Smile

      The last weekends have consisted of different ones of us bowling, sneaking away from the others for Sweet Frog yogurt, running a mud bog fund raiser, helping with a surprise party, and taking off to to the rodeo.  Madalynn tested for and got her yellow belt.  Macklynn's baseball team made it to the championships.
      Last week most all of us attended a local VBS, and Melody rescued a baby deer from the mouths of our own dogs but was not as fortunate finding two of the kittens before they did.
     Now, two of our dogs must go.  We caught one cornering Mama Mosey's baby goat today.  Michael and Megan are going to take it hard seeing their dogs off.
     Michael's been to Miranda's ENT doctor and has no interest in the solution he suggests for his congestion.  So, to avoid surgery he's taking allergy medicine morning and night.
     It's settling in on McKala that her recovery is a long haul.  The family she housesat for wants her to move in as a helper.  She's been given a car.  God has not forgotten her.
     She posted recently something to the tune of, "If you see me smiling, it isn't because my life is perfect.  It means I appreciate what God has given me."  There's just no good reason not to smile and be friendly with people.
      We get this a lot, "I didn't know anything was wrong.  You seem so happy."  It's not that we're not happy or that we're faking it or that we don't have to face the dark like everyone else does.  We just know it's not about us, and that it isn't right not to be interested in the events of other people's lives.
      As a matter of fact, I've been having some rough months myself, plus found out last week that my good and bad cholesterol aren't jiving.  Yet, two different women sent me messages in the last week that they haven't seen me lately and miss my ever present smile.  Then, Saturday morning after another one and I talked through some hard stuff, she came to the door as I was leaving and said, "I love you."  I don't think she tells that to too many people.
      Man, that's what it's about.  She didn't know it but she made my week, month probably.  Pouring into other people is all in the world that matters.  Period.


      The employees and spouses of SP get a yearly all expenses paid weekend at The Cove in Asheville.  So, three weekends ago Mike and I took advantage of it.  It was fabulous, from the renowned speakers and Aaron Shust's tear jerking testimony and daily worship performances, to the catered style buffets and indelible service.  But what was better was conversation after conversation of deep spiritual commonalities, good and bad, with other wives and volunteers.
      First though, we got an invitation to spend the night with Mike's fellow driver/mechanic.  They took us to a quaint restaurant and proceeded to share with us stories of their adventures.  It materialized the next morning when I dropped his wife off with her friend on the Blue Ridge Parkway so they could cycle to Asheville.  90 miles!  Her hair is white, her children having been grown for years.
     They sent home with us a movie, "Machine Gun Preacher," true story of Sam Childers's conversion and how he now uses his resources to rescue children in the war zone of South Sudan.  It's racy to say the least.  I've never seen anything like it.  It makes The American Way seem so shallow.
     Miranda rented "Unbroken" for Mike yesterday, Father's Day.  After a day of good preaching and berry picking, it was sobering.  Mr. Zamperini endured what the rest of us could never imagine, yet most of us can't even endure the hardness of marriage.  Melody had watched it at the theater and thought enough of it to mail the book to her Pop.
      Not long ago, Michael and I watched a documentary called, "Such Were Some of You."  It's many, many testimonials of ones who've left the homosexual lifestyle, how they got in it to start with and how they recovered.  Most importantly how we might help others do the same.
      These kinds of things are what our kids have grown up on.  I have to bring them the "meat" for them to mature.  I take it seriously.  My goodness, if they're gonna be entertained, let it be something that turns them to Christ.  Or once they're grown, you'll be spending the time you finally get to spend on others suffering what you didn't teach your children the first go-round.  Nothing, not one thing, not one dream, not one goal that draws your attention away is worth losing a child to this world.
     I heard Elisabeth Elliott on the radio today and her words bring to mind again that I have no care for the things of this earth.  I'm good with the clothes on my back.  What in the United States of America does it matter that I wear the same pair of pants to church every Sunday?  What difference does it make if I wear the same T-shirts over and over, just as long as I'm clean and no offense?  I'd just as soon have one set of sheets, one towel, one glass, and one plate.  I had a notion to start throwing things out of the house today and hauling them off on the trailer.  Don't think I won't.  But I had to wash dishes and clean my bathroom.  As a matter of fact, I still have Comet in my hair as a I sit here in Virgie's recliner, wondering if her weakness is a passing virus or the quick declining of a long life.      
      I'll sleep in this chair tonight instead of the bed because I've done something to my neck spending time in the evenings proofreading my "book."  I like what it says so far, but I don't know how it'll be received.  All I know is no amount of "testifying" will ever be worth neglecting the mental, physical, and especially spiritual needs of every single one of my children.  I still have work to do at home and always will.
     And I'll forever be trying to figure out that husband of mine.  Because for all bidding things good riddance, Mike is still winsome and fun loving.
     I had a list a mile long of chores Saturday, but he swept me away to the lake, just the two of us.  I have to admit that when I finally loosened up and started hossing the jet ski around, I loved it.  The smaller, older versions have their advantages.  One is "paid in full" and the other is that they can "drift" over the water in sharp turns, much like the cars that do.  It was a workout for sure, and I have four blisters to prove it.
     He and I may never be alike, so I can have all the high aspirations I want.  But I signed up to be his help meet and if fun is what he wants, then fun is what he'll get.  If not, all my kids will remember is that I was the party pooper.  And all that I will get as a wife is a bad review.   How about you?
     
     

