten to tell Mike.  He said when he got home that a volunteer had told him of the picture on social media.  I was floored that I could overlook such a thing.  I'm so accustomed to his travels and "life goes on regardless", that I completely dropped the ball.  I felt so bad for him that people knew his wife had forgotten him. 
    The weeks have been that busy or have they?  Do I put that little emphasis on Mike? 
    This morning amidst all that must be done, I stopped and bathed, pampering enough to prepare myself for his return this evening. 
     When Virgie told me last night that she hoped I didn't live to be as old as she is, I thought selfishly that surely a reason she's living is so the rest of us can glean from her experience.  So I asked her, "What advice do you have for marriage?" 
      "Work together," as she moved her hands to show, "give and take.".  Later, while we were having dinner of cooked cabbage, mashed potatoes, and tomatoes, I asked her for her parenting advice.  She said, "Keep 'em in church and make 'em mind."  So many of us have the former and not the latter, refusing to institute the very commands of our Bible.
    Isaiah says, "Rise up, ye women that are at ease; hear my voice, ye careless daughters; give ear to my speech."
    I'm sitting here on the porch in my robe overlooking the garden wet with rain from the night.  Love is in the air for more than one of our family.  Megan is joining our church on Sunday.  Melody has been hired to take another photo shoot tomorrow.  Next week we're to vacation at our parents' homes in Georgia.  God is good, so how can I afford to be "careless"?
     Our cabinets and refrigerator are literally overflowing with the bounty of God's surprise provision.  As I was putting the towel in my hair, I thought to myself, "Is that a stomach growl?"
     "Surely not since I ate late last night?"
      "It is.  It is.  It is a stomach growl," just like, "It is.  It is.  It is a honey tree," from Berenstein Bears. 
       I laughed at myself.  When we live in peace and harmony under God's guidance and provision we can do that.  It's so tempting for me to set rewards as my standard for weight loss: what I'll be able to wear and the respect I will earn.  But, nothing, nothing takes the place of the unbroken communion I have with my Father.  As painfully slowly as the ounces are coming off, I wouldn't have it any other way than to walk with my Lord taking only what He has prepared for me, giving no thought to the benefits of tomorrow, simply enjoying my portion meal by meal without doubt, guilt, fear, and second guessing.

Sunday, June 15th:  Today was decompression.  We've been back from vacation  nearly a week but we just slowed down today.  We got home from Carowinds, the Carolinas' version of Six Flags, at 1am.  The last thing we got to see was Third Day perform to perfection.  11 of us went.  It's a good thing because I overbought tickets to get the group rate.
    Sloan and her brother joined us.  She's the beautiful red head who made strawberry jam with McKala and has swept Michael's heart away and his hand in hers.  I realized when they were walking the theme park that he hadn't held another's.  They talked every night that he was in Georgia.  I honestly expect that they'll get married as soon as he gets out of Fork Union.  They've talked over ev
    We left McKala in Pensacola

'This morning our music pastor preached in place of the other one.  He talked about how Jesus washed the feet of the disciples who doubted him, the ones who argued in self righteousness who would be at His right hand, who would deny Him, and who would betray Him.  I have so much to learn in my heart what I’ve known so long in my head.  It is the utmost humility to “wash the feet” of the self righteous.  Goes back to someone I’ve mentioned over and over, but that person must have a confidence issue to boast to the point of lies and to cause trouble for people to get attention. 

Don’t know why but this morning as I was getting ready for church, it dawned on me that when you said “head first out of the gate” that you might have meant something more about the physical realm than the emotional one.  I don’t know what your past entails but I know what mine does.  It’s hard to go about founding a relationship God’s way when we’ve gone about it our way more times than not.   I don’t know that even today if I could trust myself to be self restrained without “releasing the beast” if it were not for the grace of Jesus Christ and quite honestly not only the reverence I have for Him but the fear.   For  years I mentally blamed (and rightly so to a large degree) it on Mike for being my adversary, making it impossible for me to be known the way I needed to be.  So my greatest temptation was one of the mind, that I would entertain the attentions of other men, particular men, but nonetheless other men. 

I didn’t put “a doubled mind man is unstable in all his ways” for no reason.  I wanted to wedge that in somewhere in the conversation before I left, but it couldn’t find its place.  So regardless of any attraction you do or do not have for my daughter, what I’m saying is from one Christian to another.   A “bird” whispered in my ear that you like to flirt.  Flirting is different things to different people.  If someone is trying to feel out the pool of perspectives that’s available and likes to joke around to sense what might be a catch, it’s one thing.  To carry on that way so as to be ingratiated is completely different.  For  people who are charismatic like you and me, it is a mighty fine line between friendliness and sin. 

