Category Archives: Uncategorized

A few months ago a friend asked me to help with a writing project. About a month before that, I agreed to work on a different project for my church. When I had time to write more consistently, ideas flowed more freely, but I’m like the science law about how once things stop they’re difficult to get moving again. This is the second day I’ve sat at my computer with nothing of worth to put towards my projects. I’ve played Candy Crush Saga, I’ve pinned on Pinterest, but I haven’t had the big breakthrough I really need to make any progress. In case anyone I owe a project is worried at this point, I will get there. I promise. This happens to me sometimes. I just need to get the blood flowing in my brain so the thoughts can get through. To prime the pump, I thought I’d share with you some of the things blocking my brain that aren’t helping me get any closer to my writing project goals.

1.  The CBD Christian fiction catalog came in the mail a couple of weeks ago. Twenty of its eighty pages featured at least one novel about the Amish. Or Quakers. Or Mennonites. That’s a quarter of the catalog, friends. I know. I did the math.  No less than two complete sections of the catalog featured nothing but books about Amish. Or Quakers. Or Mennonites. Forgive me for lumping those all together. I’m sure they are not exactly the same. But can we agree there are some similarities for the purpose of this discussion?

I have visited Amish and Quaker stores and enjoyed delicious meals at a Mennonite restaurant. I still could kick myself for not buying the most beautiful china cabinet I’ve ever seen that was skillfully crafted by the hands of a talented Quaker carpenter. The people I have met from those communities are beautiful and loving and I know they live rich, fulfilling lives. I understand and share a curiosity about how these people live such simple lives in our increasingly complicated world. I’m just not sure how authors are able to crank out any stories about these people that haven’t already been told.

To be fair, I’ve never read a book from this genre so maybe there’s a lot more to be written than I could imagine. But twenty pages?

When will we jump the Amish shark, do you think? I’m thinking if you see a new series by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins about Mennonites, you’ll know the shark has been jumped. Or if Joel Osteen works an Amish story into his sermon. When Toby Mac starts rapping about Quakers, stick a fork in me and slather me in Amish butter, because I am done.

I wonder if the Amish, Quaker, and Mennonite ladies have twenty pages of books about Methodist soccer moms in their fiction catalogs. Or maybe they prefer the Baptist school teacher series. Makes you wonder….

2. Sus aka CarpoolQueen is getting a baby cat today. I think “kitten” is the politically correct term for those. My kids want a cat and I wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t for the shedding. Our first practice child was a black Labrador retriever (I’ll never get back the five minutes I spent googling whether I should capitalize Labrador and Retriever or just one or neither. Sources differed in opinion, so I chose the answer I saw most from the more respected authorities that exist online.). He was the greatest dog ever. My one complaint was every day I swept enough dog hair to make my own litter of Labrador puppies. Every single day of my life. Kelly’s favorite thing to do when we got home from work was to turn on the overhead fan in the living room and watch all the hair scatter to the corners of the room. He thought this was more efficient than my method of sweeping because then he only had to vacuum the edges and corners. Hard to argue with that logic. Actually it’s not, I just got tired of arguing and he was helping me vacuum, so…

What were talking about again? Oh, yes. Cats. And Kelly actually makes a good segue because he hates cats. He’s going to be reading this, so let me rephrase that to say what he would actually say.  He would say  he doesn’t HATE cats. He just doesn’t understand why people have them because most of them don’t actually like people. He doesn’t understand why you would love and spend good money on food and care for a pile of fur that ignores when you call and looks at you as if you should apologize for your existence on the planet. Or he might say something like that.

Reminds me of my aunt. She won’t admit that she doesn’t like something. If you ever say, “Oh, I forgot. You don’t like ________” (fill in the blanks with whatever you’re discussing that she actually doesn’t like), she’ll immediately respond, “It’s not that I don’t like _________ (fill in the blanks with whatever you’re discussing that she actually doesn’t like), it’s just that….” and then she’ll proceed to tell you all the reasons she doesn’t like whatever she’s not going to tell you she doesn’t like.

“It’s not that I don’t like flavored coffee, it’s just that even the smell of it makes me want to hurl.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like the movie, it’s just that I felt like my eyes were bleeding at the end of it and I would much rather have spent those two hours of my life passing a large, pointy kidney stone.”

