Where's Your 'Want To'?

     For the family, the last week was a continuation of the 2 weeks before it: bottles of cough syrup, ibuprofen, 7-Up, and vitamin C.  The sicknesses are taking a toll.  On top of it, I was pulled from home for the better part of 3 days trying to finish bankruptcy documentation, only to find out there's a delay.  Mike couldn't understand my frustration, because in his eyes it'll work out better in the end.  Once my tears told their story, he babied me, then showered me with cards for the next 3 days.  You know, he still gets under my skin (and vice versa) but there's no way I can deny the changes he's undergone.
     A perfect example was the prayer he offered over the meal he took us out to while Megan and Miranda were home for the weekend.  Miranda looked up afterwards and said, "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."  We had just left the Billy Graham Library, where he was in awe of the displays and stories.  We all were. 
     We went with "new" friends, well sorta, 4 years isn't exactly "new".  While standing there waiting for them, we spotted "old" friends.  It was a good start to a rare day of wholesome time with the "whole" family.  Miranda stepped right back into big sister mode and had Macklynn and Madalynn by the hands a lot of the time.  Megan cooked for us the next morning.  I hated to see them leave, but at least it was "together". 
     The entire weekend was great.  Friday night we had a gathering of intimate friends and I felt a bit like part of a Christmas card.  Afterwards, Jami stayed while the kids swapped gifts.  There was a lot of thought put into it all, which leads me to the "want to" question that keeps popping in my mind.
      We, as a society, do things we "need to", "have to", and are "supposed to".  But where's our "want to"?  This is not to be confused with doing things that are right whether we want to or not.  That's a given.  This is about motive, about the heart, about crossing over into grace.
     We watched "Hope Springs" last night.  She wanted to save her marriage.  She wasn't sure how it would happen but she wanted to.  I know people who are lying in wait for their spouse to make one more wrong move so they can justify leaving them.  I've been guilty of it myself.  Their "want to" is gone, but that doesn't make it right.
     I know people who are in church every time the doors are open, but they sure don't look like they want to be.  Too many of us do it because we're "supposed to".
     I know women who say they "can't" stay at home for their children, and in many cases for their husbands.  Upon further inspection, virtually every single one of them has revealed to me that for whatever reason, they don't "want to".   For those who "want to", who possess a sincere desire, God will divide the waters to make it happen.  Consider this a blow if you choose to, but all you have to do is look at the American family and popular culture to see that "home" has lost its appeal and to know that the high calling and position of "the hand that rocks the cradle" has diminished to one of hired help.
     I know kids who learn because they "have to".  I was one of those.  I hope our children will learn because they "want to", because God's world is terribly interesting, because His people are precious, because history is compelling, because His order is perfection, because communication is crucial.  I want them to have an insatiable desire to learn, that doesn't stop upon leaving the steps of an institution.  I know it will be relative to the slant of their God given gifts and natures, but that's good enough for me.
     I know people work because they "need to", too many refusing to see a reason beyond the income.  I haven't "worked" in so many years that I can't speak to it much but there is simply no way that God would put you in a place and not expect something beyond what you can see.
     I know individuals who volunteer because they "should", because it makes them feel good and maybe even look good.  Is the "want to" there?  Is the follow up there?  Is the face of that needy person still in your prayers?   In my self inspection over the last days, I've been ashamed over how easy it is to convey the love of Christ to warm faces BUT how easy it is to "flip the switch" on cold ones.  Is that person sleepy?  Is that person sick?  Is that person worried?  Is that person cast aside?  Is that person addicted?  Is that person abused?  Is that person confused?  Is that person "lost"?
     I had to check my "want to".  Am I willing to get out from under my own agenda, as good as it might be, to explore what really matters?  Billy Graham was quoted on the walls of his library that to tell another person about the love of Christ is the best gift we have to offer.  Do you "want to" share it?  If not, why?   Are you still bargaining on how little you can get away with?
     Or are you like me, testing the balance, wondering how much you can get away with?  We say we "want to" lose weight or we "want to" save money, but in reality we're always counting on the "high side", to see just how close we can come before we overdo it.  What kind of discipline is that?
     I've been concentrating hard on this task before me of physical health and strength.  Anyone who's read about me knows my list of reasons and excuses.  Recently, the thing I was struck by, pierced with actually, is that for every self conscious thought I have (when listed, they are constant), it's one less opportunity to be inspired to translate God's love to another person:  my husband, one of our children, my friend, my neighbor, a stranger.   While I'm consumed with self awareness, I miss the target completely.  The same goes for any sin.  Mind you, I don't mean the self awareness is sin; I mean the sin that causes the self awareness.  Christ's children "sinneth not".  To think we can continue in any sin, big or small, is to wish madness upon ourselves because the Holy Spirit simply will not have it.  And thankfully so.  When my "want to" is gone, the Holy Spirit keeps it for me ...and breathes it back into me when the time is right.  Hopefully, the Mayans were wrong, because it would be a shame for me to get my "want to" right on my last day.

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 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 dilirious 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  "Patty", the pig, up on the fence and the calves happy to receive the feed we've had to buy them.  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 lived 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 hardship of this marriage. 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 it 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 was 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.