Even When

     Two and a half weeks ago, our four oldest daughters packed our van and set south to spend a week on the Gulf with Mom and Dad.  They caught hundreds of pounds of Lane Snapper from Dad's boat and brought some back home with them.
     That left only Mike and the two little ones here with me.  He decided we'd jet ski the weekend away.  First, I determined there were some things to be done.  And I made that clear as I toted the ladder down the hill to the garage saying into the air against good sense that, "Somebody has to do it."
      On the boat ramp, I climbed onto the trailer wearing Crocs.  I knew better and slipped the first time.  I asked for Mike's hand and in his hurry, he escorted me right back into the water.  Except this time, my shin planted into the corner of the trailer's running board.  It hurt so badly that I felt nauseous and when I lifted my leg up, the blood poured.  My trite comment about "somebody has to do it" rang through my head.  "Michelle, when will you listen?"
     Touche.  God means business about this respect thing, EVEN WHEN hormones fluctuate.  Yes, I had PMS.  Some women use it as an excuse to act up.  But for the most part, I think it's just truth serum against the trash talk and treatment we put up with from the world the rest of the month.  And it's why "red buttons" are dangerous in our hands.
     It wasn't long before Mike had the kids behind him on the float coasting across the water.  I was riding back a little and thought sentimentally to myself that, although this "investment" he made was not what I would've chosen, it was a beautiful thing to see the fun they were having together.  Truly.
     That was until the cord got wound up in the propulsion tube and I had to tow them back.  He was agitated but I wasn't, UNTIL he goofed off and broke the hook so that I had to grasp the rope and drive my own jet ski for quite a distance.
      Once he got his out to work on it, he told me I should go have fun on mine.  I decided that I ought to stay nearby to watch over the little guys ...and honestly, to decompress.
      Which is what I did but it looked like I was pouting and at first, I was.  See, the silent treatment only works if we're truly taking it to the Lord.  Otherwise, bitterness manifests and is apparent through our facial expressions.
      By the time he got it fixed, Macklynn and Madalynn had lost interest. But he thought they'd read my body language and were siding with me.  He threw his hands up and proceeded to get everything together.  And he left.  I assumed that he went to the store but after an hour, I realized he was really gone.  Sweet Heather came to my rescue, just to find out that he didn't know he'd taken my keys.
     We did a "do-over" the next day.
     The four of us piled into the single bench seat of his old Toyota truck and when we pulled up to the drivethru for lunch, I thought we couldn't have looked more redneck.  It's kind of funny really, because I like to see how people treat us when we aren't in our normal setting.
      We had a great time on the water, probably looking more like grandparents than parents.  Mike hooked the float to my jet ski, and I pulled them in circles for the longest time.  I thought how neat it was to be doing it myself.  I thought how so many women jump the gun, wanting to "be" and to "do" while they're children are babies and toddlers.  Don't rush it.  Your time will come, just like mine is.
      When we got home, Michael had called from school 3 or 4 times to wish me a happy Mother's Day.  I still have it on the machine.  My girls were living the Salt Life while I was getting refamiliarized with Lake Life.  It was a good day and the sun agreed with me.
      In two more days, Mike was gone to Texas and the plumber was at our house trying to figure out what was wrong with the well filter system.  And to top it off,  the billy goat was harassing his female kid and although we were outfitted for Macklynn's game, we went into the pasture to corral her.  But she was wise to us, so I had to go in and get the lasso.  Now, unlike McKala I don't know a thing about lassoing, so finally I decide to noose him instead. So, while he was eating grain, I slipped it under his chin.  And the fight was on.
     He wanted no part of it and struggled tooth and nail all the way up the yard to the trailer.  Macklynn was afraid I was killing him but we got him on, not before he rammed him in the stomach and gored me in the leg.  I tied all sorts of knots to ensure he didn't jump the walls.
      We had DONE something!  Just me and the littles.  We felt emboldened on the way to the ball field, sweat running down our brows and backs.
      The next day, we found out what time to be at the auction, hooked up the trailer, and did fine until a truck pulled out in front of us and we had to brake suddenly.  The trailer unhooked and hit the asphalt.  Oh yeah, that's what I forgot, the lock!  But I DID remember the chain hooks, even showing Macklynn that they were for backup!  Thank God that He looks after fools.  I'm glad no one or no thing was hurt.  We were able to pull over rather quickly.  The poor billy was sitting down and shaking and who could blame him.  It must've seemed like a slow-mo scene of a movie with the screeching and halting of metal.
      We got there in time for him to be the last animal received and the first sold.  We made a pretty penny toward a real milk goat and we stayed to witness the sale of lots more animals.
      Since we had the truck, we put the flower pots we'd started for DJ in the back.  When we pulled around behind the facility to put them out by his window, it was broken and all the beds had been moved.  It looked like a crime scene and I was nervous until I got in to see what it was.  It turned out to only be an accident.  DJ was in a room by himself and very glad about it.  It threw a wrench in my plans for him because his new window has an industrial AC outside and is so high that he couldn't see any flowers much less his bird feeder.  So, the next Wednesday we brought him Pippy, our Pitbull.  She crawled up in his bed and he pet her as he listened intently to the book I was reading, and it was as though the last week hadn't even happened.
     Thursday night Macklynn had practice.  It was one of those evenings that I just wanted to be a loner, so I took Madalynn over to the playground.  There was a 13 year old girl who began talking with me.  And within a little while, so was an 11 year old girl.  They both sat down and listened word for word and were in agreement with the deep things the Lord had me talk with them about.  It was unexpected and beautiful, and I was on cloud nine after we got home.                                                         The three of us had the house all to ourselves for three days.  We managed it well and enjoyed spending the night all in one room together, them taking turns - one in our bed, one on a mattress in the floor.   Just before we retired one night, Madalynn and I saw a foot long snake playing dead in the back yard.  Even though they give me chills, I thought I should give Macklynn a shot at it.  He took a jar out and coerced it in.  We left it on the kitchen counter and researched everything about ringneck snakes.
       The next morning he let it out but chanced catching it by the tail.  And he did!  Covered in goosebumps, I was impressed with his display of bravery, much like that of his brother.
       Saturday Sloan and her family came to watch Macklynn play and then to take us to a trampoline park.  They bounced until Macklynn got so hot his nose bled.  Milkshakes made up for not staying another hour.
      The next day the SP volunteer Mike had bought the jet skiis from, which incidentally Mike had likely painted when he worked for Yamaha back in the early 90s, went with us to the lake after he and Mike rode motorcycles, which they had also done the day before for "Operation Heal our Patriots" in Alaska.  I was embarrassed that when he first got here, I still had out mounds of clothes to sort through for summer and winter.  But I had it done before they returned.  In terms of hospitality, the kitchen and bathrooms are most important to me, so those are the things we try to keep done regularly.
       He stayed up late enough for the girls to return home and tell some of their vacation stories.  Then, he slept in the arrangement we make in the living room floor for visitors.  I do like that about disaster relief volunteers - they'll humbly sleep anywhere because most of the time they've worked so hard they don't even care.  He woke early the next morning and went back to Alabama.
       That Monday most of my hours were spent listening to the unraveling of the girls' tales from their adventures.  I have to love that my husband works to give me that freedom, even to wake at my own pace each morning over a cup of coffee and my Bible.
       Tuesday and Wednesday were marathons of errands and lessons.  I don't even remember Thursday except that it had to have been spent in preparation of Friday.  We were to be at Duke University at 7:30 am.  McKala had to undergo testing in the POTS Clinic.
        After an hour of being hooked up to a dozen monitors on a tilt table and even given nitro glycerin, she was finally diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.  It's something central to young Caucasian women, especially those who've suffered a serious injury, surgery, or virus.  Well, she certainly qualifies there!
        The prognosis is a three to five year recovery.  She's already begun heart medication to slow down her rapid heart rate, which is caused by the imbalance the body has in telling the blood to flow back to the heart at a reasonable rate.  The heart beats hard to make up the difference often making the individual pass out.  There's a constant state of lethargy and even nausea and vision impairment.  She'll have to drink a ridiculous amount of fluids and add as much salt as she can tolerate to her diet to retain good blood volume.
       Then, when she's stable, she'll begin an exercise regimen to make her heart as strong as it can be.  That this makes her test her faith and health will one day prove to be to her good.  That there is a light at the end of the tunnel makes this something we can't really complain about.  That we grow tough from these things is essential.  The toughness is the residual of faith.  Be tough or be crying.  Crying for a night happens but much longer than that is a choice.  That's why we're so tough on people, because if they roll over they will be pummeled by their own ways or that of another. Although we're made to need each other, we can't always rely on each other.  So, many things we learn to do on our own because it's either grow strong or grow bitter.
       While we were still reeling from finally getting an answer, we walked to the parking deck to drive to Virginia to get Michael from his final day as a junior in high school.  We were several hours later than we thought we'd be.  He had all his stuff piled up in the grass and was nowhere to be found.         We manipulated his things into the cracks and crevices of the van between the 6 of us who'd be driving back.  Michael did the honors.  He talked quite a bit for a somebody who doesn't ordinarily.
We'd packed a cooler and thought we'd make it to Macklynn's game but traffic stood in our way, so we came on home, the place he gets to operate out of for the next 11 weeks.  He'll work most of that time because he's not happy to be down to his last $100.  Lots of his hours will also be spent restoring his body from surgery and preparing for his senior year of football.
         McKala told him that Dr. Miller intends to put him in charge of his Christmas tree farm.  A mother likes to hear that someone has that much confidence in her son.  She also likes to see the owner of the 100 year old dealership her daughter repairs cars for write,  "She is an asset to our company and we are glad to have her, as I told her dad the other dad. She has an excellent attitude and everyone likes her,,,,,, and she knows what she is doing." 
          Not that everyone will "like" us, but they know if we care or not.  Above all things I want my children to love the Lord with all that they have, including a hard work ethic, AND to be good to people.  It turns out that even when people don't carry our same beliefs, they see when they can and cannot trust a person.  McKala is house sitting this week for a family who does share our beliefs and said she's the first one they thought of because of her love of animals and her trustworthiness.  She's also all but Dr. Sarah's personal assistant.  
        Melody's gearing up to be a "captain" at camp this summer and has raised virtually all of her money with her T-shirt business, which hopefully is about to branch out.  She's making supper again right now.  That's after she and Miranda ventured out to rescue the kittens she and Megan found on their walk yesterday.  It appeared that someone "dumped" them.  It's amazing to me that people can't seem to choose between a meal at Applebee's and getting their animal spayed.
        So, not only do we have the ailing cat Mike found for Miranda in the Waffle House parking lot in Pennsylvania on his way home from New York just after I killed hers.  Now, we have tiny Berlioz, Toulouse, and Jean-Marie since the kids recollected that the Aristocats favor them.

