Knights Becoming and a Lady in Waiting

Is Anyone Home?

Wow.  Have I really been gone from blogging for this long?  Oddly enough, I think about blogging often; I still compose entries in my head.  But I was recently blessed with what seemed to be a vibrant homeschooling community to interact with in person, so I was spending less time online.  I also worked more at the YMCA, so I was home less.  All said... I was living life for a while, rather than writing about it.

I was made to write, though.  When I don't write, everything gets backed up inside.  I sleep less well and I blow up over littler things.  So here I am, back to writing, as my world suddenly got knocked on its side this week.

I help teach the homeschool swimming at our local YMCA.  A fellow homeschooling mom and I teach eight energetic kids from four-years-old to ten-years-old, the basics of swimming.  They're all fairly comfortable in the water, but none of them can swim half a length of the pool alone. 

To keep the kids safer, we have them sit against the wall until we're working with them.  The weather has been nice, so it hasn't been too cold to be sitting out.  We are able to take two kids apiece-- four each trip-- and get in some good distance/ endurance training while we're working with them.

At the end of the lesson, we take the kids to the deep end and practice jumping in and diving.  I was working with one of the four-year-olds (the only non-homeschooled kid in the class) and his mother was trying to help.  I asked in a polite way if she could let us do the teaching (she has prior swim experience, but having someone who is not employed by the Y near the pool teaching is a liability issue for our insurance) and suddenly an attack broke loose.  No need to go over the entire episode; enough to say that this tired and frustrated mom let her temper get the best of her and stalked off, declaring she'd quit.  (My boss had quite the words with me about the quit scare, but was otherwise understanding).

Fast-forward five hours later and I get a call from a homeschooling friend I haven't talked to for a while.  Our family didn't participate in the local co-op this semester because I thought it was too much for my kids, so I miss seeing some of our friends.  I run a couple of programs for the homeschooling community and had stopped by twice this semester to either drop-off or pick-up materials, but had both visits cut short by my children deciding to act out, so I was very much enjoying the talk until the fateful, "I have some, sort of, bad news, by the way."

My friend proceded to tell me that I was no longer allowed at the co-op (she is on the board) because a) my children were disruptive (had she stopped there, I would have felt badly, but understood!) and b) I was using the co-op time for "socialization and free babysitting".  Ouch.

Having gone back over my two visits to the co-op numerous times in the last four days (usually when I should be sleeping), I can see that viewpoint, but to have my friend say it in such a manner was deeply wounding.  Also, to discover that several of my friends (all of whom are on the co-op board) have been discussing me in such a manner for nearly two months now, but none chose to discuss it with ME in a loving manner has set me back on my heels.

In their defense, all these women are low-energy, low-confrontation types.  My children are definitely energetic and, on the last time I was at the co-op, I was NOT the most diligent mother I could have (should have) been.  I totally acknowledge my at-fault there.  I am also, as noted in the swimming story above, tempermental and moody and do tend to let my emotions control me far more than they should.

That doesn't stop the hurt that not one of these ladies cared for me enough to talk to me, confront me in a loving manner, and tell me what was going on.  The Bible says, "Speak the truth in love" (Ephesians 4:15) and asks older women (I am younger by at least five years than each of these women and they all have at least one teen) to "train the younger women to love their husbands and children" (Titus 2:4).  My mother is 1900 miles away, so I definitely look to older women in the Christian homeschooling community and my church to provide guidance.

Not one of these ladies (five of them) sat me down and tried to talk to me.  Even as I type this, that part hits me again right through the chest.  Instead, I was given an official notice over the telephone to no longer participate in a homeschooing activity in a way that was deeply hurting and still wrings my  heart.

I've always found the HSB community to be fairly honest and yet caring, so I guess I have returned because I still trust you.  While I am daily giving up the bitterness and anger that has come from this result, trusting those particular ladies with my heart will be much more difficult.

So, here I am.  Back home, so to speak, rather like a prodigal son.  I only pray that one day I can say to those ladies, like Joseph near the end of Genesis, that what they intended for harm (not that I think they deliberately tried to hurt me, but it's the closest parallel I can manage!), God has brought to good.

Someday.

What is My Tithe?

The title for this entry started out as "What is a tithe?" before I realized that this is one of those subjects where I can't come out pitching the ball to others-- I'm still looking for the lost ball in the grass when it comes to me and tithing.