 It matters heavily in the context of marriage.  It’s a given for me and in yours it will be too if you ever get married.   Please don’t feel singled out; I’ve had this talk with own son.   If he were to be a Veterinarian, he would be around female techs and assistants all the time.  Same goes for you.  Will you be ready once you commit to one woman, to be single minded about her, not only in physical self restraint but in mental/emotional restraint?  A married man cannot have a female confidante in any sense of the word.

Not only the evil imaginations that the Bible speaks of, but the eyes tell it all.  A married man making eye contact can be worse than him looking a woman up and down, because he’s making a personal connection with her.  Neither is good, of course.  Mike used to be a “woman watcher” (in my presence even).  I don’t mean the “innocent” people watching habit.  One could say that a woman’s pride or territorial response is the primary frustration, but I can tell you from experience that it injures her to the core.  It makes her not feel but know that she isn’t enough for her husband.  She knows that in at least his mind, she is dispensable.  It makes her vulnerable to the approval of other men.

It’s harder than hard for a woman to surrender herself to the will and wiles of her husband when he is no longer her loyal friend, when he has put his own desires ahead of his love for her.  How can she please him when he won’t be pleased with what she is?  I claim no perfection (although it is Biblical to strive for) and have to admit to my shame that I quit 3 years ago taking the care of myself that I should.   It’s not impossible but what kind of marriage/intimacy can there really be when one partner is servile to the other?  There are countless times that I have given over to Mike’s desires but knew for certain that I was nothing more than an entertainment for the moment, and I’m not talking about a needful quickie here and there.  As much as I know it is my God given position to be there for him, bitterness and hopelessness/contentedness that things wouldn’t change crept in and most often left me feeling used.  We had a period of awakening but I responded too slowly.  Now, he seems to give food more thought than anything.  I hope that the older influences down there have not been a stumbling block to you.  (That includes me.) Going it alone is something a person who is sincerely seeking God has to do a lot.  

This is very in depth, I know.  But for whatever reason, I have had these thoughts to share with you since I met you.  Perhaps you are not as double minded as I have been and even the mention of these things is an affront to you.  Again, I’d hope that you take it as experienced advice from one Christian to another, whether I had daughters or not.  Truth be told, except for the few who have decided sex is bad/unnecessary altogether, we all struggle with these things.  Some of us are in difficult relationships but I know people who have good marriages/beautiful spouses and still cave to outside stimulus to want and to be wanted, to the animal magnetism we all possess when we don’t keep it in check with God daily and hourly.  So when I say that I need God, I mean it.  There is nothing for me to be self righteous about.  On my own, I am depraved, disloyal, and double minded …even if it’s just of my “evil imagination” and nothing else. 

I read (from a conservative author I highly regard) a couple of years ago that a father should ask (from the get go) a prospective mate for his daughter when is the last time he looked at or watched porn, even soft images – AJ McCarron’s fiancee’s derriere.  Since I have been on you intensely from the beginning, I hate to push you into an answer when you have made no specific claim of interest yet.  But it’s something for you to chew on for the sake of my daughter or for anyone else’s daughter.  If you don’t partake of that pleasure, then it is yet another signal of your character.  Only you know what you watch and think, and only your desire to be right with God can contain it. 

There cannot be a blessing on any relationship you have or will have as long as you are bound in it.  Before you deem me a judge, it is another thing that I have experience with.  My husband thought it would be good for us and before I was saved, with no Godly men (or women) influences, and in my foolishness and covetousness, I agreed.  (I have much to say about the idea of men condoning lesbianism for their own purposes, but I won’t get into that here.) When God cleans our soul, it does not mean that those images disappear.  It took willful, eyes open work for years to cause them to fade from my memory.  I am a very visual person and Satan knew that.  Most men are also and he is hot on their tails. 

I felt an immediate connection with you.  It may be that it’s because I will know you for all time as part of our inner circle or it may just be that God wanted me to say something to you, not at all for the benefit of my family but all for the walk of a man who is looking for God among a perverse generation with very sparse leadership. 

I didn’t send McKala (nor anyone) the messages we sent the other night.  I’d appreciate you returning the same favor.  It could be hurtful to ones I do not wish to harm.  However, if you ever need to share the details anonymously to witness to other men, then have at quoting me.  This is very lengthy but in comparison to the hundreds of pages I’ve written over the last 11 months, I’m sparing you J

Roll Tide'++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

    He is a more than a decade older than she and I suppose for the first time I'm living vicariously through one of them.  I only hope for her she is given to a man who is right with God.

