Sunday: I dug out the box of photo albums and scrapbooking stuff that was still packed from last Thanksgiving and spent a wonderful afternoon scrapbooking with good friends. I actually got a few pages done and am now only two years behind for 3 of my 4 children. Don't even ask about the family album. Had I known my husband and I would be fruitful and multiply THIS much, I would have never kept separate albums for each child beyond the baby stage.
Monday: After a glorious three week reprieve, I had lunch duty again. A handful of eighth graders, being a fabulous bunch of role models, started a food fight and then gave me attitude when I got thrown into the disciplinarian role. A sixth grader brought a real laser pointer in and I confiscated that as well.
This was not one of my 300 favorite days of 2009 and I even wished I had swine flu so that I could get out of lunch duty for the rest of the week.
Tuesday: The kids in the lunch room were better today. In the hallway, though, a few of the involved, who got a special seating arrangement today, informed Christian that his mom is mean and unfair. This is my first real negative experience in having a child who is also a teacher's kid. I'm angered at these wretched adolescents for dragging my kid into it, but pray that God helps me to love them with HIS love, since I have none of my own to give them.
James also decides to begin punishing me for being gone all the time. He begins to seek out Christian for comfort when he hurts and even goes and tells on me to Christian when my behavior does not line up with James' expectations. He even wants Christian to put him to bed. His plan to punish me works brilliantly. My heart hurts.
Wednesday: I pass one of those eighth graders on the way into chapel in the morning. I smile and cheerfully greet her by name. God's love flows and I see her through His eyes.
I begin to wonder if several of my students ate Stupid for breakfast because we can't even correct a simple math paper together in class without an extensive pause after every problem when I'm bombarded with about fifteen questions, ten of which are repeated questions because NOBODY IS LISTENING, although they appear to be.
After I've had about all any person could possibly handle, I mean to exclaim, "Oh my goodness!" or "God have mercy on us!" but I actually say, "Oh my God."
They obviously didn't hear anything up to this point, but when that came out of my mouth, the class collectively sucked in a breath of air and held it in total silence. I looked up, realizing what had come out of my mouth and said, "Did I just misuse the name of the Lord our God?" With wide eyes they all nodded their heads. "I am so sorry. I did not intend to say that at all. Please forgive me." A few students graciously forgive me while a few take a moment to gloat and rub it in. "Well," I say, "thankfully God forgives ALL sinners, even imperfect teachers like me. I am so grateful to Him for this and for all He has done."
I move on, as I should, confident that I'm covered by grace, and confident that at least a couple parents will hear about this.
Thursday: I help Christian review for a grammar test. He's been spending the evenings hanging out in the kitchen while I do dishes. It's been fun to hear his stories about school, his friends and his teachers. I know I get the edited version. Still I am thankful he has great friends and teachers who care about him.
Friday: Today a student found a worm in his breakfast cereal bar during snack time. It was a living, squirming, meal worm. My clueless genius tried to console him by informing him that some people actually do eat them. Clueless Genius left out the fact that people who eat meal worms do so accidentally or live in third world countries. I see my horrified boy fighting back tears and I have flashbacks to the worm I found in my fish stick school lunch in 8th grade and the purple worm in my cherry tomato in college and the rat hair in my cream of wheat during my first year of teaching and I have overwhelming compassion on him. "At least you didn't eat it," I said, wrapping up the worm bar and throwing it away.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Err Grandly!
I was reminded today of how I am a fallen human. Although true in the illustrative form, I really do mean this literally.
I recalled a time three years ago when I left my job at church on a sunny, summery day to meet Mark for lunch. He also worked downtown at the time and so I crossed the street to begin the 3 block stroll to our meeting place.
I didn't even make it to the sidewalk across the street before I somehow fell. I fell in slow motion, in a dumb, cumbersome way and ended up sprawled across the grass and sidewalk, right in the midst of the city's busy lunch hour.
I got up as quickly as possible and tried to continue on with barely a limp. I wondered if anybody had seen it. Then I started thinking about what would have been seen. Tall, professional, long haired girl striding confidently across the street...then big, clumsy, Amazon Jen dropping, with no more grace than Goliath, to the ground. I started to giggle at the image in my mind. The giggles turned into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
Three blocks later, I met Mark, tears streaking my face, still carrying on like a hyena. I don't know if anybody saw the fall or not, but I do know that I cruised past almost two dozen people, all the while laughing like an escaped Crazy.
Err grandly, I figure, then call your closest friends and family so that they can laugh at you!
Today I started the day with a doctor's appointment for my son which was scheduled just last night. I stayed up late preparing plans for the sub and even made a 10:30 p.m. trip to the school to make sure all things were in order. I wanted a smooth start to my students' day, and my sub's day. I want a permanent place on this teaching ministry team and so excellence is my goal at all times.
That's a prideful thing to admit, isn't it? And we all know that pride cometh before the fall...
