Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Ode To Eve

"If Eve were here right now I'd smack her in the face." These words were spoken by my sweet southern aunt to comfort my mother while she was in the throws and woes of labor. I suspect Christian women for generations have cursed Eve's name for those special once a month occasions and, obviously, for the thrill er...chill of giving birth. I must confess during the delivery of my second child that I visualized a grandiose and violent dog pile of screaming females exhausted and furious crushing Eve beneath them. Then the epidural man came in to rescue me and life was ...let's friend described it as "smooth as butter". I think I may have offered to kiss the epidural man at least once much to my husband's dismay.

I read the creation story this week and I read it with eyes anew. I don't know why some things came to light this time that had not in the past, but I thought I would share them.

Eve's intentions are never clearly spelled out in the account of "the fall". ("The fall" meaning when she ate from the tree of knowledge in the Garden of Eden after God instructed them not to.) In fact, if Eve's intentions were to become like God as the serpent had described, I don't really blame her. God is awesome. She walked among His first fruits...the awe inspiring artwork from the perfect creator. Who wouldn't want to be that? Who wouldn't want to be able to create? Her intentions could have just been to think beauty into reality and I can't really hold that against her. She also would have been completely innocent of knowing evil. So how could she have known why it was significant that she flee from it...except that God told her to. She may have had good intentions, indeed.

At the same time, how often have I had good intentions and yet been so off base that I miss the mark entirely. I think it is a special gift that women have to be able to create "good" intentions in order to achieve their objectives. I often find myself justifying my actions so as to feel less guilty.

The second piece of this story that jumped out at me was this...Adam was WITH Eve when she chose to eat the fruit. He was right there. Throughout all of history...even in the Pauline letters..Eve carries the blame for this whole incident. No one ever points out the fact that Adam stood right there with his wife, watched her take a bite and did not say one word. He just opened his mouth to eat. I don't know about you...but that really ticks me off. In fact the poor guy loses more respect from me later when confronted by God. Adam's explanation as to why he ate the fruit..."Uh...the woman you created made me do it." This line is plagiarized by my children on a daily basis. Everyone wants to blame someone. No one takes personal responsibility. It is important to note here that Eve does the exact same thing. She blamed the serpent for her fateful snack.

Finally, when God punishes Eve he punishes her for her sin. I don't believe He punishes all of womankind because of Eve's sin. I think at this point we must look at the scripture figuratively and accept that Eve symbolizes all women. We all sin. We are all guilty of our own personal errors not that of Eve's or anyone else...our own. When we finally meet Jesus at the end of all things He will not say, "Well you did great, but that Eve really messed this gig up for you". Nope, we will be judged on our own merits, not our mom's, dad's, husband's nor Eve's...our own.

So from here on...lay off poor Eve. She, after all, represents the reason why we each need Christ. He came to right our "good intentions". He came to rectify our eaten apples. He came to lift us up from our fall. I am so glad He did.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Tribute to the "Lij".

Today is my son's fourth birthday. He has been asking if it was his birthday for the last nine months. Today, after the daily asking of "Mom is today my birthday?"...I can finally say "Yes! Today is the big day. We are headed to Chuck E.Cheese to celebrate...obviously. Our kids are big fans of Chuck E. I am a little freaked out by people in giant rat costumes...but that is beside the point. YAY Birthday!!!

The "Lij", as his sister has called him from the beginning, has had a huge impact on our family. He has the privilege of having three parents...his daddy, his mommy, and his second mommy a.k.a. the BIG sister. This is not always a privilege, rather it is a cross he has to bear and regardless of how much warning and threatening the BIG sister receives...Lij still has three parents.

I became pregnant with him soon after having a miscarriage. This made for a stressful nine months as I suffered through rational and irrational fears of losing him. That said, I literally prayed multiple times everyday while pregnant for two things...
1) God keep him safe.
2) God use this child.

