Real Live Faith

Rejoice!

2011-12-24T08:37:00.000-08:00

Rejoice? It's a Christmas word, right? The only time I hear it is at Christmas in a card or in a song.

Today...God gave me this word. I pondered it. I (yes, you'll be surprised by this) asked questions about it. I dissected it. Re - to do again. Joice - it must be a form of joy.

I came up with 'to choose joy again and again.'

I smiled. I liked it. I decided it is definitely not a Christmas word. It is my word. It is my word for 2012. "Rejoice always."

Now for the tough part, how do I really do it?

God brought to mind the verse that follows..."Pray without ceasing."

BINGO!

Then ouch!

I quickly counter with "Oh, I'm in an attitude of prayer. I pray all the time as I zip from school to home and home to soccer games and..." I'm stopped dead. How is my meaningful in-depth, daily prayer time? Ew.w.w!

So we come back to prayer, Lord.

I must say I'm not surprised. You took me to that word this summer. :) It's back. It doesn't quite conjure up the pleasant, non-guilty emotions of 'the Christmas word rejoice.'

Yet, it's 'the how' to get to rejoice - choosing joy again and again.

Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing!

Got it! :)

Truth doesn't always slide down as easily as a Starbucks Peppermint White Mocha, yet it's truth just the same. Thanks for my Christmas Eve gift! (Like you haven't given me enough, already. :))

Clap-Clap

2011-12-11T20:08:00.000-08:00

Matt's Greenville College Soccer Team has a tradition...whenever they're being introduced before a game, they do a simple clap-clap after each name is read. "Forward #10, Cobi Allen" (clap-clap) "Forward #11 David Dunlop" (clap-clap) "Defensive Mid-field #18, Matt Cowman" (clap-clap).

The other day as we were working on our family Christmas puzzle - Wait a minute! Let me clarify who the 'we' was - Madison, Bobby and I. When Matt's home and we have his company, our numbers go up...whether it's Grace or Sally (from China) or Keagan (when he's home from the air force.) Notice I did not say Matt. Notice I did not say Michaela and Meredith. (They only like to work on the puzzle when there are 15 or 20 pieces left.)

Anyhow, as 'we' were working at the beginning of the daunting 1000 piece puzzle, Bobby thought to add in, "Hey, when we find a piece, let's clap-clap. We need all the encouragement we can get on this tough puzzle.

That night we clap-clapped as we labored to get 11 reindeer pieces put into the lower left side of the puzzle.

The next morning, Michaela had a soccer game. As the girls were warming up, Meredith and I heard it. Clap-clap. We quickly picked our spot on the bleachers and glanced up, eager to see what had precipitated the clap-clap. "Two claps for Keagan's headband" Coach Bob called out. The 12-year-old girls giggled as they in unity clap-clapped.

I smiled.

Clap-Clap. I kinda liked it. No! I really liked it.

"Two claps for Schay's hair," Coach called.

Clap-Clap.

The girls were all smilin' as they began warming up.

Two claps. I want God's two claps! What do I do that would make God say, "Two claps for Lisa?"

Hm....

I immediately began racking my brain for something big...What big thing do I do? Shoot. Not gettin' much in that department. I started slinkin' into discouragement.

Then I heard it.

A whisper...think small.

Small?

I looked at Meredith sitting beside me. The night before I had taken her laundry out and folded it for her, because she had already gone to bed. Clap-clap.

I looked out at the girls warming up. Michaela, my goalie. Lately, we'd been challenging each other to ping pong, because we're pretty evenly matched and we both like to end on top. I smiled. Clap-clap.

I looked at Michaela's handsome coach, my man. I smiled. He's so cute. He's an amazing coach. What a special blessing for her to have her dad as her soccer coach all these years. So what had I done for him? Think, think...Ooh, I had hurried to get the coffee going so it'd be ready for him to grab to take to the game. Clap-clap.

I did get some clap-claps! The best part was they came from the ultimate hands.

And wonder of wonders...He clap-claps the little things.

Parenting with my 'A-Game?'

2011-12-04T14:07:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about my waitressing days recently. I enjoyed those days at Bob Evans in Sandusky, Ohio - taking orders, refilling coffee and bringing out great food. The paradox of waitressing however, was that often my best service came when I was busy. Doesn't make sense, does it?

When I was busy, I was constantly on the floor, so I was easily accessible if someone needed ketchup or another Coke. When I was busy, I was zipping through the main doors to the floor, right by the cooks, so if they called out my order, I'd hear them immediately. When I was busy, I was pouring everything I had into caring for my five tables. It took my 'A Game' to stay ahead, so I was giving my 'A Game.'

When I wasn't busy, it was the opposite. I'd get into conversations in the back room with other waitresses. Another waitress might have to come back and mention "Table 5 needs ketchup." When I wasn't busy, my order might be called up, but I wouldn't hear. I wasn't zipping by. When I wasn't busy, I'd get lax. I didn't need my 'A Game.'

It reminds me of parenting. When my children were young, I was busy. It took my 'A Game' to stay ahead of meals for a family of 6. It took my 'A Game' to keep my toddler daughters happy at countless soccer games...that and a bookbag filled with crayons, coloring books, bagggies of pretzels and sippy cups full of apple juice. It took my 'A Game' to discipline children who hit or disobeyed or got out of their beds at bedtime.

My children are now mostly junior highers. Life's not nearly so busy. They do their own laundry. They get their own snacks. They mostly get their chores done. They rarely need diciplining. They get their homework done. Parenting doesn't take my 'A Game' anymore.

So what game are my older children getting?

Thankful!

2011-11-27T20:39:00.000-08:00

Turkey, pumpkin pie, family, football, all parts of Thanksgiving. Yeah, sure we all know the history of it...Pilgrims, Indians, religious freedom, surviving when so many didn't, thankfulness to God, yaddy yaddy yadda.

This Thanksgiving I am rejecting the yaddy yaddy yadda! I am whole-heartedly embracing our amazing holiday, Thankgiving.

It all started when Matt asked if he could invite his new roommate, Albert, over for Thanksgiving. Albert is from China. He has only been in America for weeks. His twin sister, Sally, came too.

What a delight!

Of course, being the inquisitive type, I immediately asked if they had any holidays comparable to our Thanksgiving.

"No," they replied in impeccable English.

No Thanksgiving? No time when your country reflects on it's blessings? Sure, how many people in America, like the Pilgrims, actually do praise and thank their God on this holiday? Yet, it is our national heritage!

We learned so much about the amazing city of Beijing, China. We learned about the educational system. We heard how Sally and Albert would get up at 5:00am in order to go to school. They would not be finished until 10:00pm. Then they would study until midnight. And begin again the next morning.

We Americans are wondering why the Chinese are excelling in their educational system?

We shared turkey, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie and they shared their Jasmine tea and stories. We shared our Christmas puzzle, o.k. more like coersed Sally to help us. She eagerly skipped in to help us, then flipped a piece over.

A frown crossed her face. "Where are the numbers?" she asked in her sweet, quiet way. She went on to explain that only children do puzzles and they are numbered on the back.

Albert and Sally shared stories of their holidays, Chinese New Year, Spring Festival and Autumn Festival. I couldn't help but marvel at "No Christmas?"

What would life be like with no Christmas?

On Saturday, the girls drug the Christmas trunks upstairs. Meredith put on the Christmas music and we hung wreaths, stockings and Christmas pictures. Then came our favorite box. As Madison pulled out our nativity scene, I listened as she explained the people and animals they were unwrapping.

I smiled. What an amazing perspective having Sally and Albert in our home had given us all. But more than a perspective, how thankful we could all be at the beautiful people we were getting to know. Beautiful people from a beautiful country so far away.

Tonight I am thankful! I have a renewed appreciation for living in the land of the free, the home of the brave, AMERICA! I am thankful for the amazing heritage which is ours. As a believer, I am rejoicing in that! I am also rejoicing in my two new friends, Sally and Albert! Happy Thanksgiving!

How Cool Is That?

2011-11-20T20:44:00.000-08:00

On Friday, Madison and I were running errands. As we were singing along with the Christian Station, WGCA, I stopped.

Glancing at Madison, I said, "It stinks they haven't played 'The Great Awakening' in awhile. I love that song!"

As we pulled into our driveway, the next song began.

My ears perked up. My eyes bulged.

"Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh - Oh O. Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh -Oh O. Oh, O, Oh, O! Oh, O, Oh, O, Oh, O!"

I gasped, 'The Great Awakening!'

"Can you believe it?" I said incredulously to Madison.

Madison just shook her head.

"Aren't you amazed?" I prodded. Wondering why Madison was acting strangely.

Madison shook her head. "Mo-mom, when that last song was on, I prayed the D.J. would put 'The Great Awakening' on."

"He-He did..." Madison was beaming.

My thoughts were racing.

Madison prayed about that?! Madison did that! Something so small? Something so unselfish- Something just for me. God answered! God did that! Something so small? Something just for me...and her! How antsy with anticipation He must've been as each measure in the former song played on. How antsy to know that in just a few beats we'd hear His "YES"

...and be stunned.

He cared to answer!

He delighted in answering!

He delighted- in us!

Soap

2011-11-07T05:00:00.000-08:00

On Saturday we were in Greenville for the SLYAC championship soccer game. Well, technically we were there for the last 7 minutes of the soccer game. Our source said it started at 2:00. As we parked, we immediately noticed the game had begun.

I quickly checked my watch, 1:52.

"It must be the JV team," Madison said.

I smiled, "Yah, that's it. There's no way they'd start early."

As we continued approaching, I noticed a familiar face, Colby. "Colby's not JV," I said. "This is the varsity game!"

I scanned the score. "At least we're winning."

The buzzer soon sounded and the Greenville boys jumped into piles like new puppies, cheering and high-fiving.

"I gotta go to the bathroom," I told the girls. Unfortunately, our only choice was the porta-potties. I went first and noticed immediately they were out of hand sanitizers. Why is it that hand sanitizers are absolutely imperative in a porta-potty? Uh, maybe because it's filthy and stinky in there.

"No hand sanitizers," I said as I exitted.

"Don't worry, mom," Meredith said. "I have some." She reached down onto her bookbag and snapped open Bath and Bodies candy apple sanitizer.

I squirted the fruity scent into my open palm. As the sweet, girly smell, spread over my hand, I smiled. That's better!

Then Meredith went in.

When she came out she said, "It does stink that they don't have any hand sanitizer, but at least they had soap."

Soap?

My eyes got big. Madison started laughing.

I was afraid to ask, but had to. "Meredith, did you use 'the soap?'

"No.o.o," she said slowly, trying to figure out my question.

I was afraid to ask the next question, but I had to, "Have you ever used---'the soap?'

"I don't think so," Meredith said.

Madison cut in, "Meredith, that's not soap!"

My darling daughter looked confused.

Between laughs, Madison said, "That's so it doesn't get stinky where the boys pee."

The realization hit Mer's face as her eyes got big and the look of horror crossed her face, while Madison and I were practically rolling in the grass laughing.

Yes, it was a disappointing day. Things did not go as we expected. But whenever one of us would mention 'Soap' we'd be rolling again until our sides ached.

I sure do love my Mer!

Disappointment

2011-10-31T18:52:00.000-07:00

What? A Halloween blog starting with disappointment? Yep.

There he stood, a little kindergartener, tears pooling in his eyes, as he tried to explain to his teacher that his mom was coming with his zombie costume. No, he didn't want to line up for the parade. His costume wasn't here yet.

I watched as his tenderhearted teacher stooped down to look into his eyes, "No, honey. We can't wait. Now is the time for the parade. We have to go."

His lips quivered and he slowly shook his head back and forth, more tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Why don't you get a drink of water at the drinking fountain? Then come back in. You'll feel better."

He quickly exitted. When he came back in, he did look better. It had helped....somewhat.

He quickly lined up in line-order and looked up at me. Being "an extra" at classroom party time, I can fill in where needed.

I found my need.

I got in line beside him. As we walked down the school steps and out into the radiant sun, I glanced over at him.

He looked up at me and began, "Maybe my mom will be here. Maybe she is watching the parade and has my zombie costume with her."

I smiled back. "Maybe."

We walked all the way around the block. No mom. No costume.

Disappointment.

I watched a brave five year old deal with it.

Disappointment.

God has watched a "not so brave forty-five year old" deal with it. I hate disappointment. Of all the emotions I most hate, disappointment is at the top.

I get excited by the little things. I anticipate even the smallest of things...Thursdays lunch with my man at Jimmy Johns, a Starbucks run with my girls, a phone conversation with my son. I look forward to them. I plan on them. I think of them when I get up in the morning.

Disappointment. It has flattened me, angered me, pestered me and left me alone to wrestle through my hurt. Some disappointments are accidents. I'm so sorry. I just forgot. Please forgive me.

Some disappointments are unavoidable. There was just no way out. I had to help them.

Some disappointments are not accidents. They are planned, not by the seen but the unseen. They are planned by a loving God that knows I need a balance of experiences in my life in order to be the best me I can be...and perhaps so I can lovingly cast a glance, give a hug or a heart-felt smile to someone who is now there.

Constipated to God

2011-10-23T19:25:00.000-07:00

Yes, it was one of those rare evenings. My husband was gone. Two of my daughters were gone. It was just Michaela and I. I was worn out. I had a root canal the day before and was given a prednazone pill for pain and soreness.

Dr. Wagner warned, "Usually we tell patients to take this in the morning. It's hard to sleep when it's in your system."

"I'm not worried about that," I said smiling. "I can sleep anywhere!"

I popped it in my mouth and swallowed it down with a gulp of water.

I woke up and rubbed my eyes. Three? Why am I up at three? Oh, I'm hungry. Yeah, I was hungry when I went to bed but thought I should wait until morning. I must really have been hungry.

I got up and poured a small bowl of Special K Red Berries and ate them. I did not feel tired in the least.

Then it hit me. It's that pill!

Thankfully I was in the middle of a great book, so I indulged. I was lovin' every minute until I glanced up and it was five.

I'm gonna be dead for work. I made myself go back to bed. After laying there for twenty minutes, I decided to get back up and keep reading. All day at work I marveled at my energy and stamina. Woo Hoo!

The next day I was sure it would hit me. It did. I made it through school but on the way home I was feelin exhausted.

Thankfully Bobby had a full evening ahead of him, my girls were going to a cousin's sleepover party and it'd just be me and Michaela (because she had a 6am tournament to leave for in the morning.)

I was so tired I didn't fully think through how awesome my time with Michaela could be. I put on my pj's and laid on the couch.

"Come lay by Mama," I told Michaela. Yes, my Michaela, she is usually about as huggable as a porcupine. It was worth a try.

She must've been tired, too. She obliged. As she stretched out beside me, I started rubbing her back.

"Mom, what's that?"

Michaela pointed to the art above the couch.

I smiled tiredly, She knows what that is. I made it when she was a baby. I've explained it plenty of times.

Yes, she was pointing to the old window frame that I had whitewashed and put in symbols of each of our names. For non-creative me, it had actually turned out o.k.

"So mom, my name means "Who is like the Lord." Matt means "God's gift." Madison means "God's light." Meredith means "Virtuous Woman." Dad means "Ruler." Your name means...What is that again, Constipated to God?"

Feet

2011-10-08T18:01:00.000-07:00

"I...I broke my foot," Matt stammered to his dad over the phone.

Matt broke his foot!  How many times can a person break his foot? Is Matt not taking care of himself? Well, he actually is a pretty careful eater. Sleep! That's it! He always sounds tired when I talk to him. Clearly he's not getting his rest.