I was reading an article from Back to the Bible [Back to the Bible Connection, December 2006/ January 2007, pp 1-2] about Bible reading when I came across a part about how much time you should spend reading the Bible.  Based on strict tithing, you should read the Bible for 2 hours and 24 minutes each day.  The article says that seems a bit unrealistic, so why not take out the time spent at work and asleep-- roughly 16 of those 24 hours-- and tithe off the 8 hours remaining, or 48 minutes a day.  In fact, why not just round it down to 45 minutes for the sake of easy remembering.

For some reason, this disturbed me greatly.  No wonder so many people don't read their Bible more than 7 minutes a day!  If you can justify down to 45 minutes from 144 minutes, then it's easy to trim a few more edges and whittle it down to where 7 minutes a day seems pretty reasonable.  Just before I became completely self-righteous, I recalled I hadn't even opened my Bible yesterday.  Maybe 45 minutes was a good place to start.

Self-recriminations aside, I started wondering about tithing.  I mean, we all know we should do it, but is it just  money?  Is it really ten percent?  Why do we do it?  Where does the money go?

Over the next little bit (depending on how much time I get to blog), I'm going to look at this issue as it relates to ME.  It may also relate to you, but I would encourage you to look over the Scriptures yourself and pray about what your response to this issue should be.  Look for other "What is My Tithe?" entries in the future.  Right now, I need to start on those 45 minutes.

The Letter

My sons were difficult to get to bed tonight.  They hemmed and hawed.  They fussed and fumed.  They even broke a chair (long story) and cause general mayhem.  But eventually they went to sleep.

By the time they were quiet, I was all in an uproar.  My (not-so) inner growlie monster had come out to play for the night and I was in a fine dither.  I chewed out my hubby.  I debated kicking the cats, but settled for giving them dirty looks.  Basically I huffed around in a major attitude until I headed to bed.

That's when I saw it.  On my husband's nightstand was a little letter Prince Berryboy (1DS7) had written him.  Because he writes in large letters, the first few words caught my attention without any conscious effort on my part to read them.  "Dad, I love you."

Panic hit me.  I had been given a similar letter earlier that night, but in all the rush around to get to bed, I hadn't read it yet.  In fact, I had distractedly put it... somewhere... and told my little prince I would try to look at it later.  I wasn't even sure where it was.

I didn't quite tear the house apart, but I did make a bit of a mess looking for that letter.  By the time I found it, I was crying and just a little shaky.  Triumph was mine, however, as I unfolded the tightly creased piece of paper and read what my sweet son had written.

Mom, I love you.  You make our meals, play with us, teach us, and things like that.  If ALL the moms in the world came and the govoner said "All children, chose one!" I'd chose YOU!  You're a great mom!  I love you lots.  XXXXXXXX

I had done nothing to deserve this letter today.  In fact, I had done an awful lot to NOT deserve it.  When the above-mentioned chair broke (Prince Berryboy was jumping off it when he was supposed to be in bed), PB told me he was sorry.  Instead of gently forgiving him and loving him for being sorry without any threats on my part, I snarled, "If you were sorry, you'd stop breaking things!" and stomped out of the room, leaving him standing, dejected, in the middle of his room.

I don't know why God has blessed me with this son-- or any of my children.  I don't know why I was honored with this letter from a boy who's had a tough time at my hands for the last couple of years, as I seem to expect perfection from him while giving him only my most flawed self.  I only know that I am profoundly humbled and crushed to have received it-- and not deserve it in the least.

I keep saying I can't change, only God can change me.  This is true.  But God will not change me if I make Him the last priority on my list.  God will not change me if the Holy Spirit gives me a gentle nudge and I slam the door to my conscience.  God doesn't force His will on me.  I have to take the step into His presence.  Basically, I have to sign a medical release form before He'll excise all those nasty little bits of my personality that drag me down over and over again.

Does anyone have a pen?

But if from there you seek the Lord your God, you will find Him if you look for Him with all your heart and with all your soul.

When you are in distress and all these things have happened to you, then in later days you will return to the Lord your God and obey Him.

Deuteronomy 4:29-30

 

I love those who love Me, and those who seek Me will find Me.

Proverbs 8:17

 

Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you.

You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.

Jeremiah 29:12-13

 

God did this so that men would seek Him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us.

Acts 17:27

Double-demic

There is a double epidemic taking over our country.  Correct that: there is a double epidemic that has already overtaken our country.  While the two parts may seem independent, I can find some rather striking correlations.  There may even be other issues out there that I haven't connected.  Let's start with the first one.