We've named each of our kids with intentionality. "Lij's" name means "My God is God/YAHWEH". So every time someone calls his name they are saying...The Lord is God.

He was and is my biggest baby. He weighed in at just under nine pounds and he is still a BIG boy. He had a rough beginning and unfortunately had to have his tummy pumped at just three hours old. He is my only cuddler in the house and he is very sensitive. He apologizes when he messes up and he gives the warmest most wonderful hugs when his Daddy comes home from work. He is the lover in our house. He is the sweet one in our house.

He also has an early history of being a bit of a stinker. When introduced for the first time to the BIG sister...he peed directly in her face. That didn't make for a great first impression and I've often wondered if that was the beginning of a war. (It seems so around the house, anyway.)

I remember when the fateful peeing incident happened in the hospital room. Dave had just brought the BIG sister in. She leaned over the bassinet with such loving eyes. Dave said..."oh looks like he needs his diaper changed." He opened the diaper. BIG sis peered over...still lovingly gazing at the new baby. Then just like "Lij" had waited for that moment. The pee shot from the bassinet directly into BIG sis' face. The halls were filled with more than just newborn screams that day, my friends. Needless to say... I've never seen the "loving" look from BIG sis since.

The Lij loves Star Wars which warms my heart because his daddy loves Star Wars so much, too.

He has three light sabers which he hooks to his pants/underwear just in case he needs to ward off the enemy. He will also hook the light sabers to your pants if you offer to play with him.

He wants everyone to be his friend and he doesn't understand when people are mean. He is a sweet kid. We never question if he is thankful or if he appreciates what he has. From his first words he has offered "tank u, mama" and "lub u, daddy". He says the sweetest prayers before bed which always end in "the end" instead of the expected "Amen".

Today I am so thankful for my son. He is a joy and he makes my life full.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

30 Things You Never Thought You'd Say.

Dave and I have decided to write a book listing all the things we never thought we would say to our children. Some of these I've heard my friends say to their children. Do you have any to add to this list?

1. Don't eat the tree bark.

2. Please don't chew on the table/chair/toy etc.

3. Please don't eat the dog food/water.

4. Please don't chew on the dog bone.

5. Your wiener is not a not pretend to shoot people with that.

6. Licking the car is not a good idea.

7. The fork really is not a brush, let's not use it that way. (thanks a lot Disney)

8. I don't think using your tights as a bikini is such a good idea.

9. No, boys do not wear makeup...ok well except when I was in drama...ok no boys do not usually wear make no... no my boys should not wear makeup...ok?

10. Please don't lick the salt shaker.

11. No, David did not use a light saber when cutting off Goliath's head, sorry.

12. I'm not sure ketchup would go well with... (name of veggie here).

13. Please don't yell "The Jesus drinks are comin'!" during communion.

14. Don't call your sister "banana pants".

15. Don't call your sister a "stink head".

16. Play gently when Noah fights Optimus.

17. Just because the dog goes potty in the back yard, doesn't mean we do.

18. No, we can't return your brother to the hospital. They won't take him back.

19. Peas will not kill you.

20. We don't put beans in our nose.

21. We don't put beans in our brother's nose.

22. Why are there boogers on the mirror?

23. You are not the mommy.

24. Praying for your brother to never talk isn't nice.

25. Grandpa is not spanish for potato.

26. Is it absolutely necessary to name your poo?

27. Don't drink the bath water.

28. Please fight gently.

29. Shooting at the preacher is not good.

30. Your underwear are not supposed to function as a holster.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

The Unloveable Me.

Sometimes I feel really pathetic.

I have always watched in amazement those beautiful moms out there from afar and wondered how they do it. You know the moms I mean...they have a new baby and a week later they are wearing their old size five jeans. They always look freshly brushed and ironed while carrying their perfectly organized diaper bag, and they never ever ever look stressed by any slight definition of the word.