So it’s not that Kelly doesn’t like cats, it’s just that he doesn’t.

So, cats. Like I was saying, Sus  (CarpoolQueen) and family are getting a cat today. When we were texting about it, I remembered a picture I took when my mom and brother were visiting. We were doing some sightseeing and stopped by a state park that we’d never visited.  You may not know this, but Hawaii has a large, feral cat population. I’m not saying that the feral cats are all large, they come in different sizes, but the population itself is large. Hence the comma. We also have many chickens that roam anywhere they feel like roaming, but until we visited the park, I’d never seen the two populations converge. I actually didn’t think they would converge, because I wouldn’t think those two species would be able to play together nicely. But check this out:

It’s hard to tell, but there are chickens walking around with the cats. Like the lion laying down with the lamb, I guess. So if chickens and cats can coexist, shouldn’t the rest of us be able to get along? I’m looking at you, children of mine!

That was a long climb to get to the short slide of a story about Sus getting a kitten.

3. Speaking of children, I wish I had a dollar for every time I said, “Please stop that” throughout the day.

4. I’m firmly convinced that when Jesus comes back He will find me doing laundry. Because just like Taylor Swift and Jake Gyllenhaal are never ever getting back together (more time spent Googling who that song was about), I will never ever catch up on laundry.

5. It seems more appropriate to end on five than four, and because I know I’m a blessed mom with three amazing children even if I did give them grief a couple of times in this blog post:

So in the words of CarpoolQueen, the new kitten owner,

“Have a nice day!”

And in my words, “Panic not, R. This is all a good sign that the skits will be coming soon!”

I had actually scheduled this time to be used to make some phone calls but the “yard ninjas” are here so I can barely hear myself think, much less hear someone on the other end of a telephone call, so I thought I’d see what you all were doing today.

I’m not sure if these guys are officially ninjas, but that’s how they look to me. They came with the yard service that was part of our rental agreement for this house. We had been told to expect them every other Monday, but the first time a white van pulled up outside my house and all these head-to-toe-covered men descended upon the lawn like locusts with all their machinery, I have to say I was a little nervous.

I’ve been trying to sneak a picture with my cell phone, but I don’t want to get caught. Since their faces are completely covered it’s hard to tell if they are watching me watch them. This was the best I could do.

That’s pretty much what he looks like from the front, too. And the yard ninjas never say anything. They just descend en masse, do their yard ninja work, and leave.

Unlike the guy who cleans the pool. He comes to the house just as it’s starting to get light and talks constantly. To whomever will talk to him. He used to come later in the day when everyone was up and about their daily business. He would stop and talk about our country’s tax structure, why all electric lines should be buried under the ground, and the real reason our current system of government isn’t working. Then he started coming before the sun was all the way up and I could hear him outside talking softly under his breath. I thought he was talking on a bluetooth appliance to someone, but he’s not on the phone. He’s just talking to himself. It’s rather unsettling. I’m afraid he’s going to kill us in our beds one day because the voices told him to.

But I didn’t stop by to talk about the people my landlord hired to take care of his stuff. I just wanted to stop in for a minute to see how everyone is doing. We are busy like I’m sure the rest of you are. Think about it. Have you ever asked someone how they were or what they were doing and had them respond, “I’m just bored. Haven’t done a thing. Have absolutely nothing to do” ? Nope. Everyone is always busy.

So what have we been doing? Well, we had a great time with our family who visited last month. We are finishing up the school year and are preparing for the next. We are also preparing for a visit from Kelly’s mom this month and a move to a house one street over from where we are living now. Because what’s summer without a good old fashioned move, right? I have a few projects I’m working on for some friends. Other than that, I guess we are bored. Not doing a thing with absolutely nothing to do.

Speaking of things to do, the yard ninjas are gone and my  To Do list is not, so I need to be. Did you get all that?

But before I go, I want to recommend a  book to you. I’m currently reading this:

This book is different. It is rearranging some things in my head and my heart. I should have known I’d be hooked when Bob Goff used the word “whimsy” six times in the Introduction! Even though it wasn’t spelled the same, I kept finding my name! And I keep running into myself on other pages, too. This book is reminding me about some of the best things about God that I’d forgotten because sometimes life is hard. This book is reminding me of the wonder and the miracles in the everydayness of every day. I’m not explaining it right. Just read it. Even if you don’t normally read books about God, I think you would enjoy meeting Bob Goff and hearing what he has to say.

