"For Crying Out Loud!"

Yesterday, Colby was outside playing with our little daycare friend and I heard him saying, "For crying out loud!" (Yes, he is his mother's son.)  This morning, he said to Justin, "Are you kidding me?!" Of course, he doesn't really know what these phrases really mean but what made me laugh was to see him mentally prepare to say these phrases out loud, say them, and then feel more comfortable to say them over and over again. 

I remember, as a child, being intimidated by my dad. If Dad said "No", there was no turning back so I usually tried my mom first. I grew out of this eventually and became more comfortable talking to my father...it felt a bit more normal each time I did.

Both of these thoughts have something to do with prayer and worship habits, don't they? Raising my hands in worship is still a bit out of the norm for me but each time I do becomes more and more comfortable. Asking my Father for outrageous things seems selfish sometimes...but each time I do, I'm reminded that He wants to hear these requests from me and I'm encouraged to do it again. I'm always grateful He hears my prayers, but I wonder...does He smile & chuckle when I finally try to worship or ask Him something in a new way? :)

Sweet Babblings

Our Dub has a language all his own right now. Sometimes you know what he's talking about, most times you have to try to glean little bits from the words that come out. He'll come up, talk for minutes at a time sometimes, (most of it baby gibberish, if not all) and walk away confident in what he has told you. Those who are around him often know that "d" means he wants a drink, "guk" is milk, and "kiki" would be his beloved blankie. Of course, that's not always possible...he occasionally has a babysitter who hasn't spent a lot of time with him and has to spend time trying to decipher the babbling. I get a text randomly from these people..."What's he talking about?" and can usually help them on their way.

I do this sometimes with my Father. I don't know always know how to pray or the words come out all jumbled as if I can't process what's in my heart. Those moments of grief when you can't put into words what you're feeling? Yep, those have come, too. God has an interpreter, though! I am so thankful that in those times where I can't compose the words to pray, the Holy Spirit does it for me...passing on my cares to the Lord. Praise the God who hears every one of the prayers we pray!

Quiet Mornings

I love, LOVE my quiet morning time...time before anyone else in the house is awake, before extra kids arrive, before needing to communicate with the rest of the world. Some days I workout first, some days I just relax on the couch or in bed...get my drift?

I thought this morning about how peaceful that time is--time when I can talk to God about what's going on in my heart, pray for my husband, my family, for friends' requests, for wisdom to know what else I can do to honor Him and those I love.

Then came the craziness. :) Two kids came for the day, we ate breakfast, Colby got up & ate, kids started playing (LOUDLY, I might add...didn't get that Veggie Tales' in the player in time), husband left for work, Caleb got up...frustration comes & goes despite the "Joy of the Lord is my strength" song going 'round & 'round in my head. Oh, how I long to go back to that time just an hour or two before.

But that's not how it works. In all of my selfish desires for constant peace, it doesn't happen and it can't happen--God didn't create us for that. It makes me smile (and honestly, inwardly groan at times) to know that true peace comes from knowing that God has the "not so peaceful" times in His hands and works every.single.one out for His glory. Praise God for that!

"Moooooom, I'm still HUNgry!", he says. "Yes, child, let's find another snack, (right after I sing that Joy song a few more times again today)..."

Great Post

I found this link somewhere on Facebook today and would invite you to read it...

Open Letter from a Pastor's Wife

In case you've ever wanted to know!

It's a Battlefield Somedays

I went to workout early Friday morning. (And when I say early, I mean early early, as in workout starts at 5:30 in the morning early and I have to get up early enough to wake up and eat breakfast--among other things--before I leave.) It was a great workout, a hard workout that had me really contemplating if I honestly chose to put myself through that torture before the sun came up. Somewhere in between the 12th and 13th set of squats and 3rd set of burpees, I heard the lyrics to "Battlefield" by Jordin Sparks and I truly felt myself having to battle whether or not I could finish. The words were Why does love always feel like a battlefield, a battlefield, a battlefield? It replayed over and over in my head throughout the rest of the set and during the next short rest session, I was overcome with emotion. A picture played in my head--the young man talking us through the workout that morning perhaps, my brother, or pictures we see on the news everyday--of a soldier in battle gear fighting for my freedom. Then I thought of how hard I felt I had it...working my body to get in shape and be healthy, battling temptations of overeating. Finally, a picture of my Savior battling and pleading with his Father the night of his arrest.

I don't battle. Not like I think I do and probably not as much as I'd like you to think I do.  Physical battles, nuh-uh. My physical battles don't compare to the fights our heroes fight daily on the warfront. They would probably be offended to hear my comparison to battle through my workout and their efforts for my freedom. Oh, there are temptations that creep up--whether or not I'll succumb to the temptations to eat things I don't really want to, doing good instead of ignoring the opportunity, having joy instead of choosing bitterness--but do I really, I mean really battle anything close to the spiritual battle Jesus endured? Nope.

