The Friends Made By the Family That Went to Yellowstone

My brother Tony has a close friend from college. He stayed at my parents' house one summer when Tony and I were still single and living with our parents, after college. So I got to know him, and his friendship with my brother makes him family. Then I got married, and Tony got married, to Kimberley, and eventually Tony's friend from college got married too. The wife of the college friend became good friends with Kimberley.

A couple of years ago, Kimberley introduced me to blogging. At first, I only registered a blogspot identity so I could comment on Kimberley's site. But just for kicks, I set up my own blog and posted one post to it. My second post came seven months later. After that, I began to post more regularly, and now my blog has over 200 posts and I am totally addicted to blogging.

In fact, I'm somewhat embarrassed to reveal that I actually have nine blogs on my dashboard at the moment. (Ahem.)

But only two of them are public. The first is this one you are reading. The second is my ministry blog, Something Good.

Something Good began this past December. It was inspired by the Love & Respect marriage philosophy. I haven't done very much work to grow it yet, but that's okay. Its time will come.

Last February, I opened my email to discover someone had left 5 or 6 comments on various Something Good posts all at once. And her comments really clicked with me. She seemed funny and refreshing, witty and beautiful of heart.

I was having a busy weekend and didn't get a chance to put her comments up on the blog for a few days. Gathering laundry, I shot up a prayer: "Abba, if Something Good is going to grow, I'll need some help with it. Please send me a helper."

The next time I returned to my computer, I noticed my enthusiastic commenter, Holly, had subscribed to Something Good, which gave me her email address. I popped off a message to her, asking her who she was.

She said she found my blog through Kimberley's blog, and she'd found Kimberley's blog through her sister's blog. It turns out her sister is the wife of Tony's college friend.

She went on to reveal that she was married to the college friend's brother.

If you're completely lost, this will clear it up: two brothers married two sisters. Got it?

So. Remember what I said about people connected to my brother being family? So when I found out how I was connected to Holly, I wrote right back and said, "Oh!! You're family!!"

Holly said she really liked Something Good, and get this: she wanted to *help out*! I was so excited. Flabbergasted. Overjoyed. God had heard my multi-tasked popcorn prayer and answered it before it had even cooled.

I told Holly she was an answer to prayer. I'd prayed for a Something Good helper, and God had brought her.

Then Holly blew me completely away. She said she thought I was an answer to prayer too. She'd been praying for a friend.

Tears sprang to my eyes. That she would so courageously type such a vulnerable sentence, that her trust in God was so strong, that she seemed so lonely, and that *I* was God's answer to anyone's friendship prayer. Me?

Nevertheless, trusting God in the midst of my feelings of total inadequacy, I wrote back to Holly and told her she'd come to the right place and that I was honored to be God's answer to her prayer.

Since then, our friendship has grown and rapidly deepened in ways only God could orchestrate. We chuckle constantly at how many things we have in common. We've each seen opportunity to pray for and encourage each other through low valleys, we've rejoiced greatly together about mountaintop moments. A sea of blessings comes to those whose friendships are founded in Christ.

But alas, Holly and I are four states apart and we each lead very full, homey lives. Our chances of meeting seemed slim to none.

Well, this year, we scheduled a week-long trip to my parents' house. While looking at maps, I realized how much closer to Holly my parents' house would put me. I began to search for some kind of halfway point at which we might possibly rendesvouz. And AHA! Old Faithful was almost exactly halfway between Holly's house and my parents' house.

It was such a long shot that I didn't even mention it for a few weeks, but finally, I thought, "What's the worst that could happen? It doesn't work out? It's worth a try..." So I posed the question to Holly: how about meeting in Yellowstone?

As I'm sure you're by this time well aware, she said yes! :)

So you see, my first post about being at Yellowstone, with the elk on the path, was just a side note. And my second post about being at Yellowstone, with my family, was a very pleasant and God-given bonus. And my third post about seeing cool stuff and animals at Yellowstone was just a happy diversion.

But the REAL reason we went to Yellowstone was because it happened to be halfway...

...to Holly.

This is Holly. :)

This is how Holly makes me smile.

This is my wise mommy, listening to Holly.

This is my handsome daddy.

This is my *incredibly* handsome husband.

This is Holly's dauther, Hannah.

This is Holly's son, Isaiah. My boys hit it off with him immediately.

This is my son, James. Check out his goose egg. Coffee table!

This is my son, Jonathan.

Here we are, around the campfire.

The kids had smoked pancakes for breakfast.

Breakfast buddies.

More breakfast buddies.

Left to right: Buffy, Wolfy, Midnight, and Morris.

Friendship shoulder to shoulder.

The three musketeers.

God's beautiful daughters!

My newest sister.

Group shot at Mammoth Hot Springs taken by passing tourist.

Isaiah the Mighty Adventurer!

Nothing like cold ice cream on a hot day.

You can say that again. Chocolate!

My amazing parents. :)

God's hand at work. :)

So *this* is the post I was so excited to post.
You can see why. :)

The Sights Seen By the Family That Went to Yellowstone

This was my favorite sight...my daddy taking pictures. All the really cool pictures you see from this trip...they're his. He's really got a good eye for a great picture. Plus, he's amazing and wonderful. I love my daddy!

Oh, ya can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd,
ya can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd,
ya can't rollerstake in a buffalo herd,
but you can be happy, if you've a mind to.
All ya gotta do is put yer mind to it.
Knuckle down, buckle down, do it, do it, do it...

Spring calves! We came to Yellowstone at just the right time. Isn't she a cutie?

This big guy...not quite so cute. But definitely fascinating. This is what we affectionately like to call a molting bison. Look at those horns! Posted everywhere around the park are these funny drawings of people with cameras being gored by angry bison. But don't worry...I'm *sure* my dad took this shot with his super duper zoom lens.

Yes, we're supposed to stay 30 feet from the buffalo, but someone forgot to tell the buffalo!!

This is a bald eagles' nest. One eagle is nesting, the other just delivered a shipment of food and has been cleared for takeoff. That's a six-foot wingspan. Pretty cool shot, eh? Told you my dad was good.

These charming little varmints bullied us all around our campsite. The fine for feeding these fine fellers is $100. Yowzers! Judging, however, from the friendliness of this little guy, we're guessing the people who camped there before us owe Yellowstone some Benjamins.