Until next time, may all your lawn ninjas be friendly ones!

I published this post on July 5, 2009, about one of my favorite cities. I’m republishing it today as I watch the horrific news coming out of Boston. I’m praying for you guys. You’ll always have part of my heart.

Picture from June 2009

Dear Boston and Friends,

Tonight I’m  sitting in a hotel room somewhere close to Washington, D.C. It’s a beautiful hotel, one of the nicest ones I’ve ever seen, and this is an amazing city, but I’m not as happy here as I would have imagined.  My heart feels a little bit sad tonight because I’m missing you.

Last night we didn’t make it into town soon enough to go see the fireworks display on the Mall. Instead we watched the celebration live on TV. It was quite a show, but I couldn’t help but compare it to the fun we had last year with you. Shortly after the program was over, I turned the channel and there you were. CBS was broadcasting the fireworks display live from the banks of the Charles River. I looked into the faces as the cameras panned through the crowd and remembered the way I felt when I was one of them last year. You really know how to throw a birthday party! I remember the way that it felt like the fireworks were actually exploding in my chest during the finale last year. It took my breath away and it was so beautiful that I cried.  Last night I cried again. But I cried because I just really missed you.

When my husband told me we’d be moving to Massachusetts for a year, I knew it would be a wonderful experience, but I had no idea I’d fall in love with you the way that I have. You see, in case you couldn’t tell by this ridiculous accent, I’m from the South. Don’t misunderstand me, that’s not an apology. I’m very proud of my Southern heritage and appreciate my roots.  I always found it amusing that almost everywhere I went, in the middle of people speaking Mandarin, Spanish, Farsi, and Italian, my southern accent was the one that people noticed. But after awhile, I think I began to enjoy that my dialect set me apart a little bit. I don’t feel as special here in D.C. Right after we drove into town, I ran into a lady in the elevator. The minute she started talking, her southern accent almost sounded like a foreign language to my ears! For the first time, I think I might have heard what you heard whenever I opened my mouth. Southern accents are a dime a dozen where I’m going. No one will stop to listen to me talk just because they like the way I say things. Yeah. I’m really going to miss you.

I’ll miss having a history lesson everywhere I go. I’m glad I never stopped feeling amazement at the opportunity to stand in the middle of  what were the beginnings of this country that I love. I think my time with you has made me love my country and the people who were its founders more than I ever did before. I have developed a new love for history and plan to continue as a student of my country’s early days. I have a list of good biographies and history books that I can’t wait to read. I think the events will mean more to me now that I’ve seen where they took place.

The air conditioner in my van will miss you, too. It actually had to work yesterday. I don’t think I used it very much the whole time I lived in Massachusetts. I’m a little bit miffed at you, by the way. As we packed up the van to get started on our trip yesterday morning,  I couldn’t help but notice the sunshine and the warmer weather. You’d been holding out on me for the last few weeks. I can’t stay mad at you though. You gave me four of the most beautiful seasons I’ve ever seen. I loved your warm, sunny, summer days with nights that were still cool enough to need a jacket.  I loved the delicious bounty I found at your farmer’s markets. I’ll never forget your amazing fall colors that made the trees look like they were on fire. Last fall will always mark the time that I realized that no apple in the world tastes better than the one you pick from the tree yourself. I loved every minute of the snow and the weather that gave us great excuses to snuggle together at home and not leave the house for days. I’ve now become a maple syrup snob and will never taste it again without remembering the trip we took to the sugar shack. Your tulips and hydrangeas and the beautiful floral and green smells of spring will stay with me forever. You are truly a beautiful place to live.

You really spoiled me with all of your conveniences. I’ll miss Trader Joe’s, Whole Food Market, Costco, and Sephora. I’m already hungry for P.F. Chang’s, Joe’s Two,  and Five Guys. I ran out of time before I ran out of places to eat and shop! Maybe my waistline will be smaller and my pocketbook will be larger now that we’re no longer together.