By 10:00 the appointment was over and the prescription was ready. I returned the principal's call that I had missed minutes earlier on my phone, figuring he was just wondering if I would be back on time for the 10:45 field trip departure time. I had planned a brief, midday excursion the local nature center to test water and learn more about aquatic ecosystems, a beautiful fit into our current science unit. When he answered I assured him that I was almost done and on my way.
The kind voice on the other end informed me that I had incorrectly scheduled the bus to pick up at 9:15 and drop off at 11:30 instead of the planned times of 11:15 and 1:30. Therefore, the children were now at the nature center, but the sub couldn't go. The principal, the busiest person in the universe, cleared his morning schedule and was there with my students.
The girl whose father was supposed to chaperon had been crying, so he called who he thought was her dad to come meet the group. However, he had mistook the girl for another girl in the class and called the wrong dad. Two dads were now on their way to the nature center.
The administrative assistant, the second-busiest person in the universe, was back at the school scrambling to arrange our bus pick-up at the correct time of 1:15. Since they were there early, the students and chaperons would have to find some way to utilize their extra time before the learning session would begin. The principal said he would think of something to teach them until I arrived.
I hung up and saw my career flash before my eyes and die a premature death. I saw myself falling dumbly to the ground on that sunny day 3 years ago--a physical prophecy of this very moment. I wondered if a stupid mistake of this magnitude had ever been made in the history of the world. I fumbled numbly through the prescription pick up, the drive home, and the situating of my ill adolescent before chucking a couple balls and a Diet Coke into the car and heading off to face my giant.
It was then that the tears of humiliation flowed. I had royally screwed up the morning for alot of people, and I was so incredibly sorry. And as I replayed the phone conversation with the principal in my mind, I was struck by how grandly I had erred. One couldn't purposefully execute a screw-up of this magnitude! The humor of the situation was apparent and I began to cackle, and weep, and laugh and sob. I think this is called hysterics. I had to get it together and quick!
The best way to diffuse the power of a thought is to just say it aloud. So in my emotionally unstable state, I pulled my van to the curb and called my dear cousin to regale the morning's events, wailing in fits of laughter and tears. At the end, there was silence on her end and I held my breath waiting for her reaction.
She did what I needed her to do. She laughed at me, agreeing that it all was pretty bad, but also sort of funny. The giant shrunk to a manageable size and I sped on, cranking the cold air through the vents hoping to dry my eyes and reduce the redness in the 3 minutes left in my commute.
In the end, it all worked out okay. The students learned and behaved and enjoyed the outing. Nobody threw stones at me. The principal extended grace in a most Christ-like way, the lead teacher offered encouragement, and the administrative assistant spoke kindly when I had to slink into the office at day's end. It was more than I would have asked for. In more ways that I can recount, I am humbled. They're even going to let me come back and continue teaching when classes resume on Monday!
Err grandly, I say! And if it's still a little too painful to call your family and friends so they can laugh at you, just tell them to read your blog.
I recalled a time three years ago when I left my job at church on a sunny, summery day to meet Mark for lunch. He also worked downtown at the time and so I crossed the street to begin the 3 block stroll to our meeting place.
I didn't even make it to the sidewalk across the street before I somehow fell. I fell in slow motion, in a dumb, cumbersome way and ended up sprawled across the grass and sidewalk, right in the midst of the city's busy lunch hour.
I got up as quickly as possible and tried to continue on with barely a limp. I wondered if anybody had seen it. Then I started thinking about what would have been seen. Tall, professional, long haired girl striding confidently across the street...then big, clumsy, Amazon Jen dropping, with no more grace than Goliath, to the ground. I started to giggle at the image in my mind. The giggles turned into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
Three blocks later, I met Mark, tears streaking my face, still carrying on like a hyena. I don't know if anybody saw the fall or not, but I do know that I cruised past almost two dozen people, all the while laughing like an escaped Crazy.
Err grandly, I figure, then call your closest friends and family so that they can laugh at you!
Today I started the day with a doctor's appointment for my son which was scheduled just last night. I stayed up late preparing plans for the sub and even made a 10:30 p.m. trip to the school to make sure all things were in order. I wanted a smooth start to my students' day, and my sub's day. I want a permanent place on this teaching ministry team and so excellence is my goal at all times.
That's a prideful thing to admit, isn't it? And we all know that pride cometh before the fall...
By 10:00 the appointment was over and the prescription was ready. I returned the principal's call that I had missed minutes earlier on my phone, figuring he was just wondering if I would be back on time for the 10:45 field trip departure time. I had planned a brief, midday excursion the local nature center to test water and learn more about aquatic ecosystems, a beautiful fit into our current science unit. When he answered I assured him that I was almost done and on my way.
The kind voice on the other end informed me that I had incorrectly scheduled the bus to pick up at 9:15 and drop off at 11:30 instead of the planned times of 11:15 and 1:30. Therefore, the children were now at the nature center, but the sub couldn't go. The principal, the busiest person in the universe, cleared his morning schedule and was there with my students.
The girl whose father was supposed to chaperon had been crying, so he called who he thought was her dad to come meet the group. However, he had mistook the girl for another girl in the class and called the wrong dad. Two dads were now on their way to the nature center.