"I bet he's worn down," I declared emphatically to his dad. "Matt sounds tired alot. Could that make him more susceptible to breaking bones?"

Bobby flashed a sad smile, "Probably not so much as playing soccer every day of his life."

"Oh yah...yah right...Is he sure it's broken?"

"He'll go to the doctor on Monday, but he said it popped just like it did the other two times."

He still had a whole month of soccer games left! These were the ones we'd be able to go to. Stink!

As the next couple of days passed I thought of it all the time. I prayed for Matt. I fondly remembered his little baby feet...not the thick calloused adult feet he now has. Memories of Sandy Patti's song "Beautiful Feet, Cutiful Feet, Beautiful, Cutiful Feet!" I could just see his soft, little piggytoes, and feel them as I kissed those little piggys and sang away. It seems that song must've always been playin while I was changing his diaper. I'd immediately finish fastening the diaper and grab those piggytoes. As Sandi sang "Beautiful Feet" I'd be swaying Matt's precious feet back and forth to the music. Yes, my son was surely going to have beautiful feet, "the feet of those who bring good news of Jesus to others" I thought as I prayed and sang to my little guy.

Now his beautiful feet are once again broken.

Just today I got a text from Matt. I had texted him this morning to say, "I love you Hookey, son of my heart."

O.K. so Hookey is yes, another crazy nickname of one of my kids.   But wait, this one Matt made up. Not me! One time when I was lovin on "my little Mattie" he said, "I'm not Mattie, I'm Hookey." It stuck.

So back to the story - he texted saying, "My favorite mommy that will always get my kicky feet no matter how much you love me."

As a little duffer he used to sleep in our bed.  He liked to lay across the top of our bed on our pillows, with his sweet little face by his daddy's face and you guessed it...his kicky feet at my head.

Memories of my little boy, Matt, are larger than life. I can't remember what I cooked for supper the night before but I can remember back twenty years ago to the soft, sweet scent of his baby toes as I kissed them until he giggled while Sandy sang on "Beautiful, Cutiful Feet."

Matt's foot is broken.

Again.

God's Plan.

God's Perfect Plan.

The Plan that is Perfectly tailored for Matt to have the most beautiful, cutiful feet ever to share the good news of Jesus...and it's broken.

Feeding Many?

2011-09-19T19:55:00.000-07:00

I typically feed 5. Yep, we usually have supper around 6, unless there is a soccer game, soccer practice, dance practice or meeting at school. Hm...what we usually have is cheeseburgers, tacos, spaghetti, chicken dish, crockpot dish or main salad dish. Yes, feeding many is what I do. No, I suppose 5 is not that many, it's more like feeding a handful many times. Yes...that is what it is. When Matt's not in college, it's like feeding many and feeding many times. You just never know who Matt's going to invite over.

The other day someone fed me. I liked it. As much as I absolutely love food, I absolutely love words of encouragement even more. Yes, even more than Pizza Hut's Pan Pizza Supreme or chicken alfredo. Someone gave me the gift of words. As she began talking I felt myself leaning in. I felt like the baby bird with wide open mouth receiving nourishment from the mommy bird. I gulped in the nourishing words, mentally fixating on them so I could bring them to rememberance at will. It was almost like saving the last square of chocolate or frosted brownie in a baggie for later.

Words...they are the best! I knew I liked words when as a third or fourth grader I played school and created my own attendance list to call. I have never forgotten one of the names on the list - Dee Ereatameme. Impressed? Maybe not. But I remember wanting to play with the long e sound and create a name that did that. Dee Ereatameme! Yep, gotta love the long e sound.

Words...I also remember seeing a sign once while on vacation. It said "Womphoppers." Now remember, I was young. Anyhow, I remember saying that word over and over again with my little sister, Jewel, as we thought of all the ways it could be pronounced. We giggled so hard our stomachs hurt. And just when we thought we had exhausted the humor in that word, one of us would say it again and we'd both burst out laughing once more.

I should have known then that I had a fascination with words, their meanings and the way they sounded as they rolled off my tongue.

The other day I was reminded of that. Only this time it wasn't the way they rolled off someone's tongue as much as the way they reached down deeply, flooding me with warmth, coziness and light in every part.

"The lips of the righteous feed many" and that moment I was given a smorgasboard. Thanks Vicky!

911

2011-09-11T19:37:00.000-07:00

My husband says I shouldn't blog on this. "It's all that's been on the news this week," he said.

Yet, it just seems right. Today is a day to remember.

Where were you on 911?

I was at home. I had just driven Matt to school. I came home and Bobby had the t.v. on. For the first time I could ever remember I felt afraid living in the United States of America.

How could that happen here? The thought was incomprehensible, like reading Greek backwards with the hiccups while on a roller coaster.

I remember feeling gripped by fear for Matt. He was the only one not home with us. I remember wanting to get in my van and drive back to Pleasant Elementary to pick him up from Mr. Moore's 5th grade class. He should be home.

Logically, I knew Matt was safe. He was not in New York City. He was not in the Twin Towers. He was in Norwalk. He was in school. He was safe. But I wanted to see him, feel him, know he was safe.

All morning the t.v. was on. Eventually Bobby went to work at the church. I was on overload from all the information being repeated over and over with many speculations. I clicked off the t.v. What else could I do on this day? What would be soothing? The library! I packed up the girls. Of course, the library! It's always been one of my favorite places.

That would feel normal. That would be right. As we walked down the stairs into the children's room, a large t.v. stood blaring in the center. Librarians stood, eyes glued to the screen.

So much for normal. The library wasn't the only place that wasn't normal. The first time we went to Cedar Point, we couldn't get in without having my purse and diaper bag searched. The next time I got on a plane I had to arrive an extra hour early and get clear little bottles with my toiletries in it. I soon discovered a new system, on t.v. I'd hear what color the level of alert was.

There was no normal. It was the new normal...and it was about as comfortable as wearing the outfit your 80-year-old grandma bought you for your birthday.

Ten years have gone...

The fear is gone. The changes are no longer noticeable. The sting of 911 is gone. Yet annually...we remember. It's a time to remember we're Americans. A time to sing "Star Spangled Banner" outloud when everyone else isn't. It's a time to say that even though much was lost, it wasn't forgotten. They were not forgotten. It's a time to say that even though America is not perfect, there's no other place we'd rather live. We are Americans. God has blessed us! So thank you servicemen and first responders! We give thanks. We remember!

Fruit Flies

2011-09-05T13:41:00.000-07:00

Michaela and I just discovered a new sport we like. No, it's not soccer - that's an old sport. No, it's not wrestling. No, it's not jogging. It's more in the line of hunting. Sort of-

It started when I let bananas get too old. I'll make a banana cake tomorrow, I kept telling myself. Tomorrow never came, but the fruit flies sure did.

So back to our sport.  I made a banana cake and banana nut muffins. I took the disgusting black banana peels straight to the dumpster. I then drove to K-Mart to look for help.

Rave - for flying insects!

I didn't even check the price. No amount could have been too much.

I zipped into the driveway, anxious to tackle the fruit fly dilemna.

I stormed into the kitchen armed with my Rave. Spray! Fall! Smash with my finger...1!   Spray! Fall! Smash with my finger...2! Spray! Fall! Smash with my finger 3!

It didn't take long for Michaela to meander in. Spray! Fall! Smash with my finger...4!

"Hey, that looks like fun. Let me try that!"

Michaela picked up the Rave can and scanned the kitchen, "There!" She cried aiming the Rave over the sink. Spray! Fall!  Michaela kept spraying on top of the fruit fly which now looked as though he were tunneling up through the snow.

"Smash him" I cried.

"What?" Michaela asked.

"Smash him with your finger."

Michaela looked at me questioningly.

"This'll do it, won't it?"

"Well yah, but you're gonna use half the bottle on one! We got lots and only one can. Now smash with your finger."

Michaela reached into the sink and squashed.  "That was kinda fun." She scanned until she saw one fly up toward the ceiling. "Spray" "Shoot, where'd it go?" she asked looking around on the floor. "I don't think I hit it." She continued to scan until she was once again successful.

Fifteen minutes later we were at 27 and running out of fruit flies.

"I'm gonna get ready for bed," Michaela told me, walking towards the bathroom. "Mom, mom...in here! Bring the spray!" she called running back into the kitchen. Scooping up the spray she ran back to the bathroom. Scanning above the sink, she spotted and sprayed. A pool of white foam clung to the mirror.

"Smash it," I called.

Michaela reached out and smashed it. "Spray!" "Fall!" "Smash with her finger...29."
"This was pretty fun, mom," Michaela said while handing me the Rave.

"Yah, it can be our new sport!" I said smiling. "What other sport can you have such a success rate on the first try?"

I went back out to the kitchen and put the Rave on the counter. Too soon to put it away. It needed to be handy just in case- I yawned and grabbed my glass of ice tea, while heading into the livingroom. Time to relax. As I plopped into my recliner and pulled up the foot rest, I raised my tea for a refreshing swig...

floating on top were 3.

The war wasn't over!

Me...on the Trap Set?

2011-08-22T20:15:00.000-07:00

   "So I heard you played the drum in highschool," Deb said with a smile. "Why don't you play for our Ladies Prayer and Worship Night?"

     "I did...but that was 25 years ago. I-"

     Allison cut in, "Can you just keep the beat? That's really all we'd need. It would be better than nothing."

     "Well, yah...I'm sure I can keep the beat...but I never played the trapset. I'm not that coordinated. I- Why don't we just let a guy play the drums?"

     "It's a girls event. Nah...nope, it just wouldn't be the same. Can you do it?"

     "Well, I s'pose, but-"

     "That'll be great. We'll let you know when we practice."

      I came home from that meeting feeling uneasy. No wonder. They simply think I'm a little rusty.  That's not it! I never, ever played the trapset. I played one thing at a time, whether a snare drum, a cymbal, the bells, whatever...but I only played one thing. They think I'm being modest. They think I can do alot more than I can. Shoot I'm a horrible multi-tasker. My brain does only one thing at a time. I know. I've lived with this brain a long time. Shoot I can't even cough and walk at the same time. I have to stop and cross my legs. But then, that's another issue.

     So Deb called several days later to see if we could practice on Saturday morning. We did.

     "Just pretend you're a kid in the water."

     Kid in the water? Thoughts of being a 6th grader and standing on a diving board for 45 minutes, asking again and again, "how do I come back up after I jump in?" Somehow the answer, "you just will" wasn't working for me.  I felt more nervous than ever.

     Deb continued, "Splash around. Have fun."

     Have fun? Who was she kidding? This will be about as fun as the day the doctor pulled my fungus laiden toe-nail off.

     "Let's start with an easy song. How about "I'm Counting on God ?"

     "Do we have sheet music," I asked timidly.

     Deb smiled, "No drummers ever asked me that before."

     "I'm not really a drummer. Trust me. In highschool every other drummer was irresponsible, did not know what they were supposed to be playing and didn't listen to the band director but boy could they improvise. Deb, that's not me. I read the music. I don't know how to improvise. Can you tell me what to play?"

     I immediately felt that the little chicken in the Foghorn Leghorn Cartoon. Deb was being so amazingly patient, but I couldn't help but think that to a natural musician like she was, I must be really irritating.

    "O.k. just start with the kick and then add the ti.i.i.-ti-ti-ti.i.i-ti-ti-ti?"

     "Um...what do you mean by kick?"

      Deb started tapping her foot, "You know the kick?"

     "The base?" I asked.

      Deb nodded.

      I looked at the array of choices in front of me. I felt like I was at Best Buffet and I only got to pick two choices. Um.m.m. I had 1,2,3,4,5 cymbals and 1,2,3,4,5 types of drums.

      "What exactly am I hitting when I do the "ti.i.i.-ti-ti-ti.i.i.-ti-ti-ti?"

      Deb hesitated,"The hi-hat and the snare."

      I looked at all of the cymbals surrounding me. I looked at all of the five drums, too. "Is a hi-hat a cymbal?"

    Deb nodded. Quickly she left her spot and came over to me. "This one," she said, tapping the first cymbal.

     "Which ti in ti.i.i-ti-ti-ti.i.i.-ti-ti-ti.i.i is the hi hat?

     "All of the them. But you should throw a snare beat in there, too."

      I no doubt had the 'No speaka Espanol" look, because patient Deb, said "Here let me show you."

      I jumped up.  She sat down. Immediately she ti.i.i-ti-ti-ti.i.i-ti-ti-ti.i.i.ed. She looked like a natural.  Too bad she can't play the drum and the lead guitar part. As I watched her continue to play, I began thinking, Shoot. I bet she can play both parts. Look at her!

     "Got the idea?" she asked.

     I nodded. It looked easy now.

     Deb jumped back to her spot and started the song. She looked at me to begin. I started with my base. Boom, boom, boom, boom. I added my ti.i.i-ti-ti-ti.i.i-ti-ti-ti.i.i. for a measure or two. I knew I needed to add my snare, I did, and my boom, boom got off. I shook my head. I glanced up at Deb.

     She smiled.

     I tried again. I did it....I did it! I glanced back down at my foot tapping the base, cute toenails I thought. (It's the first time they'd been painted in 3 months.) Oops, I lost my beat.

     I glanced back to my foot and got back on beat.

     Well, practice pretty much went like that x 90 minutes.

     "It must feel great for you to be back on the drums?" Deb asked as we were turning the church lights off.

     I smiled. "Did it look like I felt great?" Actually I felt more like I do when I come home from work and find dog vomit on the living room carpet.

     When I told my husband I had to be ready to play for Thursday's Praise and Prayer Service, his eyes grew big. "You on the trap set - for this Thursday?"

     "You better practice every day."

     I nodded, getting that sick feeling again. The next evening at 8:00, I asked my girls if one of them could go to the church with me to practice.

     "What do you need us to do?" Madison asked.

     "Sing the song so I know where I'm at. I can't sing and play with two hands and one foot at the same time."

     "Oh, o.k., I'll go," she said.

     I turned on Deb's taped background music she had made for me to practice with. Madison started singing. I was doing mostly o.k., until I had to switch from the snare to the tom-toms and lost a few beats. I got back on beat and-

     "Hey, can I try it?" Madison asked.

     "Seriously?" I asked.

     "Yah, that looks kind of fun."

     Hope filled my heart as I slid out of the seat and Madison immediately started banging around. She looked like a typical irresponsible drummer, just beatin' around and trying out all the different options. Yes! Could it be? Was this the 'splashin' around in the water' that Deb was talking about? The thing that structured, do one-thing-at-a-time me, could not even attempt to do?

     You can guess the rest of the story. 'I'll do it, mom," Madison said nonchalantly.

Jehovah Jireh...God provides! I was willing but I was certainly not the best man for the job.

     "Wait," Madison said, "when is this thing?"

     I held my breath, "Thursday night at 7. Why?"

     "Phew! We were supposed to have soccer practice then, but coach changed practice to 4:00.

     Jehovah Jireh - God did provide tonight. And no one is happier than I am! No doubt we will have many ladies praising and worshiping God on Thursday night, but I'm guessing no one will be praising and worshiping more than me!

Camping

2011-08-11T21:28:00.000-07:00

   "So why didn't you plan a campin' trip with me? Huh?" I asked Matt, with eyebrows raised.

     "You'd wanna go?"

     "Of course!"

     He looked at me like I had just said "Let's scrub all the toilets in the church for fun."

     "No really, I would," I said.

     "Well o.k. Let's go then!" Matt said smiling.