Me, however...after each of my children was still retaining what I like to call "water weight" of about fifty pounds, and I always looked like I traveled directly beneath a flock of seagulls (the birds not the eighties band). I still have cheerios in the bottom of my diaper bag even though we stopped buying those things months ago. I am not one of those previously mentioned mommies.

I do realize that while someone may be perfect on the outside, they may not be feeling so swell on the inside, and I have had my share of those days as well. As I know many of you have, too.

To demonstrate my pathetic-ness a little more...I am a total grouch late at night and I have absolutely no will power. There was one diet I went on recently that I lasted less than four hours on. Yeah, that one really set me back in the insecurity department. Oh...and I sing in the morning which has cost me in the roommate department and very nearly my marriage.

I also am very impatient with my kids and expect quite a bit out of them. My temper often gets the better of me, and I've been known to throw light sabers across the kitchen onto the refrigerator. Yikes.

I study conflict resolution so I'm a bit of a confrontational person. It drives me nuts to sit by and watch a problem get worse without saying something, and unfortunately this has hurt many a sensitive person's feelings. I need tact practice every day.

This is beginning to sound awfully confessional-like...but there is a point coming.

Tonight during an evening devotional time with my little girl our verse was Romans 8:38-39.

"I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angles nor demons,
neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

This has always been one of my favorite verses. However, tonight I was reminded that of all these things listed in the verse that we should not fear...death, life, angles, demons, height, depth, or anything in creation...the one thing that always gets in the way is me.

Sometimes I get so hung up on my problems. I try and try to do better, but inevitably I fail. I stumble. I fall.

I always laugh when people claim to not want to be a part of organized religion due to all the hypocrites. Of course, hypocrisy is a BIG problem and I don't mean to discount it, BUT our failures are the reason we come together. Our failures that make us daily hypocrites, to some, are the reason God sent His Son. He came because we are failures...that was the point, right?

The point of this post is...we may not fear death or life, we may not encounter angles or demons, we may never skydive or deep sea dive, so of course these things won't separate us from God's love.

What I need to remind myself of is this...

I can't separate myself from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

You can't separate yourself from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Nothing I do or you do will ever stop that love from being there. Nothing.

I will continue to get angry though I try to control my temper.
I will continue to offend people though I try to remain tactful.
I will probably keep singing in the morning and continue to annoy the masses.
I will most definitely fail at diets and probably never clean out that particular diaper bag.


I will never ever ever know what it is like to not be loved by God, nor will you.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

I Dreamt about Him

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you knew you were dreaming, but it felt so real and wonderful that you tried to stay asleep?

Usually if I am thoroughly obsessed with a book...I use the word obsessed because that is how I read a book if I really enjoy it. If I do not enjoy a book I slothfully inch my way through each paragraph resenting and begrudging every turn of a page. I'll admit to you that there have been few books that become obsessions to me. I am embarrassed to admit how quickly I flew through the Twilight series.

Rarely do I actually have a dream about books that I've read. My dreams consist of what I ate the day previous or some horrible reenactment of a blood fest movie that my husband forces me to watch from behind the safety of our couch cushions. If the book is well written then I do create mental images, as I'm sure most people do. Except I have a difficult time getting past my own requirements. For example, I never could picture Edward Cullen, the hero from Twilight, with dark eyes. In my mind, his eyes were always blue...which I'm sure would have devoted fans of the book freaking out and squealing. As cheesy as it sounds I think it is because the author insisted that Edward was the ideal man. I simply cannot imagine any color of eyes to gaze into whether in dreamland or reality other than blue. My sweet husband has amazing blue eyes. It was the first thing I noticed about him.

A good friend of mine suggested that I read The Robe by Lloyd Douglas. I am about two-thirds of the way through and I'm thoroughly enraptured by the story. The Robe is Christian fiction, which usually doesn't appeal to me simply because I have such a difficult time making mental pictures of the heroic men and women in biblical scripture... especially Jesus.