The administrative assistant, the second-busiest person in the universe, was back at the school scrambling to arrange our bus pick-up at the correct time of 1:15. Since they were there early, the students and chaperons would have to find some way to utilize their extra time before the learning session would begin. The principal said he would think of something to teach them until I arrived.
I hung up and saw my career flash before my eyes and die a premature death. I saw myself falling dumbly to the ground on that sunny day 3 years ago--a physical prophecy of this very moment. I wondered if a stupid mistake of this magnitude had ever been made in the history of the world. I fumbled numbly through the prescription pick up, the drive home, and the situating of my ill adolescent before chucking a couple balls and a Diet Coke into the car and heading off to face my giant.
It was then that the tears of humiliation flowed. I had royally screwed up the morning for alot of people, and I was so incredibly sorry. And as I replayed the phone conversation with the principal in my mind, I was struck by how grandly I had erred. One couldn't purposefully execute a screw-up of this magnitude! The humor of the situation was apparent and I began to cackle, and weep, and laugh and sob. I think this is called hysterics. I had to get it together and quick!
The best way to diffuse the power of a thought is to just say it aloud. So in my emotionally unstable state, I pulled my van to the curb and called my dear cousin to regale the morning's events, wailing in fits of laughter and tears. At the end, there was silence on her end and I held my breath waiting for her reaction.
She did what I needed her to do. She laughed at me, agreeing that it all was pretty bad, but also sort of funny. The giant shrunk to a manageable size and I sped on, cranking the cold air through the vents hoping to dry my eyes and reduce the redness in the 3 minutes left in my commute.
In the end, it all worked out okay. The students learned and behaved and enjoyed the outing. Nobody threw stones at me. The principal extended grace in a most Christ-like way, the lead teacher offered encouragement, and the administrative assistant spoke kindly when I had to slink into the office at day's end. It was more than I would have asked for. In more ways that I can recount, I am humbled. They're even going to let me come back and continue teaching when classes resume on Monday!
Err grandly, I say! And if it's still a little too painful to call your family and friends so they can laugh at you, just tell them to read your blog.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
A terrorist?
I used to occasionally pour a glass of cold water on Mark when he was showering. I had forgotten until he reminded me on the drive home tonight which made me laugh so hard I nearly had to pull over. He still doesn't think it's funny...
The reminiscing started because Mark was telling me about how Timothy was standing outside the shower when Mark was showering. When Mark saw eyes peering at him through the clear curtain, it startled him.
The clear liner which hangs with a sheer bolt curtain recently replaced the opaque liner. It was my concession to Mark after nine years of marriage, an admission that I am a terrorist and my most favorite victim is he.
It started out innocently enough. Almost all the experts say that laughter is an important ingredient in marriage. I embraced that little tidbit and decided that I would spice things up a bit and add a little more laughter as well.
One of my favorite things to do was to lay in waiting and pounce out and surprise him. I would hide around corners and jump out.
Once I iced my hand, snuck up where he was resting peacefully in the dark and slowly slipped it onto his bare shoulder.
I hid under our tall 4 poster bed one evening when he was getting ready for bed and when he approached the bed to climb in, I reached out and grabbed his ankle.
Occasionally I would sneak into the bathroom when he was showering and stand on the toilet and peer down at him for minutes at a time. He was so unsuspecting! Eventually he'd look up, catch a glimpse of me and jump out of his skin.
I would rig his clothes too. I've put double stick tape in his underwear, and stickers on the back of his shirts.
Once I found a long, narrow pocket thingy on the front of his underwear, and put his chap stick in it. When he asked if I had seen his chap stick, I played dumb. The next afternoon I called him at work and asked if he had found his chap stick. HE HADN'T! I just started laughing hysterically and at that moment, he became aware of where his chap stick was and made a bee line for the restroom.
One year before Valentine's day, I stuck a few carefully selected conversation hearts in one of the socks he had laid out for the following day. That evening at supper, I asked if he liked the notes I put in his sock. He just looked at me as though he didn't know what I was talking about. He leaned over, pulled off his sock, and about 7 candy hearts fell to the floor. "I thought my foot felt a little uncomfortable today," he said. I was laughing so hard I fell out of my chair.
One of Mark's "isms" used to be to set up the bathroom before he went to fix his breakfast. He'd lay his towel out, open the shower curtain, and spread all his crap across the counter, even putting toothpaste on this toothbrush "to save time". I should have found this all to be endearing, but I didn't. I think it was the toothpaste that put me over the edge. Sometimes as I tried to clear a little spot for my make up bag, I'd knock over the toothbrush and smear toothpaste across the counter and sink. It had to stop! So, I started pulling out a strand of my hair and laying it across his toothpasted toothbrush.
I put my vintage fake barf on his pillow repeatedly.
As the years have passed and our home has filled with kids, my creativity has waned and the practical jokes have become far less frequent. A couple months ago when Mark was in the shower, I playfully reached in and grabbed his arm. Apparently this was the last straw because he barked at me. Chewed me out. Called me a name! My feelings were hurt, but my perspective was straightened a little. These little antics were funny to me, but not to him and he had had enough. I realized as I sheepishly slunk out of the bathroom and crawled into bed for the night that I am a terrorist. Had Mark ever joined in the fun and retaliated, we would have been playing a game, but he is too kind and gentle and I am a scheming, evil terrorist.