     After a quick check of our schedules (he's only home for two weeks) it was clear we didn't have much open space. We settled for Tuesday, leaving after the Junior High's Registration (at 7am) and returning on Wednesday (at 11:45) for Matt's dentist appointment.

     Yes, not exactly a long camping trip. Yet in some ways it might be a perfect first primitive camping experience for me.

     Then we ran into my brother-in-law, Shane, at the registration. "Do you know how hot it's supposed to be today?" he asked.

    "Yes, very!" I said, "but this is the only time we can go."

     "Seriously," he said. "It's supposed to be 118 with the heat index. That's gonna be miserable."

     Shane got me a little worried. Should I cancel? But there was no way to reschedule! It was today or not at all. But I hate sweating, I hate bugs, and this primitive camping trip would probably be full of both of them.

     Matt and I went. We pulled into Pere Marquette State Park in quaint little Grafton, IL. The ride down along the river was gorgeous. We had the windows down and the praise music on. This was the life.

     We quickly picked our camping spot, an adorable shady place alongside of a gorgeous um, oak, I mean elm, er gorgeous deciduous tree. We quickly set up our tent. It only took five minutes but in that short time I felt a continuous stream of sweat running between my shoulder blades and cling to the layer of fat around the back of my waist.

     I gotta get a sweat rag, I decided. I quickly grabbed a t-shirt from my bag and wiped my forehead, back and belly with it. Gross!

     "Ready to hike?" Matt asked.

     "Absolutely," I said.

     Matt pulled out the map with all of the trails marked. "Let's do the green trail," he said eyeing the map and leading the way.

     Thankfully I had grabbed my sweat rag and Matt had slipped it in his backpack along with three water canteens and granola bars. I am disgusting. I looked down at my shorts, I literally had sweat lines on my shorts and tank top. Now don't get me wrong, the lines did not mark the little area the sweat ran, the lines marked the miniscule area no sweat ran.

     As we walked around this little watering hole thing, I said, "Hey, why don't we jump in?"
     Matt looked at me like he used to when he was 8 and I said, "Time to take a bath."

     I laughed like I had only been kidding, but I really wanted to. I figured clean water dripping down had to be better than sweaty water dripping down.

     It soon became apparent that this was a difficult trail. I don't even know if I'd call it a trail. It was more like a training ground for Mount Everest.

     Matt, the leader, kept turning around, "You o.k. mom?"

     "A' course" I whispered hoarsely.

     "You need water?" he asked.

     Do I need water? Do I need water? I've only sweatted one full gallon of water and if I took off any of my clothes I could wring out another, but do I need water?

     "No, I can wait till we get to the top. I think. Is it almost here?"

     Matt looked at me a little worried like.

     It reminded me of the time we took my grandparents to Disney and the look on our faces as we yelled, "It's here. The tram's here. Are you comin?' And then the disappointment as my slow grandparents came shufflin' along just as the tram pulled away.

    "Matt, are you worrying about me?  I'm fine."

     "Then why are you breathing like a seal? Here grab some more water," he said handing me a canteen.

     By the time Matt and I hiked the green trail and back to our campsite several hours had past. We got our supplies out of the jeep and set up camp. Just for the fun I turned on the jeep and checked the temp...104 degrees!

     No, I did not turn on the air and stay in the jeep, I was a primitive camper. We collected our firewood for the night. Matt played his backpack guitar. We read.

     Matt decided it was time to make our supper. We had mac n cheese and tuna on top. Then we built the fire.

     "Do we really need a fire?" I asked. A stinkin' hot fire was the last thing I wanted to feel after a stinkin' hot day.

     "Oh yes, it'll help keep the bugs away," Matt said as he carefully positioned the twigs and newspaper.

     We decided to slide our tent a little closer because we could tell the bugs were coming out. Sweat droplets formed on the sweat streams as I climbed into our tent. Don't complain. Don't complain, I told myself. Matt has not complained once.

     Well o.k., he did once. "Mom you are not hooking your camera on your belt loop. That looks rediculous!"

     "Look at me," I said. "Ya think a small camera'll make any difference?" But I took it off anyhow.   Why spoil our adventure?

     Matt climbed in and we quickly zipped up the tent. As we lay in our little 2-man tent looking up we saw them. No, not stars!  Tiny, buzzing mosquitoes gathering into the little peak in the middle.

     "Matt, I can't take those! It's been a long day. I'm hot. I'm stinkin. I'm not gettin' eatin' alive tonight. I grabbed the flashlight. I shined it towards the clump.

     "There! Get 'em!"   I shouted, aiming the light from side to side.

     Matt half-heartedly flapped a hand against the tent top, scattering them, and killing none.

     "Matt, I'm serious. I'm not going to sleep until we kill every mosquito. There! Use both hands. YES! Keep going! There! Over there!"

    After twenty minutes Matt decided he'd be the flashlight holder and I could be the mosquito crusher. Ten minutes later we were dripping in sweat and there were still more mosquitoes. Matt dropped the flashlight and grabbed the Off Spray. Holding the nozzle up, he sprayed up into the peak of the tent. Little particles of smelly, fumey Off came wafting down all over us. Air...

    Coughing, I lunged for the door, unzippered it just enough to squeeze my head out and inhaled...hot, flamey, ashey, fire.

     I felt like crying. I could take hot. I could take stinky. I could take sweaty. I could take buggy. But did I have to take NO AIR?!

     Recoiling from the heat, I pulled my sweaty, hot, disheveled, head back in, while quickly rezippering.

      "What were you expecting...an ocean breeze?" Matt asked with a smirk.

     I started laughing. He smiled.

     "I'm actually not sweating right now," he said in disbelief.

     I waited a second, "Well I am."

* Today Matt and his dad left for their 3-day camping trip. It is 86 degrees. I got a text that said, "We are in Kaintuck Hollow at Natural Bridge." I'm really happy for them. :)

Go Cards!

2011-08-01T06:01:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday we went to a Cardinal Baseball Game against the Houston Astros. Only Meredith and Madison were with us. (Matt was leading On-Goal soccer camps and Michaela was at church camp.) It's amazing how much quieter our jeep is when we only have those two.

Anyhow as we beelined through the crowd to find our seats, we exhaled as we discovered that just as Bobby had planned, our seats were in the shade. Woo Hoo! That in itself was enough to make me want to do 2 front handsprings, 1 cartwheel and 2 roundoffs. Since I can't do any of those, I simply sat down, smiled at my man and said "Great seats!"

I must admit as I looked around, I thought nine innings. That's alot of time to watch baseball. No offense baseball players, but as one who has watched more soccer than any other sport, I'm used to watching continuous play. (I mean, baseball's like watching as much commercial time as show time.)

Anyhow inning one began. No one was in front of me so I propped my feet up on the seat ahead of me. It was perfect. As Madison and I decided, although we weren't particularly hot, the back of our legs kept sweating because (we reasoned) those red plastic seats must draw out sweat. So once my feet were up on the seat ahead of me, air could circulate, and those nasty seats wouldn't affect me.

Just as John Jay was getting ready to bat, a couple appeared in front of us. They smiled at the girls in their row and said "We'll just sit in these two end seats if you don't mind. Then we won't have to go through your row."

"That's fine," the girl nearest the end replied.

I looked at Madison as I quickly pulled my feet off the seat ahead of me and placed my legs back on the sweaty red seat.

"Too bad they didn't ask us..." Madison whispered.

I nodded.

As John Jay hit a great single into a hole in left field, the man turned around.

"Hey, this is our first time. We've been wanting to come to Busch Stadium for a while. It's nice here."

"Where are you from?" Bobby asked.

"Arlington, Texas," he said.

"Ew...are you rooting for the Astro's?" I asked, being the die-hard Card fan that I am. :)

"Not really," he said. "We're big Texas Ranger fans."

At this point his adorable wife turned around. Looking at my girls she asked, "So are you big baseball fans?"

Bobby and I smiled. Just before they sat down, he caught Meredith looking out into the field instead of at the batter getting ready to hit.

"Over there, Meredith," Bobby had said, leaning down to catch her gaze and directing her where to look.

"Uh, not really," Meredith said.

I glanced back up at the sign. Top of the 2nd? Wow...the game was actually moving along.

As the wife continued talking to my girls, I noticed the man was talking to Bobby about his profession.

"Yah, we make and market fasteners," he was saying.

"Fasteners?" Bobby questioned.

"Yep, any type," he replied. "Fasteners are on everything, whether its a screw and bolt...why look at these chairs they have a hinge-like fastener."

As I looked at my plastic red chair, the sweat seemed to ooze out even more, sealing my legs to them like the man's hard hat to the wooden beam on the old super-glue commercial.

I looked back at the man, who was now explaining that their main customers where commercial. That was a little boring, so I tuned back into his wife...

"So if you could have Christmas in July, what would you wish for?" she was asking Madison.

"Well, actually my birthday's in a week. So I'm already kinda plannin' on getting this, but it's to redo my bedroom."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Well, I want to paint it....probably like a peach color. I'm not sure about my trim, maybe I'll go with a shade of green."

I glanced back to Bobby and his new friend. Bobby was now talking about being a pastor, soccer coach, auto racer, etc.

I marvelled. Who was this couple? I glanced back to the scoreboard. In only two and a half innings they had become friends of the family.

Inning four, I watched the wife strike up a conversation with the young 20 somethings sitting to her right. Inning five, they were coaxing the 3-year-old in front of them to do the wave with the rest of the stadium. Inning six, they were talking to the fifteen-year-old boy in front of them, about his favorite sports.

I quickly decided....I liked them!

I discovered that the fastener business must be in their blood. They sell fasteners. They are fasteners. They have a way of taking whereever they are and whoever they're with and connecting to them.

I liked them even more when we finally exchanged names,as they were leaving. I glanced up at the scoreboard, Already the top of the 9th?

Yes, "We're Becky and Tom", they said as they reached over the back of their seats and shook each of our hands.

How cute is that? Our friends, the fasteners! The Card game wouldn't have been the same without them!

Free!

2011-07-28T11:26:00.000-07:00

Free!

What a great word. Ya just got to love the long e vowel sound. It sounds so deliberate, decisive yet carefree. See?

Free conjures up happy memories of free space in BINGO, a smile maker for kids at garage sales, the sight of a helium balloon taking off into the sky. Free...I like it.

Yet, there is something I may actually like better. Better than free? What could it be? A bargain! I know bargains are best because I'll brag about them more. Anyone who compliments the bargain item will get a monologue complete with all the details of price and store name.

I know. I've even done it at Aldi's, mind you. Yes, as pitiful as it sounds, once they had bread marked down to something like 25 cents. I flipped open my phone while standing in line and sent a mass text to my friends letting them know.

The new top on clearance for $3 at Old Navy, anyone who compliments it will for sure get an earful about the bargain and where they can find it.

I don't know about you, but I don't really do that with free stuff. Is it because usually free stuff is the stuff you don't necessarily love, like a ratty one eyed teddy in a garage sale bin, or some tops that no longer fit your sister, or the free space that everybody got in BINGO?

What if you got something you absolutely adored for free? Would you talk about that? What thing would I love to get right now? A motorcycle! That's it! What if I got a free motorcycle today...one that runs and is an adorable shade of baby blue? Would I decide that free was better than a bargain?

But what if I found it for $500 and bargained the guy down to $100. Would I like it better?

Doesn't make sense, but I would! Everytime I'd ride it I'd smile to myself and think that was pretty amazing that I got this for a hundred bucks. I'd smile to myself, think good thoughts about myself and have a great day.

Free, if it really is something I love would make me think good thoughts about the giver. How sweet! Why'd they give me that? What good thing had I done for them? Would they want something in return? Oh no! Do I have to give them something in return? Are they expecting it? Will it feel weird if I don't give them something back? Will I have to avoid them if I don't have any money to give them something back?

Although my initial thoughts would be positive about the giver, it wouldn't take long for those thoughts to go back to me. Only instead of thinking good thoughts about myself, I'd be thinking worry-filled thoughts about what I needed to do.

Bargains must indeed be better than free. Bargains keep me as the subject of the sentence. Bargains keep me as the protagonist in the story. Bargains keep me thinking good thoughts about my favorite person...Me!

Hey...maybe that's my favorite word instead.

Me!

UGH?

2011-07-17T21:59:00.000-07:00

Ugh...that was my initial thought when Pastor Jeff asked me to chaperone our youth group. They were leading a Vacation Bible School in Pittsfield and staying in a hunting lodge down there.

I had been mentally planning all that I was going to do when my girls were gone. I knew I could get lots done...but not anymore.

I drove down on Tuesday night. What would I do all week?, I wondered. I really didn't have "a job." I counted the number of days.  I basically just had Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night. Three days should go fast, I thought.

When I got to the Lodge, I was pleasantly surprised. It was beautiful. It had a gorgeous lake. And most importantly of all, it had air conditioning!

I was greeted by Meredith. She showed me around. We walked around the lake to the dock where Michaela was busy swimming and playing games.  Madison was playing soccer on the side lawn. Cool, I thought.

That night, Pastor Jeff had a "Praise and Worship" time. I sat in awe as each kid prayed. I rejoiced as hand after hand raised with praises to God. "I'm thankful God kept us safe through the tornado warning." I'm just glad God cooled everything down." "I'm glad we're all getting along." "I still can't believe God brought us 49 kids!"

As I lay down that night, sharing a room with Deb Casula, the ultimate teen chaperone, I had a hard time sleeping. That's not normal for me! We were so busy sharing stories of what God had done in our lives. That night we had our own praise and worship service. As I fell asleep I wondered, why had I wanted these days to pass?

The next morning, we arrived at Pittsfield First Baptist Church. The first VBSers arrived. A stocky older boy and cute little sister, sheepishly got out of their car and shyly headed to our welcome tent.

I hurried over.

"Hi. I'm Ms. Lisa."

The young man shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "I...I'm Levi."

"He's my big brother. I'm Chloe." The little sister said confidently.

Soon we were leading VBSers into the church for songtime. I noticed Levi chose the very back of the auditorium. While everyone else was singing, doing the motions and hopping around, Levi stood awkwardly.

I hated that no one was sitting on the other side of him. I quickly made my way beside him. After song time, Levi headed to his first station. I walked beside him.

"You ever had sushi?" He asked.

"I have," I replied in surpise.

"I like it. Do you?" Levi asked.

"I do!"

"I really like cooking," Levi said with a smile.

"Oh yeah? What do you cook?" I asked.

"Well you know those dinner rolls?" he asked.

I nodded.

"You take one of those and cut it in half. Now don't use a butter knife. Use a knife with jagged edges. Then butter both sides real good."

I smiled.

"Keep the roll open and put both sides down in a frying pan. Brown it. Then take it out and fry an egg in the pan. Put lots of salt and pepper on it. Then fry 2 slices of baloney. Then put it all in the roll. That's all."

"Wow, that does sound good!" I told Levi.

He smiled.
I had made a friend.

I found myself thinking about Levi after VBS was over. He was precious! Here he was an eleven year old getting ready to move into a difficult stage of life. He needed to know Jesus to navigate through those tough years. I prayed for him.

That night, Kassie (one of our youth) and I talked about her Bible lesson.

"How about we add in an invitation" I asked her. "That way if God's working we'll know and can give kids the opportunity to trust in Christ."

Kassie liked the idea.

As the invitation was given.

You guessed it! Levi and 4 other kids received the gift of salvation. I was amazed. God had worked in these young hearts, revealing Himself.

How could I have been so hesitant and negative about giving my free time to join the youth group?

On Sunday morning, many of our youth went back to Pittsfield First Baptist to enjoy a "Celebration of VBS" church service led by Pastor Mike. Unfortunately I couldn't go.