Sunday morning, June 29:  I'm sitting on the front porch listening to the steady rain while Cranny, the cat, is nestled up in Miranda's avocado tree pot.  The Mimosa tree is beginning to bloom its pink plumes.  The hummingbirds have found them already.  Times like these are the only ones when I have peace or "permission" to spill over into writing.  
     Megan, Miranda, Madalynn, Macklynn, and Mike are still in bed.  McKala, Michael, and Melody are gone to Bible School and then to Sloan's house.  Michael and she talk on the phone every evening, sometimes for hours, last night while he made earrings.  That was after he made cheesecake for us and for Ronnie.  The separated shoulder he suffered at Nick Saban's football camp put him out of commission for heavy work and upper body exercise for 6 weeks. 
     So, yesterday after working several hours at Chick-fil-A, McKala drove in a dozen T-posts herself to support the tomatoes with twine, and Miranda painted the hallway and living room.  Among other things, Megan mounted doors and blade cut an overgrown lot for Ronnie, while Melody made videos and CDs for our upcoming 25th Anniversary Party planned for the 4th of July. 
    We just finished up Bible School where Megan, with Melody's help, taught the older girls' class.  Miranda lent a hand in crafts, McKala kept the nursery, and I did what I could in the kitchen while I wasn't staying with Virgie.  She's recovering nicely and keeps taking her walker unassisted to the restroom.  She's so glad to employ herself emptying aged jars of food and that it can be given to Michael's hogs instead of being tossed out.   She opens them and I wash them while we talk about the stories surrounding her productive farm years.  She speaks frequently and fondly of Mott, her husband of 59 years.  It's particularly sweet when she speaks of the things her mother taught her.  
     While we were out of town, I saw "The Beatitudes of the Friends of the Aged:  Blessed are they who understand my faltering step and palsied hand. Blessed are they who know that my ears today must strain to catch the things they say. Blessed are they who see that my eyes are dim and my wits are slow. Blessed are they who looked away when coffee spilled on the table today. Blessed are they with a cheery smile who stop to chat awhile. Blessed are they who never say, 'You've told that story twice today.' Blessed are they who know the ways to bring back memories of yesterday. Blessed are they who make it known that I'm loved and respected. Blessed are they who know I'm at a loss to find the strength to carry the cross. Blessed are they who ease the days on my journey home in loving ways."  
     I don't understand people's impatience of or repulsiveness toward the elderly.  But, then again, I've had a lot of practice with the helpless, little ones in particular. 
     Virgie and I have cooked cabbage nearly every night I'm there.  She comes from a time stricken with poverty, when breaking up bread and "sopping" with it might fill the desire for things more sustainable.  I've lost 4 more pounds, nothing much to brag about, but the peace I have in not allowing myself any opportunity to overeat is blocking any urgency I have to get it over with.  For me, there is no time now to depart from this walk or to sin by doing what I know is not good. 
    I read in Daniel 6 this morning, "...they could find none occasion nor fault; forasmuch as he was faithful, neither was there any error or fault found in him.  Then said these men, We shall not find any occasion against this Daniel, except we find it against him concerning the law of his God."  Isn't that how it should be?  That we should be found with no fault so that God can perform His miracles through us to either bolster the faith in others or to inspire new faith in the rest.   We hurt our belief when we're in sin, then question whether we're even in God's will, then know we are unworthy to be His instrument.  Technically we are unworthy either way, but one trumps the other every time.  After Daniel was brought from the lions' den, " ...no manner of hurt was found upon him, because he believed in his God."  He was clear enough in his conscience to know that God would have His way and not only for Daniel's benefit but for the benefit of others. 
 