Medical studies show that, as a nation, Americans have lost their ability to know when they're thirsty.  According to an article by Dr. David N. Tornberg (here), when you're thirsty, your body starts to make water from the food you eat.  Because of this, many people mistake thirst for hunger-- and then overeat.  We substitute the water our body needs with food that not only doesn't satisfy us, but also packs on the pounds.  Sometimes we feel thirst and ignore it because we don't have time (or make time) to drink our 64 ounces or more of water that we need.  Other times, we recognize our thirst and try to slake it with coffee drinks, sodas, fruit juices, and other beverages that just aren't water.  This, again, packs on the pounds and may contribute to the rise in obesity, diabetes and other diseases in this nation.  Could it be possible that we are so blessed as a nation that we would rather spend money on an expensive substitute with half the nutrition than injest the real thing?

Article after article shows the benefits of water.  One on Inch-Aweigh.com shows that the liver normally processes fat.  However, when the kidneys aren't functioning normally (too much sugar or too little water-- or both), the liver picks up the slack.  This slows down how fast the liver can process fat.   Yet, in spite of all the evidence out there, how many of you had eight 8-ounce glasses of water today?  How about four?  One?  To keep this honest, I had two-- and I've been sitting here doing the research!

The second part of this epidemic is less documented, but far more dangerous.  We have lost the ability to recognize our thirst for God.  We mistake this thirst as a hunger for money, power, fame, position, friends, or fitness and overindulge in one or more of those ares to try to quench our thirst.  Instead, we leave less time to drink from the Fountain, leaving us more thirsty than ever.  No wonder none of those things can satisfy!  We will gain worldly weight-- a bigger house, a high-pressure job, bills-- while never slaking our real thirst.  We also feel the thirst and ignore it.  Although roughly 92% of American households own at least one copy of the Bible (and the average household that owns a Bible owns three copies), most don't read it.  According to a Gallup poll in 2000, 59% of Americans reported that they read the Bible "at least occasionally".  Only 37% report reading their Bible at least once a week.  Once a week!  Worse, those who read the Bible regularly spend about 52 minutes a week in study.  52 minutes a week is a little more than 7 minutes a day.  Only 14% are involved in active Bible study.  Even in churchgoing families, many people cannot answer "simple" Bible questions like:

• What is the first book of the Bible?
• When was the Bible written?
• What are the four gospels?
• What are the Ten Commandments?
• and more

[see this article for more information]

Within the church, some people recognize their thirst as a need for God-- and try to appease it with devotionals, sermons, speakers, and group studies.  While these are reasonable supplements, they are not what we thirst for and crave.  In fact, I believe (pure opinion here) that the easy availability of these items has actually stunted our growth as we "snack" on substitutes rather than drinking from Living Water.  Again, we are blessed with so much that we use something lesser to satisfy our real need.

I find this very sad.  In both cases, we have lost our God-given ability to recognize our need.  We have gained weight from trying to quench our thirst with the wrong things.  We spend a large amount of money trying to substitute things that are nutritional weaklings when the real thing-- exactly what we need-- is so close to free that it's not even funny.

Confession time:  I am just as guilty as anyone.  Although I can answer all those questions about the Bible up there (thanks to a Godly mother and a knack for "trivia"), I don't recognize my thirst all the time.  I have definitely used fitness or friends to mask my need for God.  I tend toward Bible studies and devotionals far more than just reading God's Word and being fed. 

There is only one solution in either case.  Drink the real thing and drink abundantly.  If you drink enough water, it starts to flush the fat and toxins out of your system.  If you drink enough Living Water, you start to shed the worldly weights and toxic thoughts that you have taken in.  It's not a magic pill; it's the way we were made.

I challenge you (and me) this next week to spend more than 7 minutes a day digging into the Word all on your own.  While you're at it, drink a large glass of water.  It doesn't hurt to quench the body and the spirit at the same time.

Just a quick check in

I know I've been not-here.  It has been good, overall, for me to be not-here, as it meant I was more here-here (meaning with my family).  But I've missed my friends and occasionally I've felt the odd twinge saying "write, write!" so I know I'll be back.  Just not yet.

I'm not sure why I'm having so many breaks in my writing here.  Maybe so I don't get all egotistical about the writing.  Maybe so that I learn that this is not a commitment; it's an outlet.  Maybe for some reason I won't know until Christ returns-- and then it won't matter.

