April 25, 2008 at 3:40 am (Uncategorized)
Today was an almost perfect day. School is lighter now that Rebecca and I read her history and read- aloud books so fast that we’re done. We can do her school a bit more leisurely now, and do some extra things too. I canceled a field trip my students didn’t want to go to anyway, and played in the yard.
“Play” isn’t really the right word for mowing, raking, hauling leaves and pine needles, and trimming stuff up, but it feels like playing when I get a whole day to myself. Or I guess doing what I want to do, instead of going somewhere and doing what I know I should do. That can be draining. My muscles ache now, but it is a satisfying ache, and I can look outside and see exactly what I did.
I’ve had a tough time with my youngest lately. She is s l o w to obey, falls apart easily, and has treated her best-friend-sister with contempt. I’ve been having many conversations with her, and have taken many of her privileges away. It hasn’t helped. Today she was waiting for her best-friend-sister to get done with her chores, for they had set up a Polly Pocket campsite near the stream behind our house. This area is called “The Woods. “ Anyway, I wanted to spend some time with my youngest, and she was very upset that time would be spent helping me clean up a flower bed. She was determined to bring the outside cat, Fluffy, with her. She called and called the cat, as I called and called her to come, and she didn’t. So we had to go in the house again for an ear-cleaning procedure. Or at least a procedure that would help her listen when mom calls her. We went back outside again and started cleaning. She tried, but slow and with a whiny spirit. I suggested that when we filled the trailer up with leaves, she could drive it to the garden. She picked up her pace, and soon she was driving us around Dad’s shop to the garden. We made several more trips, and by the end she was driving on her own, with a smile from ear to ear. Her sister was a bit jealous of all the driving time, but I told her she would have to work to drive. No deal.
My other daughter was also horrified with me, because I told her that her math had to be finished before the Polly Pocket campsite was visited. I saw “The Face,” then she disappeared into the house. Eventually she came outside to see what was going on, and I fielded math questions as I loaded the trailer. Finally, the two sisters disappeared when their work was done. 2 1/2 hours later they tromped back with their arms around each other. Maddie said, “Mom, that was worth doing all that math.” Despite our trials, that made my day almost perfect.
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April 17, 2008 at 10:54 pm (Personal reflection)
As I ponder situations coming up or that have already occurred, I realize my thoughts don’t revolve around His story, but My Story. I want to be viewed as clever and witty. Sometimes I think I am. Then God patiently reels me in, like a mother taking a child’s hand and leading it out of a bad situation, even though the child really thinks the bad situation looks doable. Besides being clever and witty, I also want to have deep and profound thoughts, causing people to stop and ponder. There are definite people I want to impress with my wit-cleverness-deep profoundness, people I don’t really know that well and make me feel ill at ease, and would laugh if they knew that when I am around them I am trying to be the above, and really just come off as a schmuck.
Lately the more I’ve been worrying about how to play the role in My Story, He sends more opportunities to show me how to play my part in His story. A couple weeks ago I was recounting a man’s answer to the question, “What is your purpose in life?” I was waiting for the Westminster Confession #1: To glorify God and enjoy Him forever. I was disappointed with his shallow answer(by my guidelines). A wise person interjected that this man was a work in progress, and shared what this man had told him about what he had learned about being a Christian after the Easter service this spring. I was humbled, realizing I’m a git, and My Story is pretty shallow.
If I start playing my role in His Story, I will listen more and talk less. I will not be critical of others, even if it is a funny story. I will let encouragement flow from my mouth, and hope for the best in others. I will not be the life of the party, but give the glory where it is due. I will not judge people I don’t understand, but call them up once in a while and try to get to know them better. I will quit trying to make plans to change the world, and ask God to show me His story, and the role He wants me to play. I will accept His love and grace for me, and stop trying to feel my worth by the laugh-o-meter score I receive in a conversation. Realizing God loves me, pursues me, and cherishes me needs to quit being mere head knowledge, and trickle down to my heart. Then I’ll be in His story.
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April 17, 2008 at 10:48 pm (Personal reflection)
It just dawned on me this week that I have a friend who doesn’t complain about money. And the only way people complain about money is when they don’t have any. Her husband doesn’t make a gob of money, they have plenty of kids, they have plenty of expenses, but she doesn’t talk about what they can’t afford.
I don’t generally feel a like a complainer about money, but I do feel I have been drawn into conversations where I am trying to one-up the other person on what we can or can’t afford. After an episode of comparison, I’ve noticed that what people can “afford” is relative – what I would spend money on just isn’t important to the next person. And what I would spend money on could horrify someone else. Also, if you choose to spend your money on a couch, don’t covet your neighbor’s satellite TV. You coulda got the satellite instead of the couch. Stop complaining.