I felt badly, not only because I had truly caused my husband much angst, but also because I had to grow up and knock it off. The olive branch I offered was a transparent shower curtain. No more sneaking. No more cold water or bouncy balls or sticky hands. It hangs in the master bathroom as a symbol of respect.
Awhile ago I was rounding a corner to put a pile of clothes away and Christian jumped out of a closet and scared my pants off. Why would he do such a horrible thing to his mother?!
He may have gotten me that time, but that kid had better watch out. The next time he walks into the dark garage, I'm pressing the alarm button on the van key!
The reminiscing started because Mark was telling me about how Timothy was standing outside the shower when Mark was showering. When Mark saw eyes peering at him through the clear curtain, it startled him.
The clear liner which hangs with a sheer bolt curtain recently replaced the opaque liner. It was my concession to Mark after nine years of marriage, an admission that I am a terrorist and my most favorite victim is he.
It started out innocently enough. Almost all the experts say that laughter is an important ingredient in marriage. I embraced that little tidbit and decided that I would spice things up a bit and add a little more laughter as well.
One of my favorite things to do was to lay in waiting and pounce out and surprise him. I would hide around corners and jump out.
Once I iced my hand, snuck up where he was resting peacefully in the dark and slowly slipped it onto his bare shoulder.
I hid under our tall 4 poster bed one evening when he was getting ready for bed and when he approached the bed to climb in, I reached out and grabbed his ankle.
Occasionally I would sneak into the bathroom when he was showering and stand on the toilet and peer down at him for minutes at a time. He was so unsuspecting! Eventually he'd look up, catch a glimpse of me and jump out of his skin.
I would rig his clothes too. I've put double stick tape in his underwear, and stickers on the back of his shirts.
Once I found a long, narrow pocket thingy on the front of his underwear, and put his chap stick in it. When he asked if I had seen his chap stick, I played dumb. The next afternoon I called him at work and asked if he had found his chap stick. HE HADN'T! I just started laughing hysterically and at that moment, he became aware of where his chap stick was and made a bee line for the restroom.
One year before Valentine's day, I stuck a few carefully selected conversation hearts in one of the socks he had laid out for the following day. That evening at supper, I asked if he liked the notes I put in his sock. He just looked at me as though he didn't know what I was talking about. He leaned over, pulled off his sock, and about 7 candy hearts fell to the floor. "I thought my foot felt a little uncomfortable today," he said. I was laughing so hard I fell out of my chair.
One of Mark's "isms" used to be to set up the bathroom before he went to fix his breakfast. He'd lay his towel out, open the shower curtain, and spread all his crap across the counter, even putting toothpaste on this toothbrush "to save time". I should have found this all to be endearing, but I didn't. I think it was the toothpaste that put me over the edge. Sometimes as I tried to clear a little spot for my make up bag, I'd knock over the toothbrush and smear toothpaste across the counter and sink. It had to stop! So, I started pulling out a strand of my hair and laying it across his toothpasted toothbrush.
I put my vintage fake barf on his pillow repeatedly.
As the years have passed and our home has filled with kids, my creativity has waned and the practical jokes have become far less frequent. A couple months ago when Mark was in the shower, I playfully reached in and grabbed his arm. Apparently this was the last straw because he barked at me. Chewed me out. Called me a name! My feelings were hurt, but my perspective was straightened a little. These little antics were funny to me, but not to him and he had had enough. I realized as I sheepishly slunk out of the bathroom and crawled into bed for the night that I am a terrorist. Had Mark ever joined in the fun and retaliated, we would have been playing a game, but he is too kind and gentle and I am a scheming, evil terrorist.
I felt badly, not only because I had truly caused my husband much angst, but also because I had to grow up and knock it off. The olive branch I offered was a transparent shower curtain. No more sneaking. No more cold water or bouncy balls or sticky hands. It hangs in the master bathroom as a symbol of respect.
Awhile ago I was rounding a corner to put a pile of clothes away and Christian jumped out of a closet and scared my pants off. Why would he do such a horrible thing to his mother?!
He may have gotten me that time, but that kid had better watch out. The next time he walks into the dark garage, I'm pressing the alarm button on the van key!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
I Can't...and You'll Never Guess Why!
"Timothy, eat your green beans."
"I can't. I don't have any hands," Timothy says, as he tries to hide them under the table in his lap.
It's his creative way of saying, "I don't want to eat my beans."
I am so much more sophisticated with my excuses. They sound more like this:
"I can't. I already have plans that day."
"I can't. My plate is full."
"I can't. I'm busy."
I think I'm telling the truth, but I wonder, do I look and sound as ridiculous as Timothy with his hands hiding under the table?
Next time I decline a request I'm just going to try, "I can't. I don't have any hands."