     I just returned from the kitchen.  Mike had come out to sit with me and it seemed right to go and make him something to eat.  We'd been given pancake batter, so it was a quick fix.  I made a smaller one for me so that I could have the crispy edges I prefer.  I sprinkled pecans and flax seed in it and flavored it with real butter and syrup. 
     In the waiting room of Michael's Orthopedist, I read "Eat Butter" on the cover of TIME magazine.  Studies show that we've had it all wrong for decades.    
     As I sat here finishing my pancake, the rain lifted and the blue crane crept across the field.  I never got to see what he was after because he flew away when Madalynn came out to join me.  Now Mike and Macklynn have decided to try their fortune at catching the fish themselves.  
     There are so many things for me to recount over the last weeks.  I told my mother staying with her is like being in a posh hotel, waited on hand in foot.  And as Madalynn says, "You're mom cooks so good!"  My Dad showed Michael how to make an Adirondack chair for me and he did.  Then, Dad made a huge well-crafted frame for the vintage world map I bought for the dining room.  I could've never afforded the frame on the market. 
     Dad also rode with me to take Michael to football camp.   As we got on campus, we stopped to ask a lady on her morning walk where exactly the indoor practice field was.  When we thanked her, she smiled and said "Roll Tide" and kept walking.  People really do that down there in Tuscaloosa, not just on commercials! 
     The sign up line was long with over 200 young men and their families.  We got to see AJ Starr, the "disabled" one the segment was about, pulling a cooler from one building to the other. 
     It was a rush from one booth to the other, then outside for stats.  It took Michael off guard and he was disappointed with his numbers.  If endurance and tolerance mean anything to the big leagues, I know that he brings those every time. 
      Upon leaving the dorms, the guys got to stand in line to have individual pictures made with the one and only Coach Nick Saban.  Wouldn't you know that Michael's eyes were closed and he has some kind of goofy curl in his lip? 
      Dad was beside himself to be in Bryant Denny Stadium.  As we sat there taking it all in, he said that the extrusion factory he helped manage made the very bleachers we were resting on.   
      We left Mom and Dad's to pick Michael up from camp.   All that is but Mike, who was working in Pensacola, and Megan and Miranda who'd returned for work and to hold down the fort, and more importantly the upkeep of the garden and animals.  Miranda got to cultivate with Bubba, the Percheron horse, for the first time.  Another day, she went to the barn to find Link, the boar pig, out of his pin and upside down in the metal can of feed.  She also had the entire house pristine upon our return with our pajamas laid out and candy placed on them. 
       We were all giddy to be in the stadium as the boys displayed their abilities in their final drills.  At some point, I couldn't get a visual on Michael anymore and didn't know until I was called down by a trainer that he was injured.  I knew through Sloan that he'd hurt it  catching an interception playing Ultimate Football, but as they were doing "one on ones," he hurt it again to the point of stretching the collarbone away from the shoulder. 
     I was light headed from the heat and from holding my breath until I got there.  He played  it off, without even a grimace, as just being "football".   The x-ray two weeks later told the whole story.  Since he can't workout at the level he'd hoped to for the upcoming season, he has more time for algebra and writing and earrings and talking to Sloan.  When I happily heard that they have been discussing the hard things involved with their beliefs, courtship and marriage, I must've looked surprised because he asked, "What do you think we talk about all that time?" 
     On the other hand, Megan's relationship has dissolved.   It availed itself as evidence that a lifelong commitment shouldn't be embarked upon based on qualifications only.  This means I can't ask any more than that of McKala's new prospect.  "Qualifications" certainly matter but have to correspond to that "thing," that chemistry that makes a couple a couple, a yearning to be "one" heart, mind, body, and soul.  