I’m not sure how it happened, but sometime over the year, I became a diehard Red Sox fan. Is it possible to watch a game in Fenway Stadium and not become a Red Sox fan? I will never be able to hear “Dirty Water” or “Sweet Caroline” without thinking of you.  I’ll be cheering for you guys! (Unless you’re playing the Braves; like I said, I’m still a card-carrying Southern girl!)

I could write pages about all the things I’m going to miss about you: the college kids, riding the T, the Bernie and Phyl’s commercials (Quality, Comfort, and Price…That’s Nice!). I’ll miss my favorite news people: Harvey, Ed, and Heather, and the way the reporter Jorge Quiroga says his own name. I’ll miss the Waltham YMCA. I’ll even miss waiting for someone to turn left without waiting for the arrow the minute the light turns green.

Most of all, I’m going to miss your people. I’ve grown accustomed to their quirky New England ways. What I once thought of as abrupt and maybe less than tactful, I now appreciate as honest. I always know where I stand with you guys. I love that you all say what you’re thinking and then you’re finished and we can go on as friends. You don’t play games or hold grudges and I’ve grown to appreciate that about you. I’d like to think that I’m less likely to pretend I mean something when I really don’t because you’ve taught me to be more truthful. I wish I’d been able to teach you a little more about how to initiate small talk. It’s really not that difficult and I think you’d enjoy it once you got the hang of it.

A few friends were especially difficult to leave. I’m so glad I found my little church in Cambridge. I felt like a dinosaur the first few weeks as one of the oldest attendees, but I think hanging around all those young college and grad students who still have so many dreams and plans ahead of them made me feel younger than I am. I’m also leaving a few special friends with you who  are particularly dear to me. Because we move often, I have to make a conscious choice to make myself available for friendships, especially when I know I’m only in a place for a short time. Somehow this time it was as if God knew I was going to need deep-rooted friendships so He fast forwarded the process for me. I think He used a Miracle Gro for friendships, if you will. It’s hard for me to believe how quickly Brandy, Connie, and even Brandi became such important parts of my life. I can say without hesitation that it’s possible to make lifelong friends in only a matter of months. I’m so blessed to have those women in my life.

I think I’m realizing that every time I have to move, I leave part of my heart in each city I have lived. I would feel cheated if it weren’t for the fact that every time I leave a city, I take a part of it with me in my heart. It’s a trade, and I think I’m the one who gets the best end of the deal. So I don’t tell you goodbye, because if God allows me, I will be back again to at least visit from time to time. And I will forever be very proud that, for at least one year anyway, I was from Boston.

Missing you but so very grateful for our time together,

“Whimzie”

This was a post I wrote  when we were spectators at the Boston Marathon that same year.

Sometimes on Friday, I join The Gypsy Mama to write for five minutes unedited about the prompt she gives us.

Today our word was “rest.”

8:30 a.m.

Stress test.

The technician wires me up and connects me to her machine and I step on the treadmill.

“Every three minutes, the incline and speed will increase a little. If it gets to be too much, tell us and we’ll stop.”

At first I’m fine, but a few cycles in, I feel my heart pounding and it’s harder to get a good, deep breath. I’m trying to carry on a conversation, dutifully answering the questions the technician is asking, but then she asks me to let go of the bar with one hand so she can check my blood pressure and it’s all I can do to hold on. I hear my pulse pounding as if it’s coming from inside my head of my heart.

“The machine will slow down, but when it stops, you stop and be perfectly still.”

She has me come back to the bed to lie down so she can take another blood pressure reading and almost as quickly as I felt my heart race wildly, I feel it settle down into a comfortable rhythm.

Sometimes my life feels like a stress test.

The path feels steeper and it feels like the world is going faster than I can keep up. I try as hard as I can to pick up the pace, but I just can’t push any harder. And it feels like if I let go for just even a second, I’m going to fall right off the edge of the world.

Just when I think I can’t make it not even one more step, You call me to rest. To be quiet and listen for Your still, small voice. I think I can’t rest because of all the rest, but like a treadmill going nowhere, it will all be there. And I’ll have the strength to continue with my real-life “stress test.”

After I rest.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

You can read what others wrote about rest here.