           Yesterday, Memorial Day, I enjoyed the liberty to sit by the pond as Macklynn and Madalynn took their first real swim of the year, after Michael helped me help a friend and Miranda worked once more in the barn, and I got to finish the last few pages of the Bible.  And although, I've read Revelation many times over, I can say I have read God's Word from cover to cover.  It shames me that I have not given effort to have performed it before now.  It makes me glad that I may have much opportunity to do it over and over again.  I can finally say that I love it.  It was very much a monkey on my back for years, an "ought to" thing.  I asked God to change that for me and He did.  "Where could I go but to the Lord?"
        Mike just called to say a volunteer friend whose husband flies an airbus has offered our kids tickets to fly to and from another Texas church that SP is about to set up in for flood disaster relief.  I love what the Lord does for us and whatever He has planned, no matter what it is.  You see, something I've learned is that my opinion, my style means nothing in the scope of time.  I thought over Mother's Day of my favorite things.  I prefer flowers that grow themselves and have intense fragrance, like irises, wisteria, and peonies  I like seams that show handsomely on leather and cotton.  I enjoy grape flavored anything.  I'm a visual learner and an opportunistic teacher of whatever life has to offer.  My love language is acts and deeds because there are so many things I'm learning but still can't do.  
        These things are well and good, and if God sees fit to put them in my life, He will.  If not, I don't have any reason to even think about them.  
         I die, He lives.  Like Michael told Mary-Hope the other day, "It's a win-win situation."
          

Since You're Gonna Stay, 'Stay Well'

     Last week, Mike's Aunt Beverly passed away in the early morning hours.  We hadn't expected her second bout with cancer to end so soon.  Try as I might, I could not put a good enough plan together for any of the kids to go with us in the middle of the week.  Miranda offered herself up to manage the conflicting the schedules and somehow got the entire garden tilled also.
     I really was torn.  I never "want" to leave the children.  Finally, one of the older ones clarified to me that instead of staying, I needed to go, not as a careless mother but as a good wife.  After grappling with the condition I was leaving the house in, I let go.
     See, although I'dve been here overseeing the children and home, it doesn't mean that this particular time it was God's will.  It's safer for the whole family for me to be in His will.
     So, I dug in my closet past the Ziploc bags, Band-Aids, and paper napkins, which I keep in there because if I leave them in the kitchen, we won't have any at all.  I gathered my favorite things and, true to form, made us late.  Mike didn't fuss the way he used to.  He just let me be.
     Somewhere along the way down to Georgia, I realized I translate into "someone else" when Mike and I get away from the household.  I'm very intense at the house and don't always know when to delay things and rest.  I had consciously given the children individually over to the care of the Lord.  I was at peace that I was in the right place at the right time.
     A few miles further, I was comforted in knowing that as the children age out of the home, Mike and I will have a hopeful future because we have things to talk and laugh and tease about.
     We playfully changed clothes behind a gas station and made it to the viewing that evening, after which we went with his parents to Peachtree City for exceptional Mexican food at a place we've been to many times and where I remember Megan at the tender age of 4 putting her hands over her ears and telling us to stop fighting.
     For me, the funeral was much like any other until Mike got up to speak.  He had prepared a list of memories of how Aunt Beverly handled his behavior when he was young.  But when he appealed to the audience to settle any doubts about the Lord, it was surreal.  I don't know if  I'll ever get used to hearing him proclaim the Faith.
     Although the family has lost 200 pounds and 50 have been his, Mike still likes to eat like a king, just not so often.  He had his mind set on The Varsity across from the Georgia Tech campus.  He convinced his parents to go (even though she had prepared a roast the prior day), so we "double dated."  It's hard at a place like that, but I managed not to overeat there or anywhere  else.  And that matters because moderation affects mood and mood affects attitude and attitude affects witness.  And we got to witness to several people on this trip, especially to a young man at an electronics store who couldn't get over how Mike and I were carrying on with each other.  And just before we made it home, Mike introduced me to the Muslim owner of a gas station he frequents.  He told me to go get a drink on him because Mike was his best friend.  Wow, talk about influencing your circle.  
    And anyway, if Mike wants to eat like a king, then that's between God and him.  My position is to treat him with enough dignity and kindness that he feels like a king.  So, Sunday morning while his parents were gone and he mentioned a mutual shower, I shouldn't have immediately cut him short.  I always say something like, "I'm not a 20 year old anymore."  To that he said, "Neither am I."  Had me on that one.
     I retain in my mind a ready list of defects.  The most obvious ones are the scars of carrying children, of whom I nursed all seven.  Eventually elasticity is lost and things aren't as perky as they used to be.  My body is still prone to breakouts and has hair in such odd places that I don't have time left to pluck my eyebrows.  But when he said, "If you're all I see ...," he had me again, so how can I not honor his commitment to look away from other women?
    Something I held onto from our last out of state "encounter" was that he said later in an email, "You 'felt' different."  It was regarding fitness, yes, but also newfound bold illustriousness.  We women may focus more on our looks than men intend for us to; because when it comes down to it, close contact does not allow the kind of viewing accessibility we're always worried about.  It really is about how it "feels."  And if we're mentally or physically "checked out," it's obvious.  But if there are true physical ailments/conditions (which ought to be temporary or treatable), of which I've had 3 in the last month alone, then we can give ourselves a little leeway, not that in the meantime there aren't other possibilities with which we can satisfy them.  Because leaving our men "under pressure" is never wise.  I've recorded unforeseen instances when I believe Mike was able to keep composure with someone because of the "release" of the marriage bed or truck or wherever opportunity appropriates.
    Of all things this morning as I lie waking up after he went to work, I had an image, a sanctified one, a gift to me ...because of my skewed past and circuitry.  I've been trying to associate the church as the bride of Christ.  I used to be an artist, back when I took the time.  This morning, I "saw" the transparent rendering of a wife atop her husband "receiving" the seed that brings the fruit she would carry, as her breasts fill with the sustenance of life.  Of course, that's a rush depiction, but the "multiplication" that so many of us choose to forego enlightens and makes pure the entire process.  Society has it backwards, becoming damaged by taking it before its time or by our own means.
    No, we're not going to create a child every time and there comes a time when we can't, but I still believe it's the crux of the matter, a holy image that Satan would tempt our thinking into discerning as pornographic, somehow shameful and distasteful, lending to a vicious cycle of leaving our husbands unfed and brought into the real world of pornography, whether it be soft or hard.