See? Not even afraid of the fire. (Takes after my mom.)

Notice the tiny black dot to the right of this bug. That's an ant. The big bug is dead, and this body builder ant is dragging it home for dinner. Puts a whole new meaning to the proverb: "Consider the ant, O sluggard!"

Here's some steam.

Here's some more steam. Don't touch it. It's hot.

Here's some boiling mud. I liked watching the mud pots.

This is Mammoth Hot Springs.

This mama elk tripped merrily across the road in front of our van as we drove along. We paused to let her cross, then snap, snap, snap went the camera. This wasn't with a zoom lens. The elk was actually this close to me.

Here is a petrified tree, surrounded by a petrified fence, against which lean two petrified boys. (Not really.)

We're seated on the edge of the road, dangling our feet down a steep incline. Why? Bears and moose, of course! This is a pretty common sight at Yellowstone (the silly tourists on the side of the road, I mean).

But it's for a good cause! Look what dangerous road practices can get you! Views of big guys like this!

And THIS! (my favorite shot)

God's faithfulness on display: the eruption of Old Faithful against the backdrop of God's nightly sunset reminds me of His promise to you: "As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease." Genesis 8:22 NIV

Okay, my *next* post is the one I'm super duper excited about. It's coming! It's coming!

The Family That Went to Yellowstone

This is my very cute mommy at our campground in Yellowstone, yes, *standing* on the edge of the fire pit. When questioned about her daring behavior, she replied with a nonchalant shrug, "Well, I'm cold..." Daddy keeps watch protectively.

This is my very cute napping daddy. Just call him Indiana Jones.

James the Flying Camper! Check out the air he's catching here!

Jonathan follows suit in the four-year-old way. Mighty jumper!

Kiss the cook! (That's me and my honey, of course. You couldn't tell?)

Mom and I discuss the deeper meaning of life around a smoking fire pit.

Small child passionately kisses mommy on nose. Mommy melts into pile of mush.

The second morning was a little colder, so the blankets were wrapped a little tighter, and the fire was a little bigger. Actually, what I mean to say is...there actually *was* a fire...

Me and my mom attempt to master the ol' digital self-portrait.

Look at my adorable parents!! Aren't they so great? They've been best friends for forty years now. I'm so proud of their strong marriage. It's one of the greatest blessings of my life.

Doesn't this look like a CD cover from 1990? But it's not. It's really my two sons, begging me to take a picture of themselves on top of these rocks to show to their new buddy, about whom you will be learning in the next post. I can't wait to tell you!

James loves Yellowstone!

Jonathan loves Yellowstone!

We all love Yellowstone! There's my mom, James, my Jeff, Jonathan, and me. You can't tell, but we're gazing with great awe and reverence at one of the waterfalls in the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. One of the natural wonders of the world. Really beautiful. But instead of showing you pictures of that, I've opted to show instead my wacky family.

We found a picnic table overlooking Yellowstone Lake and the very tall mountains behind it. Here's us, here's our picnic stuff, here's the lake, here are the mountains. And here's a big, tall tree.

You can't tell, but this log I'm sitting on stretches across a cliff sort of thing, and my feet are dangling above open air. Nothing between me and the water, 20 feet below. Yep, living dangerously. That's me. Hey! I'm a cliffhanger!

Vacation, Vacation, Vacation

So...my last post was June 19th, and the previous post was 9 days before that. I only posted 6 times in June, and 3 of those only took a couple of minutes. Some pics, an old story, a meme. That's it.

Well, after school got out on the 6th, we spent only seven days at home for the rest of the month of June. All of those seven days were spent in preparation for our time away. So basically, we spent all of June on vacation. I am flabbergasted to discover that it is now July when my summer (at home) has barely begun!

So where did I go?

I went on one of the best vacations of my life.

It began at my Uncle David and Aunt Marjorie's house, an idyllic country home set against the backdrop of several beautifully well-kept gardens of every kind. A bountiful vegetable garden, a nicely-manicured herb garden, a tenderly-crafted fruit orchard arbor (which has a fancy name I can't recall), and several terraced flower gardens. We traipsed alongside quaint duck ponds, listened to the nearby babbling brook, and chuckled at the happy shrieks of our delighted sons as they flung themselves into the wild blue yonder on a long, sturdy rope swing. Jeff got to tour a master's wood shop and enjoy a culinary artist's kitchen cuisine. I saw my grandpa in my uncle's face and soaked up my family with a heart at peace.

From there, we went to a lake town and met up with several of my very dear friends from college. In the nearly ten years since I've been out of school, these friends have kept in faithful contact with me on an almost daily basis via email. In some ways, we are closer than family. Every summer, we meet up to reconnect in person, and it is always a rich, wonderful time. As we grow, our friendships deepen, and this year was especially poignant as we shared about what God has been doing in our lives in the past year. I am so blessed to be surrounded by friends who so beautifully reflect the light of Christ.

After that, we picked up my parents and went to Yellowstone for three days, which I will blog about in the next few posts. It was spectacular.

From Yellowstone, we returned to my parents' house, where we spent six peaceful, relaxing, leisurely, tranquil, idle days. We had such a fun time hanging out with my parents, playing cards, working on my dad's book, watching movies, sleeping late, and resting, resting, resting. Just what we needed.

We spent three days at home, then turned right around and spent three days on a lake at the beach for a staff retreat. We played cards, went boating, watched the waves, hung out, watched movies, and slept some more.

And now, we're home for four days before we go camping for two nights over 4th of July. After that, we should sleep in our own beds basically until the beginning of August.

I have more news to share, but now I'm sleepy. I can't wait to post my next two posts! You'll love them. :)

Up Close and Personal

Yesterday, at Yellowstone, my little family and I had occasion to walk up a little trail overlooking the Yellowstone River. At one point, the trail had steep hill on one side and tree-lined drop-off on the other. Not the dangerous kind of steep or the dangerous kind of drop-off. The kind you can scurry up and down.

At a rather narrow spot in the trail, with hill on one side and tree wall on the other, we looked straight ahead to find an enormous 3-point bull elk blocking our path.

We froze.

So did the elk.

We stared at each other. Then I turned to Jeff and said, "“Whaddowedo?”