Do you remember how just yesterday I was talking about Google Reader? Well, right after I published that post, I went to Google Reader and saw a popup message that informed me that Google Reader will “retire” on July 1, 2013. Retire? Like with a pension and gold watch and a fancy sheet cake from Sam’s? Did it actually retire or was it let go due to sequestration? I don’t know. But I do know that this news did not make me happy.

Upon further investigation, I found the official Google Reader blog and found this:

“We know Reader has a devoted following who will be very sad to see it go. We’re sad too.”

I wonder if they’re really sad or if they’re just saying that to make me feel better.

I keep up with all of the blogs I read through Google Reader. I mean “keep up” in the very loosest meaning of the phrase. My Google Reader is rarely empty because I subscribe to way too many blogs and then don’t read most of them. I have the same handful of blogs that I’ve been reading for years and every now and then a new favorite joins the mix, but I rarely have time to read all of the posts I collect.

I’ve read some articles that say blogging is “out of vogue” now and maybe that’s why Google Reader is folding.  On their “official” blog, here is the reason they gave for letting Google Reader go (presumably with a nice severance package):

When I am sad, I reach out to friends. I tried CPQ first. My messages are in blue.

Ignore her second remark. We are always carrying on at least two conversations simultaneously. And besides it’s okay to exercise as long as you don’t talk about it. Am I right?

Anyway, I quickly realized Sus wasn’t going to commiserate with me. She saw this news as an opportunity to spring clean.

In case you didn’t see the news crawl at the bottom of your TV screen, I worked out Sunday afternoon. I have a call in to the White House to see if we can declare the day an annual holiday, but what with all the sequestering and counting of the pennies to pay this month’s electric bill, they’re a little busy right now.

Some of my Pinterest friends probably guessed I was up to something with the flurry of exercise and healthy smoothie pins I  created over the weekend. Of course, one of my very best friends summed up my fitness philosophy perfectly when she texted, “I love it that you pin all of these wonderful detox, juicing, exercising, etc. tips…and then a recipe for a bacon wrapped hot dog.”

What can I say? Everything in moderation. And if I ever give up hot dogs, watch your back for the undead because it’s officially time for the Zombie Apocalypse.

I’ve always known and believed that regular physical activity is an important part of a healthy lifestyle, but that knowledge and belief does not play well with my lack of discipline and follow-through. But I’ve recently realized that I’m an adult and part of being a grown-up is doing things I don’t like to do or that are hard because they’re the right things to do. I’ve really been working on moving beyond good intentions since we talked about that a month ago.

I could list for you a dozen different reasons I know I should be exercising regularly and why this particular “need to do” has bubbled to the top of my list this week.  For one, although the number on the scale hasn’t changed all that much as the number of my birthday cake candles has increased, where those pounds are sitting on my bones apparently has. If you’re over 40, can I get a witness? And since I’m not a particularly young mom (I loved this blog post, by the way), I need to keep my joints greased so I can get up and down off the floor for a rousing game of Apples to Apples without having to call 911. I don’t want ride to my kids’ high school graduation on my custom-built HoverRound, no matter how tricked out it may be.

Another reason I need to tone up some chicken fat is that I live on a tropical island. Every season is shorts and bathing suit season here. It’s bad enough  I’m Liquid Paper in a Coffee-With-Cream-Colored World, but when that pale flesh is loose and dimply, I find myself spending way too much time trying to figure out how to position my legs in ways that keep them from looking like cottage cheese. Got that mental picture? You’re welcome.

But the biggest reason I’ve decided to add regular exercise into my weekly routine? Ashley’s coming. Ashley is my 30-something-year-old cousin. She’s coming for a visit along with her husband, her twin sister, my aunt, and my mom. I’ve been compiling a list of everything we want to see, do, and eat while they are here. A good time will be had by all. But Ashley has two speeds: stop and go. When she goes, she goes fast. When she stops, she’s asleep. If you can’t keep up, you will miss all the fun. And for some reason, the rest of us let her set the pace. I guess it’s because we don’t want to miss all the fun. Ashley has always been athletic and she’s lived now for many years in Colorado where her lungs have become acclimated to the thin air. She can hike the laces out of your hiking boots and shop the rubber off your flip flops. I need to build up my stamina if I’m going to keep up. Some people train for the Color Run. I have friends who do the Disney Marathon and others who are Tough Mudders. But me? I’m training for Marathon Ashley. Maybe we should have t-shirts made.