"I can't. I don't have any hands," Timothy says, as he tries to hide them under the table in his lap.
It's his creative way of saying, "I don't want to eat my beans."
I am so much more sophisticated with my excuses. They sound more like this:
"I can't. I already have plans that day."
"I can't. My plate is full."
"I can't. I'm busy."
I think I'm telling the truth, but I wonder, do I look and sound as ridiculous as Timothy with his hands hiding under the table?
Next time I decline a request I'm just going to try, "I can't. I don't have any hands."
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
MOM!
The following is a true story. Neither the names nor the location have been changed to protect the nuts involved...
After an exasperating few hours of trying to bake and clean with two screaming boys wrapped around my knees, I did what any good mother short of finances to commit herself to the local psych ward would do: I sat my boys down at the kitchen table each with a glass of milk and a pile of graham crackers and let them have at it. I was desperate for a few moments of relative silence and the physical liberation to move freely and rapidly about my kitchen. Graham crackers for supper was my ticket to a moment of sanity...or so I thought.
While throwing a cake in the oven with my left hand and washing dirty dishes with my right, I was just beginning to feel the throbbing in my head subside.
"Mom! MOM!! Mommmmmmmmmmm! M-O-M!!! Mom! Mom! Mom! mom."
In my most loving mom voice I snarled, "WHAT! What do you want now, Timothy?!"
There was a pause before he answered, "I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to James."
Incredulously, I stared at him, our eyes locked for a moment before he casually returned to munching his graham crackers. I watched him a moment longer, but he just glanced quickly at me out of the corner of his eye, which almost made me laugh.
If a person wants to know what it feels like to experience the world's craziest amusement park ride, spend a day with a pre-schooler. Mine has the, um, we'll call it passion, stubbornness, wit, charm, and persistence to make 2 minutes feel like a wild roller coaster. This just proves that God knew what he was doing when he gave me Timothy and his siblings. The roller coaster is my favorite ride in the park!
After an exasperating few hours of trying to bake and clean with two screaming boys wrapped around my knees, I did what any good mother short of finances to commit herself to the local psych ward would do: I sat my boys down at the kitchen table each with a glass of milk and a pile of graham crackers and let them have at it. I was desperate for a few moments of relative silence and the physical liberation to move freely and rapidly about my kitchen. Graham crackers for supper was my ticket to a moment of sanity...or so I thought.
While throwing a cake in the oven with my left hand and washing dirty dishes with my right, I was just beginning to feel the throbbing in my head subside.
"Mom! MOM!! Mommmmmmmmmmm! M-O-M!!! Mom! Mom! Mom! mom."
In my most loving mom voice I snarled, "WHAT! What do you want now, Timothy?!"
There was a pause before he answered, "I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to James."
Incredulously, I stared at him, our eyes locked for a moment before he casually returned to munching his graham crackers. I watched him a moment longer, but he just glanced quickly at me out of the corner of his eye, which almost made me laugh.
If a person wants to know what it feels like to experience the world's craziest amusement park ride, spend a day with a pre-schooler. Mine has the, um, we'll call it passion, stubbornness, wit, charm, and persistence to make 2 minutes feel like a wild roller coaster. This just proves that God knew what he was doing when he gave me Timothy and his siblings. The roller coaster is my favorite ride in the park!
Monday, July 27, 2009
A Blender for Christmas!
I use our blender a lot. At least once a week I make something that requires blending: smoothies, hummus, burrito filling, margaritas, or some other sort of mixed drink. With all the ice that goes into that thing, I must blow out a blender every 200th concoction, or every 18 months, whichever comes first. I've had expensive blenders, mid-range blenders, Consumer Reports approved blenders, and even cheap 1970's garage sale blenders. Nothing lasts very long.
It was no surprise to me then, that today's smoothies yielded some poorly blended ice. It's about time to shop for a blender again. As I stood before it grumbling a "blessing", my dear husband offered to buy me a new one for Christmas.
"You want me to wait 5 months for a new blender?" I asked, slightly taken aback.
"Well, no," he said, "but if it lasts a few more months, I could get it for you for Christmas."
I am not a diamonds sort of girl. I like to think I'm fairly practical and ordinary. But a blender? Really?!
I guess I could go for that. It will be fun to see what kind of machine he chooses for me. But even more than that, I look forward to seeing his reaction when he opens my gift. I think he'll be about due for an oil change.
It was no surprise to me then, that today's smoothies yielded some poorly blended ice. It's about time to shop for a blender again. As I stood before it grumbling a "blessing", my dear husband offered to buy me a new one for Christmas.
"You want me to wait 5 months for a new blender?" I asked, slightly taken aback.
"Well, no," he said, "but if it lasts a few more months, I could get it for you for Christmas."
I am not a diamonds sort of girl. I like to think I'm fairly practical and ordinary. But a blender? Really?!