Either way, I know there are some who will give up on reading me, and that's totally okay.  There are some who will stop checking, but will think about me occasionally.  Then there are those who will keep checking back and will probably nudge me just to make sure I'm "not dead yet."    Isn't it cool how God puts all those sorts in your life?  Those who can take you or leave you, those who like you, but don't seek you out even when they think about you, and those who will keep checking on you until you get back into the groove of things.

Would you look at that?  I almost had a deep post, when all I hopped on to write was that I wouldn't be here for a while longer.  Not until God says so.  Guess He granted me a tiny reprieve. :D

Have a blessed Lord's Day, all.

Happy Birthday, Princess Moo

One year ago yesterday, I spent a few moments hoping that I didn't have the baby today.  It's hard enough having two birthdays on the same day (in our immediate family; we actually have four in our extended family).  Three seemed like it would be pushing it.  Still, I refused to let it stop me.  We were busy most of the day and, although we had done the birthday party for Prince Berryboy two weeks early "just in case," I didn't feel the slightest stirring.

We were convinced, of course, that this was probably Boy #4.  We never found out with any of the kids and we weren't going to start now.  There were a few things that seemed different.  My legs weren't as hairy (don't laugh!).  I was carrying differently, too.  The boys had all been your classic basketball.  This one was more like taking an inner tube and stretching it across my waist.  I figured that was just less muscle tone and didn't worry about it too much one way or the other.

On September 25th, I wasn't feeling too terribly hungry at dinner, but I ate anyway.  We read to the boys and got them down to bed, then I had this uncontrollable urge to clean the floor.  Down on my hands and knees, I looked up at DH and said, "I think we're going to have a baby."

I started pacing and we called our friend who was going to watch the kids.  Uh oh.  She wasn't home.  Okay, we called another friend of mine.  She said she'd be glad to come over.  She even brought clothing so she could stay the night if she needed to, although she had to leave in the morning.

I paced a little more, rocking on occasion, then breathlessly told my husband, "I think we need to go."  I had to stop once on the way to the car, then I just closed my eyes and tried to count.

I had to stop twice on the way from the car to the check-in, but it was better than sitting in a wheel chair (which they made me do as soon as I checked in).  Fortunately, once I was in a room, I was able to walk freely, which I did.

One hour after I was admitted, I said, "It's time."  My midwife, who had delivered #3, hadn't been doing any checks until that point.  She did a quick look and nodded. 

It was so-- well, easy isn't the word, but it had a rhythm to it that I'd never managed with the other deliveries.  I counted through the contractions until I could push... then I pushed.  It took four pushes, squatting, but I was the first person to see my baby girl.  At 8 lbs, 4 oz, she was the same size as her previous brother, but there was a delicateness to her that persists to this day.  She is all girl, even if she will skip the "baba" (baby) for the "cah" (car ) anyday. :)

Happy First Birthday, sweet Princess Moo.

Happy Birthday, Prince Berryboy

Seven years ago today, I was feeling pretty good (better than today, in fact).  True, I was two weeks overdue with my first child and 32 pounds heavier than a year previous, but I was blessed enough to have one of those pregnancies that looks just like I stuffed a basketball under my shirt-- all straight forward.  Hard to tie my shoes, but that's what slip-ons are for.

We had moved just a few months before from our nice (expensive) one-bedroom apartment in the nicer part of the LA. Valley to a two-bedroom (less expensive) apartment in... well, not-so-nice a part of L.A.  We were both determined that I would stay home with our kids and the only way to do that in California is to make a sacrifice in housing.

That morning, I got up, showered, and went to my doctor's appointment.  Almost no dilation.  He patted me on the shoulder and told me to make an appointment for Monday.  If nothing happened by then, perhaps we'd have to induce.

In spite of the looming deadline, I went home, tidied up the already spotless house (imagine me home all day for two weeks with no kids), and generally fussed a bit.  Then it started.  Gas pains.

I've always had issues with gas pains.  Sometimes, it's been bad enough to make me pass out.  This felt like, well, gas pains.  The only thing that relieves that pain is to walk it out, so I started pacing.

Ten minutes later, I was a little perturbed.  It didn't feel like anything was moving, but that same pain was still there.  So I called my mom.  She pronounced that I was probably in labor and should call DH.  I called him and cheerfully informed him that we might be having a baby.  He asked if he should come home.  "Oh, no," I assured him.  "They say first babies take a while."