A Week of Thanks

     The sound of Michael Jr's old motorcycle coming home is something I've cherished the last few weeks.  When it's past twilight and I know he should be on his way from hunting, I stand on the porch ...and pray.  There are so many things that can go wrong, even though he's taken the courses and is experienced.  He hardly looks it but he's only 14, but I won't stand in his way of becoming independent and enjoying the hunt, but I won't leave it uncovered in prayer either.
     Thanksgiving morning, he shot a nice sized one.  Funny that we don't have the meats that are "in season" for our meal.  Instead, we have frozen turkey ...doesn't make much sense.  Our freezer doesn't either.  We have venison and 10s of pounds of chicken (from that broken crate Mike got from California), when everyone else is stocking up on pork and beef. 
     Miranda and Megan both have new jobs and couldn't come home for Thanksgiving.  We'd thought of going to them but the powers that be didn't answer us on that.  Instead, we took up other family on an offer to visit and are glad we did.  It was nice to see Mike catch up with ones he hadn't talked with in so long.  I enjoyed sitting with Cindy, Sandy, and Lisa watching all the boisterousness happen. 
     We got home in time to finish preparing our own meal and despite the undersized turkey I bought, it was good but not the same without everyone here.  The shopping wasn't the same either.  I'd never been Black Friday shopping until last year when Megan insisted I go.  Concord Mills, a big mall near Charlotte, was dead, as far as I was concerned.  I had more fun wearing that full length raccoon fur coat amongst the shoppers at Bass Pro.  I could've easily been on exhibit with the taxidermied animals!  Alas, we found a couple of small gifts and mossied on up the highway to the Troutman Horse Auction.  We found the missing shoppers; they were all there selling off their prized pets.  People come from all over: Ohio, West Virginia, Tennessee, South Carolina ...but I've never seen that many people there!
     McKala, Michael, Melody, and I began making our rounds and as we passed by the lower riding ring, our neighbor, Ronny, called us "Harpers" out.  We sat and talked with him for over an hour.  Afterall, he is the man who gave us a buggy ride shortly after we moved here 3 years ago.  He's shown Michael and McKala how to plow with his giant, Percheron of a horse and is letting them ride him now.   As we watched all the specimens circle around, we told him of our neighbor from the mountains who also shared his hobby with our family.  Lo and behold, there Ernie was, riding behind a pair of gray Belgians!  We rushed over to say hello, followed him over to the bleachers when he got off, and told him of all the changes that've happened since we left Long Branch Road. 
     Ernie had an idea!  He said McKala should ride with the Mennonite young man who was showing off his team in the ring.  I told Ernie that she can cook and clean and tend to children better than I can, so he said that the young man should know that.  But what we didn't know is that as she and he rode around those few minutes, they managed to share a whole lot of information.  McKala was surprised that he was so talkative, given that ofttimes they aren't.  Michael teased her that she'd have to work on her sewing skills, so the joke now is that she needs to learn to make pants.
     We were able to introduce Ernie and Ronny.  What are the chances that not once but twice in a lifetime we'd have someone share with us the thing, the same thing, that brings them joy?   It may be a hobby to them, but to us it's a blessing, an experience.  Ronny's allowing Michael to hunt on his land and them to ride "Bubba" are great replacements for the basketball court, which we won't be pounding this season.  I love that McKala has determined to ride despite her condition.  I said to her, "But you've been coughing for day and night."  She's decided that in the middle of the shots and treatments and fatigue, she'll push forward, trusting that she can survive "even if the healing doesn't come". 
      We stopped by the store to get deli meat, of all things, because my tiny turkey had no leftovers.   When we arrived home, Mike and the little ones were still breathing, so the day had gone well. 
      Friday night, we found out that Mike's mother was going to be admitted into the ICU.  He thought he'd need to be there in Georgia, but thankfully she had improved some on Saturday.  I don't remember much else from that day, except that Macklynn found me while I was cleaning and asked why I still hadn't made a pumpkin pie with him.  (Our elderly friend, Virgie, had given us 2 pumpkins and 2 large boxes of apples.)  When I got frustrated and told him I was doing the best I could, he held back tears.  Then I knew how important it was to him, not to HAVE a pie but to MAKE a pie with me, so we did. 
     Sunday morning we visited an affluent church and were pleasantly surprised by the pastor's topic of dicontentment in regard to the holidays.  Towards the end he explained that Phillipians 4:13 is not at all about "doing all things through Christ" for success BUT in times of distress.   He talked about how we plaster verses on things, pulling them from their context.  Speaking of scripture, I'm in the 34th chapter of Isaiah.  I came across this in Chapter 32:  "The vile person shall be no more called liberal, nor the churl said to be bountiful.  For the vile person will speak villany, and his heart will work iniquity, to practise hypocrisy, and to utter error against the Lord, to make empty the soul of the hungry, and he will cause the drink of the thirsty to fail.  The instruments also of the churl are evil:  he deviseth wicked devices to destroy the poor with lying words, even when the needy speaketh right.  But the liberal deviseth liberal things; and by liberal things shall he stand.  Rise up, ye women that are at ease; hear my voice, ye careless daughters; give ear unto my speech."  It would be that "liberal", charitable with one's things, is a good thing except that here and until now, it is done "to utter error against the Lord".  Sound familiar?
     I was brought to Isaiah by Anne Graham Lotz's (Franklin Graham's sister's) book, "Expecting to See Jesus".  I see things so similarly to the way she does.  She says that there is no way to be a child of Christ and not be changed and moved and brought to our knees by God's Word.  For years and years, I've hoped to have a real connection with the events of Christmas and their meanings.  At 2 am upon completing the book with the house quiet, I stepped into the kitchen to hear "O Holy Night" beginning to play on the radio and was flooded with prayer, tears, weeping ...a revival ...just what the book is about.  You have to read it!  I got it from the library.  You probably can, too.
     Yesterday, Mike and I both got to go the dentist, our "dentist date" as Melody called it.  I say "got to" because I haven't had dental insurance in 4 years and now have a small window to get some things done.  I still have a couple of gum pockets of 9 mm.  The idea that I could lose those teeth in a few years makes me appreciate that I have them at all.  (Mike will be losing 2 teeth today.)  The things people struggle with all over the world remind me what a luxury it is to have even the hot shower I had this morning.  And as Madalynn, 4, so perfectly put as she jerked her head up from what she was doing, when one of her sisters mentioned that we're poor, "We're not poor.  We have food and a house!"  Ah, out of the mouth of a babe.
    

Rock the Boat

     I've been thinking about the holidays arriving and what's become inevitable for so many of us.  I can't remember a time when I was downright hateful with family or friends, not without provocation anyway.  I'm trying to recall when I was just plain rude to any of them and can't.  I've bent over backwards to have smooth sailing.  That's why rocking the boat seems okay with me right now.
     There comes a time when enough is enough, no matter the age, no matter the position in the family tree, no matter the status in society.  The interesting twist in establishing a line in the sand is that when we cross back over to their side, anything we do in earnest is an expression of mercy, a clear act of good will ...because we have made known that we don't "like" what's been happening, but we're reaching out anyway. 
      It's all right to lose the "nice" shell temporarily ...funny how so many people conveniently assume being nice comes easy for us.  So, when they tromp all over us, we'll get over it ...because we always do.  That's why "truth" is so imperitive!  It may be that they'll never know the difference if we don't finally stand up and say, "I don't like that.  It's wrong and it's rude."  How many people will suffer one more holiday with individuals who start something to hamper everyone's day?  Is this the tradition we want to pass to our own children?   Is this what they have to look forward to in the pomp and circumstance, all the preparations?
     We are bound to take care of our family and friends in times of need but no one says we have to let their undisciplined emotions snuff out the joy of gatherings.  I can't subject me or the kids to any more than we already have on our plates.  Mike has this broken leg only a week into this new job.  (His size 14 shoes got hung up in the rungs of a step stool.)  We have the house torn apart: switching bedrooms, cleaning out closets and drawers, painting walls, shampooing carpet - I finally got rid of the strange orange substance that had poured down the wall and onto a snakeskin behind the boys' beds!  McKala's asthma has relapsed some.  We having testing to get underway.  We still haven't "winterized" the outside.  And, of course, the list goes on, BUT I can't let it prevent me from "dropping everything" periodically when one of the kids wants me to do something fun.  I don't want them to remember me striving to keep order at all expense.
     We finished up sports, much to the dismay of most of the kids, until sometime next year with a football banquet for Michael last night.  I asked permission to tell the parents and players how I felt about all the times they'd taken Michael for us to practices and away games.  The room was big and I was visibly nervous but managed to get out how much their "yeses meant in a season of noes for our family".  It's a Christian travel team and they showed the spirit that expressed it. 
     We had no plan to go to church this morning but while I was sleeping, Mike had been looking up a sister church in NC to the one he'd been in last week in NJ.  He woke me and said if I wanted to go, I had 10 minutes because it's 45 minutes away.  I guess not washing my makeup off last night turned out to be a perk this morning.  I grabbed the same clothes I wore, except the hand-me-down shoes Megan gave me.  I spent 8 dollars getting them new heels.  I don't know what I was thinking, that the size 10 shoes would stay on.  I put Madalynn's shorty socks in the toes of them last night and limped through.  Sometimes being a tightwad isn't all it's cracked up to be.
     Other times it 'is' all it's cracked up to be.  The Harpers won't be as "active" for a while, but it leaves time for things like Melody sitting in McKala's room, that's now just down the hall from us.  As I eased off to sleep the other night, I heard them giggling.  Transitioning to a teenager has been so hard for Melody and blissful giggling doesn't come all that readily.  I started to quiet them when I remembered a specific night back in the mountains.  All the lights were out but Megan and Miranda were giggling (loudly enough to be heard from 2 stories down, mind you).  I wanted to hush them ...and Mike said, "Don't". 
     Times of sweetness are what we all want to remember after the dust settles, so pick them well for you and your family.
 

My Mike?