I guess I could go for that. It will be fun to see what kind of machine he chooses for me. But even more than that, I look forward to seeing his reaction when he opens my gift. I think he'll be about due for an oil change.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A Family Holiday
Today is Adoption Day. Eight years ago today, we stood before Judge Williams and she formally transformed Christian from "my" child, to "our" child. I am so thankful that everything worked out for ALL of us, but still feel we need lots of prayers. Mark and I need wisdom, patience, discernment, humility and the ability to be vigilant as parents. For Christian I pray that his faith in God would grow, his skepticism be quelled by truth, that he would always know he's deeply loved, that anger and hatred would never find a place to grow within him. For his biological father, I pray that he would have peace and that he and his family would be greatly blessed for the selfless act of love that he committed for the benefit of his son when he chose to give him a father that would be present for Christian.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I am a church worker. I'd tell you my title, but it really has nothing to do with my true job description. Lately I've been spending alot of time directing the decorating and furnishing of an apartment that we are going to get to offer our brothers and sisters in Christ who find themselves in town to receive medical care. All I can say about that is everybody has their own opinion of how the apartment should look, and the ideas are vast and quite unsimiliar.
I put my friend in charge of coordinating colors. Her incredible gift for designing spaces is about as infallible as it gets. I admit, I thought her color selection for the bedroom and bathroom, a pearly light green, was a little edgy for this white wall girl, but she's the one with the vision, not me.
Apparently, the painter also thought the colors were edgy because I had barely started my day when he plopped himself down in my office* and drew his line in the sand. He didn't want to paint under the cabinets because the buttery color would clash with the white cabinets. Then he casually dropped the line I knew was coming, "Personally, I'd leave the whole apartment white." I nodded my head and conceded that he wouldn't have to paint under the cabinets.
"Great," I thought, "Another thing to add to my to do list: paint under the cabinets."
"Well, you already spent all that time taping," I told him, "Go ahead and paint. I think it will turn out fine."
Doubtfully, he left my office to start the day long job.
Not long after that, Miss M. called as excited as could be. She called me yesterday to resolutely inform me that she would like to come on board with the apartment planning. Today, she had furniture in mind and measurements to boot. She'd be over in a half hour and we would measure the apartment.
She arrived with her friend, Miss L, who has been visiting from the south. I absolutely love Miss M. and Miss L. They make me smile from ear to ear when I see them. I also fear them a little and try my best to stand up straight and mind my manners when they're around. I hope when I'm 80-something like they are, that I'll be as sassy and as busy as them!
"What's going on at the church today?" Miss M. asked. "Is there a funeral, or what?"
"No. It's the senior citizen luncheon today," I explained.
"Oh. Maybe someday I'll be a senior citizen and come to a luncheon. I don't got any time for that just yet."
She's right about that!
We headed to the apartment, which is just a short walk out the back door of the church, and across the ally. I'm always afraid one of them is going to biff it on the hill or uneven concrete, but they don't seem to worry about it. They don't see themselves as frail in the least.
When we arrived, the painter had already completed the bathroom and bedroom in the green and was working on the buttery cream color of the living room. Miss M. has already shared with me her opinion of the green. She saw it on a paint stick last week and declared that it was nauseating. My stomach was in knots at the prospect of her seeing the the entire bedroom painted the color she despised. I was hoping to keep her out of there, if at all possible.
I could tell that our painter was going to be no help at all when he greeted the ladies with, "I didn't choose these colors, I'm just the painter!"
Thankfully, Miss M. approved of the living room color. I figured she'd be okay with it. We took our measurements and I thought I'd get them out of there without a look at the bedroom when Miss M. said, "I'm glad you chose this color and not that putrid green. Don't put that in the bedroom!"
The painter, all too eager to throw me under the bus, chimed, "Oh, the bedroom's already painted. Green."
Miss M. looked at me as though I had committed a heinous offense and then marched, as best she could, over tarp and between moved appliances, into the bedroom. I did what anybody in my shoes would do. I saw my life flash before me, realized I had no other options, short of sprinting away and quitting my job, so I prayed!
"Oh God! If there really is such a thing as a rapture, TAKE ME NOW!"
The bedroom light switched on. I couldn't breathe. Miss M. stood frozen in place. I flinched in anticipation of what was to come. Miss M. looked at me and and nodded her head.
"You like it, Miss M?"
"Yea. I do."
I took Miss L's arm and said, "Oh, thank the Lord!"
Miss L. burst out laughing. "You thought you were going to get it, didn't you?!"
"Yes. I did."
We followed into the bedroom where Miss M. praised me for not painting it that ugly color that was on the paint stick. I, of course, said nothing.
Miss L, though, informed Miss M. that the bedroom WAS the color of the paint stick, but Miss M. didn't believe her.
"You tell her, Jennifer!"
"It is the color that was on the paint stick," I confessed, "but I think it's lovely! It's very calming, you know."
Apparently, all was forgiven. After all, in the end the colors turned out to be wonderful, as I trusted they would. We were off to the furniture store where I was to give my approval on the ladies' selections.
The only thing that worried me is that my friend already had some furniture in mind at another store. Still, Miss M. was offering to give us the new furniture she had chosen, and it was lovely. She had chosen a small drop leaf table with 2 chairs, a recliner, and a sofa sleeper that wasn't too big or too small. She has the most generous and giving heart. I was so touched as I heard her go on and on about the importance and meaning of our ministry to the stoic sales associate tallying the bill.