Pictures of Jesus in art both intrigue and irritate me. It is not that I don't appreciate someone else's visual interpretation of Christ. It is irritating that I can't create one for myself.

In Rome, we had the opportunity to enter St. Peter's cathedral. I was awestruck by the Pieta. I still get chill bumps remembering standing in the presence that particular work of art. Oddly enough, it was cold in St. Peter's even though it was Italy in June... probably because of the stone surroundings in that huge hall. I remember staring at this medieval masterpiece that had been copied and re-created over hundreds of years with no one able to match the beauty and perfection of the original. It is hard to believe that the shroud that covers Christ in this sculpture is stone as it flows so beautifully as if a breeze could wisp it around His body. It is difficult not to stare and wait for the fabric to flow away from Mary's hair and she gracefully and lovingly holds her son for, what she thought, was the last time. I love the Pieta and someday I hope to see it again. Nevertheless, The Pieta is colorless and resembles something of a ideal image of post crucifixion, I think.

My dad has a neat drawing of Jesus in his office. If I remember right, Jesus is laughing in that picture. That particular rendering is one of my favorite's. I have always felt Christ must have had a sense of humor to hang with such a hodge podge of folks in the desert for so long. Nevertheless, there is still was something missing from that drawing as it is more like a caricature.

I've seen hundreds of crucifixes, which all have a tendency to send me into a deep depression or simply creep me out. I remember one crucifix in a cathedral in Dresden, Germany, where the sculpted Christ had real human hair on it's head. That was just scary.

So you see, I've never been able to picture Christ in my own mind, and artists don't really help me out either.

Anyhow, The Robe tells the story of a Roman tribune, Marcelles, who had the horrific duty of overseeing Christ's crucifixion. The plot follows this man through his first encounter of Jesus, the horror of the crucifixion and then the aftermath. It is interesting to consider Christ through the eyes of the Romans. Most often I examine Him through the eyes of His devoted followers. Since I have not finished the book I don't know whether Marcelles ever becomes a believer in the resurrection of Christ or not. He does not witness the resurrection in the book, and at this point anyway he simply feels that an innocent and amazing man was put to death wrongly.

Two nights ago I was reading my new found obsession before bedtime. I began to feel myself getting super sleepy and since I have three little automatic and noisy alarm clocks who demand breakfast around 6:45AM...I put the book down and snuggled in. I quickly drifted off to sleep.

It was sunny and dry. The air smelled foul like I had just driven past a Texas cow lot. When I looked at my feet, I saw they were plastered with dirt and that my leather sandals were well worn. I knew I was dreaming. Where the heck was I?

Suddenly I realized was on the road to a dream.

I looked around and saw Jewish families all heading in the same direction, all for Passover.
I wondered if it was hotter with a head covering, but cooler with a dress...and supposed that wearing both evened the temperature out to about the same.

The laden animals were noisy and annoying, and I was glad to be walking.

It registered to me at this point that I was reliving a scene from The Robe... only I was

My heart began to jump as I realized that I was on the same path as Marcelles in the book, on my way to see Jerusalem for the first time...on my way to see Jesus... for the first time.

Fully aware that this was a dream, I began to beg myself...don't wake up...just don't wake up...He is right around that bend about twenty feet away. Don't wake up.

I could see the top of the city walls. The wall around Jerusalem was huge and the same color as the earth beneath my feet and the same dusty color as the low valley walls that blocked my view of Him. There was a narrowing of the valley ahead and then it opened into flatland before reaching the city gates.

I knew if I could just make it around that bend ahead that I would see Him...finally.

He would hidden by a crowd of people at first. They were laying olive branches down for His donkey to walk upon at this point.

Walk faster. Don't wake up.

I could hear the crowd swelling as some of them yelled "King of Kings". The travelers in the valley wore confused faces as they also heard the crowd ahead and wondered what was going on.

I was almost there. I knew what was ahead. I knew He was just steps away.