I realized another facet of this when we were studying the culture of different economic classes in Sunday school. Middle class folks are characterized by always wanting the bargain. I realized this is me. Now I am not the bargain queen by any means. I have friends that are really really incredible at this, spending minutes upon minutes comparing grocery ads and being fantastic stewards with their money. I am careful at the grocery store, but there are certain things I just don’t want to spend money on. Clothes and shoes fit in this category. I like stopping in at consignment shops, looking for a great deal and a great story. This is unfortunate for anyone who mentions my new(new is relative, isn’t it?) shirt or pair of shoes, for they get every detail of where I found it and how much I paid. This is my public apology for anyone I’ve done this too. From now on I’ll just say, “Thank you,” instead of explaining how I bought 2 seemingly new pairs of Keen shoes which retail for $80, for $22. I usually am compelled to tell you, because I don’t want you to think I really can afford the $80, because I feel guilty somehow if I can afford more than you.
Now that I have noticed I do these things, I would like to focus on contentment and thanks. Thanks, Lord, for providing so abundantly. Help me be a good steward. Help me not to feel guilty for your good gifts. Help me to share with others in need. Help me not to boast – unless it’s in You. Help me never to focus on what we can’t afford – unless it’s the price of our salvation. Help me to learn the secret of contentment, and encourage others to be content too.
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April 12, 2008 at 4:19 pm (Marriage)
It is my 16th wedding anniversary today. This Friday is like every other Friday, finishing up schoolwork with the kids and attempting to get the house clean by doing my own chores, and nagging them to get theirs finished. I am not much on celebrations, although I am learning. My mom and I didn’t celebrate much growing up. It was just her and I, and we kind of lived a quiet, non-celebratory life. My husband’s family, on the other hand, are big celebrators. His parents still call and sing “Happy Anniversary” to us after all this time, and offer to take the kids for an overnighter even though our oldest is 17.
Marcus and I don’t reminisce often, since our todays are so much better than our yesterdays. But this morning he did look around our family room, watching the fire and sipping his coffee. “We’ve sure come a long way, Jen.” The first house we rented was teeny, with our few belongings crowding into the little mauve living room: Marcus’ fish tank, a TV, a rocking chair, the stereo cabinet, and my mom’s couch. Ashley’s room was really a walkway from the kitchen into our bedroom. 8 months after we got married, Marcus lost his job and I got pregnant with Katherine. We decided to trust God, and Marcus started his business, and I determined I would stay home when this baby was born. The rest is history. I am glad God emphasizes remembering His works in His Word. It reminds me that even if I’m not a great celebrator, I need to remind myself about what He has done.
Before Ashley left with the kids this afternoon, we discussed a friend who was having boy problems. This friend just started dating someone, and was definitely not “feeling the love.” I told Ashley I was definitely still “feeling the love” with her father. She asked me if he still gave me goose bumps. I had to admit to no bumps, but that when I wake up next to him, I smile. I can’t pinpoint why I love Marcus. I just do. I appreciate his devotion to me and the kids, and how hard he works for us. But I couldn’t make this trite little list about all the reasons I love him. Maybe it is like God’s love for us. He can’t list all the reasons He loves us. He just does. He can’t help it. And I can’t help but loving this man either. Happy Anniversary, honey. Even if you never read this.(Marcus sits at the computer twice a year.)
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April 11, 2008 at 7:12 pm (Children)
Unless you are the owner of a last child, commonly referred to as the “baby of the family,” you don’t understand the spoiled last child syndrome. I used to scorn families who carelessly confessed they were spoiling their last child with their full knowledge. But now I don’t only understand why they do it, I do it shamelessly myself.
Why do I tolerate Rebecca’s whining and gnashing of teeth as I brush through her beautiful, long, tangled hair? Before church Sunday, as I was mercilessly finding every tangle, my husband asked me, “Why don’t you just cut it off?” I told him plainly that this is the last long hair. When I see it I see all the long hair of my three other daughters: Ashley’s long, flowing, light-brown curls with their blond highlights catching the sunlight in the yard. It looks exactly like a picture of me at 3, pushing my mom and Brandi the Dog on my swingset. I see Katherine’s long, straight hair that was so thick you couldn’t even put a ponytail holder around it or it would snap off. Maddie’s beautiful, thick, dark-brown curls, all the way to her bottom. I still remember cutting off the 18 inches for Locks-of-Love. I wonder how many wigs they made with that incredible wad of hair?
Rebecca’s unkempt, wispy hair represents her pretty much carefree life as a child. So do her favorite red velvet pants. She wears them everyday unless we make her change to go out in public, or must pry them off of her for the weekly washing. I let her wear them to Mission Night at church once, and her sisters were mortified. I thought it was kind of cute. My oldest daughter sometimes wears things that are kind of like red velvet pants, but people call it “Bohemian.” Go ahead and buck the trend, Ashley.
This fleeting moment of childhood is so precious I want to cherish it as long as I can. If that means wrestling Rebecca down so I can brush her hair, so be it. The last child gets the brunt of this realization because the other 3 have grown up so fast. Wait a minute, girls. I’m not done brushing your long hair yet.
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