     Somehow, with all this insight I succeeded in "dropping the ball" when we got back in town.  And I began to question Mike's answers.  I heard my voice rising but didn't stop it.  Eventually, he reminded me the car doors were open.  When I went out to close them, I hardly checked for cats as I normally would.  I closed one sliding door and went around to close the other.  But when I did, it bounced back.  I thought some of our belongings we left for the night were in the way, so I retried.
     Miranda's "Kitton" fell out on the ground unconscious.  There in the dark, I grabbed her up and ran into the house crying over and over how sorry I was.  Miranda had to get out of the bath.  She checked the eyes and let the head fall.  She cried herself to sleep that night ...because I didn't have the presence of mind to be cautious.
    Am I reading too much into it?  I am certain that I am not.  God knows His willful daughter.  I knew instantaneously that it was the repercussion of returning to my sin.  God is patient beyond explanation, but there comes a time when we have to decide not to turn back to it.  I took Kitton outside as she coughed blood into my hands, her heart beating so quickly.  Oddly my prayer was in thanks for how swift God was with my discipline and how bitterly sorry I was that innocent blood was shed.   I've had similar instances that permanently changed the course of my obedience to my Lord.
    Mike came out and did what falls on a man to do and ended the suffering.  Kitton wasn't the average cat, not only in her beauty but in her affection.  Because I knew better, a price was paid.  And when we have family, the results always affect them.
     Accidents happen but so do revelations, and I was secure in the meaning of the events before I got up the next morning to start where I'd left off reading, Hebrews 12.  "And ye have forgotten the exhortation which speaketh unto you as children, My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him:  For whom the Lord loveth he chaseneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.  If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?"  I know so many people who would've cursed the moment.  "Damn it, why did this happen!?"
     I knew why this happened, so there was no sense in cursing it away.  I had just read before we left for Georgia, "For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that one teach you again which be the first principles of the oracles of God; and are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat.  For every one that useth milk is unskilful in the word of righteousness;  for he is a babe.  But strong meat belongeth to them that are of full age, even those who by reason of use have their senses excercised to discern both good and evil," Hebrews 5: 12-14.
     First of all, I don't have any desire to become what Lot's wife did.  Second of all, the first principle of a wife is to "reverence her husband" and of wives to "submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.  For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church:  and he is the saviour of the body.  Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be subject to their own husbands in every thing."  I, as does my friend, find the word "own" interesting, as though we are not to be subject to other men.  Ironically, I believe that's what gives me jurisdiction to take dominion of my home the hours of the day when my husband's away, and I am directly subject to no one, in the physical sense.  I think that's a pretty grand post to have!
     I also think it's an honor that we can make or break what people think about our husbands upon meeting their wives.  We don't have to be knock-outs; we just have to be the best we can be inside and out.
     Right now, I've got to recapture the best I can be.  She's still reeling from the weekend, the good and the bad.  The good is she's never gotten to see as many relatives in a single visit before.  To top that off, so many of them sent gifts home with her.  Her mother gave HER a Mother's Day necklace and presented her an early birthday gift, a ceramic covered cast iron dutch oven.  Her mother-in-law placed in her care a handmade quilt and pillowcase for DJ's bed.  It will be by far the best of his meager possessions.  Her brother's wife gave her bags of clothes, many with tags still on them, for Mady Z this summer.  And the kids are fully funded for camp this summer.  This all is after 3 different people have tried to give them cars in the last month.

     Melody is still on cloud nine after attending the military ball at her brother's school.  She was treated like royalty from the time Miranda took her to meet her ride to Virginia, in a Range Rover no less.  The mother who escorted Melody and the two other girls had rented a historic home on the river near the school.  They were free to leisurely ready themselves.
     Of course, Sloan was Michael's date and looked the part.  She graciously loaned Melody one of her dresses.  They both were stunning and modest in one.  All the more respect is due people who have it and could flaunt it but don't.  Melody's date, Drake Davis, is one of Michael's friends whose family has done, let's say, exceptionally well financially.   He is also ranked nationally in athletics.  Neither of them knew the other could dance.
     The next morning Sloan messaged me that people were asking who "that couple" was who could really dance.  Michael had warned Drake to keep it "PG."  I had admonished Melody to be a "light."  Because it's never about the event but the participants. It's marvelous when people are skilled enough to perform, dancing at a distance or keeping comedy clean.  I'm told they absolutely danced the night away.  She says he was the consummate gentleman.  And she showed him what it's like to spend an evening with a lady, amidst girls who hardly knew to do anything more than grind.

     Yesterday, as the washing machine washed and the chicken simmered in my new pot, I spent the afternoon emailing state representatives because today they are finally considering the bill to include home schoolers in public junior and high school sports.  Today, reality sets back in.  Melody's at Driver's Ed.  Mike's on the way to New York.  Miranda ran to get feed.  Megan gave blood last night and is back at it at work today. McKala's taking Macklynn to his game.  She's doing well considering she tagged, wormed, and castrated calves all day with Dr. Sarah yesterday then fished into the night.  Duke called to say her appointment was moved up from August to May.
     The house is upside down.  So, it's time for me to strap back in and get some stuff done.  There's more than one person should ever consider doing: paperwork, cleaning, organizing, repairing.  All I can do is start and not forget that the tasks are not more important than the people.  And since we ladies have chosen to "stay," then we need to "stay well," as in, "whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men."  And as Paul said to Archippus, "Take heed to the ministry which thou hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfill it."
   
   
   
   
   
   
   