Jeff put a hand firmly against the small of my back, grabbed onto both boys with his other hand, and hoisted us all up onto the hillside next to the path. Once we were all safely crouched down on a fallen log, trying to make ourselves look as small as possible behind the skinniest evergreens in the whole world, I tossed the camera to Jeff, whose body shielded the rest of us from certain, dramatic death.


The elk took a few steps forward, peering at us camped out on the side of the hill.


Deciding his horns were big enough to protect himself from us, he ventured cautiously closer...and closer...


Sizing us up, the elk chose to make a run for it, hoping to avoid being eaten by the brightly-colored tourists.


So he sprinted past, obviously just as scared of us as we were of him.


Once he was out of danger, the elk slowed to an amiable trot.


Which left us dangling on the side of the hill for a considerable amount of time, hoping the elk wouldn't change his mind and come back. If you look closely, you can see his white tail way up there. But it's hard to spot.


I asked Jeff to get a good shot of us in our little perch, for increased dramatic storytelling effect.


But eventually, the elk meandered out of sight, and we made it up the trail, safe and sound, no harm done. Whew!

It was super cool to be so close to that big guy, whose shoulder stood higher than Jeff's head.

And it was very interesting to me, in the midst of how scared *I* was, to see how scared *he* was.

It's the same with people. Ever notice that when people act out dangerously in what appears to be a mean spirit, they're usually just scared to death? That can be pretty difficult to understand in the heat of the moment, especially when their fear is putting you in danger. But have you noticed that for the most part (with exceptions, of course) if you're calm, they calm down too?

My dad has a quote that sums it up nicely:

"Be kind. Everyone is fighting a hard battle."

Cleaning Woman

Last week I made a big mess. A big scene. In public.

My son's school has a safety policy that requires parents to prove their identity before their children can be released to them. Good policy. Don't want any kidnappers napping my kid. Or is it nabbing my kid?

Anyway, usually, proof of identity is in the form of a school-issued identifying number card that the school gives you at the beginning of the year, which you stick in your windshield every day when you come to pick up your kid. The dismissal teacher sees your number and calls it out to the assembled student body, and your child comes through the school doors and gets in your car. You're not even allowed to exit your vehicle while in the carpool lane.

If you don't have your number card in the car, you have to park and go to the office, where you're supposed to show them your photo ID. Then they write you a dismissal slip, which you give to the dismissal teacher, and she gives you your kid.

Well, last Thursday, I didn't have my number.

So I was told to park and go to the office to get my dismissal slip.

I had no bra, I had not shaved my face since the previous morning (so there was a nice, hefty black shadow all over my chin), and my four-year-old in the car with me was barefooted.

I just wanted to get in and get out of the school as quickly as possible to avoid the embarrassing stares my beard would surely bring.

Also, I had PMS and had not taken my special mood-stabilizing drugs.

Now.

The previous week, when I didn't have my number, all I had to do was roll down my passenger side window and tell the dismissal teacher what it was. No big deal. She called my number without seeing any card, and my son came out to the car, just like normal.

Also, my son is in morning kindergarten and is usually dismissed by his kindergarten teacher, and she has not required me to show my number in the car windshield for months.

So it's actually been a really long time since I've had my number in the car with me.

This past Thursday, my son spent all day at school for the big year-end field day, so he dismissed with the rest of the student body. The dismissal teacher didn't know me from Adam, so as mentioned, I had to park and come inside the school. I left my barefooted four-year-old in the car to 'watch the new puppy' and headed inside with mounting irritation.

Since I'd been taking my son without my number for months, I thought I could get away with my face being proof enough that I was his mommy.

So I walked right up to his kindergarten teacher, who knows me well and knows I'm his mom, and said, "Hey, can I take my son?"

She said no, I had to go to the office.

Now, I have no idea what snapped in my brain, but for whatever reason, I was not okay with having to go to the office. I thought, he's my son, I'm his mom, you can't keep me from him.

A mom being told she has to jump through hoops in order to have access to her child is not a happy mom.

Besides that, they didn't care yesterday, they didn't care last week, they hadn't cared for the past several months, why should they care that time? I really thought they'd just let me leave, and then they'd roll their eyes at my retreating back.

I set my jaw, closed my mouth into a thin line, took my son by the hand, and proceeded to lead him to the school door.

I was truly surprised to see three determined elementary school teachers block my path. I picked my son up and tried to push through. They wouldn't budge.

I said, "This is MY son."

The dismissal teacher said, "I know he's your son, but my job is on the line if I let you go through that door."

I reminded them they had let me take him every day for months without a number. They denied it. But I don't think they meant to be actually lying or denying anything. I think they misunderstood me, or didn't know what I was referring to. Because they're not liars. They're really great people.

My son's teacher said softly to me with sad eyes, "You have to obey the rules."

Another teacher murmured gently, "And people are watching..."

Shoot! There went my goal of avoiding an embarrassing situation.

I set my son down and stomped off to the office, in a very grandiose PMS huff. The principal, having been summoned, met me halfway down the hall and said, "Is everything alright?"

I shot back testily over my shoulder, "It's fine. I just have PMS."

The school secretary knew I was coming and had already begun to write the note in question when I marched up to her desk. I never saw a secretary write so fast.

Snatching the note rudely out of her hand with not a kind word nor a backward glance, I thundered back down the hall to the dismissal area, once more passing the very kind, very gentle principal, who simply said again, "Are you sure everything's alright?"

"It's fine!" I snapped.

With my son's fingers in one hand and my dismissal slip in the other, I again approached the door, dropping the all-important note at the dismissal teacher's feet. She didn't see it, so she tried to block my way again. She grabbed onto my arm, which now sports a very colorful bruise the size of two fingers down to their second knuckles.

I flung her arm out of my way as hard as I could and charged through the door with my son. The dismissal teacher asked, perplexed, "Where's the note?"

I yelled, "THE NOTE'S RIGHT THERE!!"

Frustrated, she shot back, "Why didn't you HAND it to us?!"

Without answering, I got in my car and drove away, trembling with rage and shock.

Driving straight over to where my husband was working, I told him the whole story, sobbing uncontrollably the entire time. He listened, he held my hand, he said he was on my team, and he prayed with me. Finally, he had to get back to work, so I headed home, alligator tears streaming down my cheeks as I drove.