     I'm out on the front porch at my favorite time of day, when the sun starts its dissent, but not before it abandons its part in casting shadows across the landscape.  I can barely see the screen from the piercing rays but it's worth it.
     Mike and Michael are out "inquiring" with the neighbors about a great big deer "rub".  McKala just put on some chicken to slow cook.  Melody, Macklynn, and Madalynn brought in acorns from their scamper in the woods and decided to make "art" with them.  Madalynn used so much glue that her "designs" are airing out here on the porch with me.  Megan called me after church, where Miranda was supposed to be with her, BUT Miranda was told she had to work ...and before I go any further, I'll spell it out once again, but more acutely, just how strongly I feel about dining out and unnecessary shopping on Sundays.  You see, Miranda started her waitressing position under the spoken provision that after a couple of Sundays, she would be off for them.  She since has been told that she "will" work every Sunday or won't work at all.  Please, keep that in mind next time you go out on a Sunday and what it looks like to non-believers who very likely "know" what the commandments have to say about keeping The Lord's Day holy.  So many were happy to side with Truett Cathy on marriage; why not on Sunday work?
    Back to Friday.  It began with a trip to the Orthopedic doctor for Mike.  He's been flown back to have his leg looked at after a fall off a stepstool.  When he told me, I thought, "You're kidding me?!"  He was having such a good week, calling me with stories and songs.  There's more to the sweet irony of it, but that'll be another tale for him to tell.  In the meantime, I can say that through what he thought to be a "detour" of a flight, which he barely connected with the second part of, he got the last seat on the plane and it was next to a man who, by the end of the flight, prayed the prayer of salvation.  Wait a minute!  My Mike? 
     I had to wait in the car at the doctor's office because we're just not sure where the "repo man" will show up and before we come across what we "should" be driving, like something with no payment.   I brought along a book I'd started.  I felt compelled to read it because my friend who just miscarried for the fourth time handed it to me.  Interesting note is that I had bought it for Megan at a discount store last year, but neither of us had read it.
     The book is "Choosing to SEE" by Mary Beth Chapman, whom I would be honored to meet one day.  I knew the subject matter of the book and maybe avoided it for that reason.  Once I got started, it was a breath of fresh air to see how open and real she is.  As I read about the adoptions and then the pivotal day, May 21st, I cried several times, reaching into the dash where we keep extra restaurant napkins, forgetting that all that's been cleared out.  There was nothing in the car, so I pulled my fleece jacket to my face, which was no help at all.  The make-up I was careful to put on that morning for Mike was running down my face.  Finally, I stretched my shirt far enough to soak up some of it.
     He and I had a small lunch, ran a couple of errands, and took the long way home.  He's hooked on KLove now.  Wait a minute!  My Mike?  yeah, (smiling), yeah ...The lyrics, "How many times have I cried out, 'God, please take this?'" came across the waves and the crying I learned to suppress, which was only evidenced by tears, began.  I have a vivid memory of an afternoon a few years ago when we lived tucked away in the mountains.  I don't know what had gone down that day between Mike and me.  I only remember the snow falling everywhere, ground covered in many inches, no one around, bundled up in snow gear ...and hitting my knees hard in the middle of the driveway pad.  I screamed out to God, pleading for Him to do something, to show Himself.  I suppose it would've echoed across the ridge if not for the air saturated in snow flakes.
      He heard me that day and every other day.  The proof was sitting there in the car with me on Friday.
      Somehow though, I must've become content to be the "martyr".  After all, "God and me" had a good thing going.  I was His brave soldier.  Although my communication with Him still channeled through my husband, it wasn't like it is now.  Mike is right smack where he's supposed to be and it's taking some getting used.  Subordination, believe it or not, really isn't a problem for me.  Relinguishing part of the role as disciplinarian, coordinator, and spiritual guardian isn't as cut and dry as you'd think, though.  Well, I guess on the "obeying" front, it is.  The book I have, "Me?  Obey Him?" isn't talking about God; it's talking about our husbands and now that my friend, who passed along the "Choosing to See" book to me, has read it and also sees no error in it, I know that I have to keep sharing it and trusting its Biblically grounded message. 
     To my chagrin, I wonder how long I delayed providence by pondering, being deceived, on maybe, just maybe, if someone else would love me.   How can we be "obeying" anything or anybody when we're second guessing with a back-up plan?  Now, I feel quite the fool.  How easy is it to love a man of God?  How hard is it to love a man who's not "of" God?  What am I getting at?  I didn't love Mike well enough when he was at odds with his Maker.  From time to time, I'd fathom what it'd be like to be in a peaceful relationship ...with someone besides him.  I wasn't a good soldier, after all.  Maybe that's why accepting this new "situation" is hard for me.  I didn't fight the good fight.  No matter who thought I was this good thing or that, I wasn't pure through and through in my own thought life.  In so doing, I doubted that God "had my back".  I perceived my own plans, my own uprising.  That's how I wound up in an emotional affair with a childhood friend.  I fought it, not even speaking to him at first.  Soon the floodgates of my sadness opened and he was gladly there to contain them.
     Somewhere in the middle of a few weeks of conversation, I decided that I would take Mike up on the next time he said he couldn't live with me anymore.   Much to my surprise when that day came, God intervened and grabbed hold of Mike's brokenness in a way that I couldn't deny.  At the time, even though I knew how good a thing it was, my heart felt a cruel twisting of fate.   I'd finally stood up, wasn't scared, may've found a "friend" who shared my interests and who found value in me.  But I knew, beyond knowing, that it wasn't to be mine.  It never was.  It never is when it's not in God's timing. 
     See how much more beautiful this all would be if I had a clear conscience, a peace, a true heart?  See how much easier it would be for me to accept?  All these years I just wanted to have Mike's approval, to gain his praise, "his" acceptance.  Perhaps that would've been easier for him if I hadn't done one the most despicable things anyone can do.  Very early our marriage was a disaster.  (That's why going "The Vow" route with my old calendar I found didn't recall what I wished for).  I don't remember feeling a sense of retribution.  I was just consumed with lust, so much so that I brought its filth into our own dwelling, seducing another man under the roof that my husband was gone working for.
     I've written about this before, not sure which title it's under, but the other details lie there.  I wasn't as specific though about "the act" until today.  I'd say I wish I could erase it.  Finding myself as that base of a person is what brought me to salvation, though.  In all my accomplishments and pride, I'd never understood just how bad I was and what I was capable of.  I took heavenly forgiveness on readily.  I knew I was different afterwards.  Mike said he did, too ...but for me to expect him to truly and thoroughly forgive here on earth where he hadn't even gotten his "own self" right with God, was expecting miracles that weren't ready to be realized.  If you're contemplating doing something that would devastate someone else, just remember that they may say and try to forgive you one day, but you will live with the fall out, the way I did for 17 years.
     I hadn't anticipated rehashing all this, but I suppose it'll make its connection where it should.  Anyway, yesterday we took a 2 1/2 hour ride to Michael's final game of the season.  I took Mary Beth Chapman's book along.  I had to see how she got through the death of her 5 year old daughter and the profound sorrow of her son who was at the wheel when it happened.  I cried ...and cried ...and cried ...and cried.  I cried in the car and finished crying field side.   I've never read anything like it.   Even 2 years later, she was only getting by as God's lamp at her feet led the way.  Her candidness confirms that my own is justified, that people don't need to think Christian life is one of ease.  It's hard, really hard. 
     The huge confirmation for me, though, was that no matter how much misery I've had, no matter the daily in and day out of mental anguish; I have never had grief, the finality of grief.  That is something I can not dismiss.  I can't be too careful to pray, too careful to consider God's plans for the day, too presumptuous that I "need" something ...because I haven't suffered the worst pain.  I have to move forward cheerfully.  Listen, you've got to rid yourself of unthankfulness, discontentedness, hatefulness, even grouchiness ...before you have a "really good reason" to experience these feelings.  After I got my bearings straight and as we watched the boys compete, I announced that I would be nice.  I got some funny looks, but I meant it, even though I flubbed it up some already this morning.  "Nice" before may've been to stay under the radar, out of trouble.  I wish I could remember the name of book I borrowed several years ago, back in Georgia.  The author said there was a night she cooked pork chops, maybe, but either way was something her husband really liked and when he came home he didn't want it.  She took it personally, as I have time after time.  So, was that meal for his pleasure or for hers?  That's what she asked herself.
     You know, as I'm out here rocking in the dark in this chair, I used to want someone to grow old peacefully with, to "point our rocking chairs toward the west".  I still want that, but God has once again outdone himself.  He's granted me someone and some way to do bigger things.  I've told my friends that I get disturbed when my teaching plans, as meager as they are, get sidetracked.  I used the think it was an attack.  But because it's always for the exchange of something better, I'm convinced that God is about to show this family something it couldn'tve comprehended, that no institution could ever educate enough for, that nothing in history has been like.  We're on the cusp of something, something good.  Rocking chairs may never have been in the plan ...except to rock babies, especially those who don't have the luxury of good health or good mothering, just like Mary Beth Chapman does.
  
     
    
    

Do I Believe?