Don't wake up. Don't wake up! Even if it is just a dream...just don't wake up. You will finally have your visual of Him. Whether it is a picture from your subconscious or a copied image from Rome or the real will finally have it. You will finally see Him. The one character you could never place in you mind...yet the only one that ever really mattered. You will see him. Just don't wake up! No one is going to believe this.... they will finally know that I'm completely crazy...and I don't care. After thirty years of wondering...I will have my picture of Him.

My heart pounded and began to race. I couldn't make it around the donkeys, camels and old Jewish men muttering Aramaic fast enough.

Although in a dream, I could feel my eyes blur and burn as tears began to fall. The dust kicked up by the crowd flew in my face and when I tried to wipe it away I could feel a layer of mud forming on my cheeks. My heart raced within my throat.

He is right around that corner. I will finally see Him! Just a glimpse, that's all I need. Just one look at His eyes.

Please please...don't wake up!

I'm almost there. I edged and stumbled around the mound that opened the valley working my way through the crowd of animals and people alike.

Stupid mules get out of the way! Don't wake up!

The walls towered over my head and I felt so small beneath them. I could see the crowd pushing in around Him all questioning if this was the man they waited for hundreds of years to come.

Get out of the way!

They were all focused on the same thing as if they were in a dream too. They were all after the same picture I was. I followed the focus of their questioning eyes. Was it Him?


My two year old started crying for a drink. I was up. The dream was gone.

No no no!!! My visual!!! I had almost seen Him. I almost had my picture of Him.
I was there...almost there.

For the last two nights I've tried to get that dream back to no avail.
Hope is not lost though...I'll see Him...someday. You will, too.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Daytime Ms. M's second grade class

When I had my baby girl, I was under the impression that the female drama does not begin till the second or third act...puberty. I was wrong. There are a few things that I know about parenting. They are...

1. I know NOTHING.
2. I get a few years with my kids and then life is up to them.
3. Survival may or may not occur for the parties involved.

I make no bones about it. I am a restrictive parent. My kids don't watch a ton of TV. My second grade daughter has never seen High School Musical, Camp Rock, or Cheetah Girls. She has seen only three episodes of Hannah Montana, but somehow she is a huge fan which I blame on the brainwashing/ commercialization of our kids everywhere they go....but the disease called marketing is not what this post is about.

My biggest fear with my daughter is that she will grow up too fast. I don't want her to miss out on the easy days of just being a kid. Most of the shows targeted at my seven year old girl deal with teen/adolescent themes that she is developmentally not ready for. So...we are very careful with what media she takes in. This is something we take seriously in our house. We get one chance with these little people to fill their minds with healthy thoughts; so that they in turn will be a blessing to whatever community they choose to serve someday. I will not risk stealing away the carefree days of childhood for some pop culture flash in the pan. Here is the rub...

When she started school this year, she immediately found a group of friends to play with. This came as no surprise to me as she is rather outgoing. She came home telling me stories of recess. These stories were somewhat different than I had expected, and very different from my childhood recess memories. My daughter described recess as cheer leading for the boys as they played football. It is important and interesting to note here that the football boys are completely ambivalent and oblivious to the cheerleaders, thankfully. Well...almost all the boys.

Two weeks into the cheer leading recess routine we heard from my girl's teacher. Apparently, some little punk nosed boy who was my seven year old daughter's "boyfriend" dumped her publicly after announcing to his friend that she was not pretty. Then my girl's, so called, "best friend" tattled on her for having a boyfriend to some lunchroom aid. As a result, this glorified lunchroom lady publicly reprimanded my daughter for having a boyfriend. This humiliation sent my oftentimes overly emotional daughter into an anxiety attack. She was so upset and embarrassed that her teacher, Ms. M sent her to the school counselor, and was very concerned for her emotional well-being.

My husband and I did not know where to start. What do you do with that information? Where does one begin? Sooooo we sat down that evening and tried to make sense through all the tears what was going on in Ms. M's second grade class at recess.