I spent the next couple of hours all wrapped up in the spiritual ramifications of my big, fat failure, but when my husband got home from work, he reminded me as well of possible legal ramifications. He thought the school could probably charge me with assault, and we both became concerned that they'd call Child Services and, at best, question my son, and at worst, take him into 'protective' custody.

We were sure our son would have to miss his last day of school, miss saying goodbye to his favorite teacher and all his little kindergarten friends, miss the kind of closure he'd need from the way he was forced to exit the school the previous day. I didn't want him to have to miss all that, but I knew the possible alternative was worse - losing my child.

I asked just a handful of very close friends to pray, pray, pray, which they did, did, did.

While we waited to hear from the school about their procedure in dealing with irate parents, I spoke with a friend who teaches at a similar school in a different state. She said calling the authorities would really be a stretch, and the school was much more likely to deal with the situation internally.

That calmed me down quite a bit.

The next morning, hoping my son wouldn't have to face such a deplorable end to his school year, I called the school first thing and asked what their procedure was for situations like this - were they going to bring in Child Services? Were they going to charge me with anything? If we sent our son to school, would we get him back at the end of the day? The principal said no one had been called and my son was welcome back to his classroom. So we sent him to school.

The principal also said she had informed her supervisor of what had happened, and he said since other students had witnessed my outburst, he'd write a letter to all the elementary parents (without mentioning names) and let them know their kids were still safe and the school had the situation well in hand. My husband and I will also meet with him later on this month just to make sure we're all on the same page for next year (in other words, "If you do this again your kid can't come to our school anymore").

Many people have many views on this. Some think the school was right and I was wrong. Others think I was right and the school was wrong. Everyone agrees that everyone involved could have handled the situation better. Is the policy a little strict? Maybe. Maybe not. But at the beginning of the school year, my husband and I signed a contract saying we would abide by that policy. So I was out of line.

The principal said she thought all of the teachers who had been there needed to hear from me. She suggested I call or try to visit with each of them and then send a follow-up apology letter.

I asked the principal if I could meet with those teachers right after school that day to apologize to them en masse. She said she thought that would be a great idea. So my husband took his lunch break from his construction job and came with me.

When we got to the school, the teachers were gathered and waiting for us. My husband and I sat down, and I immediately began to cry (actually, I'd been crying pretty much nonstop since the incident). Every single teacher teared up immediately. The principal opened in prayer, and then I told everyone I agreed with their policy, and they relaxed, and I said I was sorry, and they cried, and I said now I knew for sure my son would always be safe :), and they laughed. We sure tested THAT boundary, didn't we? And the principal led the pack in saying she forgave me, and the rest of them all said they forgave me too, and there were hugs all around, and everything was resolved.

And then the funniest thing happened. In genuine, gushy, unrehearsed, emotional girlishness, the teachers began one by one to say to me, "Wow. You're amazing. You have so much character. You're courageous. You are a picture of Christ. You're a very Godly woman. You impress me. You're a good mom. You're such an incredible example of Christlike behavior."

I just wanted to laugh and laugh. And laugh. Christlike behavior?! Were they blind?!

But what a picture of grace. When I deserved condemnation, I was lavished with love. It was like they completely forgot my mess because of the way God cleaned it up.

I told you all of that to tell you this.

God used this incident to teach me a very important, life-changing lesson. I hope my sharing it will impact some of you too.

Remember how I talked to my teacher friend on the phone the evening of the incident? She said something I'll never forget. She said, "Well, so, you made a big mess. Now you clean it up, and then you move on. Life's not about never making messes. Life's about cleaning up after ourselves."

Her statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd been crying for several hours because I'd made a mess. A BIG mess. And I suddenly realized something.

I'd spent my entire life striving as hard as I possibly could to never make any messes. If I made any kind of viewable mistake, big or small, I wallowed in the shame of it and wore it around my neck like a noose for days, weeks, months, sometimes years. It was never okay with me for me to make a mess. And because I was so devastated and ashamed that I'd made a mess in the first place, the last thing I wanted to do was face it, because that would just make me feel worse about myself. So what did I do? I simply ignored my messes. I never cleaned them up.

But life is messy! Messes happen all the time. Life is not about never making messes. It's about cleaning up our messes, and moving on.

I can't describe the hope I found in the knowledge that after my mess at the school was cleaned up, I could MOVE ON. It was almost too good to believe.

But God immediately gave me several practical illustrations of His promise of grace.

After our talk with the teachers, I dropped my husband at the store and ran through the McDonald's drive-thru with the boys. I got three lunches, forgetting my husband's lunch entirely. So I went back through the drive-thru and got his. And I realized - WOW! I made a mess (forgetting my husband's lunch) and cleaned it up! Moving on. Did I need to wallow in my mistake of forgetting the fourth lunch? Of course not! That's grace.

Then when we got home, my son spilled his yogurt. He made a mess, we cleaned it up! Did I hold his spilled yogurt over his head in condemnation? Absolutely not! I gave him grace because what? Say it with me: EVERYBODY MAKES MISTAKES.

Five minutes later, our darling new puppy wet on the kitchen floor AGAIN, and I cleaned it up! Did I rub my little puppy's nose in her mess and banish her out of doors? No way! And not just because it's ineffective puppy training. Because of grace.

It sort of feels like now life makes sense in a way it never did before. We make messes, we clean them up, we move on! I can't explain how freeing it is, but it's quite tremendous. Even really big messes seem okay now. Not that they aren't horrific and painful. But we clean them up. Life goes on.

I will no longer hold onto my messes and avoid cleaning them up. If they're not cleaned up, I can't move on. And this applies both figuratively and literally. I am letting go of emotional messes that have remained open wounds, and I'm giving them a chance to heal and scar over. But I'm also cleaning up physical messes. My house. My dishes. My laundry. My beard.

Life is messy! That's just the way it is. I can't avoid making messes. But from now on, I will clean them up. And move on. I am a Cleaner of Messes. That's what I do.