So Sunday I spent a little bit of time on the treadmill. I did some time (I just realized I used the phrase “did some time.” Like it’s a prison sentence. I may have some mental roadblocks hindering me in this endeavor.) walking at a rapid pace on the highest incline. (So I could truthfully tell my kids about the time I walked uphill both ways.) Then I fast walked on a level plane. Later, I had Kelly help me with some arm exercises that I’d pinned. I needed him to make sure that I was actually doing what was portrayed in the exercises I’d chosen. For some reason I often think I’m doing what the toned girl in the picture is doing but what I’m actually doing is…something not at all like what she is doing. This is one of the many reasons I do not participate in group exercise programs. No need to put all that uncoordinated crazy on display for others’ entertainment. Not when Netflix is pretty affordable.

Thinking I’m actually doing workouts correctly is not the only way exercise makes me delusional. For some reason, after a workout I ascribe powers and attributes to myself that I probably don’t actually have. For example, Sunday night as I was taking clean, folded laundry to the boys’ rooms upstairs, I was convinced that my legs were much toner than they had been the day before. Look at how I had bounded up those stairs! Why, I was faster than a speeding bullet!  And my, wasn’t I feeling energetic? Certainly I felt much stronger! Probably more powerful than a locomotive! I was sure I could leap tall buildings in a single bound! By the end of the week, I would easily be able to bench press at least my own weight, right? I began to plan the rest of my workout sessions for the week. On Monday I’d work my abs, Tuesday I’d tighten my thighs and then move back to my arms on Wednesday, work on my glutes on Thursday….

Monday morning.

4:55 a.m.

The only way I can describe how my head felt was to have you imagine a large spike being pounded repeatedly into the area around and above your right eye. No way could I get on a treadmill feeling like that. So I pushed my plans to the afternoon. But then our dentist appointment went way longer than I expected and something about the way the hygienist scraped the surface of every tooth aggravated my headache all the more, so long story short, I never exercised.

I’m a work in progress, people. If only folding laundry got rid of arm jiggle! But nope, that’s not the way life works. No pain, no gain. Just do it. Nothing looks as good as healthy feels. No more excuses. No one ever drowned in sweat. A year from now you will have wished you started today. And all that other stuff I pinned about working out that was supposed to make me want to do it.

I leave with you one of my childhood exercise memories. My Aunt Leigh used to play this old 45 and her daughters Christy and Shelby and I would march around the room sweating and dancing to “Chicken Fat.” I hadn’t thought of it for years and years, but when I did, thanks to Google and YouTube I found it and I’d like to share it with you now. Or you can find an alternate version on my Pinterest board. Because pinning makes it so. Enjoy. Come back next week for Sweating with the Oldies and Richard Simmons.

*I’m pretty sure it should be, “I think she HAS it,” but I’ll leave it alone since it’s really more of a cultural reference kind of quote.

Hello to you from where I sit, smack dab in the middle of my Monday. Most of you are almost finished with your Mondays, but please don’t tell me how the rest of the day goes. I want to be surprised and I don’t like spoilers. Which is why I’m not even sure if I even need to start watching Downton Abbey, because according to Facebook, everyone dies at the end of this season.

I wish I could camp out here for awhile, but I only have a short time to write. When the oven timer dings, I have to get back downstairs because lunch break will be over and the second part of our school day will begin. Now that we’re nearing the end of our first real  year of homeschooling, I’ve had some time to reflect on lessons learned. I don’t cry every week anymore so that’s definitely a check in the “plus” column. I can’t even remember the last time I met Kelly at the door with my car keys in hand, threatening to run away and never come back. Of course, that could be because when you live on an island, running away threats aren’t taken all that seriously. Where am I going to run? Wahiawa?

I hate feeling rushed because I have lots I’d like to talk about and timed events make my insides jumpy. While I’m typing, I’ve been downloading the pictures from my phone to my computer. As the pictures show up on my screen, they remind me of even more things that I’d wanted to write about. All I need is the song from Jeopardy to play in the background and I’d be on my way to a full-fledged panic attack.

Deep breath.

Okay. I’ve narrowed it down to one. I want to show you a picture of an email that I received the day after my last post about how God always provides.