Our girl showed us the "dances" that the cheer leading girls performed. This is not the cheer leading that you would expect a seven year old to do. There are no sweet little pompoms or silly jumps. This was more like...the dance team for the Portland Trail Blazers or pick your favorite NBA team. I was appalled. What??? Where do these kids see this? Better yet...who LETS them see this?

Secondly, her "best friend's " mom is the coach of a little all star cheer leading team who actually perform this stuff. This same "best friend" encouraged my sweet girl to get a boyfriend and then ratted on her for it!

I'm not even going to go into the anger I continue to harbor for that stinking lunch lady.

So here we the second grade my daughter learned that her body can gyrate in sexual motions. She learned that she cannot trust all friends, and at seven years old she now knows that boys are jerks and they will unrepentantly rip your heart out.

Did I point out that she is seven?

We made some big requests of our girl after that teary eyed discussion...

1. No more cheer leading.
2. No more boys.
3. No more traitor-ific "best friend".

To date, my daughter has done amazingly well with keeping up her end of this bargain. However, she is lonely. She does not have many friends at school. In fact, one girl who played with my daughter was in-turn kicked out of the previously mentioned "best friend's" recess cheer leading club because she played with my daughter. So...the one time play mate quickly made up with the used-to-be "best friend" and left my daughter alone on the swings. This makes me question everyday if I am making a tragic mistake by over-sheltering my beauty. Have I forced her into being an outcast?

Now, I really hate to be hard on parents. Parenting is so difficult, especially in these days where divorce is rampant, one income homes are rare and the media vies for our attention like heroine. Here is the deal this the best we can offer our kids? We force them into adolescent scenarios before they can remember to brush their teeth every day? We allow them to take in media that shoves a world view down their throats and only diminishes parent involvement. Not to mention the fact...that this media highlights kids who are always craftier, smarter and meaner than their parents and who get away with everything without consequence. This is what my daughter should watch to fit in?

Several, well meaning parents have offered "Oh that show isn't so bad! You should let her watch it!" Maybe we should...but I'm thinking that isn't the big issue here. What happened to being a kid? What happened to playing on the swings or pretending to be a princess? (I neglected to mention, that my daughter was publicly mocked for wearing a princess coat to class. Apparently, when you are seven you are WAY too old to like least according to that particular punk.) What happened to parents being parents? When did we begin to let Hollywood dictate what is appropriate for our kids?

I am not naive enough to deny that kids are mean today just like kids were mean when I was seven. Nevertheless, something has changed. I feel the grey hair growing as I say this, but things are truly different now. Have a conversation with a few pre-teens and you will see what I mean. My impression is that there is no understanding of rank or authority. Children are left to raise themselves, in turn they act more adult than their parents oftentimes, and refuse to be parented or lead because of this.

This world, rather...this culture is so hard for adults. We lose wonderful people to porn habits all the time...thanks to the availability our media provides. Our consciences are numbed to the point of not hearing profanity, not seeing sexual images, and not shrinking back from ratings. Do we really want to rush our kids into that? We live in a world where violence is power and it is glorified on late night drama. Do we really want to rush our kids into that? They will encounter it soon enough, I suppose. My daughter already knows what it is like to be made fun of for having standards.

As for my family...we are not going to worry what everyone else does or thinks or watches. We are praying for some really great friendships to come along for our girl. We are ever supportive of her. We know she is not perfect and that she has to learn to get along with all people. She knows she always has true best friends in her mommy and daddy. She also knows that her mom is thirty-blah blah years old and still loves princess stories. Here is why...because my girl is a princess... and so am I... and so is the used-to-be turned traitor "best friend". We remind her every day that she is a daughter of the King of Kings and nothing can ever change that.

"Finally, family, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Phil. 4:8

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

The Secret Life of a Minister's Wife

This list is dedicated to my sweet friends who are blessed to be minister’s wives. For those of you who are not married to the ministry this list may be surprising. It may sound a lot like you.