     Last night I read my last blog and it said that I saw, along with others, "opportunity written all over" this.  Here we are a few weeks later and my husband has been hired by Samaritan's Purse.  One of their facilities is just a few miles from this house we're renting.  I still don't even know how he came across the advertisement for the job.  He applied as a fleet mechanic/driver/volunteer director and against 3 or 4 odds and after around 15 hours of interview, he landed the job.  It's decent pay and good benefits.  It's less than half of the bring home pay we're accustomed to.  Most anything would be now that he's no longer self employed.  At this point though, it's not about the money, not at all. 
     I sit here, shamefully I suppose, still in disbelief.  This time 3 years ago I had a husband who wouldn't even say my name, wouldn't allow me to cry, would belittle me in front of the children, would threaten divorce and even suicide regularly, would tell me what and how to do things without regard to my experience or opinion of them, would buy or borrow whatever was "right in his eyes", would never say he was sorry.  I have more on the list I made a couple of weeks ago, but there's no need to dig deeper.  I was "convincing" myself just how different this man really is, despite the "issues" we still have.
     There are those who would ask, "Why must you keep bringing up the past?"  Believe me, I haven't brought it all up because that is his to do.  I hope in this writing I do that a wife will find hope, will persevere and know that people really do change, that God is still at work, that "feelings" are no basis for decisions, that "love" comes in so many forms.  The truth, the hard truth matters because in one of my most open blogs last year, I got a message that just said, "Thank you."  That woman, a classmate of mine, is dead now.  What I had written meant something to her.
     My computer has been on the brink of crashing, so it seemed fitting and with the support of family and friends, I began writing in a notebook the beginnings of a book.  I have several pages and ideas going.  The immediate "gratification", if you will, brings me back here.  There is something very special about writing what's on my heart in the here and now and having the people I care about gain something from it or correct me right away.
     That same day a couple of weeks ago, I made of list of things about him that drive me crazy and very quickly thought of some things that I do, which I conveniently deem harmless, but do the same to him.   We are "new" creatures who are nicer to strangers than we are to each other.  We can't harness much from the past to go on.  This is an entirely different "being", this marriage we have.  Mike went full throttle into capturing romance and because we hadn't become "friends" yet, I haven't found a comfortable place there.  This is going to be a long haul.  Thank God we have the rest of our lives to get there.  To Mike it feels like "never" right now and to be honest, it does to me, too.
     God has been showing me the picture I am in the mirror.  In my efforts to run the household when he's gone, to survive emotionally, to remain stable; I became severe.  I've become almost unisex and by that I mean, taking on both roles of gender.  A soft answer comes hard for me.  I don't always scream them out but I'm very matter of fact, too matter of fact.  I've been compared by him recently to some characters and personalities that I simply can't stand.  I've lost, or more likely never had, the fullness of womanhood.  It's there for the taking right now.  My husband has stepped up to his rightful position, the thing I've pleaded to Heaven for all these years, but now I have these subconscious reservations, conditioning of the deepest kind.  I know very well some of it is trepidation, a fear that this isn't really happening, that it's too good to be true, that there's no way I could deserve for it to be this good.  I'm not alone; some of the children are dealing with it the same way. 
     The thing is that it's not about us.  God is that big.  He does things beyond our imaginations and the "fear of amazement" I alluded to in a post, which I'm aware in the context of 1 Peter means the fear of terror, still
makes me think of the fear of miracles, the doubt, the pathological hardness toward them.  I'm still trying to believe this, that my husband, the father of my children who were hardly glad to see him arrive home not that long ago, is calling listening to "Lead Me" by Sanctus Real in sorrow for what he's done and in understanding of what he's to do now.   That he is in New Jersey to take part in the rebuilding of destruction, that he is entrusted to do so, that he has always been seduced by the mystery of weather, and possesses all the elements this job requires is amazing.  That he isn't "stuck in a truck" with nothing particular to look forward to is so good to me.  That he'll have "devotions" with his coworkers every morning, that he will be fed the things he's missed, that what the moths have taken will be restored are all still settling in with me.  That he doesn't have to hear the knocking of an engine he knows he doesn't have the funds to repair; that he doesn't have to gaze at page after page, hour after hour, of what load to take, to then only argue with the broker about the rates;  that he doesn't have to live off fast food, but instead get meals covered with blessings prepared for him; that he isn't living behind a steering wheel blows ...it all just blows my mind. 
     For most of my life, I've understood that I am to respect his position; however, that duty does not by its very nature cause love for the person holding it, so where I have to go is to combine them.  Somewhere, little by little, I became almost impenetrable, a strong wall, lost my vulnerability to my husband and my femininity along with it.  I used to contribute it to not "adorning" myself but it's really something else.  I'm very selfconscious in heels, mostly because I can't walk gracefully in them.  I'm very selfconsious in a dress, mostly because I don't like people to stare at my varicose veins.  I'm very selfconscious in big earrings, mostly because I don't want to look like a "wannabe".  There's more to it though.  I don't care for ribbons and jewelry, for soft colors, for giggles and other girlish things.  I've left someone behind.  In my utilitarian, get it done 'cause somebody has to, mentality; in my don't attract anyone because I'll be tempted to be who I was; in my don't cave to him because he'll consume me; in my, yes, I know God can do this BUT;  ...I'm not the gracious, lovely, meek Michelle who balances the fiery, passionate, emboldened one.
     I have as much growing to do as he does and I hope you will pray that we grow together into a threefold cord that our children can finally witness, so they will know that anything and everything is possible through Christ ...because all the goodness in the world doesn't matter if it isn't done at home first.  Do I believe that I will thaw while everything else is freezing this winter, while my husband is out being the hands and feet of God?  We'll soon see.