"You mean you're GIVING this to your church?" the associate asked in disbelief.
"Oh yes. This means so much to the people who stay. They stay with me at my house sometimes too. All's they need is a place to rest and they are just so thankful," Miss M. explains.
In the end my friend was happy that such a generous gift was given. I don't know why I worried about hurting her feelings. She always keeps her focus, and never makes it about herself. It's for the ministry, for the people, for Christ himself, and she knows it and believes in it just like Miss M. does.
When I got back from the store, I stopped down to bring the painter a bottle of cold water. He decided to paint under the cabinets after all, although he still thinks we're all crazy. Ironic.
Clearly God is orchestrating the whole project. The walls of our apartment already hold some great stories of generosity and selfless love. It will hold many more stories as well; stories of pain and struggle, healing and hope. I look forward to witnessing it.
*Soon I get to downsize from an office to a closet to make room for a DCE. It's a fun adventure.
I put my friend in charge of coordinating colors. Her incredible gift for designing spaces is about as infallible as it gets. I admit, I thought her color selection for the bedroom and bathroom, a pearly light green, was a little edgy for this white wall girl, but she's the one with the vision, not me.
Apparently, the painter also thought the colors were edgy because I had barely started my day when he plopped himself down in my office* and drew his line in the sand. He didn't want to paint under the cabinets because the buttery color would clash with the white cabinets. Then he casually dropped the line I knew was coming, "Personally, I'd leave the whole apartment white." I nodded my head and conceded that he wouldn't have to paint under the cabinets.
"Great," I thought, "Another thing to add to my to do list: paint under the cabinets."
"Well, you already spent all that time taping," I told him, "Go ahead and paint. I think it will turn out fine."
Doubtfully, he left my office to start the day long job.
Not long after that, Miss M. called as excited as could be. She called me yesterday to resolutely inform me that she would like to come on board with the apartment planning. Today, she had furniture in mind and measurements to boot. She'd be over in a half hour and we would measure the apartment.
She arrived with her friend, Miss L, who has been visiting from the south. I absolutely love Miss M. and Miss L. They make me smile from ear to ear when I see them. I also fear them a little and try my best to stand up straight and mind my manners when they're around. I hope when I'm 80-something like they are, that I'll be as sassy and as busy as them!
"What's going on at the church today?" Miss M. asked. "Is there a funeral, or what?"
"No. It's the senior citizen luncheon today," I explained.
"Oh. Maybe someday I'll be a senior citizen and come to a luncheon. I don't got any time for that just yet."
She's right about that!
We headed to the apartment, which is just a short walk out the back door of the church, and across the ally. I'm always afraid one of them is going to biff it on the hill or uneven concrete, but they don't seem to worry about it. They don't see themselves as frail in the least.
When we arrived, the painter had already completed the bathroom and bedroom in the green and was working on the buttery cream color of the living room. Miss M. has already shared with me her opinion of the green. She saw it on a paint stick last week and declared that it was nauseating. My stomach was in knots at the prospect of her seeing the the entire bedroom painted the color she despised. I was hoping to keep her out of there, if at all possible.
I could tell that our painter was going to be no help at all when he greeted the ladies with, "I didn't choose these colors, I'm just the painter!"
Thankfully, Miss M. approved of the living room color. I figured she'd be okay with it. We took our measurements and I thought I'd get them out of there without a look at the bedroom when Miss M. said, "I'm glad you chose this color and not that putrid green. Don't put that in the bedroom!"
The painter, all too eager to throw me under the bus, chimed, "Oh, the bedroom's already painted. Green."
Miss M. looked at me as though I had committed a heinous offense and then marched, as best she could, over tarp and between moved appliances, into the bedroom. I did what anybody in my shoes would do. I saw my life flash before me, realized I had no other options, short of sprinting away and quitting my job, so I prayed!
"Oh God! If there really is such a thing as a rapture, TAKE ME NOW!"
The bedroom light switched on. I couldn't breathe. Miss M. stood frozen in place. I flinched in anticipation of what was to come. Miss M. looked at me and and nodded her head.
"You like it, Miss M?"
"Yea. I do."
I took Miss L's arm and said, "Oh, thank the Lord!"
Miss L. burst out laughing. "You thought you were going to get it, didn't you?!"
"Yes. I did."
We followed into the bedroom where Miss M. praised me for not painting it that ugly color that was on the paint stick. I, of course, said nothing.
Miss L, though, informed Miss M. that the bedroom WAS the color of the paint stick, but Miss M. didn't believe her.
"You tell her, Jennifer!"
"It is the color that was on the paint stick," I confessed, "but I think it's lovely! It's very calming, you know."
Apparently, all was forgiven. After all, in the end the colors turned out to be wonderful, as I trusted they would. We were off to the furniture store where I was to give my approval on the ladies' selections.