     Mike showed up unannounced at football camp, so we followed him back to Pensacola.  Thankfully, he had mentioned the possibility, so we had sleeping bags and pillows to stay in the church with him.  That's what disaster volunteers (in this case, flooding) do, separate into Sunday School rooms by gender to sleep after the work and supper are done. 
     The operation was out of a large church, so they welcomed us into our own rooms and even gave special access to their youth facilities for the ones of us who couldn't volunteer.  Michael was newly injured.  Melody was too young, as were Macklynn and Madalynn.  But McKala began training in SP's office procedures.  And I helped in the kitchen when I could.  I'm not even sure you could call what I did "help."  The one task I was specifically assigned to birthed lumpy grits.  I'm used to cooking in bulk but not 2 gallons of grits.
     We got to go spend two days at the beach and an afternoon at the Naval Station.  The little ones enjoyed the tour way more than I thought they would.  Mike stayed on a high from private sessions to see the Blue Angels practice.  He also was invited by a local minister to fish in the pond in front of his house.  Macklynn, of course, had all his fishing gear and was up for it every night. 
     The entire expedition cost us less than $300!  Although the kids (including the littles from their yard sale money) paid for their own tickets, we spent more than that at Carowinds the following week.  We've had plenty of "occasions" so far this summer but what has mattered are the conversations, like Mady and me spending the day riding the kiddy rides together and meeting my sister-in-law and seeing that we like each other and hearing Starla say that she trusts me more than anyone with her children and seeing the bowl that Pop taught Michael to make on his lathe and hearing about the man in the parking lot who gave his life to the Lord with Mike and finding out how Melody narrowly escaped the strike of a Copperhead and talking with the young woman who came for mandatory community service and accepted Christ then returned for voluntary service and watching Michael hold hands with a girl for the first time and him talking at length with the Defensive Line coach at BAMA and being read the letter Megan received from a girl for being her teacher at Bible School and being treated to lunch by a friend I haven't seen in 23 years and talking over difficulties and triumphs, but most importantly witnessing the nuances of God in my life. 
      While in the church in Pensacola, I had to read Mike's Bible since I don't wag around my hefty giant print one.  A verse he had marked from his youth was Isaiah 58:11, "And the Lord shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy bones: and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not."  I almost always read in context so I studied the surrounding ones.  58:10 says, "And if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noon day:"  Interesting how we as a society highlight the promises and not the requirements. 
    Anyway, I went into the next classroom to get something and there on the bulletin board was Isaiah 58: 10-11.  Some may say it's nothing, but to me it's everything.  Just like the prayers that go on late in the night bringing me to sobs for what I have been and where I should've been left, for what I have been ignorant of, unwilling to die to self, for what I have searched for that was right in front of me.  We don't need to make things happen, search things out, find purpose, or wonder and worry when we are obediently in the will of God.  To do so is to say that we trust in something less than Jesus.
      To read His word is to discover that he has a mind, "then my mind was alienated from her, like as my mind was alienated from her sister."  (He also said, "I will do these things unto thee, because thou hast gone a whoring after the heathen, and because thou are polluted with their idols.")  He has pleasure or he would not say, "...I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live: turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die ...."  (And in the same chapter, He says to Ezekiel, "They hear thy words, but they will not do them:  for with their mouth they shew much love, but thier heart goeth after their covetousness.")  He has feet, "...the place of my throne, and the place of the soles of my feet, where I will dwell in the midst of the children of Israel." 
     "And they that escape of you shall remember me among the nations whither they shall be carried captives, because I am broken with their whorish heart, which hath departed from me, and with their eyes, which go a whoring after their idols: and they shall loathe themselves for the evils which they have committed in all their abominations."  They Lord said, "I am broken."  Ever thought of that? 
     "But they rebelled and vexed his holy Spirit; therefore he was turned to be their enemy, and he fought against them."  Thought of that?  Vexed?  God is not abstract.  He is not hard to understand.  We just don't want to read and pray and trust.  "Thou hast forsaken me, saith the Lord, thou are gone backward:  therefore will I stretch out my hand against thee, and destroy thee; I am weary with repenting."  Weary, God?  We make Him distant and unrecognizable because we don't want to conform. 
     Jeremiah said, "But his word was in mine heart and bones, and I was weary with forbearing, and I count not stay."  We should all feel this way about sharing His word, that we cannot keep it in any longer.  If we choose to withhold it, then we deny transparency and won't be an open book before God and His creation.  That someone could lose their soul because we didn't open our mouths and back it up with clean, passionate living should pain and disgust us. 

     The month of July holds preparation for the party, camp for the kids (where the big ones will work and the little ones will go for half price because Melody and McKala took pictures for Daughters of the King), Miranda having surgery for a bone spur causing a deviated septum (which makes constant sinus/ear/headache problems from blockage), my singing a surprise solo for the first time in church, and canning.

July 5th:  The collaboration for last night's party came together without a hitch.  The whole family worked together tirelessly for nearly two weeks prior.  Melody took days putting together our all-time favorite songs for CDS and our old photos for videos; then she pressure washed the carport.   Michael helped pay for fireworks, worked in the yard and around the house, and ran errands as much as a one armed person could.  McKala bought a cake, weedeated, helped me create a bailing twine support for the tomatoes, wiped down the kitchen and bathroom, and food prepped.  Miranda bought decorations and with the littles put up a twine trellis for her beans and wash the floors, painted the walls and trim of every upstairs room but the bedrooms, customized invitations, shopped and decorated like a mad woman.  Megan picked out the sound and video equipment and helped pay for it, push mowed and weedeated, spray painted Pinterest ideas, and drove her big brothers and sisters to buy fireworks, among other things.  Mike helped clean up the barn and trim trees.
     I worked too, real "hoss" work.  The kids couldn't weed eat Ronnie's yard, so I did.  Over three hours later, I had a new appreciation for what they do. The next morning, I could barely extend my arms.  It was all right though because I felt strong.  I decided to do some push mowing to finish our yard and field.  I got a little carried away and decided to mow what really should've been bush hogged.  But the view I created of the creek was worth it. 
     Then, I hoed, for reasons less than virtuous:  I was embarrassed for anyone to see the condition of our garden (garden post).  So, I hoed until it was dark that I couldn't see what I was hoeing.  When I came in, I knew I had accomplished something because I had "granny beads" around my neck.  The next morning, I could feel every muscle in my back.  They didn't hurt.  There was just a deep soreness that made me feel stronger. 
     I thought, "Who needs a tanning bed, gym, vitamins, and locker room when I've got the sun, yard work, wild blackberries, and a little girl who surprises me with a bath drawn, complete with the candles and magnolia soap Miranda gave me, accompanied by raspberry cranberry juice in the glass that Megan bought me." 
     Throughout the nights of showering and crawling into bed, I often thought how shallow it is that we obsess over our sex lives.  Honestly, if we'd work to exhaustion, we just wouldn't have the energy to artificialize our love lives.  It would take on a new air of spontaneity.  We'd know the time is right when the time is right without having to dream up acrobatic performances.  We'd work together and love together in a natural flow.
     So, what happens when there isn't that kind of harmony?  It can be discouraging to accept that marriage could be the very thing that makes us forget ourselves.  I don't mean the fun kind of selflessness like planning surprises and kind words.  I mean the sort that leaves you no place to go but to the Lord.  Why would we escape/divorce the very position that brings us to a closer union with Him?