And He's Off

     I rode with Mike to his new job this morning.  He'd been self employed for the most part of 22 years and is feeling like a failure.  I'm glad we have friends and family to tell him otherwise.  I, like them, see opportunity written all over this.  There are parts he could've controlled and there are parts he couldn'tve, like:  fuel prices, supply and demand, and equipment failure.
     The trip this morning took us up The Blue Ridge Parkway.  We rolled down the windows to feel the wind in the 60s.  If he loves hauling for the farm there, don't think I wouldn't move back in a heartbeat.
     I'm glad to see him getting into new, comfortable equipment which he's not responsible for repairing.  For a few weeks, he'll be team driving.  As we spotted the co-driver in the rearview (the 1 of the 3 remaining ;), Mike noticed that he was a "bigger boy than I  am".  Mike stands 6'2, 280.  I straightaway thought of the two of them rambling cross country in the bright yellow Kenworth.  I hope they have a really good week on the way to and back from Washington.  I won't know as many details and those of you who are used to them won't either because our cell service has been cut off.  He has a plain ol' prepaid phone, which will take us back a bit to times when we impatiently waited for the other to call.  Goodness, did he used to have to call me from a pay phone?  I think SO.
     We found out yesterday morning that Mike has 3 more kidney stones, one measuring over 5 mm already, plus a bulging disc.  I'm thankful to know, not only to prepare, but also to sympathize.  I quit being an enabler a while ago.  Our homelife has been held hostage many a day by the fallout of his conditions and medications.  He doesn't even remember some of it; I credit God for my capacity to forget it.  It's his story to tell.  I just hate for him that he still has pain which evokes such a need for relief .  I wish that could end for him, and, no, I don't mean by death ;)
     We talked about a lot of things on our hour long drive.  In reference to the bulging disk, we recalled the accidents he's been in, one when he was plowing snow on our 4 wheeler when it caught a bank and flung him into the handlebars and then over, as it went airborne end over end across him while he was laid out on the ground.  What's significant about it is the question: was he going fast enough that the force could've dissected his aorta?  Could the kidney stone lithotripsies not have caused them?  Could the "incidental" CT Scan findings related to the stones have been lifesaving grace even more than we assumed?  We were certain for 3 years until 2011, that Mike deserved compensation and had big law firms concur.  I always prayed though that if the Urologist didn't cause it or if we couldn't handle wealth, that we wouldn't win.  We didn't even get to court because internal injuries are so inconclusive ...and because North Carolina doctors are all insured by the same company and rarely speak against each other, especially in "accidental" cases.
     What matters is the big picture and that God is the ONLY One who sees it.  Since, I've thrashed church leadership so much lately, I suppose now would be a good time to insert that at the time of Mike's life flight and ensuing 9 hours surgery, area churches and members stepped forward.  It was Easter Sunday and I know for sure 14 churches lifted him up in prayer.  Even the Vascular Surgeon and his team did ...which is something to consider with National Healthcare ...just not sure it'd be allowed ...not sure there'd be any Christian Counseling either. 
     Someone we'd never laid eyes on paid our electric bill.  We came home to food on our porch from people we'd never met.  A church only 2 of us attended paid our hotel bill to stay nearby in his first days of recovery.  We got checks from people we'll probably never know.  We got gas money from people who could barely afford it themselves.  That is Christ and is what we'll be searching for on our new quest for a church home.  This time we'll find some likeminded leadership and go in with confidence, expecting to be leaders, doers, and helpers.  This time we'll go in as a whole family. 
     Being a "whole" family is a far cry from easy and after we could barely stand another moment together of his being home for the majority of these past 2 months, I'm renewed to get right back into the thick of things ...because we're balancing back out.  His role as provider makes me want to perform my role better.  That's not an original idea of mine, but it is one that has stuck with me for years.   We had some doozies while he was home and since we aren't "in love" yet, it could've been easier to just call it all off.   Everyone who "reads" me knows what I think about the vow.  Too, every time I consider the alternative, I come back to an assurance that God knows better than I.  Although I am not always evidence of it, He is where all my hope lies.  I have peace because I know I don't have to figure it out alone.  I don't have to "figure it out" at all; that's what faith is.  I have to trust and obey to get past my feelings, so I can be of some use to my Saviour.  It's not even about me and the quicker each of us discovers that, the quicker we can get on to some meaty living. 
     As the preacher I heard on the radio coming back this morning said, many Christians are living life like "soldiers in a parade", no real bullets being fired, just receiving accolades for our sacrifices.  This IS warfare and we have to note the contrast between good and evil; we just have to remember that the enemy lies within and we aren't to target his hosts for casualties.   That's a hard one but I don't plan on quitting before I get it right.  Actually, the Holy Spirit makes certain that the ones I've mishandled frequent my prayer life.
     Hindsight really is 20/20.  I can see so clearly where I held my hand out and was led away, even in thought, to what Satan would have had be my demise ...where I would have no influence, no voice, make no difference, and to live out an average life.  Slowly but surely, I'm coming back and am ready to share the truths that the Deceiver would hide from us.  I know he'll still be out for me, with things as simple as the 13 pounds I've lost thus far.  There's always untoward attention for things like that.  There's always a tempation of pride in achievement.  Teetering is no place to be and the sooner we get our balance, the sooner we'll find our purpose.  It surely helps when our husbands on board.  However, it they're not, God makes a way to honor Him THROUGH them, not around them.  This idea is what I believe God is about to use me for in the community and at the same time hold me accountable to my own husband.  And this was the coming "controversial" theme I mentioned a couple of blogs back.  So, stay tuned. 
     In the meantime, I'll be holding down the fort because he's off and running just like a good husband and father should.  And his fort should be better than how he left it.  That was hard to accomplish as the money dwindled and tensions mounted as the future became more uncertain.  I see how people "let things go".  We just now got gas in the can for the mower.  But this week's looking up, so I'll see you later on.
      
    

Long Way to Go

     I wore my Jesus shirt to town.  That way even when I'm agitated, I can't be mean ;)  ...like when I watched a lady open the door for another as she walked on through without even acknowledging it - pet peeve # 14.  I got to thinkin', "Do we Christians really have to wear a Jesus shirt to stand out?"  By that I mean, "Can people tell we're Christians when they meet us?"  Okay, maybe not recognized immediately; no, I don't want to be the backwards, goofy kind nor the matronly, unpretty kind been there, done that.  But when the gossip, the dirty jokes, and the questionable lyrics begin; the one drink too many is had; and the touching crosses boundaries, do we make a stand?  Because if not, we gotta know we're in over our heads.   It matters who we "hang out" with (another "I should know" story); actually the world would be a better place without any "hanging out".  If people are gonna get together, they ought to have something constructive to do.
    So, like the song says:  people only know what we're against, not what we're for.  If a person is on the edge of conviction and about to fall but meets one of us who is complaining, in debt up to our eyeballs, careless with our health and hygiene, crass or flirtacious, secretive, or so worried we go to sleep on valium and cope with Xanax; what in the world do they see to hope for?   Why don't we care?
     We disregard the authority of our husbands.   We're mainstreamed to a system that  teaches our children APART from God everything that HE created for them, hoping they'll have good jobs one day, as we lose sight of what kind of spouse or parent they'll make in that day.  We turn to bottles and daycare, when, in years past, they were a last resort.  We don't spank because we're more worried about philosophy and public opinion than we are about a God ordained sense of justice ...and physics, for that matter.  "Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin." James 4:17.  That doesn't leave much wiggle room.
     Are we really surprised when people we know question The Faith?  How are we different?  If we have the behaviour covered, do we have the humility covered?  Do we have the unconditional love covered?  I, for one, don't.  I've woken with a forboding feeling every morning for the last few days, knowing that God has a long way to go with me.  "For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this;  Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.  But if ye bite and devour one another, take heed that ye be not consumed one of another.  This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.  For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would."  Galatians 5:17.  Oh my ...yeah, a long way to go. 