Ready to Roll

     Anybody who knows me well would think RTR means Roll Tide Roll ...and it does.  But lately in this off season, Ready to Roll comes more to mind.
     Last week, there was a community watch out for a suspect looking group of vacuum salespeople.  After the neighbors reported how they were approached, I had the kids on high alert.
     Miranda got out of the car wearing her Sig and the UPS man asked why.  She explained and he laughingly said that they'd regret it.  She said, "Yeah, they will when Mama comes out with the shotgun!"
      She'd been working like a dog in the barn all week.  The pager went off for a wreck her sisters couldn't go to.  She was soaking wet with mud, sweat, and rain.  She grabbed her bag of gear and headed out.  Upon arrival, one of the men volunteers used an expletive with, "Girl, you've been workin'!"
      Mike keeps his bags packed this time of year.  The next storm could be any minute; and although a disaster is never to be wished for, his enthusiasm to hit the road is undeniable.
      I, myself, traveled with Macklynn and Madalynn early Friday nearly to Richmond, Virginia to get Michael for his follow-up on his shoulder.  Now, he's been released to do whatever he can tolerate.  Saturday dark morning found him in the woods hunting turkey, and now we have his 20 pounder in the freezer for late May when he returns.
      As we arrived home Friday; Megan, McKala, and Melody were packed up for camp and just about to leave.  "Daughters of the King" is a weekend they always enjoy and are honored to help the Hatfields with.
     Megan had only been home a few days from Texas.  She's more convinced than ever that the strong delusion is in effect over our country.   What small children are growing up in is more than their little souls should ever have to bear.
      We watched the slide show of their sweet faces Wednesday night and returned Sunday to hear the powerful words we always do from Brother Kevin.  Miranda volunteered to take Michael and his friend back to school regardless of the rain.  I hesitantly agreed and was glad I did when Mike pulled out the lawn mower that hasn't worked in 3 years.  He took it apart and had it running in less than an hour.
      There's something in a man's eye when his "woman" witnesses him get a job like that done.  I foolishly never understood why he wanted me out doing whatever he was doing.  I, not always purposefully, meandered around the house enjoying having it to myself.  Not only was I missing fellowship with my husband but also how to do it myself.
      So, Saturday, as sad as it is, we had a "session" for me to crank all the yard equipment.  And after Michael was done plucking and gutting the turkey, he and his Daddy climbed on the roof to clean out the gutters.
      Yesterday, it rained so that torrents ran down the drive and the ditches were running over.  Macklynn and Madalynn played their hearts out in it for hours as I looked on from the porch.
       6 am this morning, the girls were called out to a wreck.  Megan went even though she had to be at work at 8, and McKala went even though she had a stress test scheduled at 8:30.  Her tachycardia, high heart rate, is back.  This time her lungs have been cleared as the cause.  And after today's test, the Cardiologist reported, "She has a beautiful heart, perfectly normal."
      So what is it?  Another doctor believes Duke University will prove that it's something called POTS.  It's particular to young women and is associated with the venous system not returning the blood back to the heart quickly enough.
     Nevertheless, she persists.  She "runs" until she just can't anymore.  Then, about the only way she can recover is to sleep it off.  
      I've made my case that we're Ready to Roll.  But getting up and moving is only half the story.  What do you do when you get there?
      Melody portrayed it nicely this week.  The normally reserved one had a brush with a bully at Driver's Ed, and she did not back down.  There's a student who has some kind of reading disorder, so she was asked to read the test for him, for which he was answering correctly.  One of the 75 or so 14 year olds decided he would get in the boy's face and say, "What's wrong with you?" waving his hands in front of him saying, "Are you in there?"  Melody stepped forward and said, "Leave him alone."
      The kid said something else and she said more emphatically, "Leave him alone," to which another student decided to back her up.
       Then, on the way home Michael told me about the Chinese student who was in his room the other night.  They were discussing beliefs.  The young man believes in his own version of reincarnation and says he doesn't even think Jesus existed.  They talked for over an hour and  Michael ended it with, "Why would you try all those ways of getting into 'heaven' when you could try this one way that works?"
      He was frustrated that a fellow student who claims Christianity chided Michael for being so firm.  Michael returned solidly, "First of all, he was in our room and obviously wanted to talk or he would've left.  And would you rather not 'offend' him with the truth than see him in heaven?"
      And there's McKala who never shares the influences she makes until we drag it out of her, often accusing her of being cold "hearted."  A coworker and friend, who does not profess the Lord but acts better than a lot of people who do, was harboring disquietness against a possible choice her husband would make, when McKala boldly interjected to her that she is her husband's helpmeet and that it's okay for him to make an executive decision..
      At that point, McKala risked the relationship.  And was pleasantly surprised later when the young woman acknowledged her as her best friend.
       Yes, our older children are being shot out as arrows.  But take note, that the younger ones are not; most all ministering that I do is alongside them.  I am convinced beyond discussion that a mother is not called apart from her children, because they are her second mission and their father is her first.
       Therefore, when I ask, "Are you Ready to Roll?"  I do not mean without your children.  I just mean, are you willing to have your routine upset for the greater cause?
       I just mean, are we teaching our children to be capable of doing more than we learned in school?  We can read all day, but can we apply it to anything useful or helpful?  Can we make or fix or operate things, much less sustain or kill living ones?  Can we "defend" ourselves or "save" anyone else in more ways than one, if that?  My "education" didn't prepare me for much at all.  I am ill-equipped around people who are not.
     Oh, wait a minute ...we'll hire people to do it for us.  That's right; that's the answer.  In some cases, yes, but in most "The Cat's in the Cradle" lyrics are prophetically playing in the background:

"A child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away

And he was talking before I knew it and as he grew
He said, "I'm gonna be like you, Dad
You know I'm gonna be like you"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, Dad, I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then

My son turned ten just the other day
He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play
Can you teach me to throw?"
I said, "Not today, I got a lot to do"
He said, "That's okay"

And he walked away but his smile never dimmed
And said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah
You know I'm going to be like him"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, Dad, I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then

Well he came from college just the other day
So much like a man I just had to say
"Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?"

He shook his head and he said with a smile
"What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys
See you later, can I have them please?"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad
You know we'll have a good time then

I've long since retired, my son's moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, "Id like to see you if you don't mind"

He said, "I'd love to Dad, if I could find the time
You see my new job's a hassle and the kids have the flu
But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad
It's been sure nice talking to you"

And as I hung up the phone it had occurred to me
He'd grown up just like me, my boy was just like me

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad
We're gonna have a good time then

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad.
We're gonna have a good time then."

Moms, if we aren't living life with our children, then we are the more guilty.   