This is mostly a lot of word vomit (as my friend Amy would call it), lots of rambling on, but I guess one thing I thought of tonight as I'm trying to get it out of my head is that no matter the battle I'm enduring, God still cares. I sought to start memorizing this verse this week: 1Corinthians 10:13-"No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. But God is faithful." What hope!  What promise!  I'm tempted to stp there because it's so reassuring and peaceful. But!  Paul goes on--"He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.  But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it."  He does care and God doesn't want us to sin when we're battling against it--whether "big" or "little" sins, He gives us a way to endure.

So, needless to say, I finished the workout and was, of course, glad I did. Kind of like when I choose God instead of that sin I'm battling. Thankful for His Word, His Promises, and the daily reminders of what a real battle looks like.

Just a little of what's going on in my head this week. :)

I want to help that cucumber!

So. I'll admit--I've been plagued with a bit of "stuffitis" the last week or two. You know what I'm talking about...closer to "the grass is greener" and "somewhere over the rainbow" as opposed to a main character on Hoarders, but you get my drift. I want a permanently clean house, clothes, more sleep (big one), a different car, free time...things like that. I live & know I have more way than I need or deserve but for some reason, I've been wanting more.

I was grumbling about having to vacuum the second day in a row and after posting a status on Facebook about how frustrating it can be to go from terrific to tornado in 2.6 seconds, I remembered reading someone else's status about a friend whose little girl went to be with Jesus. Dose of Reality #1.

Then came Dose of Reality #2. Colb came into our room with me and was laying on the bed, putting his hands all over me...arms around my arm, in my hair, etc. I asked him what was going on and he said, "I just need you." "Okay, God--I get it. Kids who love me and need me? Way better than a clean house anyday."

Finally, after a few minutes of cuddling with the Colbster, we got up and I walked back into the room where Dub & Colb were watching Veggie Tales--it was the story of the God Samaritan...Larry was beaten up and stuffed in a whole (upside down) and left like that.  All of a sudden, Colby asked, "Mom! Can you lift me into that movie?" A bit confused, I went to see what he was talking about. I thought he was talking about switching DVDs on Dub (drama waiting to happen).

"What do you mean, Colb?"
"I want to help that cucumber!"
"Oh, Colby--Honey, it's a movie. We can't go into the story like that."
"But you can try, Mom! Can you lift me up and we'll see?"

So, I did. I tried. I lifted Colby up and after letting his little head bump the TV screen (No worries, dear--your TV is on the wall very securely :) ), he realized we couldn't, in fact, join the story/movie.

When will I realize that free time, sleep, a more often kept clean house, etc. won't make me happy? When will I remember that little boys who just want to cuddle won't want to do that forever? When will I remember that these little boys are only here for a little while and I have to hold onto this little bit of heaven (them) while I can? That breadcrumbs on the floor, while they drive me crazy, don't matter? That PJ days are ok every once in awhile?

Just some rambling. I guess what I am trying to remember daily is that I am truly and completely blessed. God is way bigger & better than I give Him credit for.

Pain of Change

So, last night was an interesting night. Nothing I hadn't experienced before, but it was interesting.  I've been working out again, managing my nutrition like a hawk (thanks to the ever-watching eyes of Tim) and overall feeling pretty good. Enough about that, though...maybe another post for another time. Anywho, last night we had a great group of WSC soccer players and life group friends here for supper. I had planned all day to be able to indulge in some potluck goodness and did great...until dessert. I had a cookie bar or two, a piece of fruit pizza, another cookie and yet another piece of fruit pizza.

And then I felt terrible.

Not guilt. No, there's nothing wrong with cookies, etc. if eaten in moderation (this probably wasn't great moderation, though, haha).  I know that, I just don't always know when to stop so I have been trying to avoid them altogether. The problem was with my stomach!  Who knew that, after weeks of training myself to live without incredibly sugary, carb-loaded fat, my belly would revolt at the intake of a few cookies? Ugh. The pain. The torture.  The lesson (followed by a big dose of Pepto)--stay away from the cookies!

As Christians, we strive to live without sin. We're not perfect.  Ever. But we can strive for it. And when we give in to a temptation that has previously caused us to sin, even just once!, it can lead to a tumultuous battle to overcome it once again. Our souls hurt, guilt ensues, and then God swoops in. When we ask forgiveness, we still battle those cravings, the temptations. But battling doesn't happen alone--He's there and once again, our body can forget how good "being bad" feels.

Just a little rambling but something I had to relearn last night. :)