My teacher friend sent me an email of sweet balm to my soul that brought this concept into perfect focus. I'd like to share her words of grace with you.

remember that Jesus loves you. he loves you the same whether you are at your best or at your worst. he looks at you and says "that's MY girl" even when you're throwing tantrums.

and he's not MORE impressed with you when you are mom of the year. he says "she's like that because of ME"

the truth is: when we are at our shining best he still can see our darkest potential lurking below the surface... and when we are at our shameful lowest, he still sees his image in us, his blood covering us, and his love flowing through us.

i am SO proud of you, warrior princess and now cleaning woman.

Cleaning Woman. I like it. Wanna join me?

Sharing the Love

Kristi at Music Mom of 2 honored me with this award today. Check out Kristi's big heart for all her blogging buddies over at her site. She also explains this award a little bit. And thank you, Kristi!

I love to share the award love with lots of my bloggy friends, but today God has put one person specifically on my heart to honor. This gal knows every single one of my ugly parts and loves me anyway. She is a faithful friend and has a beautiful soul. In the nearly 8 years we've known each other, she has been a constant joy to my heart and a great blessing to my life. I am thankful every day that I know her, and I am glad beyond words that she loves me just the way I am. If there's anyone in my life who perfectly epitomizes sharing her love, it is my Kimberley.

All My Needs

I wrote this story a while ago, and it was first published over at my friend Julie's blog last month. I'm posting it here again because I like to keep all my stuff in one place. Enjoy!

---

“My God shall supply all your needs…” Philippians 4:19a

I awoke to find myself staring cross-eyed at a small button nose. My four-year-old, Jonathan, peered into my bleary face, blue eyes dancing.

“Is it Thanksgiving yet?” he bubbled.

Grinning in spite of myself, I replied, “Yep! And you know what we’re gonna do today? We’re gonna rest at home for a few hours this morning, and then we’re going over to Grandma’s house, and we’re gonna eat a big meal and talk about what we’re thankful for.”

Jonathan frowned, “But what about giving stuff?”

Misinterpreting, I explained, “No, honey, we don’t give presents at Thanksgiving. Only at Christmas.”

He said, “Noooooo! Not presents. You know. Giving stuff.”

Coming up blank, I asked, “Giving stuff? What kind of stuff?”

“You know,” he coaxed, “giving stuff to people who don’t have anything. Giving a toy to a kid who doesn’t have any toys.”

The lights went on in my brain. “Ohhhhh…I see...”

Jonathan looked at me expectantly and insisted, “We have to give some stuff before we go to Grandma’s house.”

One look at his confident eyes told me I had to try. Could I measure up to his pure generosity? Fighting back tears, I choked out in a whisper, “We’ll see what we can do.”

Jonathan bounded off to find his brother and give him the good news as I lay stunned, having no idea where to begin fulfilling his request. My eyes fell on a random box at the back of our bedroom. My red crock pot box, with all the original packaging inside. One of the few treats I’d indulged in during the past year.

All summer, my husband, Jeff, had worked diligently in his new career as a general contractor. But even with my part-time job at our church, we had trouble paying the bills. And we certainly couldn’t afford things like extravagant red crock pots. But I got it anyway. I figured I deserved a little something cheery and red. My favorite color. We’d have to buy a bigger one as the boys grew, but so what? I wanted the red one now. We’d upgrade later.

By the time September rolled around, things were pretty tight, and as Thanksgiving approached, we scrambled just to find enough cash to put gas in the car and food on the table. But not once in all that time did God leave us hungry, even if our meal consisted of Ramen Noodles.

Just that previous Saturday, the one right before Thanksgiving, God had shown Himself to be our provider yet again. We’d had enough food for Saturday’s breakfast, but I’d had no idea where lunch would come from. That morning, I lifted my heart to heaven and said, “Well, Lord…?”

Less than a minute later, the phone rang. Mom’s cheerful voice crackled over the line, “Hi! Guess what? They have a deal going at Albertson’s right now where if you buy $25 worth of groceries, you can get a turkey for 17 cents a pound. I’d like to take you to the store, give you $25 to spend, and pay for your turkey. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes!” I shouted into the phone.

“Okay. I’m on my way.”

I hung up and paced in circles, slightly overwhelmed by God’s provision, Mom’s generosity, and our extensive grocery list. What in the world would I choose to spend my $25 on? We needed so much. “Lord,” I prayed, “You have guided me this far. Please show me what to get at Albertson’s.”

God did just that. All the way through our shopping trip, He helped me choose items to put in my cart. When I got to the check stand with my $25, the checker asked methodically, “Would you like to donate a dollar to feed a hungry family for the holidays?”

I laughed, explaining, “We are the hungry family. Someone else is buying these groceries for us.”

But after in-store discounts, my grocery total had only been $24, and I knew I could have given Mom’s last dollar to help feed another family. But I’d been so focused on my own needs that I’d forgotten to think of those even less fortunate.

Well, Jonathan didn’t forget.

Refocusing my glazed eyes on my red crock pot box, I uncurled myself and stumbled out of bed.

Navigating my way to Google, I punched in “Thanksgiving Day Outreach” and the name of our city. Nothing. I found a site directing me to a Thanksgiving meal being provided two blocks from our house, but that didn’t seem to fulfill Jonathan’s request of finding a needy family and “giving them stuff”. There were toy drives, but they required new, unopened toys we couldn’t afford. I found quite a few donation centers, but they were all closed on Thanksgiving.

Knowing I couldn’t let Jonathan down, I tossed a prayer up to the Lord, “Please help me find a family that needs some stuff.”

God immediately brought to my mind a friend from church who works at our local pregnancy center. I gave her a call. “Hey, Barb! Happy Thanksgiving!”

Somewhat puzzled, Barb returned my greeting, and I plunged right in. “I have a problem…” I told her about my sweet, little Jonathan’s great, big heart, and his demand that I come up with a needy family he could give some stuff to, this morning, before we went to Grandma’s house. She listening in silence until I finished breathlessly, “so I was wondering if the pregnancy center had a drop-off site we could take some stuff to.”

Barb replied, “Well, we do, but it’s closed today, because it’s Thanksgiving.” Then she offered hesitantly, “You know, there is one family…a girl who volunteers at the center…she’s got four kids, and they really struggle.”

That’s it, I thought. That’s our family.

Barb went on, “But she never, ever answers the phone. I always get her machine. I’m sure she wouldn’t pick up the phone today.”