Discernment

     "Do all things without murmurings and disputings:  That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, IN THE MIDST OF A CROOKED AND PERVERSE NATION, among whom ye shine as lights in the world,"  Philippians 2: 14-15.  No one sent me this.  I know very well where it is in my Bible.  I've kept so much bottled up for so long, that I have to muddle my way through what is the right way to approach things.  Confrontation is both good and bad and all a matter of context, whether there is name calling, cursing, or threatening.  A person can be completely right on any given topic but cause dissension when love isn't the catalyst.
     Maybe it was the full moon setting up or PMS (which Christian women aren't allowed to have) was setting in, but I had something to say yesterday and I said it.  In my mind, I revisited a scenario almost identical to one 2 years ago.  Some people know how to control their maliciousness enough to stay under the radar of superiors and when I've gotten that smirk as an answer to my findings, my blood boils, so much so that I don't remember my posture or surroundings.  There's this problem.  It stinks that I know people who can be so nice during persecution as to blindside everyone when the issue is revealed to have been going on for months.  That's what a lot of Christians endure and I do believe we are wrong to not address it for their sakes.
    How we address it ...well, therein lies my quandary.  There is righteous indignation.  There is unnessary divisiveness.  The only litmus for what is virtuous is whether is was left in love.  This morning as I sat in what is trying to be crisp weather and as I watched deer jump over into the pasture, I cried for the person who was waking to the realization that the one they had given life isn't at all what they thought.  "Mercy" ...I have to get mercy right and it has to go hand in hand with discernment.  Yes, wrong has be recognized and confronted, but the love of Christ doesn't exude venom.  I'm afraid a couple of my favorite authors are of the Jewish faith and although I firmly agree with their exacting stances, I know that their tones lack the tenderness that only Jesus can incorporate.
     As I drifted to sleep, I had a sensation of having great big feet and stomping one of them, almost like a Transformer, sending the dust billowing and saying, "I'm here, and I'm not going away"  Does anyone want to join me?  Christians need not be scared of, docile toward, or palatable to the world.  The important thing is that we not leave the lost individual feeling worthless, with no solutions and with no one to turn to. 
     I should've told the moms, and one specifically, who jump for joy after the fleeting days of summer are gone, the good things about her, the reasons I think her son would glow in her presence, what she has to offer, and to build her up against what the world expects her to prove.  And as an Irish preacher said, "androgyny" isn't what God wants for us.  He made us distinctly male and female and we aren't all of who we were created to be without fully embracing and having confidence that feminity and dependence are not villainous.  I fussed about meanness a couple of paragraphs up, yet I delved there just hours before.  It came to me in the wee hours that I don't love a child enough if I don't love his mother.
     Love is not an easy word for me to utter.  I don't take it lightly.  I don't cast out "love ya"s.  I became unawarely cold to the sheerly emotional part of it altogether.  We all know ultimately that love is what we do, not what we say.  Yet, words can murder a weak heart.  I've got to work through this and I'd like people to understand the process I'm being taken through.
     It's easy and sometimes even fun to get all worked up over politics, cultures, personal protection, and sports.  Truth is I just checked out "Football for Idiots" at the library; my husband directs me to political information and debate; I know how to shoot only 2 guns well; and I think people of all kinds and thought are really interesting.  I'm a nobody when it comes to a good many things.  I don't want to be that when it comes to the Bible.  If 'you' haven't figured it out yet, I have a particular distain for people who claim the blood of Christ and turn out to be pharisees.  'I'
 haven't figured out how to love them yet,  because I see all the harm they do to people who want to believe but don't know what direction to go.  I feel that way myself sometimes, as if tripping over things in the dark; so I can't imagine how difficult life must be to the ones who don't know Grace and from where it comes or what discernment means.
     Speaking of pharisees, I'll answer critical statements that I'm not looking hard enough for a church.  First off, I "will" make a blanket statement and say that it's a pretty sad day when a family has to lower their standards to participate in church.  Such is the case with many modern ones.  I am pretty disgusted, no, REALLY disgusted at the overused "there's no perfect church".  I am competent enough to know that.  I'm just looking for a place where the leadership is held to exceptional accountability.  So far, we had to leave one church because we were told by the pastor himself that he believed salvation could be reversed.  We left another church because the preacher intimidated one of our daughters with his inappropriate long stares, to the point that she refused to go back.  We left the next church when a youth director took care of a bullying situation with a "she's always been like that; we're all used to it".  The next one is in the middle of an uproar that the founding preacher's family has left because of something deceitful the current pastor is alledgely involved in against them.  It goes on and on.  My inlaws found out, via the police, that their pastor was soliciting oral sex from other men at a Home Depot.  Apparently, pastoring is little more than a paycheck to a lot of the 21st century.  Listen, I know the higher a position is, the more it'll be tried and tempted.  SOMEBODY has got to overcome though!  Yes, there are some "somebodies" overcoming ...but I know a good many other "somebodies", who are, as you put it, ready to start their own churches for want of a true place of God, which leads me to the negative comment that my kids must be "world changers".
     As a matter of fact, they're on their ways.  And not because I'm "up with the chickens" planning.  I happen not to even like chickens, especially when I'm considerate enough to let them roam freely but they come in the carport to gleen dogfood, whether there is any or not, while they poop all over the place.  I don't mess with the bulls much either since I was accidentally gored and have been chased around like a play toy.  No, I'm "up" walking with and doing algebra with one of our daughters before she leaves for work.  Our oldest graduated above the "fellas" at a private technical school, after she decided (and after making easy A's) state run college wasn't for her because of time wasted on agenda and busywork.  She's a certified technician, yes, "mechanic", for Ford; supports herself at 21 years old better than a lot of people 10 years her seniors; and flies planes in her leisure time, all while keeping her girlishness intact and flashing an angelic smile.  I'm not sure where all that is headed in terms of "changing the world" but what we instilled in her is that she knows when the time comes, she CAN do it.  And when she's at home with babies one day, she'll not be there because she "couldn't" do anything else.
     She is proven, made some rookie mistakes, but proven.  Her sisters and brothers are following right along.  The next one is insightful, nurturing with young animals and plants, yet intrigued with history, politics, and current events.  She's beautiful enough to model and if she pursues it, the cameras will be rejoice.  The next, a vision of loveliness and discretion, has a sharp sense of morality and spent all summer volunteering at a conference center, oddly enough touted as "World Changers for Christ", and as bad as her asthma became, was praised for her work ethic and asked to return to help run programs.  The next is our first son, who himself is easy on the eyes and, as his Daddy has been gone trying to make ends meet, has stepped up to fill the shoes of leadership, work, and protection.  It's not something to mention repeatedly, but stands as evidence of his character, that his football coach presented him with what everyone thought would be the MVP Award, yet it was the "Christian Character Award" from a large Christian school he doesn't even attend.   Then there's the first of what I still call "our young ones".   She, morphing into a pretty young woman with a tremendous amount of style, has an uncanny ability with music, a dry sense of humor that I'm always trying to rein in, and a confidence that would do well to be injectable into everyone else.  Plus, she said her first 3 word sentence when she was 12 months old and learned at 4 to read without anyone "teaching" her.  Our second son is an avid angler and has a confounding sense of mathematical perception.  He's survived 2 very serious health risks, crushing the odds which makes me believe he has something to change the world with.  Our littlest ...always dreaming up something to configure and sell, fluttering about without a worry, until she found out about "coyotes".  As the youngest of a big group always is, she's verbal beyond her years.  What I enjoy the most is her incessant, "I love you, Mama"s.
     So, no I don't have low self esteem.  I have much to be esteemed about and if it's my candor about how I've neglected the vessel I live in, then I'm sorry you see it that way.  As our oldest said, "You could say, 'I know I look pretty good', and 'I think I'm pretty smart too', and then everyone would accuse you of pride."  A real and present accusation is that I'm an "instigator".  I don't think I'll deny that; I want people to think long and hard before there is no time left to think long and hard.  Oh, and I don't want to leave out a concept I'm getting firm on:  a mother who has served and completed her position well would be an asset to most any job and with her discipline should be able to accelerate through the field of her choice, just as long as she's wise enough to not leave her husband in the dust as she searches for self worth.
     It was also told hatefully that I should "write a book" if I know so much.  Funny, that would be mentioned because I have a list of more than 40 friends and family who have told me just that.  I'm not sure where it would end and begin but I have at least a dozen topics, perspectives, and angles to draw from.
     I'm still weirded out at strangers reading my blog, but my goodness, if you're going to comment or "judge" - that pushbutton word of the day, don't base them solely on a couple of recent ones from a passing season in my life.   You see, I'm learning, and growing, and becoming.  "Yea, doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I  may win Christ.  And be found in him, not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith:  That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death."  Phil 3: 8-10.  That I am able to cry at what has been done for me, a hot-headed, long-winded train wreck, is hope.
     