After church, I anxiously awaited my girls coming home. How had it gone? Did many of our VBSers come back?

My girls eventually arrived.

"Mom," Madison said excitedly, "Levi and his little sister were there! Levi asked where you were. He wanted me to give you this."

I reached out and took a piece of folded up white paper. Inside Levi had drawn a gnome. In the corner, he wrote: To Mrs. Lisa, a good friend of mine and god. Drawn by Levi. 7/14/11

What a blessing I had been so close to missing!

God replaced my selfishness with praise.

God replaced my hesitancy with anticipation.

God replaced my ugh with a wow!

The Kind of Person He is

2011-07-02T13:57:00.000-07:00

We had an amazing week in Branson with my mom, dad and sisters the other week. Yes, we were in Branson because 'The Studebaker Meet' was in nearby Springfield. For those of you that don't know, my dad loves those old cars. Growing up we always had our annual summer trip to wherever the National Studebaker Meet was. We've been to Seattle, Boston, South Bend, Lancaster, Grand Rapids...everywhere!

So what a treat to get a 'blast from the past' and have my children get to enjoy 'The Studebaker Meet.' In typical Hackenberger fashion, my family (who all lives in Ohio) drove up together in my dad's bus.

On Thursday we headed to 'The Studebaker Meet.' It was noon when we got there and we were all starved. Not many of the food stands were open, but we did notice a Chinese stand. My girls and I quickly ordered our favorites, while my sister, Eve, and her kids decided what they wanted. As we waited for our food, the lady took their order.

As our food came out, Eve said, "Go ahead and eat.  Don't wait for us.  Your food will get cold."

Meredith stood there, holding her orange chicken and bottle of Pepsi. "We'll wait. That's the kind of people we are."

I looked at Meredith, thinking, "What? Speak for yourself. I'm starving. This place is slow! Our food will get cold!"

Fortunately, Eve repeated. "Go eat! We'll join you in a minute."

I didn't argue. She's my older sister.

As we walked to find seating inside the swap meat, with air conditioning, I thought of Mer's words..."That's the kind of people we are."

It sounded so- so noble...so not like us.

A few days have past. We're back home. I'm enjoying the summer. I am loving getting to walk every morning! My favorite part is that I'm all by myself and I can just pray away for the 40-60 minutes.

For some reason, this week particularly I'm noticing the difference.

No, not the difference in my weight. Let's not talk about that. (O.k. lets! Yesterday I ate a grapefruit and oatmeal for a snack, at two different times, and this morning I gained 1/2 a pound. Anyone who eats a grapefruit and oatmeal should be LOSING weight.)

Back to 'the difference.' Actually the difference is even better than a weight loss, it is the prayer difference. This week Matt's been in Ohio working for my dad.  Daily I have prayed for him. Sometimes going back to where you used to live can be disappointing. Friends move on or aren't there. The feeling of it not being the same can leave you feeling displaced. I prayed for God's leading and that he'd have a great time!

Thursday night he called.

"It's great being here," he said. "I can tell that God is bumping me into people." He went on to tell me of a friend's dad he saw while jogging.  "He even hugged me when I was sweaty," he said. "He invited me over for supper and I got to catch up with the whole family."

From 'precious-beyond-words' neighbors, to friends and family, Matt's having a great time!

Circumstance?

Not a chance!  That's just the kind of 'person' God is.

What would you wish for?

2011-06-25T19:35:00.000-07:00

Do you you remember these as a kid? We used to pick them, close our eyes, think of the one thing we'd want most in our whole lives, then hold them up to our face and blow. As we watched all the little white puffs dance in the wind, an excitement would come over us. What if our wish actually came true?

Yesterday I was a taking a walk. Having summers off is a wonderful gift! I so wish every person got to have summers off! I have time to walk or bike daily. I'm loving it!

Anyways as I was walking by a cornfield a little puff of white appeared...just a few steps ahead of me. I lunged for it.

Yes! Caught it!

I giggled.

I held it up to my face, closed my eyes and wished, "May every person know you, sweet Jesus!"

I blew and watched as all the little white puffs danced in the wind. An excitement filled me as I thought what if every single person living today knew Jesus. No, I don't mean 'know of Jesus' I mean really know Jesus, talk to Him like a best friend, get lost in the love of their lives 'know Jesus.'

Instead of being consumed with worry because they were recently cut from their job, they'd have peace...Jesus knows, He'd work it all out.

Instead of being grouchy because they had snapped at their husband or kids that day, they'd apologize and feel the incredible grace of being forgiven by their most important people and the Savior who loves them, just as they are.

Instead of being overwhelmed by a to do list that is longer than a 24 hour day, they'd ask God to help them sort out what needs to happen and what can wait. Then when they accomplished the "need to's" they'd smile. They'd know they'd done 'just fine.'

Instead of getting stuck in the quicksand of negative thinking, How'd I forget to get my husband's laundry done? How'd I forget to get Madison to her orthodontist appointment? How'd I forget to send Matt his check? What is my problem? They would have the power to substitute God's truth and think of that instead. Jesus loves me, even when I mess up. He calls me 'His bride.' He knows my name, my every thought, my secret dreams and the things that drive me crazy about myself. He knows me...and He adores me. Just like the t-shirt Meredith bought the other day says, "I may not be perfect but Jesus thinks I'm to die for."

Instead of getting lost in the frenzy of busyness, going from thing to thing, they'd learn to live each day to the fullest, yes, still having to get some things done, yet valuing their relationships and committing to build there and apply generous amounts of time there, too.

I no longer wish for a swimming pool or a pony as I once did. No, I'm 45 and I may be a little wiser - maybe. :) But this wish can change a life. I know. It has changed mine!

P.S. Have questions about "how to?" Call me. It's my favorite thing in the world to talk about!

Happy Father's Day

2011-06-19T16:57:00.000-07:00

My Dad! How I love him! We share so many traits.

My mom always told me how after having 3 girls, I was born. She gasped. Could it be? She stared at me...I was a perfect miniature of my dad. Yes!

Then the doctor proclaimed, "It's a girl."

No...how could it be? I looked just like him. She checked just to be sure. Yep. The doctor was right.

Then she cried.

Why? I'm not for sure. Was she really wanting a boy? Did I look so much like a boy she was worried? I don't know. I'm afraid to ask.

So yes, I share my dad's nose, his grin, his short eyelashes, his determination, his optimism, his ability to dream, his hard work, his ability to teach, his love for his family.

I didn't just have a father, though. I had a daddy. We would beg my dad to play "throw us out the window." He'd scoop us up and in a spinning motion pretend to, you guessed it, throw us out the window. With each swoop toward the window, he would count...1, 2...on 3 he spun us around in a big circle while saying "whee."

He also spent time with us. He often came up to the house to ask for volunteers to check oil with him.  My sister, Carla, and I would carry oil cans back and forth between the trucks and refilling them in the garage.  I remember him unlatching the side of the hoods of his R-Model Mack trucks and telling us to see if we could pull it down by ourselves. Yes, of course, my strong, younger sister, Carla could. I remember struggling with my hood and watching as my dad pushed just a little so I could, too.

My Dad!

He never once got mad when in my 18th year, I had not one or two, but three car accidents! But it might explain why the very next year as a freshman in college I got a plane ticket to get me home every holiday.

My Dad!

When I didn't get a teaching job the year after I graduated, it was my dad who said, "It's o.k. You'll get one next year." It was my dad who said, after my husband graduated and had no pastoral opportunities, "It's o.k. Come to Ohio and work for me. That'll give you time until the right job comes along." It was my dad who said, when he went to a BMX race with Matt and I and Matt was disrespectful, and I felt like the worst mom ever, "This is a tough age. He'll be o.k."

My Dad!

My dad's always had a way to ease the tough times.  My dad's always had a way of giving me hope that things would be o.k. And he's always been right...oh er, except for the teaching job the next year. :)

I never doubted that my dad believed in me. I never doubted that my dad saw me as "worth his time." I never doubted that my dad loved me.

So much of me is him. That's the best gift ever.

My Dad!

Crazy Song!

2011-06-14T19:35:00.000-07:00

Last night as Bobby and I caught the end of "A Few Good Men" Madison and Michaela came bursting in, laughing so hard they could hardly catch their breath. We were at the part where Tom Cruise is interrogating Jack Nicholson right before he cracks. We gave the girls "the look."

Amazingly, even Michaela, kept it quiet until a commercial came on a few minutes later. Then they exploded. Between laughs, Madison told us about the scene they had just witnessed.

Meredith had been standing at the sink, razor in hand, trying to shave her armpits. Now for an ordinary person that's not such a big deal. But for tiny Meredith, with tiny armpits, getting a straight one inch razor to shave her egg shaped pit is a job. Yet she persisted. All the scraping started irritating her skin.

Without warning she burst into song...

Zits in the pits,
Zits in the pits,
Lookin' like a fool with zits in the pits.

She's some Meredith! :)

Babies!

2011-06-05T20:43:00.000-07:00

I got Madison on the charter bus to go to Washington D.C. with her Freshman class then zipped back to church to teach my 3rd and 4th grade class. I snuck in as the opening singing was going on. I glanced up to see three junior highers leading them in "Love, Love, Love your Enemies, Pray, Pray, Pray for those who persecute you." Ooh, one of them was my Mer! I beamed.

I glanced around the children. Where was my class?

Most all of them had been promoted up to their new classes last Sunday. I looked at the back of their heads, mentally noting who was now going to be in my class. Kole Baumann, Alainna Butler, Jorden Schonecase, Emma Heilwagen, Tara Garner...babies! I had many of them when they were in the 3's and 4's class. They're too little to be going into third grade!

In the blink of an eye, Madison had grown up. As I helped her pack for her trip last night, I noticed a little framed picture of her as a 4-year old, wearing bunny ears, with her hands cupped up like bunny paws. Tears flowed uninvited.

"Mom," Madison asked gently.

I held the picture to my chest. "Look at you. You were my baby!" Her chubby cheeks and round face, I had almost forgotten.

Madison pulled it away and in typical Madison fashion put it back on the shelf where it belonged...but this time backwards.

"We gotta pack!"

Yes, my little tasker was right.

I glanced around at the babies that were somehow going to be in my class. I thought of the first time I had met Kole and he had no shoes on. While in the basement visiting with his mom and dad, we glanced over to find 2-year-old Kole, perched up on the Foosball table. Kole had just been 2. How could he be a third-grader?

It hit me.

To get the amazing privilege to build into a slice of life for each of these babies was off-the-charts incredible. I get to be their teacher. I get to share the awesomeness of a God who knows their names, their favorite foods and their favorite colors. I get to teach them Bible verses they will know forever! I get to disciple them to be true followers of the one living God. I get to shake them up so that the fragrance of Christ can pour out of their lives everyday or at least some days.

They will grow up fast...and I get to share in that!

Amazing!

The Book I Read All the Way Through

2011-05-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

Yes, it doesn't happen very often. It's a little embarrassing to admit. Yet, the truth is I have a stack of books (I had a stack of books till my husband put them into one column the length of Jack's Beanstalk and carefully balanced them all the way down the stairs and laid them on my office floor) that I've read some of but haven't finished.

Yes, I am a teacher. Yes, I love books...perhaps just a little too much! Besides, at night who knows what I might be in the mood for - Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul, Stories for a Woman's Heart, The Life of Amy Carmichael, Traveling Light or Jewish Culture for Dummies. I mean I like to keep my options open.

Truth is I did finish a book last night! It was one of the many books I got for Mother's Day. Are you dieing to hear the book's name? Captivating, Unveiling the Mystery of A Woman's Soul by John and Stasi Eldredge.

You've all read it, haven't you? You're all thinking, What took you so long to read this book that everyone raved about...six years ago?

Yes, Matt's girlfriend was here for the past few days. She's read it twice and even done a book study on it. :) So much for being on the cutting edge.

So why was it so great?

I think one of the most memorable parts was a point that Stasi made that coincided with a conversation I recently had. The coming together of real life with a succinct quote...BAM!

I had left a conversation on parenting with a friend. We were discussing disrespectful children and getting very specific. So specific, she was addressing my child. Now I am the first to admit, my children are not perfect. Yet still, as I left that conversation, I felt defensive. I felt judged. I'm sure my friend didn't realize how I was feeling. Perhaps, I should've let her her know. At any rate, when I opened Captivating that night, I read "A woman of true beauty offers others the grace to be and the room to become."

BAM! "A woman of true beauty offers others the grace to be and the room to become."

I immediately thought, Have I ever made a friend feel defensive or judged? Am I intentional about making those around me feel grace and love? Do they leave me and feel hope?

The grind of life can feel forever, like pedalling up Mount Everest on a bigwheel. It can be unsettling like sticky fingers with no running water. It can be annoying like a wet sock. For Pete's sake, I don't want to make it any harder on my friends...I'll save that for my enemies, thank you. :)

(Just kiddin...sorta.)

Twin Teaching

2011-05-18T20:48:00.000-07:00

Quincy United hosted it's annual soccer tournament.

Madison's Team lost their first game, then won their second. Semi-Finals were then scheduled for Sunday at 10:00. Uh-Oh, I thought. Of course, it would have to be when I teach my Children's Church class! What to do?

I considered asking the 3 wonderful subs that had helped me the previous 6 weeks during SLYSA games and tournaments. But no, I couldn't give them enough notice.

As I was thinking out loud, Meredith asked, "You just need someone for tomorrow?"

"Yep," I said. I want it to be someone the kids will love. Someone the kids will connect to and learn from."

Meredith smiled, "Uh, could I do it?"

By this time Michaela had come in. "Me too? That'd be so awesome! Mom...can we?"

"Mom, ple.e.e.ease!" Meredith chimed in.

Now I was smiling. My girls were begging to teach children's church. No one begs to teach children's church! But I wasn't complaining!

"Girls, you can't teach alone. You'll at least need an adult there with you."

Meredith frowned. "Well, as long as they don't take over."

I thought for a few minutes. I remembered back to when I was in highschool and I first started teaching the 2's and 3's class. It was horrible!

What kind of children were these? They didn't know how to sit down. They just wanted to play. They weren't even listening to my 45 minute lesson!

Yes...not a good thing to throw me, the newbe, into a class without guidance. It almost kept me from doing the very thing I love and was made for.

Hm...It really mattered who that adult was.

It had to be me. As much as I wanted to be with Madison, I knew I had to be with Meredith and Michaela.

I told the girls I would be the adult.

"O.k." Michaela reluctantly agreed, "just remember we're the teachers!"

The girls ran through their ideas and plans with me. It sounded good.

The next morning, as I came zipping into class in my black sweats, there was Meredith. She sat at the front of the table. She flashed me a quick smile, then finished explaining the "cooperative scale" as Michaela wrote the kids initials on it.

Wow, my girls are really cooperating themselves, I thought. They usually cooperate about as well as a teenagers colic on prom night.

Meredith then read a story about siblings who didn't cooperate and fought over the remote. She then asked a discussion question. Several children blurted out. "Hands up," Meredith called. Immediately the kids hands went up.

Wow, the class is really listening. They are engaged in the lesson.

The morning went quickly. I found myself in awe when Meredith asked Michaela to go get the pitcher of water for snack and.....Michaela did!

My twins have done many things together. They shared my uterus, sippy cups, and my lap. But today they shared in something even more intimate...loving and serving their Jesus!

Today Madison had a loss. Meredith and Michaela...a win!

Soccer Moms

2011-05-02T14:59:00.000-07:00

Soccer moms...I've been one for a long time. There are as many types of us as bags of junk food in the Walmart aisle.