Sunday, July 20:  It's been 365 days since I put my first entry into this body of words.  I have so many thoughts left to convey, but for today:  I've been to appraise the garden and I'm ashamed to say that I am no better a gardener than I was 2 years ago, "Better Check Your Garden" post. 
      Miranda, who was supposed to be my "lean to" for the garden this year, had her surgery on Wednesday.  She has stints in both nostrils and is heavily medicated.  The procedure could be life changing though.  Every time she's started an exercise regiment, she gets some kind of cold that settles in her ears and sinuses.  She's so outdoorsy that when she can't or doesn't feel like getting out, she becomes somber.  Then a combination of hormone imbalance that she's encountered since she was 14 and the eating patterns that produce weight gain take their final blow while she's down. 
    I expect big results because she knows what she needs to do and she has a heart committed to the good things of the Lord to do it.  Too, Jami and Shawn have offered her a nannying job and she's going to take it, along with online classes.
    Megan's sitting here with me on the porch after reading Tozier and is studying her ASVAB book since she's reconsidering signing up with The National Guard.  In the midst of the Russian, Israeli, and American border crises; as admirable as it is, I can't decide how I feel about it.
    McKala's home from volunteering at camp.  Although, she still has trouble with hives from allergies, she isn't affected internally the way she was.   She has her senior year to complete and has been given the green light to substitute at Dr. Miller's office for Michael when he leaves for military school.
      He's at Sloan's church for homecoming.  The two of them are still planning a wedding to follow their courtship.  He leaves in less than three weeks now.  She leaves a few days later for Liberty University, about an hour from where he'll be at Fork Union; but he can only leave with our permission. 
     Melody also returned home from camp on Friday, miserably sick.  Since everybody else had it too, she stuck it out.  I hate though that when a kid is tough as nails, uncomplaining, and non combative; that they are ridiculed at the first mention of pain because they had endured thus far.  It's happened to every one of our older children this year.  It's sad that we live in a society that pampers people who pity themselves and persecutes the ones who persevere through it.  At least she's home recuperating and has photo sessions lined up.  And she's finally dropped her resistance to resume music lessons.
     After spending the week at camp with his sisters, Macklynn is also sick.  He had an incredible time though, reminiscent of the weeks his brother and sisters have spent there riding horses, sliding down enormous water slides, making pottery, shooting bows and arrows, ending every afternoon dancing and singing their hearts out to the Lord.  The whole family pulled together to get them there every morning and back home.  The little guys don't spend the night there and even if they did, we wouldn't let them.  All the sleepovers today provide just enough risk to satisfy the time a predator needs, whether it be a man or woman, boy or girl, family member or stranger.  I personally know several people who were taken advantage of in what should've been innocent situations.
     Madalynn, likewise, had an unforgettable time.  She told me this morning that they put messages about God in helium balloons, prayed over them, and released them from the foothills.  She managed not to get sick and is the only family member who isn't plain grumpy this weekend. 
     Between caring for Virgie and Miranda, I didn't get to volunteer like I did last year.  No mother of young children should feel compelled to volunteer and work too far out of her comfort zone anyway.  I can do some of it now that I have the older kids to help me oversee, but the work as my young children's guardian has many years left. 
     I got to have a tasting session with the little ones out on the porch last week.  We were given a cheese wheel and several jars of garden goodies for our anniversary.  Macklynn, the only one of us who prefers classical music, turned on the radio and we watched our new American flag "dance," whipping and flowing, to the rhythm, while the beach ball glided across the pond. 
    Then the days turned into nothing less than gross.  The rare morning I was left alone, I took a gel tab hung in my esophagus.  It took me to the floor.  The night before that, Mike had me give him his testosterone shot that suffices for the lost testicle.  The gauge of the needle is much greater than McKala's, so I just closed my eyes and went for it.  I got up to Virgie's place and went to the back to retrieve more jars to empty, when I discovered that her dog had had diarrhea.  You know who had to get it up.  I had also discovered a snake skin in between some of those jars.
    Then, as she decided we needed to save ever jar, I had to hold my breath and empty the ones that hadn't sealed.  I know that one of them was cabbage from the 1990s, but the others were unrecognizable.  I had my own nast at home, but couldn't figure out what it was for almost a whole day.  With all the goings on, the house had been outta hand since the party.  After I washed the cleaning rags, poured bleach down the kitchen sink, threw out the old flower water, and did everything else I could think of, I found the culprit: a skillet I had sat a bag of chicken to thaw in.  I didn't know that juices had leaked into it.
    Having ridded the house of the stench, I decided to ignore the beckoning of the pond and sunny sky to clean like a madwoman, to restore order.  I decided to boil cinnamon, something Mike and Miranda are especially fond of.  And after tending to it all day, I had to go and burn it right when he got here. 
    Each evening after camp, I'd doctor the blisters Madalynn's shoes had made and wrapped her feet and ankles with athletic tape every morning.  I'd put peroxide in their ears to inhibit bacteria growth in their ears. I'd wash the mildewy smelling clothes and water shoes in their backpacks.  I medicate their sore throats and cover the chiggers burrowing into their skin with nail polish.  This life is messy ....


