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.
Monday, July 27, 2009
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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