You Said It Yourself

     I was careful.  I was actually perturbed but I went for the melodramatic instead.  I wrote that I'm heartbroken at the good riddance some parents express at the onset of a new school year.  A pet peeve of mine is that every fall there are moms who are ready to push their kids onto the school bus.  I always thought it was because the parent and child couldn't get along and my answer to an obnoxious child is for the parent to look in the mirror at his or her equally obnoxious self.  However, it was put crystal clear to me that some moms think the scramble of finding someone to babysit when summer camps have run out is "exhausting", that the job and housework leave no "me" time.  Oh, and the best part is that I, myself, live in "fantasy land".
     First off, I can bet she brought preconceived notions about me to the table.  It's always a shame when people listen to gossip.  Trouble is I don't want to give her my side.  I don't want to ruin what was the good between me and the mutual friend who introduced us.
     Secondly, I was more concerned that someone else I know had a "status" similar to hers.  But the conscience was pricked and that's between her and her Maker.
     Thirdly, I love how my kids rose to the occasion.  Michael, Jr who is often jokingly the devil's advocate, said ,"You do all that stuff and there are 7 of us."  Melody was gone with Mike for the day and upon her return and without my mention came across the post and comment.  She politely wrote, "Now, that's not nice ..."  She followed it with something like, "I said somthing and not becouse she's my mom." 
     Well, spelling doesn't come particularly naturally to the Harpers.  That goes along with the running gene we must be missing.  (I'm thinking these 2 things call for drill practice :)  It all leads to how open I am about our shortcomings.  She told me herself months ago when I ran into her at the store that she loved keeping up with us via posts and blog posts.   She must not be keeping up too well because whose "fantasy land" involves bankruptcy, life altering illness of a child, and regular foul ups?
     On the contrary, her world of high end living, partying with lavish vehicles and trips is the surreal life she ironically blasts me with.  Her husband runs his own successful company, so "need" is unlikely.  It's very similar to a "Wife Swap" I saw this weekend.  If she hadn't deleted her account, I'd be tempted to ask what her son would prefer, his mother or her substitutes, his video gaming or her time.
    "You said it yourself," I'dve replied but I didn't have to.  She made her case for everyone who read her words.  The care for her son is a hassle.  And she doesn't even know how manageable it could be.  I won't leave this session without saying she's in plenty of company, in and out of the church.  When you have a baby and set out with an ultimatum of six weeks or a few months or a few years of your undivided attention and then hand him over to a surrogate as if she suffices, you are part time mothering.  Believers, do you have no more belief than that God can't provide the needs of you and your baby?  Ah, now you're defensive!  I babysat more than 14 children over a period of 3 years and only one of the mothers said she "had" to work.  Even she had no intentions of quitting when times smoothed over.
     I tire of apologizing for the truth, so I'm not going to.  Churches have lost their attraction because most have nothing new to offer.  Hardly a pastor will preach directly to women for fear of retribution for "politically and socially incorrect" statements, otherwise known as Biblical teaching.  In the meantime, women chase after substitutes for fulfillment that is right at home.
     So, as you run the school bus down to shove the kids in, remember there is a wannabe mom somewhere who'd die for your position.  There's an unhealthy relationship your child will find trying to replace the one you've tossed aside, that barely allows time for more than daily maintenance and a snipit of who you'd be if you weren't so drained.
     Oh, and I'm proof positive that I can, could, and would perform virtually any job superbly.  Not only am I academically proven, but also on a weekly basis, I begrudgingly correct legal, medical, and otherwise professional staff.  So, if I want a "fantasy land", I could make it and make it big, but I have what I want.  I'm not the one who should be checking my state of reality.  It's not easy or posh or pretty all the time, but nothing worth having is. 
     After noting all these thoughts, I pouted my way to my prayer list to add this family.  In a day or so, my gusto will be subdued and I'll be left burdened that God intervenes for the sake of a youngster, for the generations of children cycled in and out of the busyness of artificial living.  The surrounding circumstances will pale and, God willing, you'll hear from me on some new subject, perhaps even more controversial than this one ;)
      

Children and Choices

     Thursday we took the younger 4 to a little local water park.  They'd reminded me that I'd told them before summer began that I'd do it.  The only problem was the entry fee.  Madalynn emptied her purse of $1.36 and said she'd use her money.  While straightening her room, I found $5 she'd misplaced.  She was in!  Macklynn had $17, plus money from the sell of his calf.  Melody cashed her birthday money.  Michael also sold calves and teaches archery, so he was an easy in (although, he's getting kinda growny for such low key entertainment).  He pitched in his opinion to his younger siblings that his Oakley sunglasses would be less valuable to him if he hadn't had to spend all the money, $150, he got for his birthday on them, after he found a half price discount.  McKala, still broke from all her money tied up in calves, opted out to go with her best friend, she hadn't seen but once all summer, to a football game and found something in her closet that I could return to cover the cost.
     As I watched Madalynn's interplay with perfect strangers, I couldn't help thinking that she might be having the best time of anyone there because getting in wasn't a given.  At 4 years old, she payed her way and waited all summer for it.  It had value that a good time alone can't offer.
     Macklynn insisted that I go down the water slides with him.  I haven't walked around a pool without a wrap in years.  As the varicose veins worsened with each pregnancy, I quit wearing shorts.  I've worn some form of pants for 15 years now and have neglected my legs altogether.  It was freeing to abandon self consciousness in order to have a good time with my 7 year old.  Getting back to the top as fast as we could, we were having a close 2nd to Madalynn's good time.
     The best body there was a young mother with a super cute turquoise bikini. Her stomach looked what mine would look like in optimum shape:  a pouch of saggy, stretch marked skin.  I can't figure out why she didn't get a one piece and look like a million dollars, which leads to similar observations I made at Carowinds.
     Melody's 12th birthday was Friday.  For months, she's wanted to go to Carowinds to celebrate it.  Originally, a couple of friends would come.  Maybe we'd have had a small party too and some gifts she's wanted or needed for a while.  However, Mike's truck is sucking in all the water and is in dire need of repair before it blows a head gasket.  It's a wash; can't be done.  We're borrowed out and belly up.
     Melody is the only of seven who has her birthday all to herself and usually has a blowout of an outdoor party bringing in lots of presents.  This year she had very few choices and it's yet to be seen if we made the right one.  She decided that we would use $20 coupons so she and I could go to Carowinds together, take a picnic, and stop for a Georgia Mud Fudge Blizzard at Dairy Queen on the way home ...no cake, no party, no other present from us.
     My city girl wore 1 pair and took 2 pairs of shoes to change into.  The plan was to get there when they opened and ride until we were so hot or hungry that we'd go to the car, eat, and get bags to change for the water park.  We got to ride The Intimidator coaster for the first time.  The suspended feeling that happens about 4 times throughout is exquisite.  I left the head banging rides to her.  I held up pretty well but lagged behind between rides occasionally and breathed in her uncommon excitement causing her to run to and from them, especially after the downpour caused 2/3rds of the visitors to leave and the temperature to drop from 97 to 79. 
     I'm sure it's not nice but I was glad to see the crowds retreat.  I had seen enough skin for the day.  I'm still trying to discover why women wear strapless clothes.  Even the best of boobs look better with some support, as opposed to being pressed down flat.  Sleeveless is another of my issues.  Why in creation do women like me not keep unfit triceps to themselves?  Midriffs are jaw dropping.  Is it a take it or leave it mentality?  Again, why do mothers reveal their biggest flaws?  And don't some parents give too much false esteem to their daughters?  For a lot of people, modesty is a favor to the rest of the of us.  Just because they sell it doesn't mean we can sport it.  Then there's the parent who doesn't give a, excuse me, damn that their daughters are walking around half naked.  Booty shorts are something Melody noticed particularly at the grocery store not long ago.  She said I'm the only one in here without them.  Problem is not just one of being unassuming but one of fitness.  Virtually every girl, much less woman, isn't tone enough to wear them.  Does anyone exercise anymore?  Does no one like her hair color?  Does anyone have a glow from the sun instead of bulbs?  Does no one have enough to do that fake nails get in the way?  My overview of society is that mechanization has only made a small dent in improving who we are and done little to nothing for the way we look. 
     I'm confused.  About the time I think every one of us is full of vanity, I begin over to think we don't really care.  It's so easy to get a guy that we just don't have to work all that hard to prove we're anything exceptional.  Then, my mind wanders into the "possession" realm, that we are so busy doing things to our bodies to display them that we rarely sacrifice them to the life giving potential they have and if we do, we limit that time to within our own desires and boundaries.  THEN, it all reminds me of men who have wives whose bodies have provided their legacies; yet, those same men feast their eyes on the bodies of other women that haven't been given to anything so selfless and if they have, were fortunate enough not to be scarred from it.  I want to walk up and slap the man with such little regard for his God given position in life.  Sometimes, I want to smack the woman into reality who's taken such little care of herself, since her husband has committed himself to her, that he looks lonely and detached from the family.
     Good grief, how hard is it to be good to each other?  If we'd open our Bibles, we'd know.  Too, how hard is it to pee where we're supposed to?  I'm tired of theaters and other public places wreaking of urine.  It was almost worth standing on top of a swaying 6 story tower to get away from it ...that was until I got halfway down the swirling slide in pitch black, going what had to be 100 miles an hour with water spraying into my nose.
     All I know is that canned Cheerwine in the cooler never tasted so good when we returned to the car twice and that the jeans I had to leave in were soaked; Dairy Queen was about 65 degrees; the money I saved paying for gas in South Carolina payed for the ice cream; and I was so cold that I took the jeans off to ride home ...and it was a great day for Melody and me.
     It got even better when her sister came in from Georgia about an hour after we arrived home.  She was bearing a requested tie dying kit for Melody and a kayaking trip to their hometown in The Blue Ridge for yesterday.  Several of the others got to participate and I hope it confirmed to them that when they step up with the right attitude and right choices that even more good things can be waiting in the wings.     
    