Isn’t that crazy in the most fun way? I’m sensing a theme of sorts, are you?

My mom once told me that she and my dad named me Amy because they wanted something that would be short and easy for me to spell. I’ve always thought that didn’t demonstrate a lot of faith in my intellectual capacity. But when I see how many times God uses multiple messages to get His point across to me, I realize they may have not been way off the mark. I often need God to say things slowly and use small words so I’ll get what He’s trying to say to me. I’m glad He obliges.

And in case that wasn’t enough…

We had a guest speaker at church yesterday and his sermon was about “The Land Between.” It was about the Israelites and the time they spent in the desert. Do you remember who I compared myself to in that last post? Those same whiny Israelites and the time they were camped out between Egypt and the Promised Land.

I’m reading through the Bible along with my church and we’ve been wandering through the desert with the Israelites through Exodus, Leviticus, and now Numbers. It made me think of the time my oldest son looked down at his brand new baby brother and sister and with all the love he could muster in his three-year-old heart, patted their heads and said, “Aw, aren’t they just the cutest little Hebrew babies?” One of his favorite books at the time was about Moses so I’m guessing that’s where he got the idea to call them that, but aren’t we all like those little Hebrew babies sometimes? Especially when we’re traveling that “Land Between.”

Now you’ve got me chasing rabbits. Although I have much more I could say about my desert wandering ways, the point I was trying  to make is how sweet and loving I think it is that God wants us to get what He’s saying to us. I think I’m especially sensitive to the way He makes Himself clear right now because honestly, for the longest time I’ve felt like I’ve been on the wrong end of the parable. Know what I mean? I feel like everyone around me is experiencing great moments of clarity where everything makes perfect sense and I’m the only one saying, “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t understand what this verse means.”

“I can’t make sense of what this person is saying about You, God.”

“What in the world do you mean by that?”

As my friend (just because she doesn’t know me doesn’t make it not so) Beth Moore used to say, “Sometimes I’m blonder than I pay to be.” That’s how I feel in my walk with God some days.

But then God makes things abundantly and exceedingly clear in a way that not even I could miss it. So I’m telling you about it. Because maybe you still need to hear it, too. So let me say it again until we’re all  completely and positively sure:

God provides.

He told me so, Himself. More than once.

I’m posting a link to the video of this weekend’s sermon. The speaker’s name is Jeff Manion. It was a great sermon if you have time to take a look and listen:

http://enewhope.org/videobeta/index.php?id=308

Sometimes I feel like I live in the intertestamental period. Camped out somewhere between Malachi and Matthew.

Maybe I’m more like one of the Israelites Moses led out of Egypt, wandering around kicking the same, tired dirt in a dry, dusty desert of my own making. I’m just cooling my heels, waiting for a prophetic word to give me direction, a cloud of fire to lead me, or even a piece of manna to satisfy the hunger that gnaws into the pit of my very being.

But then God does something to remind me that He is more than what I think or feel.

Kelly and I were talking about the future on the way to baseball practice the other day. His future. Our future. We have decisions to make in the months ahead. Decisions that will set the course for our family in the days and years to come. It wasn’t a tense conversation. We were just discussing possibilities and trying on different tomorrows in our heads to see how they fit.

As the traffic snaked along, I happened to notice the license plate on the car in front of us.

GD PRVD.

God provides.

Right in the middle of our conversation about what our future holds, God sent a sign. Just a little reminder that we didn’t need to worry because “He’s got this.” And His message wasn’t delivered on the back of a beat-up clunker.  I think God wanted to point out that when He provides, He does it in style. He gives like He loves: extravagantly and completely.

Whether I deserve it or not, God provides.

When I don’t even know what I need, God provides.

Beyond what I could ever ask or imagine, God provides.

Even what I don’t see His hand or hear His voice, God always provides.

The story of my life is made up of chapters of how God has provided for me exactly what I needed every step along the way.

Lately I’m digging down deep into the foundation of my faith.  As I look at what I know for sure, I’m thankful that God doesn’t withhold His love or plans for me based on my faithfulness, but He provides because He is faithful.

Even when I’m living somewhere between Malachi and Matthew.