As Barb got ready to head back to her Thanksgiving preparations, I took a step of faith and asked, “So you don’t feel comfortable calling your friend?”

She was quiet for a moment. Finally she said, “You know, I could.”

“Okay!” My heart soared.

We made our plans. Barb said, “If you hear back from me, I got through to my friend. If you don’t hear back, that means I got her machine.”

Five minutes later, the phone rang again. Barb’s voice trembled, “She answered the phone! That’s the first time she’s ever answered the phone! I told her I knew a family, who had some stuff to give away, and could she use some food, and she said yes!”

Perfect. Barb gave me her friend’s name, phone number and address and told me a little about her family. A one-year-old boy, twin five-year-old girls, and an eight-year-old big sister.

Hanging up, I gathered tender Jonathan into my arms, cradled him close to my overflowing heart, and told him we’d found a family, which to me was a total miracle all in itself! Jonathan wasn’t even surprised.

He went right to work choosing some shapes and a shape box to give to the baby. It was sort of hard for him to let them go, but after I reminded him that this whole thing was his idea in the first place, he grinned with joy and gladly handed over the ‘baby shapes’.

James, my six-year-old, has a hard time getting rid of any of his things, but we had two complete sets of Littlest Pet Shop toys my boys never played with because they were too girly, and I knew they’d be perfect for the twin five-year-old girls. It took a bit of coaxing, but I burst with pride when James finally agreed to let those toys go. I’d teach him to be generous yet!

Entering our kitchen, I realized we didn’t actually have very much food we could give away. A loaf of bread, a little yogurt. The stuff we’d just been given the previous Saturday. Knowing Thanksgiving leftovers and a paycheck were in our immediate future, I gregariously emptied most of the contents of our fridge and freezer into a box. But before the box was even half-full, our cupboards were nearly stripped bare. Eyeing the thawing bird in our refrigerator, I said to Jeff, “Hey, let’s give them our turkey! You didn’t want to cook it anyway!”

Jeff pointed out, “Even if we don’t eat the turkey today, it’s enough meat to feed us for quite a while. That turkey was God’s provision for us…” I nodded, wondering what we should do. After a few moments in thought, Jeff said, “You’re right. Let’s give it to them. It’s ready to cook and everything.” Into the box it went.

I beamed smugly, thinking in my heart how nice it was to see my family reaching out to others. What a good lesson for them to learn.

Suddenly, a still, small voice stopped me in my tracks. My eyes widened as I felt, rather than heard, God say, “I want you to give them your red crock pot.”

Immediately I argued, “But Lord, we just got that crock pot. We need a crock pot. It’s red. It’s my favorite color. I love it. I use it all the time.”

Here I was, encouraging my family to give up the stuff they loved, hoping they’d realize it was just stuff. I had no idea God would ask the same of me. But I knew I’d heard Him speak, and I knew what I had to do.

I appealed to Jeff. “I think God wants me to give them my red crock pot…We can’t get rid of my red crock pot, can we?”

Seeing my internal struggle, my wise husband encouraged me, “Honey, if God told you to give them your crock pot, then you need to give it to them.”

I actually cried as I lovingly washed that red crock pot with warm, soapy water, dried it with paper towels, positioned it securely in its original packaging, and lowered it gently into its original box. This lesson in generosity was obviously for the whole family.

After a brief stop at the dollar store for a few more gift items, we pulled up in front of ‘our’ family’s apartment building, hearts brimming with anticipation.

Arms full, we stumbled up the steps to the front door. Jeff reached out with his only free finger and rang the doorbell.

A very loving guard dog on the other side of the door barked its head off. This sound was followed by scuffling as the man of the house ushered the family pet upstairs. After a few seconds of stillness, a couple of locks snapped as the door opened.

A beautiful, kind woman, about my age, met my gaze. I gulped, palms sweaty, and blurted, “Hi, I’m Becky. We’re Barb’s friends. We brought you some stuff.”

“Yes,” she smiled softly, “Come in.”

Setting my bundles down, I babbled in one breath, “So what happened was, I woke up this morning and Jonathan…where’s Jonathan? That one’s Jonathan. Anyway, Jonathan said we needed to find a family to give some stuff to, and we looked online and couldn’t find anything, and then I asked God to help me, and then I called Barb, and she gave us your name, and here we are!”

A sparkling Christmas tree, already decorated, filled the room with sweet scents. Canned corn bubbled on the stove. Dora chirped on the TV in the background. Little feet thumped the ceiling above our heads. A very cozy little home. My heart went out to the woman in front of me as I looked once more into her eyes and smiled.

She returned my smile with tears. “Oh, thank you so much,” she said, wiping her cheeks and throwing her arms around me. “You don’t know how much this means to us.”

Uncomfortable in the face of such authentic gratitude, I mumbled back, “Well, you’re very welcome. It was all Jonathan’s idea. You’re the answer to my prayers.”

Still misty-eyed, she replied, “You’re the answer to mine, too.”

After a short explanation about what we’d brought, followed by one more hug, we wished them a happy Thanksgiving and headed out the door. As we walked toward our van, Jeff leaned over and murmured into my ear, “I saw a few things cooking in the kitchen, but nothing resembling a turkey or turkey prep. I think giving them our turkey was the right thing to do.” I agreed, knowing my red crock pot had found a good home as well.

As soon as we were back in the car and all buckled, Jonathan gave a big sigh. “THERE!” he proclaimed with satisfaction. “NOW we can go to Grandma’s house!”

And just as we suspected, we came home from Grandma’s house that day with enough food to last us until the next payday and them some. More food than we could eat, including platefuls of leftover turkey!

And what did we get from Jeff’s parents for our anniversary a few weeks later? Yep. A brand-new crock pot. Gleaming white, extra large, plenty big enough to feed a family of strapping young men for many years to come. Exactly what our family needed.

“…according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:19b

Silent Saturday: The Self-Portrait

Surprised By Rosy

So yesterday, Jeff planned to take James to school and then do the grocery shopping for the month all by himself. But on a whim, I decided to go with him. So Jeff, Jonathan and I all dropped James off and went shopping.

We didn't quite stick to our plan of being done shopping by the time James was ready to be picked up, so we got him from school and headed to Costco.