The only thing that worried me is that my friend already had some furniture in mind at another store. Still, Miss M. was offering to give us the new furniture she had chosen, and it was lovely. She had chosen a small drop leaf table with 2 chairs, a recliner, and a sofa sleeper that wasn't too big or too small. She has the most generous and giving heart. I was so touched as I heard her go on and on about the importance and meaning of our ministry to the stoic sales associate tallying the bill.
"You mean you're GIVING this to your church?" the associate asked in disbelief.
"Oh yes. This means so much to the people who stay. They stay with me at my house sometimes too. All's they need is a place to rest and they are just so thankful," Miss M. explains.
In the end my friend was happy that such a generous gift was given. I don't know why I worried about hurting her feelings. She always keeps her focus, and never makes it about herself. It's for the ministry, for the people, for Christ himself, and she knows it and believes in it just like Miss M. does.
When I got back from the store, I stopped down to bring the painter a bottle of cold water. He decided to paint under the cabinets after all, although he still thinks we're all crazy. Ironic.
Clearly God is orchestrating the whole project. The walls of our apartment already hold some great stories of generosity and selfless love. It will hold many more stories as well; stories of pain and struggle, healing and hope. I look forward to witnessing it.
*Soon I get to downsize from an office to a closet to make room for a DCE. It's a fun adventure.
CAUTION: Running Errands May Lead To Jail Time...
Yesterday morning I snuck out with the two little boys to run some errands for work while my older two were still sleeping. Christian is twelve and responsible enough to watch his siblings for short bursts of time. Both kids were told the night before that I would have to do some running for work that morning.
I got a call about a half hour into it from a sobbing Emily who said I forgot her at home AGAIN. (It happened once a couple years ago where she was home alone for 20 minutes, an honest mistake if you know the whole story.)
I asked if she checked the basement for her brother, and she hadn’t.
She WENT TO A NEIGHBOR’S HOUSE to make that call, and not just any neighbor, the old lady across the street who thinks we’re a circus, who knows everything about everybody, bless her heart. Em could have chosen a more forgiving option.
To top it all off, when I put the two little boys to bed last night, James, whose room faces the old lady’s house, discovered his light switch and started sending SOS signals before I realized what “that clicking sound” was. Do you think SS will stop over this week? I think there’s a 50/50 chance they will. I’d better clean the house.
I got a call about a half hour into it from a sobbing Emily who said I forgot her at home AGAIN. (It happened once a couple years ago where she was home alone for 20 minutes, an honest mistake if you know the whole story.)
I asked if she checked the basement for her brother, and she hadn’t.
She WENT TO A NEIGHBOR’S HOUSE to make that call, and not just any neighbor, the old lady across the street who thinks we’re a circus, who knows everything about everybody, bless her heart. Em could have chosen a more forgiving option.
To top it all off, when I put the two little boys to bed last night, James, whose room faces the old lady’s house, discovered his light switch and started sending SOS signals before I realized what “that clicking sound” was. Do you think SS will stop over this week? I think there’s a 50/50 chance they will. I’d better clean the house.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Timothy...
I told Timothy to go potty before we tore out the door for Emily's swim lessons.
He proclaimed, "No! I don't have to go potty!"
Usually I'd make him go anyhow, but we were cutting it close if we wanted to get Emily to her lesson on time, so I let it slide with a pretty senseless warning: "Fine, but then you better not have to go potty in the next hour. Get in the car."
I got the kids loaded into the van and as we backed out of the driveway, Timothy said, "I have to go potty now."
I braked, completely exasperated. "TIMOTHY! You just told me two minutes ago that you didn't have to go potty!
A voice, barely above a whisper came from his slightly upturned lips, "I still love you, Mommy."
"I love you too... I'm mad at you, though."
So slightly louder he said, "But Mommy! I still love you!"
He has a gift. Timothy somehow knows exactly what to do to endear himself to others. Here, in my minivan that smells like decomposing milk, in the insanity of a hurried moment, I experience unconditional love from my wiggly pre-schooler. It's a gift that could be easily dismissed, but God gives me the wisdom and the grace to spare a nanosecond and treasure it.
"I know. I love you too, Timothy."
He proclaimed, "No! I don't have to go potty!"
Usually I'd make him go anyhow, but we were cutting it close if we wanted to get Emily to her lesson on time, so I let it slide with a pretty senseless warning: "Fine, but then you better not have to go potty in the next hour. Get in the car."
I got the kids loaded into the van and as we backed out of the driveway, Timothy said, "I have to go potty now."
I braked, completely exasperated. "TIMOTHY! You just told me two minutes ago that you didn't have to go potty!
A voice, barely above a whisper came from his slightly upturned lips, "I still love you, Mommy."
"I love you too... I'm mad at you, though."
So slightly louder he said, "But Mommy! I still love you!"
He has a gift. Timothy somehow knows exactly what to do to endear himself to others. Here, in my minivan that smells like decomposing milk, in the insanity of a hurried moment, I experience unconditional love from my wiggly pre-schooler. It's a gift that could be easily dismissed, but God gives me the wisdom and the grace to spare a nanosecond and treasure it.
"I know. I love you too, Timothy."
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