I went ahead and ate half a peanut butter sandwich with a glass of milk, then started pacing again.  Since I never made it to a La Maze class, how was I to know that helped speed up labor?

I called my mom a little later, out of breath and just a tiny bit worried.  "I think they're coming faster now."  She asked how fast and I said, "Five minutes?"

Okay, okay.  I called DH and told him to come home NOW.  The only problem is that, well, at 4:30pm on a Friday afternoon in L.A., there isn't such a thing as coming home NOW.  I got a little worried and called my mom again.  "Maybe you should call an ambulance."

Here's a bit of advice for all of you: don't call an ambulance for a pregnancy.  Have the baby on your kitchen floor if you have to, but don't call an ambulance.

The paramedics were nice, but there were rules they had to follow.  Stretcher.  IV.  Lying down.  Ohhh, that lying down was a BAD thing.  Back labor started up hard.  Worse yet, they panicked at me having contractions every five minutes and refused to take me to my own hospital.  Instead, they took me to the closest one.  HUGE mistake.  I should've made hubby drive me out of there as soon as he arrived (just behind the ambulance).  Inexperienced and in pain, I didn't care.  Yet.

For a while, I had a really good nurse who was patient and was trying to coach me in breathing.  I was determined not to have an epidural.  When that nurse went off-shift, though, the next one was impatient with me.  "You should've taken the La Maze," she said bluntly.  "Do you want the epidural?"  I didn't, but she was advising it...

The anestheologist took one look at me and informed me I couldn't have an epidural.  "Too late."  Okay, fine.  I can't have one.  "But do you want one?"  I decided this was some sort of sadistic game they played with new mothers.  "I want it not to hurt!" I sobbed.  Famous last words.

I don't know what that woman put in my IV, but I never want to have it again.  I fell asleep between contractions, only to wake up with each contraction-- feeling them just as intently.  I don't think there's anything worse than to wake up, disoriented, in intense pain.  As soon as the contraction ended, I'd doze off again.  Also, they had me in this chair thing where I couldn't even lie on my side comfortably, so the back labor was intense.

Almost six hours passed this way.  Finally, a doctor declared I was close enough and I could push.  Hey, if pushing was going to get this over with, I was going to PUSH.

Two pushes, no problem.  Then there was a sharp pain.  I later found out I'd been given an episotomy (without asking, of course).  I didn't even have to push the third time.  Prince Berryboy slid into the world, hairy and beautiful.  He had hair from the back of his neck all the way over his head to his eyebrows.  He was also somewhat quiet (probably from the drug they gave me).  At 11:24 (or 23:24 military time), on my 28th birthday, my little boy came into my life.

I would do it all over again, too.  Happy Birthday, Prince Berryboy.

God is In Control

I completely forgot to praise God in my "Work Widow" entry.  (Okay, at the time I was trying to be funny on a lack of sleep, but still... ).

See, this was supposed to be one of the most stressful weeks of my life.  Monday we were supposed to be at the YMCA all day (9:30 to 11:30 and 4 to 7) for swimming.  Tuesday was my grocery shopping/ birthday planning/ school catch-up/ co-op planning/ pull-my-hair-out-what-was-I-thinking day.  Wednesday was swimming in the morning and some errands in the afternoon.  Today, though... today was supposed to be the start of our new co-op (which I was a board member of) and I was supposed to teach sign language at 9am.  We were then supposed to be there until 12:30, eat in the car, and go to music, which runs from 1:15 to 2:00.  Run home for naps and make dinner, then Prince Dannyboy was supposed to go to Funshop (a parent-child thing) in the evening.  And Saturday was supposed to be Prince Berryboy's big birthday bash.

I quit the co-op while I was PMSing.  While I'm no longer PMSy, this still seems like a good decision.  It was time for me to step away-- and this has never been my "baby", even though I ended up surrogate birthing it. :p  I'm still signed up to teach sign language, but now that we can't possibly follow the schedule I had put together... I'm just going to take it one week at a time.  No music this afternoon (which is the one thing I'll miss).  I didn't spend all day Monday at the pool.  We've postponed the birthday bash.

I am-- rejuvenated.  Odd, that, after six days of fever and less sleep than I'd like, but I am.  Here is the verse that brought it all home this morning:

Some sat in darkness and the deepest gloom,

prisoners suffering in iron chains,

for they had rebelled against the words of God

and despised the counsel of the Most High.