I wasn’t born in Louisiana. We moved there in 1985, the summer before my junior year. I’ve said before that if you look closely you can still see the claw marks along I-20 where I was dragged (sounds like a feather boa and a Cher-look-alike would be involved), drugged (with what, Benadryl?), forced against my will to move from my home state of South Carolina to a state where I was convinced I’d have to learn French, ride to school in a pirogue, and fight alligators. I didn’t have to do any of those things, and since my kids and I have lived more of our lives in Louisiana than any other state, we consider ourselves part Louisianian. Maybe one day I’ll dig a little deeper and write about what I’ve grown to love about that quirky little state, but I’m on a deadline, so read faster, please.

Yep, I love Louisiana. Especially this time of year.

We aren’t Catholic, but Mardi Gras in Louisiana is as much of a cultural event as anything. It’s hard to explain, but I think my friend Candace did an amazing job of describing feelings about Mardi Gras that I didn’t even know I had! You really need to read her post. Plus she’s a great photographer, which will make the sad little phone pictures I’m getting ready to post look even more pathetic.

We live a long way from Louisiana and Mardi Gras now but I still wanted to celebrate our love for Louisiana so I decided to create our own version using one of my absolute favorite things about my adopted state: the food! Last night for supper we ate gumbo and homemade king cake. The gumbo was from the freezer. I’d made a pot for Christmas Eve and put the leftovers in the freezer. I made that gumbo from scratch using a roux and everything. I was extremely proud of myself. In fact, you may have seen my press release at the time.

I made the king cake from a recipe I found in Southern Living because they rarely steer me the wrong way. The only thing I changed was I added a little bit of cinnamon to the cream cheese filling.

In case you’re unfamiliar, a king cake is a pastry to celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany, or when the Magi visited Jesus, and a celebration of his physical manifestation to the Gentile people. Today king cake is served all through the Mardi Gras season. Over the years, many bakers have created their own versions of the king cake, but my true Louisiana friends are very picky about what a king cake should be.  I interviewed two friends on Facebook and they were very clear on what makes a king cake the king. Grace insists that it must be oval with a hole in the center. She says it should be more like a bread or cinnamon roll than a  cake. And the filling, although she prefers hers sans, should be light, not, and I quote “squish-onto-your-pants-when-you-take-a-bite filling.” Lindsey agreed but added she prefers one baked in New Orleans bakery. Which I do not have here. So this was the best I could do:

The recipe I made makes two cakes and since I didn’t have my act together and my people didn’t get to eat king cake until 9:00 p.m. last night, I sent the other king cake to work with Kelly this morning. On Ash Wednesday. Which probably breaks all kind of Mardi Gras rules and is sure to get my part-Louisianian citizenship revoked.

If that doesn’t, this might. Now, after the king cake is baked, a tiny baby is inserted into the cake to represent Baby Jesus. Traditionally, the person who gets the baby in his or her piece of king cake has to throw the next king cake party or at the least, buy the next king cake. Well, I was fresh out of plastic babies to insert in our cake. So I tried to be resourceful and used what I had on hand:

We purposely chose a figure that didn’t look a thing like Baby Jesus because I truly meant no offense. And for us, the king cake is more about Louisiana culture than it is a religious pastry so we talked about the Epiphany but totally downplayed the significance of the baby representing Jesus. But when boys see Legos they want to play. So when Kelly bit into his piece and found feet, a dramatization ensued.

That’s an ambulance coming to rescue the little man trapped in the king cake.

And that was the sound of all of my traditionalist Louisiana friends leaving my blog forever.

Anyway….

Today I’ve moved on to Valentine’s Day plans. I have to make our traditional Valentine’s Day breakfast (an idea I stole from my wonderfully creative friend Tanya), chocolate covered strawberries. And I need to figure out a way to not be with my kids for a few minutes so I can get a little Valentine’s searcie for them. I still haven’t figured out how other homeschool moms do that. Anyone want to help me figure that one out? We are always together. Unless I’m in the bathroom. And somehow I don’t think they’d be thrilled to receive hotel soaps for Valentine’s Day.

I digress.

I hope your Mardi Gras-Ash Wednesday-Valentine’s Day week is full of time for celebrating, reflecting on what’s most important, and spending time with the ones you love.

Laissez bon temps rouler!