I am a minister’s wife.

I love to sing.
I often over-eat.
I am obsessed with chocolate, coffee, and nachos.
I have been snotty to my husband and angry with my children.
I do not eat okra or squash.
I have enjoyed glasses of wine, playing cards, and have occasionally danced.
I have three fallible children, and I enjoyed the process of conceiving each one of them.
I have lied.
I have cursed.
I make mistakes everyday.
I get lonely.
I can’t get you into heaven, even if you are nice to me.
I pray.
I hurt.
I have hope.
I doubt.
I do not have all the answers.
I have faithless days.
I am not your personal employee, but I would love to be your friend.
I love to laugh.
I am madly and passionately in love with my husband.
I am madly and passionately in love with my husband’s ministry.
I like to go to "church".
I think Bible class is fun.
I do not have the Bible memorized, but I do take it to heart.
I have been up late and have slept in.
I bite my nails.
I am devoted to God first and my family second.
I have children who fight, throw tantrums, and wet the bed.
I prefer pug dogs to cats.
I don't understand human suffering, and won't pretend to.
I watch TV and movies and TV movies.
I have changed the TV channel, and walked out of movies.
I listen to an occasional rock ballad.
I have traveled the world for Jesus when my heart aches for my roots and my parents’ arms.
I facebook.
I prefer holding hands over folded hands during prayer.
I do not speak or pray in the King James Version.
I have eaten potluck food that I’m allergic to, in order to keep peace.
I believe women do amazing things for Jesus.
I believe teenagers do amazing things for Jesus.
I believe in prayer, in unity, in change, and in heaven.
I love the church.
I love the Lord.
I serve the Lord.
I am blessed....

and I might be out of a job once everyone finds me out.

Little Sermons from Little People

This is the first post I ever added to my facebook page. I thought I would use it for my first blog post, too. :) It is a good description of my life... and my faith... and my little blessings.

Enjoy, and I hope you come back to read more!

Little Sermons from Little People

As I trudge through the valleys, you know the days, when you just cannot muster up enough faith to even whisper a prayer. My children have this overwhelming tendency to preach to me. They don't lecture, as some would interpret the word. They show me Jesus.

Several weeks ago, my sweet little girl caught me in my bedroom crying and wrapped her little arms around me saying, "Mommy, just pray and everything will feel better. Jesus can help." Isn't this backwards? I am supposed to comfort my child, right?

Today my three year old son got his wrist caught in a toy and called out, "Help me, Jesus!" I laughed after he was freed of his temporary snare when he said, "Hey, thanks."

Our baby had to have a blood test yesterday. I really HATE blood tests. When it is your kid getting stabbed by a scrub-clad vampire, it can be traumatic. Yet this little one showed so much strength and trust. I know, I know...he is just a baby... but this kid would not bleed. The nurse poked his little finger and had to squeeze for a good five minutes to get a drop. He just sat there and took it, without complaint. He turned to look me in the eyes and smiled as I held his other tiny hand. Are you kidding? When I go in to have a blood test, I am not smiling. I, interestingly enough, act like a baby.

In my pathetic walk of faith, I complain about hot weather, being out of coffee, and Taco Bueno forgetting the salsa...but my baby boy can smile through getting poked with a needle and squeezed till his infant hand turns purple. My guess is...he knew I was there, so he was ok.

Now that, my friends, is a sermon. I know God is here. I know He exists. I don't need apologetics. I don't need the educated elite to agree with me. I see Him in my children, in their laughs, in their cries, in their big blue eyes, and in their daily faith-filled sermons. I am sure the skeptics would disagree and possibly mock my simple justification for the existence of God. I am not really concerned. If we miss the little sermons of life, we truly miss the mark entirely.

For now, I will watch for Him when I watch my kids.

"From the lips of children and infants, HE has ordained praise." Psalm 8:2