So He subjected them to bitter labor;

they stumbled and there was no one to help.

Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,

and He saved them from their distress.

Psalm 107:10-13

I was depressed and bound up by all the commitments I had made without thinking (again).  I couldn't make myself quit anything, feeling obligated to finish what I started.  I didn't listen to God when He whispered for me to rest, to focus on my family, and to let go.

So I had a rough week.  DH was gone.  Kids were sick.  I was sick.  Things seemed to pile up and there was no one here to help me.

Last night I gave up and cried to God.  I wailed, I sobbed, I yielded.

Today I feel almost 100%.  I have one child in recovery and one still sick, but the sickness doesn't bother me as much.  I am not distressed.

Yes, God disciplines us... but oh, how loving a discipline it is!

Unfaithful Friend

I have been an unfaithful friend.  :(

Angela is having a baby and I haven't checked up on her for a while.  She hasn't posted since mid-August and I'm starting to worry.

I'm not sure why I do this.  I am a very faithful friend to one person at a time, but I just don't seem to have the ability to be a good, there-for-you-no-matter-what friend to more than one person at a time.  Does anyone else have this problem?

Anyway, the real purpose of this post is to ask you to pray for Angela, but I got sidetracked by my character flaws.

Diary of a Work Widow

I am not military wife material.  Okay, some days I'm not really wife material at all, but I am just not one of those women who can patiently hold down the homefront while my Hero goes off to fight someone else's battles-- somewhere far away from our home, children, and leaky faucets.  I truly appreciate those men and their wives (honestly, the wives a little more than the men, but that's a relational bias); they allow me the freedom to sit here and be glad I'm not them.  But I want my hubby right here every night to pretend to listen to my list of the day's woes while he tries to hear the dialogue for Lost over my none-too-meek-and-gentle voice.  I'm sure he's grateful for closed captioning.

All of this, of course, is leading up to a spousal work abandonment issue.  No, he didn't abandon his work; his work required him to abandon the kids and me.  Bright and early Monday morning, he kissed our mournful cherubs goodbye and left me with these wise and considerate words:

"There's a big spider hanging just above the side door in the garage.  You might want to make sure that you don't go out that door."

Now, I admit, some men would have acknowledged that big spiders are really God's gift to husbands-- an easy entry into the "my hero" hall of fame.  My dear spousal unit, however, was a tad bit distracted by the abysmal prospect of four days without his family.  I'm sure that's what it was.  It had nothing to do with visions of late-night gaming on his laptop, unsupervised visits to as many Taco Bell dinners as he wanted, or sleeping in a bed without an occasional sharp nudge and "roll over, you're snoring" disturbing his sleep.  No, my sweet soul mate was just so close to tears that he didn't see the look of incredulity that crossed my face before he managed to get out the door.  That's what it was.

Of course, I forgot to mention that he left me with a low-grade fever and four perfectly behaved children-- one of whom had a fever of 102.4F when his daddy walked out the door.

I called into my coaching job at the YMCA and cancelled, got sickie son settled on the couch with a Dora the Explorer video, and plowed into school.  Sure, I could have justified taking the day off, but the adrenaline of being on my own had taken over and I wanted to conquer a mountain-- or at least math.

The day went surprisingly well, overall.  There were glitches, like a leaky pull-up, but the children were so well-behaved for the majority of the day that it mostly sailed by.  I even gave baths, cleaned up the kitchen, and gave myself a well-deserved shower before parading off to my own bed with the air of a beauty queen.  I had conquered.

Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall (Proverbs 16:18).  God is patient.  God is loving.  But there are natural consequences to pride-- especially the pride of thinking we did something God was nice enough to handle for us.  It was time to bring in my real children.

Tuesday did not proceed well.  Princess Moo (DD1) was up at the crack of dawn to nurse.  When she went back to bed, Prince Dannyboy (3DS3) the Sick decided it was his turn to get up, so I dragged my very tired self downstairs to make breakfast.  While he was comfortably watching Dora again, I made up pancakes and bacon, then called the other two boys to eat.  So far, so good.  Princess woke up and had breakfast, too, and the day got started.

Here's where that funny blurring effect started.  Do you ever have days that are so bad that you can't remember an exact order, only that certain events occurred?  That was Tuesday.