There's the soccer mom that hyperventilates when their child gets bumped off the ball. There's the soccer mom that yells "Be tough" when their child goes up for a header and smashes heads with their opponent and lands in a heap.

There's the soccer mom that packs their child's bag complete with 3 pairs of socks in both team colors, 2 extra jerseys and a can of fabreze. There's the soccer mom who's never even opened their child's bag, ever.

Soccer moms. You'd think since I've been doin' this awhile I'd have this thing down. I mean, I started back when Matt was 3.  That was 17 years ago.

So why is it that two weeks ago at a tournament with Madison, I started really noticing a particular soccer mom?  She was video-taping every game. She went on to tell me that after the game she and her daughter were going to watch the video and dissect her play.

Wow,  I thought. That's impressive. Just think how much farther ahead her daughter will be when she can actually see for herself what she did on the field.

I subconsciously tuned in even more to this soccer mom. What else does she do well? I thought. Besides buying a video camera or learning how to use the one in the closet from the dark ages what else can I do to improve?

I watched as she yelled for her daughter. "Take the shot!" "Shoot the ball." Hm, maybe I should be yelling more. Does Madison need to shoot more? Probably. Do I need to be yelling that? Probably!

Besides Madison would like it better than what I had yelled that morning. What's wrong with yelling, "Work harder, Madison! Good job, she's workin' hard! Get after it!"

O.k., in all fairness to Madison it was more specific than that.  She hated when I yelled "She's workin' hard!" (one or two times.)

"Never, ever," she said with eyes that mimicked mine when I used to substitute teach, "ever yell that again!"

I bet this super soccer mom had never yelled that!

I glanced back over to super soccer mom.

I could be just like the super soccer mom. Just think how much better Madison could be if I were like super soccer mom.

Minutes later as Madison came off the field and we were driving to get something to eat, I asked her what she thought about me videotaping her games.

"Sounds like a good idea," she said.

Why had I never thought of this before, I berated myself.

The next morning at Madison's game, as I waited for it to begin, I looked around. Where's the super soccer mom? I thought. Oh...way over there?

Perfect!

I want to watch the game, not a soccer mom. I want to yell like I always do (except of course "She's workin' hard.") I want to focus on my Lily, not on myself. I'm no super soccer mom. I'm Madison's mom.  :) And that's o.k.

The Unexpected

2011-04-30T20:15:00.000-07:00

Being a mother is full of the unexpected. I remember holding that dear, sweet baby boy and envisioning what he would be like.

Oh, he'd be an athlete, just like his daddy. He'd love reading, just like his mommy. Most importantly he'd love Jesus just like his daddy and mommy. As I organized all of the adorable baby boy clothes I had gotten at showers, I anticipated the day he would wear each of them. The little, dressy church outfits were my favorite.

Fast forward a couple of years and "Matt Cowman! Stop it! You are wearing that to church."

Matt, at this point, hated collared, button-down shirts. He somehow managed on the short trip to church, to break the button on his blue oxford cloth shirt. I was livid, as I rummaged through the church kitchen drawer looking for a needle and thread, when I discovered I couldn't even sew it back on...he literally broke the button.

Matt was never a typical first born.

In Mrs. Kniffen's fourth grade class, he spontaneously burst out in leading the class in "Who Let the Dogs Out?" "Woof, Woof, Woof, Woof!"

That was Matt.

When many chose limos to go to the prom, Matt rounded up a group of friends and their dates and they took the church bus.

That was Matt.

As Matt prepared to leave for college I sat down with paper. What would I tell my son? What advice would I give to the young man who had been nothing like I had expected?

I decided to make my letter up-front. I numbered each piece of advice. #1 I printed on the side of the paper. What should be number 1, I thought to myself? What might he need to remember above all else? Chances were that he might not even read numbers 12 or 20. So number 1 should be good.

#1 - Don't let anybody ever put you into a mold. God made you one-of-a-kind. Be that! Don't let a Christian school put you into a Christian mold. God made you to be your own person, Matt Cowman. Stay true to that!

Last weekend I found myself at Vatterott with my one-of-a-kind son. It was the day he had talked about for months and months. Yes, it was dread-lock day.

As I watched for three hours as knots, braids and wax mangled together into long strips, I thought back to my advice letter.

What was I thinking?

No, Matt Cowman, you've not been what I've expected. Oh no...so, so much more!

Easter...

2011-04-24T14:13:00.000-07:00

Easter...ah a time for traditions. A spring bouquet, going to mom's for a ham dinner after church, Easter baskets with chocolate bunnies and the infamous Easter outfit! I remember Matt's first Easter when I was frantically hemming a pair of little tan corduroys. It, of course, had a matching cream colored sweater, with a Beaxtrix Potter bunny in the upper right corner. Yes, I had planned for him to wear a darling pair of plaid shorts with suspenders and a matching solid light blue shirt, but it was freezing out that Easter morning. I had to quickly change plans.

So there I was...stuck with either being a horrible mother and dressing my baby inappropriately, but very cutely, or changing Easter clothes at the last minute. The corduroy outfit was a great Easter choice too,` but too bad those corduroys were longer than his little 9 month legs.

O.k so the clothes theme is a frazzling Easter tradition. Let's move on to a more positive one. When we moved to Ohio, on that Easter morning (Matt's 2nd, mind you) at church, my sister, Ranae, greeted me with "He is risen."

I smiled...not sure what else to do. Yes, Jesus certainly was risen. What a nice reminder, although the awkward silence that followed seemed a little, well...awkward. Being a sister, she noticed immediately and said, "You're supposed to say, 'He is risen indeed.' That's what the early church did."

"How cool," I said. "He is risen indeed!" From that point on, this became my Easter greeting to my family. :) In fact, Meredith just woke up a little bit ago. I smiled and said, "He is risen!" Meredith smiled back and said, "He is risen indeed!"

Traditions really are a pretty neat thing. Just the other day I heard of a new one. When Jewish people were being served and had to leave the table, a wadded up napkin meant, I'm done. Go ahead and clear my place. A folded up napkin meant just the opposite, I'm not finished. I'll be back soon."

As my friend shared this story, I continued waiting for 'the rest of the story.' Clearly it was lacking the punch line, the reason for telling the story in the first place. Then, my friend's wife, noticing my continued anticipation said, "Bob, tell her the rest."

She, obviously decided herself, that his pause was too long and she continued. Think back to the tomb, when the women rushed in after the angel had rolled the stone away. Remember Jesus' clothes after he had risen?

Chills spread down my arms.

Tears filled my eyes.

Oh yes, they were folded!

He is NOT finished! He is coming back!

To this, sin-sick pilgrim, that is the best news ever! "He is risen!" "He is risen indeed."

Forgiveness

2011-04-13T21:17:00.000-07:00

The other day I was hurrying to pick Madison up at soccer practice. I grabbed the keys out of my purse, slid my feet into my soccer slides and headed to the door.

Uh-Oh!

I looked down. My right foot had slid out. What? I bent over and picked up the shoe. The seam on the right had ripped. I glanced at my watch.

Yikes! 6:55!

I flicked off the good slide and zipped to the jeep in my socks.

On the whole way to the soccer field I kept thinkin' about my ripped slide. I loved my slides. I wore them all the time...to take Hercules out for a potty break, to pick up children from dance, choir, soccer and friends, to take the trash to the dumpster, to run to the church and other quick runs.

How did they rip?

When I got back home with Madison, I was still thinking about it. While pulling my dirty socks off, I yelled. "Who ripped my slides?"

Seconds later Michaela appeared. "Mom..."

Michaela...of course! I thought, as she continued.

"I just slid into them when I was taking Hercules out and they ripped."

"Did you think about telling me?" I asked accusingly, my voice rising by the minute.

"M.o.o.o.m," she said with a look of 'get real.' "Didn't you bring them with you when we moved from Ohio...ah, about s.i.x.x.x.x years ago?"

I gave her the raised eyebrow of Eunice, my mother, and said, "I wear those all the time! I love my slides!"

I looked back at her spicy gaze that had a tinge of sorrow mixed in, just a tinge, mind you.

Our eyes locked, I was beginning to hear the music right before the gun drawls in the old west shows. You know, the kind that goes 'Woo -e woo-e woo, woo e- ew.'

Then out of no where popped"...but I love you more."

Wow! Where had that come from? I wanted blood! Yet somewhere...grace had sprung forth like the first tulip of spring, vibrant, fresh and unpredictable.

It felt good.

I had not over-reacted. Madison would be proud of me. Yes, the mother that gives her mini-squeals when she puts the wrong amount of mayo in the recipe or when she loses track of time or when she's running late for school.

No over-reacting from this mama...not this time, at least.

My thoughts were quickly interrupted by Michaela's voice.

I glanced up at her confident face with a bit of smirk..."Forgiveness, ya gotta love it!"

The Bachelor

2011-03-15T18:51:00.000-07:00

"Meredith, don't you dare cry! That woman signed up to be on this game. She knew what she was signing up for."

"Dad, she really wanted to marry him. I just feel bad."

"NO! She knew this was guy was going to be dating lots of other women."

"I know it, but-"

"Meredith, this is not real life!"

"I know, but that doesn't mean it's not an interesting show to watch."

Madison smiled, "I think we should stick with Michaela's quote from when she was little.

"Jesus, I just love you so much I would marry you- but you live too far away."

Denying Yourself

2011-03-14T16:47:00.000-07:00

Chuck Swindoll said something the other day while I was between Madison's dance and soccer practice. He told the story of a woman who brought her baby to General MacArthur. (Why General MacArthur...I'm not so sure. I mean Jesus is one thing, a war general, something totally different!) Anyhow, as this famous, decorated war-hero held up the baby he simply said, "May you live to deny yourself."

Ouch!

Have I taught my children to deny themselves? More importantly have I modelled it? E.e.e.e.e.w!

Now if you asked my children if they've been denyed, I can only guess they'd have a chorus louder than the Mormon Tabernacle, singing "yes."

Matt would tell about the time he had $5 for spending money at church camp ($1 a day for snacks) and every other kid in his cabin had $20, at least. (O.k., I'm feeling a little bad, here.)

Madison would tell of the time we went shopping between soccer games at a tournament. Her friend's mom generously pulled out two $20's and a casual "Have fun." Madison got a crisp 10 spot and a "Spend wisely cuz that's all your gettin'."

Michaela would tell of a high school soccer game when her friends pulled out a wad of cash while she was trying to decide on the popcorn or two red blow pops.

Meredith would remember the time a friend was spending the night. She complained we had no good snacks. My response, "What we have is what we have!" Her little friend got out her cell phone (of which Meredith does not have) and called her mom who within a matter of minutes brought over 2 blue Gatorades, 2 packs of gum, 2 boxes of red hots, 2 boxes of family sized bugles, 2 ring pops, 2 boxes of Oreos and 2 cans of Coke. Oops! Make that 2 20-ounce bottles of Coke.

All of a sudden I'm not feeling so badly. Maybe having a tight budget has actually been a blessing. Who would've thunk it?

The Beauty of White

2011-02-26T19:12:00.000-08:00

It snowed AGAIN! Hearing that forecast made me shake my head and scream "No," inside, of course. Then afterschool on Thursday as I pushed the door open to head for home, my breath caught within me. Huge snowflakes danced in swirling frenzies before skimming the ground, already blanketed in white.

I giggled.

Exquisite, pure, tingly, radiant.

I am sick of winter. Yes! I am ready for spring. Yes! Yet, the beauty of white before me as I drove home made me shake my head and whisper, "You are something God!"

Presidents Day

2011-02-20T20:22:00.000-08:00

Presidents Day - Family Day...pancakes at home, car trip to Springfield, "Mom, don't get grouchy. Do you want to start this day off bad?" "Wake up Dissie-Doo" in a tone I rarely hear the girls use with each other. "Michaela, that is a perfect fit. You have to get it!" "When are we stopping to eat?" "Madison, you got that Aeropostle sweatshirt for $10? Wow!" "Let's go.o.o.o. We've been in this store forever!" "Where's the bathroom?"

The sounds of a family day. I planned on blogging. I listened. I made mental notes. I listened some more. I noticed the little things. I talked less. I listened more.

It was good.

I enjoyed the moments of family day...all of them.

Thanks George and Abe...and Bobby. :)

Du-uh!

2011-02-14T20:16:00.000-08:00

"We're not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us. We are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be." C.S. Lewis

In my own peon words last March when the school budget cuts were the talk of all non-tenured teachers, "I know God will do what's best for me. I'm just not sure if it's Pizza Hut's pan pizza best or spinach and collard greens best."

That's a big difference. Quite frankly, I don't normally like what's best for me. I love dessert. I often order soup at restaurants because I truly do love Covey's Habit of beginning with the end in mind. My exercise is hurrying to the van to take my children from one place to another. My sleep...as stable as my daughters- aged 12 and 14. So much for 'good for me things.'

I want what I call best. At least I think I do...unless it has devastating consequences, things I could never have foreseen, things that would splinter everything that means most to be.

That's scary ground. I think I'll just tiptoe back to the high road thank you.

Yet, the good for me God is sometimes scary, too. "...We are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be."

Maybe "good for me" anything leaves me wrinkling my nose like a whiff of eggs in the hard boiling process. Maybe I should drop the word 'good' and simply go with 'the for you God.' That sounds alot better. Anything 'for me' sounds pretty good.

And that is precisely my God. He is for me! He is for you! He sent His son to take your bullet. He sent His son to take mine. That's love. Radical, Ridiculous, Insane!

So what choice to do I have? Trust my finite, limited, view of my life or give it to the all-knowing, all-powerful, fully loving, fully for me God?

In the words of my daughters..."Du-uh."

The Sneak Peek of Heaven

2011-02-07T19:07:00.000-08:00

"Stars are the sneak peek of heaven," Michaela said the other night while we were driving home.

"What?" I asked.

"Stars are the sneak peek of heaven," she said matter-of-factly.

As we pulled into our driveway and parked, I quickly got out my daytimer and jotted it down. It was brilliant!

Yes, I have quoted Michaela before. "Winning is fun." Yet this quote was different, somehow. :)

"Stars are the sneak peek of heaven."

Truth is I've felt restless these last few weeks...antsy, bored. I'm guessing it's a cabin fever thing, a tired of winter and longing for spring thing. It's embarrassing to admit. Yet it is my reality. I've been praying these last few weeks, "Lord show me you. Following you is the great adventure...seeing you work, seeing you love, seeing you impact."

So how can I feel bored, antsy and restless? I must be missing something.

"Stars are the sneak peek of heaven."

I smile. A sneak peek of heaven...I envision Christmas cards from when I was a kid. Christmas cards where children stare wide-eyed in disbelief at the array of presents under a glistening tree...the first sneak peek of Christmas.

"Stars are the sneak peek of heaven."

This is the ultimate sneak peek.

Maybe a sneak peek of heaven is just what I need right now!

Bandaids

2011-01-30T14:37:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite stories happened to a friend of mine. She has twin boys. They are in kindergarten this year. How precious is that? Anyhow, the one twin had a boo boo. His sweet brother ran to help and reappeared with a maxi-pad while announcing excitedly, "...the world's largest bandaid!"

It still makes me smile, just thinking about it.

Misconceptions...it's happened to me before. I think one thing, my husband thinks another. When he asked me to take Michaela to her soccer game on Wednesday night (and we both had meetings) I thought I was taking her and he was picking her up. He thought I was taking her and picking her up. Uh Oh! Misconception.