      

Diving Deeper

     For a little while, I'll sit out here by the pond and continue what I started.  For the family, today has already entailed a geometry lesson, mowing, job searching, straightening, a pond dip, and confirmation from the landlord that he'd "work with us".  Mike called to fill me in on it.  We have a decision to make out the van now.  Too, since the repairs. the truck has only pulled light loads.  Today is the test, because he's lined up for a heavy one.  Before we finished the call, I gave him my 2 cents worth on his snacking.  It was in reference to my telling the kids we can't have particular things and his having them regardless.  I spoke respectfully, but to a man who's given up so much, it must've seemed overboard, especially from someone with my constitution and willfullness to present my case, that "being right" I wrote of.  Right is many times a matter of perspective and isn't worth hurting someone over.
     His one remaining medication is down to bare minimum.  His consumption is rare.  He's done away with tobacco but the cravings knab him sometimes.  He eats whatever is placed before him, meat or no meat.  He rarely curses and if so, in jest.  He's still plagued by kidney stones, passing one last week.  He understands that vacation is not an entitlement and rekindling romance or not, isn't financially reasonable. 
     Vacation entitlement was brought to my attention last year when a father I know said that although he'd been out of work and complained that the church hadn't stepped in enough, he was taking his family to the beach anyway.  I guess he thought they deserved it.  We haven't been to stay at the beach since Macklynn was 1, 6 years ago.  I'd mulled these ideas over already when I heard a sermon as I sat in the car by the garden a couple of weeks ago.  So many conservatives complain of political entitlements but are for them in their personal lives.  How many of us assume that our spouses should do things for us, that vacation is automatic, that retirement is for sure, and so on? 
     These lean times remind me to pray, not just to thank that I got a safe, comfortable, good night's sleep but that I got it TODAY.  Tomorrow isn't promised.  Lean times mean that the animals don't get many scraps, that the same clothes get washed over and over, that entertainment loses its foothold.  Then "lean times" can't be all bad.  They are the solution, the path to gratuituos, clutter free, healthful. hard working life.  It's seems a shame but I count it a blessing that God only gets my full attention when I can't rely on anything but Him.  If it must be so, then I accept it, in order for me to steer clear of frivolous living.
     Salmon, I'll be in cooking it soon.  Except for a pack of bacon for Hoppin' John, it's the last meat in supply, aside from slaughtering chickens and yearling calves and catching the young fish we stocked the pond with.  Some would argue that it's a time to consider vegetarianism.  Especially as a temporary solution, it has grounds; so does fasting and I wish I'd understood it better and its place in times of stress.  Perhaps I wouldn't have held onto this "Madalynn weight" so long.  In the long run though, I view meat in the bodies of growing children and in pregnant and nursing women, as I was for so many years, with much esteem.  The consideration here is to possibly shift into our own meat production.  Putting that effort to the scales of time and true value is imperitive.  Everybody has to be on board.  Apart from our family survival, there are so many lives to reach and so much potential to meet.  In future times of crisis, I never want to see or to have ill-prepared our children into suffering through starvation and destitution.  It is said that without the mark of the beast, we will not be able to buy or sell.  When that'll be, I don't pretend to know.  To bear down in fear is a mistake.  Here, we all know where we're going when the end arrives, so the real question is what is the most minimal way to survive and take souls with us to the other side.  Things like bread baking are nice but flat bread sustains just fine.  Beef is nice too but fish and venison are just fine. 
     This line of thinking leads me to the absurdity of game sports in which the game is trophied but not placed in the center of the table.  It amazes me the number of people who call themselves "country" and don't even partake of the fish and wildlife they claim.  Of course, this comes out of the mind of a concrete cowgirl.  I love my boots but have worn through the soles of them by way of sidewalks and parking lots.  Since they are in dire need of repair, it's a good time to strip off the long Wranglers because the illusion of a lengthy figure isn't going to get me truly thin.  And with periods slowly becoming irregular, the girls noticing white hairs at my temples, and migrating aches and pains, if I don't take charge of my body, it's gladly taking charge of me.
     In this meager position, rationing is reinstated.  With it comes accountability and a new degree of thankfulness, that another meal has come together.  It's happened so many times now that I can't mistake that bits and pieces of leftovers (not slobbered upon, of course ;) are my portion.  I'm going with it because God and I have a good thing started. 
     Also today, I saw that we have about 3 tablespoons of granulated sugar left.  As I drank the juice, which we haven't had in 2 weeks, from the pineapple can; I thought how sweet other things are when sugar isn't at our beckoning call.  Other matters work the same way.  I'm still in denial that a Food Stamp card is on its way.  I really do want to know just how long we'd last on our own, with the extended family "lifeline" cut, as it should be.   Firstly, I'll replenish what we'd stored; don't know if you've ever given thought to the calorie content of a can, but in the middle of catastrophic happenings, it matters.  Green beans offer little except to curb appetite.  I didn't even plant any in the garden.  I normally don't buy a 15 oz can of anything if it has less than 400 calories.  You say you're financially set.  What happens when you can't get access to it?  The best you can hope for is a good barter but not if what you have isn't necessity.
     We've supplemented with about $30 of groceries for each of the last 3 weeks.  Most of that was for milk, which has me brainstorming.  Yes, we have dry milk, which keeps our homecooking moving, but that never substitutes for a good ole glass of milk, which I'd rather have than anything, probably because it offsets the acid from my the spicy tomatoey food I crave.
     This card on the way has me pulling from my thoughts in my 20's of simple living.  The difference is the emphasis.  I was mostly concerned about being a bad steward, paralleling many of my thoughts with the environmental movement.  With Mike's support on board from the political "environment", I'm renewed but with a much broader spectrum of theory.  I mean, come on, how long did we think God would let us wallow in the excesses, indebtedness, and pride of intellect?  Yes, Christian, I'm talking to you.  How much are we really different from "the world"?
     Debt - is being strangled by our own answers to difficulty or desire.  Savings - after the wreck and surgeries, evaporated and was never really viable to fall back on to begin with.  Truth is I love it when God provides and I didn't "go get it".  I know, we have to be "go getters" if we want anything.  But I just love it when we find a pair of cleats in the attic that are just what we needed.  And worn in is a good thing, so blisters don't come into play on the field.  Granted today's cleats were hand-me-downs from Michael, but currently the Milligan's and the Williams's passed along things that are our treasures.  Months ago, moving from room to room, I noticed that the only belongings I have worth having were gifts, not entitlements/purchases, some of them things I needed right then and there.  We can see God's hand in things when we don't keep so many things lying around.  We do have some property that could be pawned but I know and hope that Mike is holding out on them in case moving expenses arise.
     Melody found, along with those cleats, wool slippers of all sizes, things I used to keep on their feet in the mountains.  I have a strong connection with those places and memories and am reminded once again that God has me ...and always has.  Times there were daunting also, but He's continually put me where I could touch, see, and feel his creation because that's where I find less of me and more of Him.
     I can't imagine it'll be all that comes from this, but a reevaluation is going on, a time of convergance of ideas between Mike and me, a time to give our children a true mentality of self sufficiency to carry forward into a worsening world, which will look for those who have a better answer ...and ours will carry the message that their is One God and His ways are not ours, but His home is if we believe. 
     In the meantime, this city girl will dust off her copy of "The Encyclopedia of Country Living" and set it beside her Bible, because who she was had no idea who the chick is that's dying to break entirely out of the shell and to put in every single ear that dying is living ...and that peace is that easy.
    
  

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 Wynonna Judd.  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 superceded the friend one and we're both disappointed that our recommitment hasn't been the glorious reconciliation we had fantasized of. 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, my "friends", 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 :) 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 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!  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 from Y2K ;) ...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 with teaching the children.  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" with Madalynn :) because Daddy wouldn't take her in the truck for fear that it'd break down.  They hiked down 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 limp.  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 8 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 of 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 "downtimes", 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 2 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 pitiful 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.