There was the screaming.  Prince Berryboy (1DS7) spent nearly as much time in his room on time-out as he did "in public".  There was the crying.  Princess Moo cried because she is a princess and that's how she gets her way.  Prince Dannyboy (3) cried because he was feeling better, but Mommy wasn't, so he couldn't go outside to play.  Prince Derryboy (2DS4) cried because he has a sensitive spirit and his brothers have, well, boy spirits.  Prince Berryboy (1) cried because he wanted me to give up on school and let him play all day like his brothers.  Mommy cried because of all of the above, continuing low-grade fever, a sudden outbreak of acne that brought back well-buried memories of high school, and a surge of hormones.

Then there was the poop.  I'm not sure why God has chosen to bless my family with so many poop incidents-- a good psychologist could probably come up with some wonderful analogies to me being uptight or something.  But on this lovely day, September 19th, 2006, we added to our poop story repetoire.

We had three containment leaks during the day (one pull-up, two diapers), plus an anonymous little prince who delayed going to the bathroom too long and had to be cleaned up (along with said bathroom).  By dinnertime, sweet and gentle Mommy was replaced by a cross-eyed, growling Troll who was ready to pounce on the slightest infraction.

Princess wouldn't eat much.  The boys whined about their meal.  I left the Princess with a biter biscuit and cleaned up the table, then came back to clean her up.  Had I just left her in her booster chair all night, perhaps disaster could have been averted.  Had I been fluent in Princess Speak, I might have heard the warning.  Instead, I picked her up with a little jiggle to get her laughing... and got a little splat! sound instead.

Poop was oozing out the leg of her pants, trickling over her toes, and plopping with appropriate sound effects on the floor and my foot.  My foot.  Covered in baby feces.

I remained calm and collected-- for the three seconds it took for it to sink in.  I sent Prince Berryboy (1) for paper towels, Prince Derryboy (2) for wipes, and Prince Dannyboy (3) to distract the cats, who thought that the poop looked a lot like their cat food.  Really, I screamed all this, but I was also trying to convey a Poopy Princess, overloaded diaper, and squishy sock onto the tiled part of our home before more gifts slithered down her leg.

There's a lot of blurring at this point.  I know the Princess got cleaned up.  I know the laundry got started.  I know the sweet boys were in tears because their Daddy called and their Mommy read him the riot act on everything from Huggies diapers (sorry, but anyone who tells me that Huggies work as well as Pampers can come clean up the next time Huggies leaks) to his work to having cats who wanted to eat poop.  I then kindly and submissively informed him that if he wanted to talk to his children, he had to come home and rescue his wife.  Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that I held the kids hostage by phone.  He didn't come home, either.

I think the kitchen did eventually get cleaned up that night.  It wasn't a bath night, so the children were read to by a hoarse and growly Mommy and tucked into their beds.  I remembered an hour later that I hadn't had them do their chores, so I had to feed our critters and clean the cat box.  I wasn't sure which chore looked like the earlier diaper fiasco, but the memory wasn't a good one.  I trudged off to bed without any pride at all.

Wednesday a few things happened.  I realized I was down to two diaper wipes which, based on the previous day's experiences, was an insufficient number to get me through one diaper, let alone a full day.  Prince Derryboy (2) came down with the dreaded illness, but in his sweet way, just wanted to sleep or be held.  I found out why the hormones had been so bad, too.

You have to cut me some slack here.  I have been pregnant or nursing for all but about two months of the last five and a half years.  Unless I'd just had a baby, I didn't have to visit a certain feminine aisle of the local store.  In fact, I didn't have to visit then, either, because I was delegated to recovery duty.  So I was a little rusty on the technicalities of what it means to be a woman with a woman's curse.

PMS.  I had been PMSing.

Just the knowledge that this is what it was became remarkably freeing.  When Prince Derryboy (2) threw up all over himself and the couch because he didn't want to interrupt Mommy to let her know he felt sick, I only growled under my breath (and aimed a kick at the very agile cat who thought THAT was food, too).  When Prince Berryboy (1) and Prince Dannyboy (3) fought like dogs cooped up inside too long (or boys cooped up inside too long), I mostly managed to mostly use time outs and other constructive methods, rather than jumping into the fray.  Even tonight when the Princess woke me up at midnight, then Prince Berryboy (1) came into the room to notify me HE was sick, and I took the Princess back to her room-- only to have the cats manage to push her door open and wake her up-- even after all that, I was able to come in here and blog about it in relative peace.  I have knowledge now.  Knowledge is power.  I can fight my hormones if I know they're there.