But before we went to Costco, we grabbed some dollar burgers from McDonald's. We *always* go through the drive-thru, but for whatever reason, yesterday we decided to park and eat inside - at a McDonald's that didn't even have a play place! All it had was a little video game kiosk stuck in one corner.

That little kiosk, however, certainly piqued the boys' interest. They ran right over to it after they finished their hamburgers and discovered one of the terminals had Lego Star Wars II! We have that game at home, so they knew just what to do.

Located conveniently next to the kiosk was a black leather love seat, which Jeff and I plopped into as we waited for the boys to have some game time. On an end table next to the couch happened to be that day's paper.

Jeff picked it up and began perusing. Classifieds. Boring. I searched for the comics. But pretty soon, Jeff leaned over to me and read, "Free Golden Retriever puppy. Four months old. Our son (bless his heart) brought her home without permission, and now she needs to find a good home."

We've been talking about getting a Golden Retriever puppy for about a year, and James reminds us of that fact about once a week or so.

"I can't wait to get my puppy."

"Mom, when are we going to get our Golden Retriever puppy?"

"When our Golden Retriever puppy comes, she can sleep with me."

"Will our Golden Retriever puppy have to stay in the yard?"

"Mom, you said we were getting a Golden Retriever puppy, remember? So when are we getting it?"

The reply has always been, "Soon, my love."

To a six-year-old boy in love with dogs, this is a highly unsatisfactory answer.

So after squinting at the classified ad for a second, I snatched my cell phone out of my purse and punched in the given number. Then I got shy to talk to a stranger, so I handed my phone to Jeff and said, "Will you talk to her?"

He nodded, putting my phone to his ear. After several seconds, he hung up. "They're just not answering their phone anymore. I'm sure that puppy is long gone."

Oh well.

I went back to the comics.

Then Jeff leaned in again. "10 Golden Retriever puppies, almost 7 weeks old, 5 males, 5 females. Purebred. $250."

(This is when I realized Jeff was in the Golden Retriever section of the classifieds.)

We raised our eyebrows...an unbeatable price for a purebred Golden in our area...might be a good use for our economic stimulus check...

Jeff called the number and left a message on their machine. Then we left McDonald's, finished our shopping, and came home.

Later that afternoon, they called us back! Four females still available. Our having not planned to acquire a puppy yesterday (or anytime in the near future), we had a little bit of discussing to do. "Doesn't our lease agreement say no pets?"

"Not without prior approval."

We called the landlord. "Consider yourself approved," he said. (Good thing. We already have two cats. My old cat, Jack, whom I've had since before I met Jeff, and our new cat, Gracie, who came with the house we live in. Not to mention our parakeet, two turtles, and the tank full of guppies.)

We looked at our finances. Would we still be able to afford our upcoming trip to visit friends and family? It would be tight, but we'd still make it, if we were really careful.

I wandered into the bathroom, where the boys were watching their new 'magic towels' from Dollar Tree 'grow' in the warm bath water, and mentioned casually to them, "So, if we got a Golden Retriever puppy, and it was a girl, what would you name it?"

Both boys thought for a minute. Jonathan piped up, "How about 'Dazzling'?"

James said, "I'd call her 'Cutie'."

Immediately dismissing both names in my mind with a silent 'yeah, right', I said, "Those are good ideas. Let's keep thinking."

We arranged to meet the puppies that evening, told the boys we had a surprise for them, and hopped in the car.

Jeff explained patiently to his wife who always needs fair warning about *everything* that we were JUST LOOKING at the puppies, but we MIGHT NOT find the right puppy for us.

My dog whisperer husband then proceeded to explain to me all about choosing the right puppy. You make noise and if she comes right away, she's too aggressive. If she doesn't come at all, she's too passive. If she holds back for a second, watching curiously, and then saunters over to check it out, she's spot on. Okay. So if we couldn't find that 'spot on' dog, no dice.

We realized the boys would need that fair warning too, so we spilled the beans. "We're going to look at some Golden Retriever puppies, but we MIGHT NOT get one. This will be a lesson in how to shop for puppies."

They responded with all the stoicism of a jubilant four-year-old and a puppy-loving six-year-old. Only their seatbelts kept them from wriggling immediately to the floor like...well, like puppies.

Since they knew the surprise, we stopped off at Petco and got a dog collar...just in case.

While Jeff was inside Petco, I scrounged around mentally for a good name. Our friends have a Golden Retriever named Samson, and I thought, "Hmmm...maybe ours could have an Old Testament name too..." Delilah? No. Esther? Didn't seem right. Ruth? Um...nope. But I have a friend named "Ruth Rose", so after Ruth was shooed off the stage of my brain, Rose followed closely behind. Rose. Rosie.

I turned to the boys in the backseat. "How about Rosie?"

They were highly skeptical. Jonathan said, "How about Angel?"

I said, "How about Rosie?"

James said, "I like Angel."

I said, "How about Rosie?"

We didn't really reach a conclusion, but they thought about it.

Jeff returned with the aforementioned dog collar, and this:


He doesn't need it, of course. He grew up in a very dog savvy family - his parents used to show dogs. His dog prowess is totally instinctive; he doesn't even have to think about it. He informed me, "I will peruse this book to glean what I need to know specifically about Golden Retrievers. But I want you to read it cover to cover. It will really help you."

All the rest of the way there (the puppies were an hour and a half away, at the far end of our metro area, in the next state), I devoured the "choosing a Golden" and "welcoming your puppy home" sections, furiously cramming for my upcoming 'exam'. When we arrived at our destination, I felt fairly confident.

The very cute family informed us this was mama dog's first and last litter - twelve puppies! All four of the parents of mama and papa were papered purebreds, and mama and papa (both owned by the family) were purchased from professional breeders. The puppies had good genes and an impressive lineage - Gerald Ford's dog was one of their ancestors.

Suddenly, we found ourselves standing in a sea of wriggling, waggling, roly-poly, blonde, fuzzy fur. Nine of the twelve puppies romped around us for a few minutes while our boys giggled with delight and joined in the fun. Then all the males went down for a nap, since we were looking for a female, and Jeff got down to business with his dog choosing techniques.

Of the four girls we looked at, two came immediately to Jeff's rattling keys and tried to eat them, one meandered away in the other direction, and one perked her ears up, stayed where she was for a few moments, and when her two nipping sisters were gone, came curiously forward and nudged at Jeff's keys and hands. Bingo. That was our girl.