When I have repeatedly told my husband we don't do Sunday suppers, rather Sunday night breakfasts or snacks after night church. Then last weekend when we had the single missionary stay with us and I made homemade Monteray Jack Chicken Soup and he looked at me questioningly. "I thought we don't have Sunday night suppers?" he asked. Uh Oh! Misconception.

I told Matt to drink lots of milk since he broke his right foot over Christmas Break. Then when he comes home for his doctor's appointment last week and says the doctor said his foot has a ways to go. I asked, "Are you drinking lots of milk?" He replies, "A glass at each meal." "Three glasses a day" I complain. Uh Oh! Misconception.

When I catch my daughters putting their dirty dishes in the sink instead of the dishwasher and I give them the evil eye. They reply, "I don't have the kitchen chores today. I have the bathroom." Uh Oh! Misconception. (Although I know they really do know what they should do.)

Uh Oh's and Misconceptions! I don't like them! I wish I could fix them with my little friend's 'world's largest bandaid.'

I can't!

They will always be there. There will always be conflict! Shoot! For this middle child who hates conflict...Guess what? I hate it! I hate it more than scrubbing the toilet and cleaning up dog vomit put together.

Some misconceptions are real, like my first incident with my hubby. We truly were thinking two different things. Some misconceptions are cover-ups like my daughters and the dishwasher- responses to keep from getting in trouble (and throw Matt and his lack of milk drinking into this category, too.)

I know about cover-ups, too...my responses to keep from getting in trouble. They often come in the form of excuses or blaming somebody else. "Sorry girls, I was late to take you to dance because my meeting went long." (I can't leave when I need to, to take care of my family?) "Sorry honey, I was going to get your laundry done, but I just forgot." (Is forgetting a viable excuse? Or does it show the limited value I place on caring for my family?)

Yuck! What kind of a blog is this? I'm instantly not liking it! I hate misconceptions! I hate even more looking at my cover-up misconceptions! Getting real with myself may be the hardest job I have. It's one I avoid as much as possible.

Can we stop here? Can we go back to the light-hearted 'world's largest bandaid story?'

Unfortunately, once I've exposed my heart and it's weakness, I can't pretend I don't know.

My boo-boo is invisible, yet it's real.

Lord, only you can heal my sinful heart...and that's for sure better than the 'world's largest bandaid.'

The Circus

2011-01-15T09:06:00.000-08:00

The girls are at snow camp. All three of them! Woo Hoo! Quiet weekend...time with my man....life is good! After dropping them off at church I returned home. The quiet hush of my house was soon interrupted by a crazy black dog whining and jumping up 5 feet in the air.

O.k., O.k. Bathroom duty time, since those with the real job are gone, I thought, while attaching the leash to his collar. After a short potty break, made shorter because I had no boots (Madison's wearing mine) we came back inside.

His conspicuously empty water and food dish made me growl. Do those girls remember to feed the dog. I went into the garage to get his food. As I scooped it up I smiled.

The dogfood scooper is a chunky plastic cup, which looks like an elephant and is labeled "Romeo."

As I went back inside and plopped Hercule's food in his dish, I was beaming. Matt was only 3 or 4 when we had taken him to the circus in Cleveland. He, of course, needed a snack at intermission. He and his dad left and returned with a red snowcone in the Romeo cup.

How had that cup survived the moves, garage sales and radical clutter-eliminating treatments given by my husband? I shook my head in amazement. I must have tucked that away in some unseen nook or cranny or it never would have survived our household for all these years.

No, we must've lost it.

Yet, here it was. Today...the day of anticipation, because the house was quiet. Maybe we should surprise Matt and visit him at college, I thought excitedly. Then remembered, No, no...this was our quiet day. Our Day! :)

I scooped out the second Romeo cup of food. Memories of the circus made me smile again. I remember asking Matt as we were putting our coats on and getting ready to join the mass exodus of people leaving the Gund Arena, "What was your favorite part?"

Without hesitating, he smiled and said, "the clowns."

The clowns? Anyone could be a clown. What about the trapeze artists, the lion tamers, and the elephant stunt men? These people had spent hours and years perfecting their craft and skill.

The clowns? Their job was simply to give us something to watch while the rings were being taken apart and reset for the next act. The clowns were a matter of keeping us occupied and laughing while the next significant act came. The clowns did not need skill - just lots of crazy interaction with each other and the audience.

As I gripped Matt's little hand and we stuck close to Daddy, winding our way through the crowd, I kept thinking about the clowns.

As a mom, I am the clown. My job doesn't seem very important. It doesn't take years of skill to be a mom, just a moment of conception.

I often wonder what I'm doing...surely there's something more important and significant than changing poopy diapers and listening to children fight. I often feel like I'm not 'getting anywhere' and neither does the clown who occupies the ring he's assigned to. Yet, the circus could never operate without a clown. The clown captivates the eyes, minds and thoughts of the child while the "big stuff will soon be happening."

Yet to the child...the clown is the big stuff.

4 Little Letters

2011-01-04T18:16:00.000-08:00

The other day while cleaning out my hallway closet I found it. Now that I had taken the plunge and thrown out all my brown paper Aldi's bags, I had carefully replaced the stack with 3 simple but overly large fabric bags. There behind the fabric grocery bags was a small paper bag. What's this, I wondered.

Inside were 4 old blocks.

That's right! I had bought these for my friend, Julie. By the time I remembered to give them to her, I couldn't remember what they had spelled. Once again I began turning the blocks over...l, o, e, b? Surely the word must have been love. I carefully looked at each of the 6 sides on each block. No letter v!

Was I thinking I was going to marker in a a little dash here or there to make a letter look like a v? No, no way! For myself...I might have thought that. For Julie, my dear friend, whose blocks I had already decided to keep, no way!

New thought...what if the word wasn't love. What other 4 letter word could it be? Twenty minutes later, I got it!

HOPE

It was better than LOVE. Love is passe, overused, trite. HOPE is soul-ful, heart-pounding, life-inducing.

I grabbed my antique, chunky, perfect letters and placed them on my antique ice chest. Perfect! They looked perfect. It was confirmed. I needed them. (Sorry Julie.)

HOPE...my favorite word for the new year.

Why is it that January 1st should feel any different from December 31st? It's simply a tomorrow tacked on to today, or is it?

The difference is hope. With each new year comes hope. Hope that I'll lose weight, hope that I'll pray more, hope that I'll get my priorities right, hope that I'll make a difference in the lives of others. Hope that God will reach down and use me to be a blessing to those I touch. It will be small, likely unnoticeable. I just need to hope in that quiet trusting kind of way. I need to hope and believe and act upon the truth that all I need to do is stay close to Him and let the amazing smell of His aftershave rub off on me.

I hope I'll choose that...day after day.

It's even better than losing 20 pounds!

Belonging to the Lord...at Christmas?

2010-12-23T09:04:00.000-08:00

Christmas shopping...Christmas wrapping...Christmas cards...Christmas family pictures to go in the cards...Christmas family letters to go in the Christmas cards...Christmas cookies...Christmas gift exchanges...Christmas gifts for teachers...Christmas parties...Is anyone else getting buried under Christmas?

The answer? I found it today in Isaiah...an adorable little verse I had never seen before. "...And another will write on his hand, 'Belonging to the Lord.'" (Isa 44:5b)

BINGO! That's it!

I got out a pen and wrote it on my hand. "Belonging to the Lord." I don't belong to the tasks of Christmas. I belong to the Lord. (Let me confess here, I did it for the blog picture...not the wonderful spiritual reason you are thinking.)

All throughout the day it was a great reminder. When I reached for the steering wheel to go last minute shopping 'Belonging to the Lord.' When I reached to switch my laundry from the washer to the dryer and grumbling that this was the last thing I wanted to be doing when I was so behind in Christmas...'Belonging to the Lord.' When I reached to take the Chinese Orange Chicken from the lady at Hyvee, who didn't have noodles left, only fried rice as a side dish and inwardly and outwardly complaining about it (while my girls watched and imitated their mother)...'Belonging to the Lord.' When rushing through the traffic surrounding the mall, like buzzards on a dead carcass, and getting annoyed...'Belonging to the Lord." When the cashier tells me the wrong non-sale price on the North Face sweatshirt...'Belonging to the Lord.'

The sad fact is I rarely live like I 'Belong to the Lord.'

I am driven by tasks...whether Christmas ones, family ones or personal ones. I need a Saviour!

...and that's where the Christ of Christmas comes in.

A Stinky Christmas?

2010-12-17T11:06:00.000-08:00

Of all the places to be born...a stable!

I think of visiting my grandma and grandpa in the hills of Pennsylvania. We called that grandpa 'Pappy Harold.' He and my grandma never had much. Their farm somehow had sustained and raised their 13 children.

They had a barn. I think the only time we went in was when they had a pony named Charlie Brown. We'd make our way carefully through the musty smelling barn to see him, a short bedraggled pony with white stringy bangs in his eyes.

Musty dampness wasn't the only thing we'd smell...pungent horse manure, diesel from the farm equipment, the sweat and toil from a farmer throughout the years.

God chose a stable.

Why?

He is a God of the workin' man...a God of the blue-collar worker...a God more interested in reaching into an open, struggling heart than a heart poisoned with self-importance.

My heart. My heart is often stinkin' like Pappy Harold's barn and that stable of long ago.

Doesn't God mind?

Why would the God of the Universe who made the most amazing orange beachball of a sun to rise this morning...choose a stinky stable? Choose a stinky heart?

He goes to the need.

Those with needs will listen. Those with needs will receive. Those with needs will be scoured clean in His presence.

Praise you, Jesus. Only you can clean my stinkin heart. YOU CAME FOR ME! The stable was just the pre-curser for the rest of stink You would experience...only human stink would be far worse than an animals - far more deliberate, calculated and raw.

You came for sinners. I AM SO THANKFUL YOU DID! In your presence I can smell like the freshness of a land bathed in rain.

Guest Blogger Barb Winters: Are You Awake?

2010-12-08T19:39:00.000-08:00

My car thermometer read 38 degrees as I pulled into the driveway. Two girls came running out. Neither wore a coat, but what caught my eye was the youngest one's bare feet and runny nose. "Where are your shoes?" I asked. "I couldn't find them," she replied.

Several weeks ago I noticed an empty pew two rows behind me. An older couple, out of town for the weekend, typically sits there with their "kids" - children they pick up from various homes every Sunday morning. I didn't even know their names. But seeing that empty pew triggered a thought. There is no reason for those children to miss church when Mr. & Mrs. Evans are gone. I can pick them up just as easily.

The next Sunday I told Mrs. Evans I would gladly transport her "kids" the next time she was out of town. I didn't wait long. Mrs. Evans approached me a few days later. "My husband and I will be at my daughter's Thanksgiving weekend. Were you serious about getting the kids?" "Definitely," I answered.

That's how I ended up sitting in my van waiting for the girl with no shoes to hop in. She found a seat and I handed her a tissue. By this point my van was full. The three older children I picked up first helped these newer ones get buckled as we got acquainted. I learned the youngest one's name was Janelle. I wondered why I hadn't taken the time to know these children before. Could it be I was so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn't been awake to what was around me?

I dropped the children off at the proper Sunday school classes and proceeded to my own. Joy enveloped me. I had poked my head out of my comfortable world and helped others. No, it wasn't a big deal. It cost little. But God used this simple act to remind me I was His vessel to reach a lost world.

After Sunday school, I gathered the children and we walked to the sanctuary. Janelle sat next to me drawing carrots and pink crosses. When I asked about one sketch, she pointed to the chandelier hanging above her head and said, "It's that." She sang her ABC's and asked about the angel in a book she was looking through. I don't know why, but I was surprised by her intelligence. Her questions indicated a depth I didn't think was there. When the rest of the children were dismissed for Children's Church, I put my arm around Janelle.

The title of the sermon flashed on the screen: Are You Awake? As my husband, the pastor, joked that he was not testing our alertness at that moment, Janelle put her fingers in her mouth and leaned into me. A few minutes later, she scooted down, laid her head in my lap, and closed her eyes. As I watched this precious child sleep, I thought about how I would have missed out on this moment had I not been awake-awake to God's presence and aware of my surroundings. An empty pew led to a filled heart.

Read more of Barb's blogs on http://foodliesandtruth.blogspot.com/ as Barb explores lies we tell ourselves to justify eating improperly and the truths that dispel those lies. Also see her blog, written with her husband, Don, on adoption at http://thefatherheartofgod.blogspot.com/.

Thanksgiving Wish

2010-11-20T07:32:00.000-08:00

I'm thankful for Corrie Ten Boom. She is one of my favorite heroes of all times...she and Harriet Tubman. Both were extreme followers of Christ. Gotta love that!

I recently read how Corrie once said, "I wish -" but then she stopped. She looked upward, raised a hand to heaven and said, "Father, you do all things well. Thank you!" A friend of hers had never forgotten.

When I read this, I immediately loved it! I read it again. I memorized it. I bookmarked it. Throughout the day, I tested myself to see if my lame long-term memory could actually remember it along with "stop and grab bread, pick up Meredith at 7 and start laundry."

I did! :)

Only a few days later, I was driving to South Bend, Indiana to meet my sisters (all 5 of them) and my mom and dad, to celebrate my dad's 75th birthday.

I was elated. Just the girls and mom and dad together...how fun! I really couldn't remember the last time we'd done something like this. I mean, I knew there were times it happened without me...a ten hour drive to Ohio is a little hard to make for a supper.

But this time, I got to go!

On the way, as I was making my 5 hour trek, the thought occurred to me, here I was drinking McDonald's sweet tea and pounding down Aldi's mixed nuts (the cashews and almonds, first) to stay awake and they were all together in one van telling funny stories and laughing...without me!

The funnest part of our whole time together could be the way there...and I wasn't with them!

A deep sadness settled
like sugar in unsweetened tea.

Then I thought it...

I wish I were in their van-

The Holy Spirit kicked in "You wish?"

Involuntarily, I raised my hand upwards to my precious Father, who knows everything, and said, "Father, you do all things well. Thank you!"

And I even meant it.

A Loss?

2010-11-16T16:57:00.000-08:00

"Winning is fun!" That's Michaela's quote. I agree 100%.

That's why on a Thursday night in Dubuque, Iowa we were left feeling anything but...Matt's Greenville College soccer team had made it to 'the big dance.' They were in the NCAA tournament...an accomplishment only 32 teams in each division in the country can boast of.

At halftime we were leading 1 to 0. Within 4 minutes of the last half, Loras College scored. Within 8 minutes they scored again. They added a 3rd goal in the last ten minutes of the game.

I felt sick to my stomach watching the last ten minutes of the game.

Matt played with a whole heart the entire game. My mama's heart was 100% proud.

As the final seconds ticked away and the deep chanting voices of the Loras fans filled the stadium "Season's Over" clap-clap-clap-clap-clap, "Season's Over" clap-clap-clap-clap...my eyes remained glued to #17...my son.

His face hung. He whipped off his headband letting his long hair fall over his face. I searched to see him, his eyes...his slumping shoulders said it all.

Bobby then realized we left the bags of trailmix for Matt in the Durango. He left to go get them.

Inwardly I panicked as I watched Matt and other players slowly cross the field. Oh no, he's going to get here before his dad. What am I going to say? What can I say? His dad is so darn good at knowing how to do these things...what do I-

Matt had reached our side of the field. He swung a leg over the bleacher rail and pulled himself up. He flicked his hair back..then quickly looked down again.

I was speechless. I reached out and pulled him close. Tears filled my eyes.

"I love you, Matt. I'm proud of you," I whispered.