January 15, 2015 - This weekend has given messy a new meaning.  Patty gave birth to 10 piglets last night.  The first three perished needlessly.  I had to resort to my bathroom not to blow a fuse.  I had to surrender "conditional" love and respect.  I had to let God go before me before I ruined the rest of the night.  It took over 15 minutes and 3 people intermittently knocking for me to return with composure.
      Since Patty wouldn't nurture them, Miranda was finding the piglets.  McKala was running them to the house, and we were placing them in the warmth of the skin under our shirts, Megan under the dress she'd worn to town.
     One was so cold that it took its "last" breath under my sweater shirt until I handed it to Mike, who instinctively began giving it mouth to mouth.  With more warm air from the blow drier, it survived.  Miranda tried to give one of the first ones CPR, but its airway was impassable.
     Our first kid goat didn't make it either and had to be "pulled" out stillborn.  McKala and Miranda thought to save the colostrum (first milk) from Mosey.  We had it in the freezer and used it mixed it with dry starter milk Miranda had used a while ago to save some baby mice.
     So far, it's been the ticket.  All 7 are surviving well and have moved from a basket in the house to a large covered crate we had in the garage.  The heat lamp is mounted and the girls and I have set our middle of the night times to feed them.
      Last night 3 of us slept in the living room and woke every hour to syringe feed them.  Miranda and Megan said that I would snore and wake the piglets.  Miranda said I must've sounded like their mother.  Grimace.
   
     I broke in my new Carhartt coveralls McKala and I found half price for ourselves on Thursday after our dental appointments that morning, where I was told I'm in jeopardy of losing 3 more teeth to gum disease.
      Our shopping originated with Christmas exchanges and moved into deal making.  I found a pair of gray "duck" shoes to wear along with my LL Bean parka from high school.  McKala found the watch she'd wanted for her 18th birthday next month and that should've been the extent of it.  I let the cashier persuade me that I would receive a 20% discount just by applying for a store card, although we knew I would be denied.
     Goodness, then we saw that the seasonal pajamas were drastically reduced and what with 20% more off, were all but free!  No, 50% off full price and 20% off that and 20% more do not equal 90%.  My noncommonsensicalness was if full gear!
      I didn't leave without first eyeing those crossbody bags I've been admiring for at least 5 years.  I haven't bought my own bag in over a decade, so somehow I legitimized the purchase as needful since the small Bible McKala had given me for my birthday wouldn't fit in either of the 2 ones I'd been using.
     Funny how we get a blessing and soon discard it for the "need" of accompaniments to use or match them.
      I wasn't done yet.  We left and found those coveralls.  I did have them on my short list of desired things.  I was quick to make excuses not to go outside in the cold since I didn't have any.  So, they came home with me too, only to arrive to news that Melody had found some to bid on at Goodwill.com for $20, shipping an all.
      Truth is I had been operating outside of "God's economy" all day long.  How quickly we go astray. I lay awake for 3 hours that night pondering and praying over the ins and the outs of the matter.
      I had spent $225 unnecessarily.  $225 worth of piglets have also died unnecessarily.
   
      What I don't regret is my time with McKala.  She and I had been at odds for weeks, mostly because we weren't taking time to "debrief" one another; therefore, assuming things and jumping to conclusions.  I was the most guilty.
       Come to find out, she hadn't just been "going on her merry way."  She had been building trust and having heavy conversations about the will of the Lord, while taking Michael's place at the Dr. Millers' office.