Forfeiture

     Friday Mike was on his way home from Tennessee and Michael was on his way home from Virginia.  I had spaghetti the way Memaw makes it and had my hair and make-up just the way I wear it for Mike.
     The house was in pretty good shape but I was snapping at people to get it done.  I basically sent the little ones away to keep them from under foot and that's not my style.
     Every family member, plus a couple, was here and the meal went off without a hitch.
     Saturday morning, Megan flew out to Texas on her first bona fide mission trip that wasn't youth group oriented.   I'd been praying for her and since that Good Friday morning I "couldn't" hear anything but worship music for the dying day of my Lord Jesus, I couldn't understand why everything wasn't peachy.
     I'm still unsure except for an all out assault of the prince of division ...and the allure of the leftover homemade brownies Saturday morning.  You know, when the warm icing glazes over and turns into a whole 'nother creature of a dish.  I allowed myself one after the other throughout the day, laughing it off that I would get back on track soon enough.
     But then there were these chocolate chip cookies made fresh Sunday and I thought, "Well, what's a few more?  They ARE my favorite."  Most of the time I wouldn't be all that tempted by sweets but now as I check the calendar, I see that Sunday was 10 days before my cycle starts over - perhaps, before my body realizes she isn't pregnant and monthly wants to devour everything in sight that very day.
     The problem with crossing the line between polite gestures of, "Why, yes, I'll take one.  Thank you so much," is the greedy monster that says, "You'd better get more while the gettin's good."  Then he's in charge of the ship.
     My husband had come home rejuvenated with ideas to take family hikes.  I should've been thrilled but all I could think of was how much work we could get done on that Saturday afternoon.  Sunday after service, he decided we should go again.  I held back objections that it could upset the meal, but he's known me long enough to read my rebellion.
     As many of us as were not sick walked up and down the creekside a couple of miles.  Any other day, I would've been delighted, amazed even, that Mike would venture out on foot.  But I wasn't in control, literally.  I wasn't steady as I'd been in the prior weeks.  Could it be as simple as food?  Of course, it can.  I was in outright defiance of all I'd learned.  And it directly affected how I treated my husband.  I had "repossessed" my vessel as my own.  Now, she was tired and groggy.  I know why American culture is so consumed with caffeine:  to survive the near coma the food we eat puts us into, the lullaby of Satan rendering us useless, if only for a little while.
     Monday morning, I'd committed to look over some assignments Michael was taking back to school.  I was soberly impressed when he said in his career paper for English that, yes, he wanted to be a veterinarian and spelled out concisely why, but he added that he also wanted to be in the ministry and veterinary medicine would allow him contact with plenty of people including young volunteers for whom he could be an example.
    Before long, it was time to meet up with Sloan so they could drive back to school.  I had regained my steadiness until I got particularly thirsty and drank a lot of strawberry milk.  As you can imagine, my roller coaster ride was no benefit to my love life.  So something had to give.
     This morning, after I slept nearly 12 hours, which leads me to believe something IS amiss, I was back at the helm.  It normally takes me over a week to fight for the wheel.
      However, McKala woke up with a migraine, coughing and throwing up, which brought back nightmares of years past.  Her resting heart rate has been way too high for weeks.  At least her recheck today disclosed that her lung capacity is good.  Huge viles of blood were drawn and the findings should be back just in time for the cardiologist appointment next week.
      She treated me to a Chick-fil-A sandwich and a cookie, which is all I had up until then.  Her kind gesture put me right back on track with my fellowship meals. "Why, thank you, I believe I will."
      When we got back home though, Mike was nowhere to be found, so I made assumptions and sent him a message to shame him that Melody had prepared a meal that he hadn't shown for.  I even started to retaliate, but thank God for the small amount of scripture I've been able to retain.  I turned up some Charles Stanley on the radio and came on back home.
      Come to find out, he was doing something rather benign but was still sitting in the driveway, upset that I was upset.  My explanations/excuses didn't help a thing.  You see, I had lost fellowship with him sometime over the weekend and here we were acting like we did 20 years ago.
      And when he drove off, it occurred a few minutes too late that we both are fighting addictions and have recently been victorious ...and this could be nothing more than a wedge from the devil himself.
But see, I had forfeited my power, to the darkness.  It's not always that we're doing something "so" sinful; it's what we're losing in the process.
     That's why fasting isn't really about food or substance, because there are days when we just don't matter enough to ourselves to quit.  But God and His kingdom do matter to me, so I press on ...and I take back what is already won for me.
     I often wonder, as I did sitting on the porch swing while ago, what all I've forfeited, even when Mike and I decided it was unsafe to have any more babies.  So many more of us get a number in our heads and "that's it," never knowing what might have been, never reaping the fullness of multiplying, not only in procreation but in love.  See, it's not that we're "so" sinful, only that we're "so" doubtful of God and His provision.
     Mike's always said that I was happiest when I was pregnant.  I'm sorry for him that love takes so much work now.  I'm sorry that he can come home with big ideas and lofty ascertations ...and I can crush them with just a glance.   All us women want that power but aren't careful how we use it.
      I feel silly being all googly eyed but the least I could do is look on with interested amusement, as if anything is possible, and it is ...when we aren't forfeiting battles that've already been won.
     Now, to see if the bedroom door is unlocked and to see if my feminine wiles still make him forget.