He pulled away, looked up and after a few seconds of silence said quietly, "It just stinks. For Terrance and the rest of the Seniors, it's over. Soccers over. I feel bad for them."

I swallowed hard, to hold back more tears.

Bobby arrived.

I watched him, with relief. I mentally focussed all of my pitiful listening skills on my man. What would he say? How could I learn from his gift of knowing just what to say?

He smiled sympathically at his son. Then he shrugged and said, "You got here. Most teams never do."

Matt nodded.

"You do have trail mix," his dad said with a grin.

"Trail mix will make it better?" Matt said with a twinkle in his eye.

I stood quietly. That's all? Is there no more we can say...to make him feel better? To give clarity? To make it make sense?

Silence.

Yes, Michaela. Winning is fun...and yes, Matt, losing does stink.

As your mom I feel inept to know what to say, how to help, how to encourage you in your faith during the poopy times of life.

I don't.

I do want to be there. I'm not sure exactly how it makes a difference, but it must. I'm sorry I can't give you more. It stinks that I can't give you more.

But wait...

Maybe 'the more' can only come from another place, another source...and praise His name if it isn't Jesus.

The only One who can take an L and make it a W.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-14T14:00:00.000-08:00

The smell of turkey, a warm kitchen packed with family, laughter, noise and running children. Thanksgiving brings lots of memories. I also quickly think of my mom because it's her favorite holiday. As a kid, (I mean 'child' - my mother hates the term 'kid') I never understood my mom's favorite holiday choice. I mean, who picks thanksgiving as their favorite holiday?

My mother...that's who.

I am majorly tearing up. My mom totally embodies the spirit of thanksgiving. So many of my memories are of my mother happily whistling around the house. She actually whistled hymns. She told me once that her dad whistled tunes and that's something she picked up from him. But she didn't just whistle any tune, her favorite was "How Great Thou Art."

My mom is not a woman who has had it easy. She had 6 children in 8 years. She definitely worked in the home and out. The air hockey and pool table downstairs always looked they they were regurgitating the junior miss section of J.C. Penneys. Did I mention the ever wet basement...running girls around to basketball games and working full time as my father's dispatcher for his trucking company of 100 plus trucks?

If any woman ever had a right to complain or grumble or be overwhelmed it would be my mother...Eunice Hackenberger.

She rarely did. She worked hard. She still does. She chose to look at the blessings in her life...her man, (like that mom?...notice I didn't say your boss :)), her daughters, her God.

My mom is truly amazing. For her thanksgiving is not a holiday, but an attitude, a way of life. Thanks mom!

Bangs!

2010-10-31T19:59:00.000-07:00

Bangs! Not a big deal for most people. I am not most people. I have a humongous collic.

It separates my bangs like warm gravy from the fat.

I sat in my hairdresser's chair several weeks ago.

"What do you want?" Chris asked.

After a busy day of teaching children, I felt brain dead. I couldn't think.

"Do you want a highlight or more brown pulled through your hair?"

Once again I stared at Chris with the stare of my daughters when I ask them if they've gotten their chores done.

I began, "I don't feel like deciding. You're the professional. Do what you think."

After saying that, I immediately felt relief which quickly turned to fear.

Chris looked intently at my big forehead, "I say let's do some heavy bangs and trim the rest."

"Bangs? I can't have bangs. I have a collic, remember?" I asked.

"You can't do wispy bangs. You can do heavy bangs," Chris said.

"Wow...I thought I couldn't have bangs."

Chris began adding color through my hair. She rinsed it. Then asked me to go back to my styling seat. As I sat down, I glanced in the mirror.

Fear! Fear! Fear...pulsated through my being.

What if she cuts my bangs and I don't like them? What if I don't know what to do with them? What if they look horrible? I glanced in the mirror at my ever-present, growing larger by the second, forehead. I hate my big forehead! What if I hate my bangs more?

Chris nonchalantly picked up her scissors and brought them to my hair. She looked calm and knowledgeable. Could she not tell I was starting to sweat like I did in Freshman Speech?

She pulled up a small segment of hair. Her scissors opened. It was like the slow motion in a movie before something dramatic happens.

"I'm scared!" I shouted, clutching her hand with the scissors.

Embarrassment spread like icing on a warm cake.

I looked around. Everyone was looking at me. Chris looked intently and questioningly at me.

Chris smiled, holding back what surely must be a full-belly laugh. "It's just hair," she replied calmly.

"No," I countered back. "To you it's just hair. You are good at hair. You know what to do with new hair. I don't. I'm not a hair person."

She smiled reassuringly and with one snip, I had bangs.

She finished cutting my hair. Thirty minutes later, while climbing out of the chair and glancing quickly in the mirror, I still wasn't sure.

When I first met up with my husband that night, it was during prayer meeting. He said nothing. He must not like it, I thought. Well, I'm not sure I like it either, I thought, while continuing my thought conversation with the man, who was either oblivious to my new hair or decidely against it, but unable to tell me.

After church, when he got home, he stared at me. I did not like it! My least favorite thing to talk about is hair. "Your hair looks good," he said casually as he hung up his coat.

Then he walked into the living room and started channel surfing.

That's it! All I got was that? Did he mean it? Was he sensing my insecurity and trying to make me feel better?

I glanced into the living room. He was already engrossed in a cop show.

The next morning I got up a little early. I needed to be sure that on my debut hair day it looked as good as I could do. I didn't wash it for fear it would look better a day-old but done by Chris, rather than fresh, but in the hands of an amateur.

I went to school.

No one noticed! (O.K. nobody except Linda, who was in the beautyshop, too.)

What could I make of it?

Two weeks later I met my beautiful 5 sisters, with (you guessed it) great hair, along with my mom and dad for my dad's 75th birthday. I checked to be sure my hair was as good as I could get. It was fine.

As we exchanged hugs....nobody noticed!

How could these sisters of mine not notice? Growing up they noticed if I had black socks instead of blue with my jeans. They noticed if a new pimple was starting to pop out along my hairline and handed me the consealer. They noticed if I said the word 'mirra' instead of 'mirror.' How could they not notice?

They didn't.

The next day, Carla said, "I noticed your hair looked really cute last night." Several other sisters chimed in agreement.

I smiled. "Oh it's just hair."

Dutch Blitz

2010-10-13T04:43:00.000-07:00

Have you ever played Dutch Blitz? Last night Michaela challenged me to a game. It's fast paced and demands constant thinking, watching and slapping cards down into a center pile (with one hand, mind you) trying to be quicker than your opponent.

The first time I played Dutch Blitz I loved it. Matt showed me how to play several years ago. Let me say that more truthfully, I hated it because he killed me at it. Yet, I knew I would love it as I played it more and got better.

I have played that game 100 times...I am NO BETTER! I now hate Dutch Blitz. I always lose. No matter how many people play I am always the loser.

Now for those of you that simply play to have fun, you may not get this. Part of the fun of playing a game is in the unpredictability of who will win. Part of the fun of playing a game is the anticipation 'It may be me.'

I have no such anticipation!

Michaela tried to console me the other day. "Mom you should play grandma. You could actually win!"

I made a discovery last night...always losing at Dutch Blitz is not the only reason I do not like it.

Madison joined us after soccer practice. We started the game over...yes, Michaela graciously let me start over instead of continuing on with the 113 to 17 previous score. ("At least you're not in the negatives" she said with a smirk.)

So as I was flipping every third card over to see if I could play any in the center...I heard it! The sound I hate in Dutch Blitz.

Slap, slap, slap-slap-slap...the sound of Madison pelting the center piles with her cards.

I felt anxiety rise up in the pit of my stomach..."the game is passing me - I should be throwing cards in - red 5? - no I just have a 6! - wait...a green one just got put down-my 2? Shoot! Too late!"

If that weren't stressful enough, Michaela shouts "The yellow 7! Mom put down your yellow 7!"

"Yellow 7?" I ask stupidly. "Where's my yellow 7?" "Oh" I grab it and just miss the pile as Madison's yellow 7 glides onto the pile first.

Gosh, writing about this is giving me clarity. This doesn't even sound like a fun game! Why would anyone want to play it? I'm confused and I know (sort of) how the game works.

I hate Dutch Blitz because the sound of others "getting somewhere" brings ridiculous anxiety to me. I feel like I am getting passed by. I am missing my opportunities. I am being left in the dust.

Sometimes I feel like that in life.

I'm already 44. Where am I getting? What am I doing? Am I making my life count?

When I look around and see others zipping through life, getting master's degrees, going on expensive vacations and having it all...I might think, "What am I doing?" O.k., I do think "What am I doing?"

Then I hear it. A very small but comforting voice inside the pit of my stomach. A voice that is nothing like a game of Dutch Blitz...more like a Starbucks Peppermint White Mocha.

It whispers..."Darling, look what you do have. An amazing husband who you are crazy about. (D'ya like that, honey?) Four children who just thinking about them makes you tear up with pride. And Me...the God of the Universe who is doing more in your little peon life than you could ever imagine.

Nothing is passing you by! Drown out those loud slapping sounds with the sound of my voice. I'm here to remind you as often as you need.

I love you! Trust me! We are going somewhere...together. :)

I gotta love that!

Just one question...what ever happened to the card games where everyone takes their turn?

Meredith's First Kiss

2010-10-11T17:17:00.000-07:00

Meredith came home from school today...with a smile as overflowing as my laundry basket. Of course, the second I walked in she was telling me all the details of her school day...in breakneck speed with no breaths.

Today was different, though.

She began by talking about what she had written. Her teacher, Mrs. Hochgraber, had asked them to think about a story they could write which had lots of emotion.

Meredith smiled demurely and continued..."So I wrote about the time I was helping in the 2's/3's class for church. We helped the rambunctious little kids line up and go into the big gym to play on the bounces. Then we had to help them take off their shoes."

Meredith continued on, "I felt this little tugging on my black gouchos. I looked down and there was little blonde haired, blue eyed Aiden."

He very quietly said, "I don't have anybody to play with."

Meredith bent down and looking into Aiden's gorgeous eyes said, "You can play with me?"

Aiden nodded, grabbing Meredith's hand. She kicked off her flip flops and the two of them jumped into the Noah's Ark Bounce. The whole time, they talked and talked and laughed and fell over.

After a little while, it was time to line up to go back to their classroom. Meredith quickly set out napkins while the teacher scooped out the cheese whales. She sat down between the little ones. She looked up as Aiden squeezed in between her and little Gabriella. She smiled at her new found friend. He beamed back.

After snack it was Movie Time! Everyone lay down on the rug to watch Veggie Tales. Aiden found his way to Meredith. Then it happened!

It happened!

Before Meredith even had a clue, Aiden cupped his chubby, dimpled hand around her neck and gave her a kiss!

"So," Meredith said smiling, "I've decided to title my writing..."My First Kiss!"

The Irony of Life

2010-09-26T19:41:00.000-07:00

Cute picture of Madison and Bobby, eh? Yes, here they are just leaving for their 8 day Wilderness Trip through Canada's Algonquin National Park. They ate breakfast over the fire, portaged through trails, canoed across clear lakes and slept in a tent. It rained every day except one, which happened to be Madison's favorite memory because they actually got to build a fire.

I was excited for this trip. Excited that Madison would have a great bonding time with her dad, just as Matt had when he was 14. Excited that Bobby would have a break from everyday life and get to enjoy a change of pace. Excited that they would get the time to create a memory that would last forever.

O.K. and I must admit I was a little excited for me. Excited for me because we could have pigs-in-a-blanket and breakfast suppers...all of which could be made in 5 minutes or less. Excited for me because I could actually sleep all night with no one on my side of the bed. Excited for me because I could selfishly indulge in going to bed at 9:30 without feeling guilty. Excited for me because of the pure independence I would have.

Reality hit.

I slept about as good as I did when I first brought the twins home from the hospital. Only instead of being awakened by two darling baby girls, I was awakened by one one-hundred pound black lab. Every night, throughout the night, mind you, I listened to the jingle of his metal tag against his collar.

Why was he in my room? Great question! The girls love sleeping with me when dad is gone. Wittle, bitty Hercules can't be by himself at night! He gets lonely.

After three nights of jingling, wise Michaela said, "Mom why don't you take his collar off?"

See why she is so wise?

I did...but then I began to notice his other sounds. Do dogs regurgitate and re-swallow only at night? I have never noticed it before. It was like trying to sleep with someone vomitting in the bathroom next door. IMPOSSIBLE!

Here was my chance for extra sleep...I had planned on it. I had anticipated it. And IT WASN'T HAPPENING!

Yet, here I was. I was independent! If the girls and I wanted to try Best Buffet, as my ESL students had recommended, I could. We did! If we wanted to go to Walmart late at night for a treat, we could. We did! If we wanted to have a quiet evening with the t.v. off, candles lit and quiet music to read by, we could. We
did! (Yeah, Michaela loved that night. :))

Days 1,2 and 3 flew happily by. By day 4, everything changed. On my way to work I felt ready to cry. I missed my Bobby. I missed his laughter. I missed his spontaneous entrances into my life - his phone calls, texts and "I'm home." I missed his teasing eyes. I missed his amazing hugs. I missed HIM!

I missed my Lily, too. I missed her "Come on mom. We gotta go!" in the mornings. I missed her advice on my "Does this outfit work?" I missed her hugs, her gentle spirit and our trips to school, just the two of us.

I missed it!

I missed them!

I missed my family being all together!

Independence, thinking of myself, doing what I feel like, having no one to answer to...

You can have it!

I'll take supervising the kids chores, making decent meals, keeping his laundry done, checking the house for cleanliness before he comes home each night and being there to love on...

Any day!

Why does it have to take being apart to realize how good it is to be together?!!

Ozzy's Lesson

2010-09-08T17:20:00.000-07:00

One of the marvelous parts of my day is getting to teach four 'struggling to read' first graders how to read. Already they are teaching me.

In order to target the most needy children I gave about 15 'at risk' children a battery of tests in order to assess who struggled most.

In the course of his testing, I asked little toe-headed Ozzy, "Can you find a capital letter on this page?"

Ozzy's forehead wrinkled as he studied the page before him. His lips were pursed as he carefully thought.

Then with the most honest, angelic and innocent look on his face, he looked up and said, "I haven't learned that yet."

How precious!

Instead of saying, "I don't know," "Beats me," or "I could care less." He chose to say "I haven't learned that yet."

I thought about that phrase all day. I loved it. Why? I think because it showed no sense of guilt or embarrassment, but rather hope...that someday he would learn it. It showed that not knowing today was o.k.

Little did I know how useful that phrase would be. As I came home from work and pulled into our driveway, I immediately thought 'Wow, our new roof's looking fabulous. The men of our church got alot done in just one day!'

As I walked into the kitchen, my husband immediately asked, "Where did you park?"

Confused by his obvious concern, I flippantly said, "In the driveway, where else?"

I could tell that didn't go over so great.

"You parked where? Did you not realize the men are still roofing?" (I'm sure my look wasn't nearly as innocent as Ozzy's at this point.)

"Lisa, you're going to get a flat tire. There's nails all around the house. Why didn't you park at the church?"

"Nails all around? I didn't know roofs are put on with nails."

Bobby looked at me like I had just crawled out of the movie "Dumb and Dumber."

"Lisa! You've got to be kidding me!"

Then I said it. I said Ozzy's line.

"I haven't learned that yet. I've never roofed or been on a roof with a roofer."

A hush fell over the room. Bobby just shook his head and walked away. Not another word was said.

Now, I'm not advocating that every arguement be solved with Ozzy's little phrase. But wouldn't that be wonderful? Even better than Jack's 5 magic beans...and the treasures they brought.