       Michael has been doing the same.  He has owned his faith and is sharing it boldly amongst his peers.  Sloan is supporting his every move across the 80 miles to Liberty University where she's a freshman.
       The week after he arrived at school, he contracted "Mono" but didn't test positive for it until was getting better.  His shoulder didn't improve and we just found out that he had not only a separation but also a break of the collarbone, a bicep muscle tear from the bone, AND shoulder blade stabilizer damage.  If I must, I will consider his shoulder injury a blessing that kept him out of the game enough to protect his unnoted swollen spleen.
        Although, he made some notable impressions on the field, he missed the better part of every game.  It was a lesson in patience for someone who is accustomed to always being in play.
       Regardless of his physical exhaustion and spiritual exclusion, he persevered to make Bs in German I and II of the single subject system utilized at the school.  He earned rank within the first weeks and again recently.  He has 0 demerits which gave him this leave weekend, but because he was sick in the infirmary with a virus for the 5th time or so, he almost didn't get to take part.  He and I both have formed bonds with the nurses and trainers, and I don't see them as incidental.

      Neither was our encounter with DJ.  On the way to church for Melody's piano lesson, we saw him walking alongside the highway.  He was out of place, so we stopped cautiously to see about him.  He said he needed a paramedic, so I called 911.  Turns out he is a resident of the nearby adult home.
      I had to make sure he was in good hands, so the following week we went to see and the rest is history.

      As I read Ruth Graham's story, I staked my claim that our children marry no less that people who are actively serving and following our Lord Jesus Christ.  I believe they are following suit, escaping brushes with approval and affection.  The girls have dismissed what amounts to dozens of young men who don't fit the bill.
     What they haven't dismissed is their curiosity of fire fighting and emergency response.  Megan was invited for volunteer training, became involved, then along came her sisters for every class they could get to.  It's one more thing I wouldn't have imagined but don't have the place to forbid.  If I were anyone in need of help, I'd surely want them on call.

     Macklynn and his sisters came up with the idea to sell homemade cookie sandwiches as Valentine's gifts to raise money to go to camp this summer.  We made our first sale tonight.
     Melody's been selling T shirts she's had printed so she can pay to go, too.  Madalynn and I were supposed to make more of the handmade embroidered and beaded stuffed felt ornaments, but so far I haven't come through.

     Madalynn spends the nights with me and helps in every way that she can at Virgie's since my duties have shifted.  Mike makes his own "visits" to see me when she doesn't come.
     And as differently as Virgie and I see a lot of things, when she tells me, "Thank you for reading to me because I can't see," and when I'm rubbing lotion on her feet and she says, "I hope you have someone to take care of you when you're old," and when I kiss her on the cheek at night and as I leave the room she speaks, "That's what it's about, the love," then I know my time is spent well.

     Mike and I both had surgical procedures in December.  His was to repair 6 hernias from him aortic bypass incision.  Mine was venous oblation, not for cosmetics but for function.  I thought as much as we've scaled back Christmas that I could've confounded my "Martha" and embraced my "Mary."  I couldn't have been further from wrong.  It's bad when a mother has to write herself a note to, "Be Mama."

     On Wednesday, September 17, 2014, I wrote, "It's time, time to move on, away from people who want it both ways, away from pursuing people who don't want change or help."  I have to add here, "and away from those good time friends."  There is no reward in only loving those who love us and having feasts and banquets for those who can return the favor.
     There has been an obvious weeding out.  Lots of people claim they love the Lord and respect your counsel accordingly, but when it comes down to the knitty gritty, true colors always fly.  I'm sorry to say that there are friendships I've written about that have not survived the test.  I'm happy to say there are ones that have.
      Not long ago, one of those friends called me up being crushed on every side.  I was particularly obedient and confident that day and gave her every bit of scripture that came to mind.  Later that week, she found me at a funeral we both attended, to say, "You know, I called you to get moral support.  Instead you told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear.  Thank you."
      Not only had our friendship passed the test, but I had passed God's test.

      My marriage isn't "fixed."
      My kids aren't "set."
      My body isn't "ideal."

      But we are on a journey to good.
      Jesus said, "And Jesus said unto him, Why callest thou me good? there is none good but one, that is, God," Mark 10:18.

       What I had thought could be finished in a year, (I like to allude to), "And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it: And if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down," Luke 13:8-9.

     Lord, teach me to number my days.  The hardest thing about admitting sin is the realization of the time that is gone, but "Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before," Phillipians 3:13.

     This has not been a "how to" but a "what it might look like."
     Your husband is not mine.
     Your children are not mine.
     Your history is not mine.
     Your abilities are not not mine.   
     Don't emulate anyone but Christ.

     Heads up, eyes open, hearts willing.

     If we don't have a burden to share Christ, we might not be Christians.  
     Multiplication is regeneration.