Manifestation

     I haven't had much dialogue or even interest in my posts this week on Facebook.  Or have I?  The men wouldn't dare express approval for the chastisement they might receive from the women who wouldn't dare express their approval for the accountability they might receive from the men.
     What they don't know is that this newfound focus on intimacy with my husband isn't random.  It's a manifestation from what the Lord called me to several days ago.  I had so much happening, so many prayers for so many people.  And sometime over that weekend, the Lord called me to a fast.
      We had one, my first, at our church some months ago.  I still can't explain exactly what occurs, but I do know that it makes me steady.  I think the Lord honors our seriousness and vulnerability during that time of drought.  When the hunger comes on strong, you pray harder, not for yourself but for others.  I got affirmation for that at Wednesday night's service.
      I have broken it a few times for fellowship.  It looks awfully self righteous to sit back and watch while everyone else partakes of an especially joyous meal.  I don't know when it's going to end and I don't know when my next meal will be.  I do know though that looking forward to the next one makes it harder; it's actually easier to just not eat.
     It's really not about the food at all.  I've been careful whom I've told for fear that they may decide starvation is a way to solve their addiction to food.  That's not what fasting is about and is a sure way to fail in it.  There is an obvious benefit though, that the chains of the stronghold of overeating be broken.
     People are noticing that I'm losing weight but I won't weigh.  I can't do this for selfish gain. "Are ye so foolish?  having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?"  This verse in Galatians is speaking of the law versus the Spirit.  We can't confuse the two.
     I believe that's why I've been losing in the arena of physicality.  I've begun over and over to get in shape only to get hurt, get disheartened.  My purposes were wrong.  My timing was wrong.  My ways were wrong.
     Over a year ago, I decided to get serious, to read the Bible through and through, to find out who God is.  I'm learning that sincere spirituality always leads to action, to physicality.  Done in reverse is always for vainglory, even if our intentions start off well..
     You see, my confession is that until I gave my body up to the Lord,  I was still possessing it as though it were mine to do with what I will.  And  I may've been following in body but surely not in heart 1 Cor 7:4, "The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband ...,"  Yes, I know there's more to that verse but we can't be waiting on the other to do the right thing.  When they beat us to the punchline, we ought to be ashamed.  If there is a contest in marriage, it ought to be who can be best to the other, with not expectation whatsoever of a return.  
     Our discernment of what is "best" is the controversy though.  For the most part, women naturally want sweetness and affection, in turn giving it.  As good as that is, for the most part men want passion and intensity.  I say again that there is no sacrifice in what comes naturally.  I think at least part of the mystery of Christ is that everything in its perfection is the inverse of what comes naturally.  That makes it an act of will.
    It is an outright act of choice to be physical with our husbands.  I doubt there has ever been a man, aside from dysfunction, who said, "I wish my wife were less sexually physical toward me." 
    This morning in church, there were two couples I took notice of.  Both were older than I.  And both wives have stewarded their bodies well.  One husband could barely keep his hands off his wife.  He had his hand around her waist continually and she gave no gesture to deny him.  They radiated "oneness."
    Now, was she his second wife maybe?  If so, maybe the first wife was frigid toward him.  Hard words to hear but they're true.  He's no less a sinner if so, but neither is the first wife.  We wonder why our husbands are clamoring for attention, when we give more to strangers than we do to them.  
    Case in point:  I rub lotion on Virgie's feet at night.  I also noticed that DJ's feet need some TLC.  Yet, when it entered my mind to do it for my husband, I resisted, procrastinated.  As though because he wasn't responding in ways I thought he should that I would withhold such a service.  
      You say, "But you don't know my situation!"  Try me.  I have personal anthem songs for heartbreak, destitution, and brokenness.  Funny how we think we're "broken" though, because if we really were, we'd be wide open to the power of the Spirit.  But we resist, wallow in our despair, embrace martyrdom, and play the victim.
     There are no victims in Christ, only victors.  It's all in the Manual we refuse to read.  
     Now, there are some men who would sexually abuse and torment their wives.  And there are men who are greedy and can't get "enough" of all women even with a willing wife.  These are surely exceptions and are to be dealt with accordingly.  But most American wives are not the exception, only lazy and selfish.  "Lazy?  I work and take care of everything!"  The end of the day proves where our priorities lie and if your husband isn't at the top; then, your day has not been a success.  Just as I have posted on my refrigerator:  "Our day has not been a success if we haven't:  studied our BIBLES, taken care of our BODIES, and kept up our BELONGINGS."   
     How do I know so much?  I have been the selfish wife.  I have tried to make myself the exception, which Satan always does when he's given free rein in our minds.  
     "Well, I have no feelings whatsoever for my husband.  You don't know what he's done to me."  
     Try me again.  Stop making yourself the exception, and trust Jesus.  See, that's the real issue here.  You, nor did I, trust Jesus enough to succumb, to simply obey.  At one point, I remember writing that I was against, "Just do it."  But the Holy Spirit caught wind of that notion and taught me Proverbs 16:3, "Commit thy works unto the LORD and thy thoughts shall be established."  Again, the reverse of reason.  
    So, I've dwelt on that for months and years.  The ones of you who've been with me that long know how bad it was.  You've seen my husband's public confessions.  But this wife has confessions, too.  She wasn't loving her husband with her whole heart, because if she had been, she never would have lost it and become indifferent.  
    I decided the antithesis of feeling "taken" was to give myself away, to pursue my husband.  It has taken months to institute, preparedly waiting for a wave to ride.  
    "But my husband says he's fine with my condition.  He loves me anyway."  Don't you know that in his humility, you are the chief of sinners?  He humbly accepts you, yet you choose not to give him the best gift, the best you.  I've been guilty of this for five long years.  We forget so readily how much better it is to give than to receive.  How right the Bible is about women becoming rulers over men.  God forbid a man be honest with his wife for fear that he might hurt her feelings and be ostracized as she licks her wounds.  A good man won't insist; he'll love anyway - to our shame.
     Shame.  Is there any left?  We pretend that we're okay with those pounds we've packed on.  But I hear every day a woman talking about her weight.  My biggest qualm with myself is my "roll."  I get, "but you've had all those kids," all the time.  I know better than that.  
     I'm not willing to settle.  I want into my husband's inner sanctum.  There are only a very few ways to get there and remain.  It's a sad day for us women when a 14 year old and 18 year old understand better than we do, have more discipline than we do.  
    "Oh, they don't have the burdens that we mothers have."  True, and they probably won't, because it's all about perspective.  Melody and Sloan both have enlisted in, "But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection:  lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway," 1 Cor. 9:27.  They both workout hard AND are honing their cooking skills, even baking, with the discipline of eating in moderation, "Let your moderation be known to all men."
    "I've got one on you now - 'exercise profitteth little.'"  No, no, you don't - we are a generation of slackers.  We don't "work" for anything.  I fooled myself for years that I would "work" my body into restoration.  Sadly, those jobs are few and far in between, especially in the winter.  Recently, I've been exercising with the same intent with which I get up and study my Bible every single morning.  There are some things that can't be left to chance.  If we "work" more off or "play" more off later that day, then our blessings are multiplied.
     Has it occurred to you that when we disregard the vessel we've been given, that we automatically lose the audience of unbelievers who do regard their bodies?  Why in the universe would they want to be under an authority which apparently does not offer us the power to maintain our own bodies?  It's like my not being able to hear a woman who has disproportionately forgone time with her husband and children to work or to minister to others.  God doesn't call a woman away from her family.  He doesn't contradict himself; families can minister together, just as we do with Virgie and DJ and Manuel's mother.  It's like people who complain of financial instability but won't tithe.  It's like people who pray for healing but take poor care of themselves.  I'm sick and tired of contradiction in my own life and that of the Church.
    Thus, the fasting.  You see, although it is about the food, it isn't.  I was in the middle of PMS, the most unlikely time to purposefully undergo such a trial.  But everywhere I turned there was shaky ground - sin and sickness and serious decisions to be made.  So many lives I come in contact with caught up in coldness, in denial. So many sick.  Virgie in the hospital.  Manuel's autism medicine stimulating him to the point of pulling out his permanent teeth.  DJ's (our 35 year old handicapped friend abandoned by his family) permission he's been waiting for to go to church for 6 months denied again.  Memaw having complications.  Aunt Beverly dying of cancer.  McKala's resting heart rate consistently high again.  Michael's shoulder surgery.  Colds and allergies across the board.  Macklynn's falling on another nail, third time in his 10 years. 
     But God knew there would be more.  So much more.  So, in the clarity, singlemindedness, and energy of the fast I was able to endure when I learned the details of the rape of the 11 year old girl I'd met at the park -  repeatedly done by her mother's boyfriend who is now under $350,000 bond.  So too, had my 16 year old cousin who has an IQ of 73, drugged and raped by a 19 year old. There are other things that I am not at liberty to share, but I've been asked to pray about. So, when I'm hungry, I surely have something to get my mind off myself.  There are things I wish I didn't know or see, but someone has to pray.  Church, we have to pray and people need for us to be heard and to be heard, we need to be in obedience!
      So wives, let's get our superspiritual heads out of the clouds on onto our husbands' pillows.  I don't know that it'll happen tonight because dying to ourselves is a process, but God knows your heart and will provide corresponding opportunity to your willingness.  You will get hurt.  You might even get turned down or criticized because he'll surely wonder what's gotten into you and your motives.  Grace is a hard thing for someone to understand who hasn't gotten much of it.  He might be used to being scolded like a boy.  I've had almost out of body experiences while I was correcting my husband, my better senses screaming at me to stop.  And know that if I hear you belittle your husband in public, I will think far less of you than of him.  
     Does your husband ever see somewhere in there the person he married?  She shouldn't be gone; she should be better regardless of what life's thrown at her if she claims the blood of Christ.  Do you reverance him?  Do you know that to revere means "to regard with awe, deference, and devotion."  When did you decide to check out, lock the door?  Do you not know Roman's 5:8 says, "But God commended his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."  Will you not extend what was extended to you to your husband?  I know he hasn't kept up his end of the bargain, the covenant, but have you?  Have you given your absolute all?  Because if you have, you know it isn't enough and that only a concentrated choice to know and be in the will of the Lord is the way.
    We women give each other a lot of encouragement, as do I often, when what we really need to do is set an example and to reprove.  One of my daughters jokingly said to me recently, "We're so much alike.  You need to do better, so that I can do better."  I sat stunned at the revelation of such a simple statement.  
    Show people that it's possible to do more than just survive, that there's a reason and a way to endure with longsuffering.  Don't be "in fear of amazement" when you're asked to do something drastic. Get ready to ride that wave when it comes your way.  His yoke is easy.  We make it hard.  
    