I'm just saying it's o.k. if you haven't learned that yet.

Isn't that what life's about?

A Day of Humility

2010-09-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had one of these? Personally, I wouldn't recommend them. It started when I graciously volunteered to take Hercules (our giant black lab) out for his morning potty break.

The worse case scenario happened on our potty-walk. Just up ahead was a lady speed walking with her mini-dog. 'Shoot' I mumbled under my breath. 'Time to turn around.' I started pulling Hercules and noticed 'Oh great! He's doing his business. No pulling allowed.' He finally finished, as the speed walker, kept coming. Frantically I began pulling him back towards home.

I was too late!

He spotted the new dog to sniff and lunged forward. I was not letting go. He literally yanked me off my feet as the speed walker and mini-dog sailed right by us cutting through a neighbor's yard to avoid our chaos. As I struggled to pull my body up off of the sidewalk, while still holding onto the leash and the demon dog, I could only hope I'd never met that neighbor before...and never would.

Later, I challenged the family to a Labor Day bike ride. Madison quickly reminded me that Meredith was not there and her long-legged friend could never ride Meredith's bike from two years ago. Without thinking (surprise, surprise) I said, "I'll ride Meredith's bike if we all go."

Bob grinned, "We're going for a bike ride girls!"

Every person in Quincy, plus all of their out-of-town relatives was at Moorman Park as we rode by...a long line of girls led by dad and caboosed by the clown mother.

It ended when my dear man at 9:00pm said, "Hey, doesn't a Starbucks sound good?"

Yes, I had already showered...no make up on, stringy hair air drying and pajamas on. Of course, Marissa waited on me. No, it couldn't have been someone I didn't know. Not today!

On my car ride home I was hangin' with God and asking the obvious, "What was the deal?"

He whispered one word...'humility.'

"Ugh" I groaned. "Humility is so...embarrassing, so demeaning, so 'please tell me no one saw that'...so opposite of-

pride."

The Big L

2010-08-17T14:12:00.000-07:00

Ever feel like a loser?

I'm there today...yah, it's been one of those days. It's dreary and rainy outside, work is overwhelming, I'm 'filling in' at my old/new job until they find a replacement and starting a new teaching job in two different elementary schools that I've never taught in, which means being the newbe once again and being the one who has to ask a thousand questions because I don't know, besides I have to make snacks for Madison's first day of school tomorrow, and go meet Meredith and Michaela's teachers at Baldwin tonight, which did I mention I applied at Baldwin and did not get hired, which makes even entering the building akward...and did I mention I feel like a loser?

Oh and did I forget to mention that I just received an email from the Reading Recovery director asking if I was "ready" for the new school year.

Ready?

Ready?! (This is not a typo. When you feel like a loser normal thinking is even slow.)

I am certainly not ready! If there's one thing a loser is not....that is ready!

I'm not ready for my "substitute for myself" assignment at my old/new job. I am not ready to teach in two new buildings where I am forced to be the newbe once again. I am not ready to teach reading recovery. It's been 3 years and I need to go over my books and notes. I am not ready for Madison's snack. I am not ready to meet the Baldwin teachers. I look a mess today. I am not ready!

I am blogging.

Puffs

2010-08-17T11:31:00.000-07:00

Buying school supplies with the girls today...and we needed 7 boxes of Kleenex! As we loaded up the Walmart cart, I had a flashback. In my minds eye I could still see an extra large blue box of Puffs.

I don't remember how old I was, but I was old enough to carry my books from class to class. I'm guessing around 5th grade. Those were the dark ages, when we didn't even get class lists. We simply bought the same basics every year, from kindergarten through fifth grade. Except, of course, in 4th grade the crayons were replaced by markers.

Anyhow, the night before school my mother handed me this extra large, blue box of Puffs "for school."

I pulled the insert out of the middle, threw it away and that box of Puffs rested on my school books. We didn't even have backpacks, come to think of it. We carried our books in front, with our arms wrapped around them. Except for me. I carried my books, plus my large box of blue Puffs on top, with my arms wrapped around them.

They traveled with me from science to social studies to math to reading, the entire school year. I remember the occasional curious classmate asking, "Why do you have that?" while pointing to my large, blue box of Puffs.

Such a question didn't even deserve an answer, I thought as I gave a look like "duh...why do you think?"

Can you believe I'm even sharing this story?!!

If you thought I was one short of a full deck before, now you know I am!

Yet, I didn't question my mother. She said, "Take this to school." I did! I took it to school exactly as I took my folders, binders and pencil pouch filled with pencils, scissors and markers. The occasional comments of classmates had no effect on me. I simply thought, "What's their issue?"

It never donned on me that not everyone was carrying a box of Puffs around. In fact, not one single soul was carrying a box of Puffs around...only Lisa Hackenberger.

I want my faith to be like that...

One-of-a-kind,

causing others to notice and

out in front with my arms wrapped around it!

Hercules

2010-08-06T09:47:00.000-07:00

We have a problem. We have a dog. His name is Hercules. The problem is not so much Hercules, himself. He actually is probably the best dog a family could have. He snuggles on Michaela's bed sweetly each night, unless Matt's home. He is a fine watch dog when Bobby's out of town. He'll bark if someone comes to the door. Actually that is a two-fold benefit, since our doorbell doesn't work. (Thanks to Nate. :)) He doesn't go to the bathroom in the house. When he has to go he jumps about 6 feet in the air, to get our attention. See? Hercules really is a fine dog!

The problem? He humps people. There I said it. Is that too gross or too graphic for a blog?

He does. If Matt's friends are over and we're playing the game Guesstures, where you have to act out a word or phrase...Hercules is beside himself. He rushes the person giving the clues and...you guessed it.

Embarrassing? Yes! Totally! There's something that seems unBiblical about going to your pastor's home and being attacked by a dog that...well, you know.

When my sweet little nephew Levi comes over...he's 6 and loves to run. One guess who comes running over to greet him first?

What should we do? (He's already been neutered...but thanks for the suggestion.)

Yes, I agree. The Bible is a great place to look for solutions, but to my knowledge it doesn't address this sort of thing. (I'll have to ask my husband, just to be sure, though.)

What can we do, really? (Besides be on the look-out, try to prevent it and grabbing Hercules off, if we're a bit late. Ugh!)

The solutions are minimal...my whole family (minus Bobby and I, on some days) totally love this dog.

That's it! I've figured it out...

Nothing.

"Love covers a multitude of sins."

So it was in the Bible afterall. :) You're good, God! You got it all covered, even _____ing dogs!

What a pill!

2010-07-24T10:06:00.000-07:00

I have a fungus toe. It is the big toe on my left foot. Doesn't sound like a big deal, except for the fact that my husband is a foot guy. Yes, whenever we play the newlywed game, I know to say that the first thing he noticed about me was my feet.

See the problem? (No, not the problem that the best thing about me is my feet...the other one.)

So being the good wife (I like to surprise him occasionally) I went to the podiatrist. He confirmed it. It was a fungus. He recommended pills for 6 months. Six months of pills for a big toe fungus?

Not only that, I had my blood drawn, because in very rare situations this particular pill could cause liver damage...for a big toe fungus?

Yet, I reassured myself. My husband is a foot-man (among other things). This matters.

I drove to Walmart to pick up my prescription. $4 - now that seems to fit for a big toe fungus, I thought smiling.

I must take it daily. Naturally, I put it by the only other medicine I take daily, my birth control pills. That night I popped out my birth control pill, laid it on the counter, opened my toe fungus medicine bottle and slid out a large white pill.

It was David and Goliath.

I popped David in my mouth and he slid down with a tiny swallow. I reached for Goliath, with my water glass in hand and swallowed. He got stuck! I grabbed another swig and forcefully swallowed. He stayed put! Inwardly, I panicked. I reached for the refrigerator door...No soda? What do I do? I cleared my throat, grabbed another gulp of water and he moved.

I thought...all this for a big toe fungus.

How do the the smallest of things become a big toe fungus?

God Gave Me a Compliment

2010-07-15T05:33:00.000-07:00

Having a college age son is an interesting thing. I so anticipated summer with all of the great conversations we'd have about all the little details of his first year of college, you know, those things he didn't shoot me in his 8 word texts. I thought we'd talk about his workdays, his future plans, life in general.

Reality smacked like the bug guts on our windshield after our overnight trip to Lake Rathbun. Yes, I still get the texts...every day at about 5:45. Those ones that every mother dreams of, 'What's for supper? I'm starving. Can it be ready in 5 minutes? I have a softball game at 6:00.'

The other day was different. It was Sunday night and he had just taught the youth group a lesson. After asking what we had to eat and complaining that our only junk food is Casa Mamita brand, he said, "God gave me a compliment."

Chills ran down my spine. Goosebumps spread up my arms. Inwardly, I cautioned myself, "Don't ask a bunch of questions, Lis. Listen. Listen." I smiled that cheesy smile that says, "continue on."

Matt continued, "I asked the kids who remembered what the big idea was from last week. The first person I called on remembered it." He smiled his adorable, Matt Cowman smile and walked out of the room.

I wanted to call out, "Come back here. Let's talk more. Who was it that knew the answer? How did you decide to call on that person? Did your sisters remember the big idea? Has God ever given you a compliment before? What was the big idea? What Bible verses did you use to teach it?"

He was gone.

Left behind was the mother, sitting on the couch, hoping he'd follow my lead and actually sit while he shared his story...small though it was...a 22 word story, to be exact.

O.k., maybe 22 words is too short to even be called a story, more like a comment. Yet, it was, let's see, 3 times longer than his usual college texts.

God gave me a compliment. I scribbled it down in my daytimer so I wouldn't forget it. I loved it immediately, because:
a) Matt said it.
b) It was Matt connecting with God.
c) It was God connecting with Matt.
and perhaps d) It was Matt connecting with Mom.

O.k., so maybe Matt will only rarely talk about something other than food. God is a good other choice. It may be a small overall percentage, somewhat like the whole corn vs. the citric acid on the back of a package of Doritoes, or er the package of Casa Mamita Tortillas, cheese flavored.

Yet it's there.

It's there.

Long Lists

2010-07-14T12:01:00.000-07:00

Facebook, as you all know, is very new to me. I'm learning...at the pace of my children getting ready for school. I was hooked when I saw my second posting ever. Hey, is that middle column, where friends chime in, called a posting? Well whatever it's called, this one made me smile.

"Parker went to the nursery for the first time today at church. I forgot to mention to them (the nursery workers) that when he is tired you have to smash his face into your armpit, keep putting his pacifier in, between his screams and fighting of sleep, put the blanket against his cheek, (then) rock him and practically beat him on the butt before he will give in and (eventually) go to sleep."

Stephanie, I hope you don't mind my parenthesis. :) (I didn't think you would.) Thanks for letting me share this.

I smiled for many reasons. The first one being, I remember that first baby, and all the instructions that had to accompany him before I would leave. I remember worrying about him after we finally did leave...with my husband dragging me out of the friend's house like our dog, Hercules, dragging me out for a potty break.

The second one being, I know what it's like for the nursery worker. You smile politely, all the while thinking 'I do have four children, who at last check are all living. You may go." Trust me, I'm thinking that in a nice way, of course...yet, still thinking it.

The third one being, I smile because what this mother is thinking and what is in the realm of reality are two different things. I'll explain. The mother envisions me holding her firstborn the entire time, even if he does indeed fall asleep. She pictures me rocking him gently, while repositioning the pacificier if it happens to slip out.

I'm thinking the second I get him to sleep, he's going into the crib so I can get the fussy little baby who's in the swing.

Now we have a wonderful nursery staff at church, but the last time I checked we weren't quite at the 1 to 1 child to adult ratio that a firstborn baby has. Stephanie...I do promise to do my best, though. Parker will be well taken care of. (He is the cutest newborn, ever. :))

Yes, Parker has long directions, in which his mother ensures that we meet his needs and meet them promptly. Those long directions, which are simply the 'putting him to sleep directions' not the 'how he likes to drink his bottle directions' or the 'how he likes to be held directions' are as lengthy as the choice of names in my baby name book. Yet they reveal something very important, not about Parker, but about his mother.

She loves him.

I'm feeling a major "OUCH" coming on..are you? My mind is replaying 'a discussion' I've had with my husband. O.k., who am I kiddin...it was the prequel-arguement. The one we've played so many times, it wore out.

"What?" I ask in my self-controlled, superior, yet slightly snotty, voice. "You're upset because I forgot that one little load of laundry? It's only one load! Did you notice the clean kitchen, the vacuumed livingroom or the nice supper? What's the big deal?"

My actions, my 'doing the lists,' my 'taking care of each detail' reveal what? About who?

Me...

How much do I love?

Double Ouch!

How come being attentive to our husbands is so much harder than being attentive to our newborns?

"Because newborns are helpless," you're shouting. Yes, they are. But someday that precious little newborn, your precious little newborn, is going to be somebodies mate. How did you treat him, nurture him, respond to him and love him down to the tiniest of details?

How will you want his mate to respond to him?

How have I responded to my mother-in-law's newborn?

Black River Friends

2010-07-13T08:20:00.000-07:00

I am perplexed! Why is it that I have to scrub my eyes with eye makeup remover like I were getting a stain out of my carpet, only to get out of the shower afterwards and have raccoon eyes?

If that weren't disturbing enough...how come after using the eye makeup remover again (after I showered, mind you) and reapplying my waterproof mascara and eyeliner for another day, I go to church, get emotional, with one tear forming in my right eye...and I look like a black river is running down my face?

I want some answers here! You may think I'm exaggerating. Those of you who are my friends and family are shaking your heads no. You know exactly what I mean! If that weren't bad enough, on the last week of school my precious 3rd graders made "Memories of 3rd Grade" books. One of the pages said, "This is my teacher." Then there was a blank page for them to draw what I looked like...you guessed it!

One student, who shall remain nameless, came up to me and said, "Mrs. Cowman, what do you think of your picture?" I smiled sweetly, thinking of the other pictures my students had shown me...some drew large sunny smiles on my face, some drew rainbows over me, others drew me in gardens with flowers-not Jared. Oops!

The smirk on his face should have warned me. I looked down and yes, there I was with not one but two rivers of black running down each side of my face.

See? I wasn't exaggerating!

Many of you are asking an obvious question. Why don't you try different eye makeup? Yes...that is a point I've considered. The problem is this, I'm thinking the black river is largely due to my eyeliner. I discovered it three years ago when I was sick and tired of looking like I had just climbed out of bed when it was noon. So I discovered Loreal liquid eyeliner. For a person with eyes as small as peas and lashes the length of an atom, I needed it! People really did comment on me looking great after I started using it.

The problem again...my black rivers. Unfortunately, I am a fairly emotional person, I will tear up daily. The question is then, 'Is the cost of being a black river faced woman occasionally worth it to look better most of the day?'

The answer, 'It depends if my friends will regularly tell me and rub it off.'

Now, I did have a great little friend in that 3rd grade class. Yes, my adorable little Kendall would tell me. I loved that about her. I told her she had the makings of a good friend. :) I gave her that job. Yes, while others organized our classroom library or wiped off transparencies, Kendall told me when my make up smeared. You don't find that on many teachers job charts. Just mine.

So I guess my problem does have a solution...and it may be that I don't have to find a new eyeliner, afterall.

It just comes down to friends.

My make up can work if I have good ones. How about you? After you think carefully about how few friends will tell you about your black rivers, think about this...how are you at being a friend? Are you a Kendall? To who? Who will you love enough to tell the tough stuff? The stuff that will actually help them? The black rivers in their lives?