We did another test. Jeff cradled her like a baby, paws up in the air, against his chest. She settled in immediately and held still for about thirty seconds before she pushed gently against Jeff's arms and looked up as if to say, "Uh...now what?"

She passed the other tests too (handling and following), and we turned to the owners and said, "This is the one." James bubbled up with giggles from deep within his little soul and fixed a Cheshire grin permanently to his little face, dimples shining bright as the sun.

Then he turned to Dad and said, "I think we should call her...Rosie." Glancing at me, he smiled affectionately. Golden Retrievers aren't the only creatures who desire to please. My heart melted into a puddle of mushy mush.

Rosie came home on my lap and I learned my first lessons in showing her who was boss. No licking my face, no biting, no clawing up to stand on my shoulders. She finally curled up in a floppy ball and fell fast asleep.

To think! None of this would have happened if I hadn't, on a whim, decided to go shopping with Jeff!! He would have completed the shopping in a timely manner, picked James up, and come straight home, whizzing straight past McDonald's and its daily newspaper with the Golden Retriever classified section.

And now we have a new baby girl, who is currently zonked out at my feet, sharing my special blankie.

This morning, I realized that I was spelling her name wrong in my head (it hadn't been written down yet). I didn't want her to be Rosie with an I-E because that would remind me too much of Rosie O'Donnell. I said to Jeff, "I think I'd like to spell her name with a Y. Do you think it's okay for our dog to be named an adjective?"

Jeff, in his glorious daily morning stupor, mumbled back, "'Spot' is an adjective."

"No, it's not. 'Spot' is a noun."

"Not when you name the dog 'Spot' because it has a spot on it."

Well...

We decided Rosy with a Y would be just fine. It matches her rose-colored ears - the color we're told to expect her to become as an adult.

So, Ladies and Gentlemen (if you're still reading), I'd to introduce you to the newest (and biggest surprise!) addition to our little family.

Meet Rosy.

A Change of Heart

You may recall that my son, James, proclaimed himself to be a carbitarian and refused to eat meat because he loves animals so much and couldn't bear to see them summarily consumed.

We've prayed for him in this regard, because we believe Scripture states clearly that God gave us meat to eat after the flood. We agree with James that God originally created all of us to be herbivores, but after the 'waters above the firmament' deluged the earth in the days of Noah, the sun came out like never before, shortened man's lifespan by hundreds of years, and created a need for added nutrition.

We further believe that if God has declared something to be good, then it *is* good. Period.

Therefore, while James's refusal to eat meat stemmed sweetly from pure compassion, his view that what God had pronounced *good* was, in his opinion, *bad*, was actually a teeny tiny thumbing of his little nose at God. And while God never said we *have* to eat meat (yay for vegetarians!), He *did* say that it's *okay* to eat meat. So for James to say it's *not* okay to eat meat is essentially a declaration that God is off His rocker. We, of course, never actually pointed that out to his tear-stung eyes while he mourned the loss of Bessie the Cow whose hindquarters supplied his spaghetti meatballs.

Two days ago, everything changed.

Jeff and I had meatloaf for dinner, but we figured the boys wouldn't eat it without a struggle, so Jeff set aside a little of the meat and made them a couple of hamburgers.

Later, my distracted mind completely forgot dinner had even happened. I asked the boys, "Did you have dinner?"

Jonathan answered happily, "Hamburgers!"

I turned to James and said, "Did you eat yours?"

He nodded, eyes tortured.

"How was it?" I asked.

James flopped himself across the couch upside down and sighed dramatically, "Mom. I TOLD you. I Don't. Eat. Meat." After a slight pause he continued, "Unless it's a McDonald's cheeseburger."

"The burger you had tonight was just like a McDonald's burger. Only better!"

He doubted it.

I prompted gently, "So you'll eat beef there, but not here? How is that beef different than this beef?"

Frown.

"They're the same, aren't they?"

Deeper frown.

"If they're the same, why will you eat that one but not this one?"

James blurted passionately, "Because I don't want to EAT my BEST FRIEND!"

Poor little guy. But we were getting somewhere. So I pressed, "Cows are your best friends?"

Finally I saw a spark of self-doubt cross James's face. "Welllll...no..."

"Are pigs your best friends?"

"No...I eat pork." (Sausage, bacon, ham...)

"If you're okay with eating pork since pigs aren't your best friends, do you think it might be okay to eat beef, since cows aren't your best friends either?"

His face was a picture of conflicted thoughts.

"You know, James, we don't eat any of the animals you love. We don't eat zebra meat or dog meat or elephant meat or..." I floundered, trying to come up with more beloved animals.

James finished for me, "...or lion meat?"

"Right. We don't eat lion meat. In our house, all we eat is beef and pork."

"And chicken," he added.

I nodded, mentally including turkey and fishsticks, but biting my tongue.

"James, I don't mind if you don't want to eat the meat of the animals you really love. That's okay. I'll never ask you to eat your REAL best friends. But do you suppose you could just add beef and chicken to your list? You already eat pork...and you already eat beef from McDonald's."

After several moments of silent thought, during which I forgot to breathe, James finally gave in. "Ohhhhkaaaaaaaaaaay..."

Boys howdy! An entire orchestra of triumphant dominant-to-tonic chords sounded in my brain, led by brassy trumpets and rumbling timpani, carried along by an entire screaming string section, colored by woodwind trills and harp runs. Victory!

"Yay!!!" I cheered for James.

He returned my exuberance with a vague, sad smile. Poor sweetie.

The next evening, Daddy made hamburger mac for dinner. When the boys saw their steaming bowls, Jonathan shouted, "Yummy!" with great gusto, and James closed his mouth silently and stoically. Not one word of complaint.

Jeff, preparing for the nightly meat ordeal, began, "Now, James, this has meat in it..."

James cut him off, "That's okay, Dad. I've decided to become an omnivore again."

Jeff was speechless. He glanced at me, confused.

Behind James's back, my face glowed with a perma-grin to beat the band as I did a silent happy dance.

And everyone's hamburger mac was gobbled down in no time.

This is a miracle that only God, the Changer of Hearts, could have brought about. We are praising Him!!

Family Fun