Getting Back My Happy Place

     Thursday before last, I decided to ride out to see Mike in Tennessee since the kids' effort to do so fell apart.  First, I had to stay with Virgie Friday afternoon.  In the meantime, Megan changed my oil, rotated my tires and had them balanced, vacuumed and washed the car, AND left me a chocolate toffee bar and a doubleshot coffee in the cup holder!
     Miranda drove to pick up Michael from the carpool for Spring Break, then stayed home to sell the rest of the piglets.  She and Megan cared for Macklynn and Madalynn while McKala and Melody tagged along with me.  We sang our old favorites clear to the other side of Nashville.
     We rolled into the frigid temperatures of the town of Monterey 5 hours later. Mike descended from the sleeper of one of the "units" to welcome us.
     Saturday morning, I had to get dressed before I had coffee and spent half an hour in the shower trailer in a daze.  I changed clothes a couple of times, dropped my stuff more times than that, and tried to brush my hair but it stood on end toward the metal walls.
     Breakfast is served at 6:30 and there sat a room full of people I've met and worked with before in a sea of orange volunteer shirts.  There was a lot of neck hugging then on to the first site.
     It was a big yard with large limbs downed positively everywhere from the ice storm they'd had.  I was surprised to see that there were still 3 inches of ice and snow.  We took up where the work was left the day before as Mike drove the Skid Steer to move the piles of wood.
     When we were done, someone said that the owner of the house, an 81 year old widow, had refused prayer, claiming to be a Buddhist.  Everyone was concerned that she might also refuse the customary Bible every home owner is presented with.  So, the person standing next me encouraged me to find something to say to her.  I was put on the spot and hesitant but saw an opening and took it.  It was now or never!
     I just started asking questions and told her who I was.  We found some things in common.  Then, I asked her if she was alone.  She said her daughter lives in Florida and her son in Louisiana, and that her husband of 43 years died three years ago.  He had a "do not resuscitate" order and she stood by as it was carried out.
    She told me they had a code:  he would squeeze her hand twice meaning "love you" and she would squeeze his three meaning "love you too."  Just before he died he squeezed her hand four times as to outdo her before he left.  She made me cry and we hugged red-eyed.
     We had to leave but the people who remained said she allowed the prayer and received the Bible.  I don't know if was the army of orange working for her or what I said that made an avenue for God's Word to find its way into her home, but I do know her heart was soft after we talked.
     God is good to reveal Himself even when we're clumsy. and we don't always have to naildrive the gospel straight into someone to give them God.  We just have to step forward and be willing to be a vessel.
     The other sites weren't as challenging.  The saws and Skid Steer did most of the work, but we got to meet some neat guys who all work/worked at the Savannah River Site, a nuclear reservation.  It was good to see intellectuals out there working hard and believing that God is the master engineer!
      There was a project squeezed into the schedule and when we arrived, there was a massive guy picking up huge logs.  He only needed the equipment to move the trunk for him.
      He turned out to be 6'6, 375 pounds and a big cutup who also happens to grow flowers and reverence God.  And when he got cleaned up, he came with gift cards and homemade jelly to the host church where we were staying.  I think he's one of those people we'll be keeping in touch with!
      After I pulled off a moderate dinner among the multitude of choices the volunteer cooks had presented, Mike got us a room at a nice local hotel.  I took an extra long shower and he took a nap, which helped him gear up for the other reason I came.
      God has dealt with me heavily not to disregard this "due benevolence" to my husband, regardless of my age, condition, mood, circumstances, or how we're feeling toward each other.  I've been led kicking and screaming sometimes, but He has profoundly reassured me that it is good (and necessary) in His sight, which means it is my conscious decision to make ready, willing, and able all of my heart,  body,  mind, and soul, not to worship my husband but to honor my God.
       For whatever reason, I woke up the next morning with a migraine.  I couldn't see to my left or to my right.  The time had changed and I was too confused to figure out when church started.  What I did know is that I was ever so glad to have the hotel room to recuperate in.
      I took several Benadryl and several Tylenol.  I drank several cups of coffee and several cups of Coke.  I used the nose spray I always keep with me and Mike went to get Ziploc bags to put ice on my neck.
     I was short with him.  I knew I was doing it and in my Benadryl delirium, didn't stop myself.  He was patient and helpful.  By the end of the day, I was shaky but able to go back to the church for dinner.  I only had clean the jeans that ordinarily I would wear out with Mike.  I was uncomfortable around his fellow workers and volunteers the way I was at the Big Daddy Weave concert.  Makes me rethink modesty.  I was glad to get back with him to the room after we stopped at Dairy Queen and I thankfully opted for the "mini Blizzard," strawberry, of course.
     Monday morning we hugged more necks and hit the road to meet Michael for his orthopedic recheck 4 hours away in Boone, NC.  Leaving in the daytime displayed from the highway what looked like tornado damage, tops of trees consistently gone.  Sloan was also on her Spring Break and met us there to take Melody and McKala for coffee and pedicures.  She is trying so hard to extend herself in any way that she can.
     What Michael and I found out per new exam and x-ray is that his collarbone was rubbing his shoulder bone and that the remedy was to shorten it.  I talked with Michael and his Daddy afterwards and starting calling the office the next day to advocate surgery this week.
     Tuesday, after rebooting and organizing, I took the boys to BJ's Warehouse to restock before our membership runs out.  It's just too far now to renew.  We had to be back for Macklynn's first baseball practice.  Madalynn started karate this week also but on the alternating days of baseball.  The older girls have volunteered to help, so that I won't be gone any more evenings than I have to be.
      Wednesday we run errands, Melody takes piano, Madalynn learns more self defense, we do some visiting, then we have a fellowship meal and service with the church.  This Wednesday Macklynn and Madalynn also had to be at the dentist's office.
      Thursday morning Michael had his turn at the dentist's, then at the DMV to finish up his license.   While we were there, the ortho office called and said they could do surgery Friday.  We only had to come for a consultation that afternoon.  Talk about patient care!  We had to get straight back for baseball though.  McKala kindly met me at the door to take him on.
      By late Friday afternoon, Michael had lost one half inch of his collarbone and was coming out from the extra anesthesia it took to put him under.  Sloan was waiting there with me and keeping the conversation lively so that I did not need to watch the clock.  She had also brought a big box of homemade things to leave with him after she went back to Lynchburg to work for the weekend.
      At 5 am this morning, Megan left for Georgia with all the younger ones on a preplanned trip to visit grandparents and ex-coworkers.   After kisses and prayers, I went back to sleep.
      Due to my monthly rant (yes, PMS has lit on my shoulder once more), the kids had done a good job of their own cleaning, including McKala and Miranda tearing down parts of the barn, and I knew today was the last shot to get my things done since Virgie's family needed me tonight and tomorrow.  Don't worry; Michael said that I snored a lot last night and that he preferred McKala as a nurse.
      My bags were still packed from last weekend.  150 pounds of salt had to be put in the well filter.  Toiletries from BJ's still needed a home.  Receipts, mail, and lists had to be sorted.  I needed a shower.  My bathroom needed to be cleaned.  I hadn't exercised in a week.  And I was down to one pair of underwear, which isn't saying much (since I only keep 7) except that my laundry has to be done regularly.
     As quiet as the house was with the Georgia bunch gone and Miranda at her new job, reality soon set in that it was up to me to do the indoor and outdoor chores of everyone else!  How quickly we begin to appreciate the little things and big things that other people help us with.
    I got a lot done and was well pleased with everything but what I allowed myself to eat today ...and how I reacted to a phone call before I left.  Not saying I was wrong to say what I said, but my feelings get ahead of my reasoning (actually, my "mistrust" ahead of my "trust" for my Lord's care and defense of me) and it's as though I'm a five year old Christian again.
     So, as I sit here unable to sleep because of too much caffeine, too much guilt, and too Steakum; Megan and the littles are sleeping at Memaw's, the Harper household is in good hands, Mike is still in Tennessee, and I'm sitting up in one of Virgie's spare beds, glad that my Bible keeps giving me hope for a new day and a new horizon which might hold some rhythm that gets me back to my happy place, home sweet home.  I brought my great big cup that McKala bought me (along with a sports bra) just before our trip to Tennessee that says, "Learn from yesterday, live for today, and hope for tomorrow."  I'm gonna put that gourmet caramel coffee she gave me in my cup  ...and do like it says.