Dear Hubby comes home tonight.  He will probably find a wife who forgot to shower last night (unless I squeeze one in today, which is my big Goal for the day), a few dishes we didn't get to, trash that really needs to be taken to the curb, and children who are a bit whiny and clinging.  But at least I'll have the hormones under control.  I won't immediately run off to our room and lock myself in for a moment of blessed solitude.  I will wait at least ten full minutes for him to adjust to the joys of home life.

But I'm still not touching that spider.

The World Through the Alphabet: D

Here was our "D" week.

D

Country:        Denmark

Character:    Determination

Theme:         Dinosaurs

Denmark

How very sad!  The Assembly of God missionary office said that country taxes made it literally impossible for a missionary to stay in Denmark.  I don't know if that's the same for all denominations (AoG was the site that came up when I was Googling (tm) Denmark missionaries), but that has to make it very difficult to get a missionary in.

Instead of praying for a specific missionary family, we prayed for the country as a whole and that missionaries would be more easily allowed to minister there.

Meet the Kids: Denmark

http://media.denmark.dk/kids/

Learn all about life in Denmark as a kid.

Cybersleuth Kids: Denmark

http://cybersleuth-kids.com/sleuth/Geography/Europe/Denmark/index.htm

Internet research resources about Denmark for kids.

Danish food:

• Fish stew
• Creamed kale
• Browned potatoes
• Pumperknickle bread with "Fruits of the Forest" spread
• Kugel
• Black licorice salty fish

The fish stew was yummy and has been added to our permanent recipes.  The kale was good, but I think I'd've preferred it with some other green.  The browned potatoes were sweet-- they went fast.  Pumperknickle bread not so much a favorite, but kugel was very good.

Do not buy black licorice salty fish! :)  Hubby likes black licorice; I like salty.  We both really disliked these.  The kids wouldn't even eat them.

Determination

Verse:       Philippians 1:6

Plants Grown Up pages 261-262-- we chose three from B, C, D, F, G, or K

Dinosaurs

Oh, how my boys love this topic, and how careful we have to be when we study it.  Fortunately, I already have my oldest child indoctrinated and anytime a video or book says "millions of years", he automatically corrects it with "thousands of years".

Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs (Usborne books)- watch for evolutionary teaching

Dinosaurs Before Dark (Magic Tree House) by Mary Pope Osborne

Dinosaurs Before Dark Companion Guide by Mary Pope Osborne

Patrick's Dinosaurs by Carol Carrick

Patrick's Dinosaurs on the Internet by Carol Carrick

Danny and the Dinosaur by Syd Hoff

What Really Happened to the Dinosaurs? by John Morris and Ken Ham-- Prince Berryboy was thrilled to find Biblical dinosaur teaching

When Dragons Were Good by Buddy Davis-- I was disappointed that my library couldn't find their copy of this book "that teaches children the true version of early earth history".  CBD has it for only $9.99, so I may indulge for a Christmas present

Kid's Draw Dinosaurs by Christopher Hart

DLTK's Dinosaurs for Kids

http://www.dltk-kids.com/animals/dinosaurs.htm

Fun, easy activities for the younger set.

Zoom Dinosaurs at Enchanted Learning

http://www.enchantedlearning.com/subjects/dinosaurs/

We have a membership here, but even without it this is a great resource.  Watch for evolution content.

Kid Explorers

http://www.christiananswers.net/kids/clr-indx.html

There are coloring pages, lesson plans, and more, from a Christian worldview.

Dinosaur Questions and Answers from Answers in Genesis

http://www.answersingenesis.org/home/area/faq/dinosaurs.asp

Creation Science for Kids (links)

http://www.nwcreation.net/kids.html

[Copyright 2006]

The World Through the Alphabet: C

Here was our "C" week.  I got a little behind posting. :)

[Please consider the usual copyright disclaimers; feel free to use for personal use.]

TRIBUTE: Prokopios "Paul" Zois, World Trade Center, 9/11/2001

[NOTE: After a lot of deliberation, I'm reposting this in a friendlier format.  Dates may be off by one year, as I didn't have exact dates to use for calculations.]

A boy is born in Greece around 1955.  He is named Prokopios and his parents, Theofanis and Elizabeth, work hard to provide for him and his two sisters, Georgia and Alexandra.  As Prokopios grows older, he has no time to play... this imprints firmly on his psyche and will have a strong role in how he raises his own children.

Work, child, work;

Play is not for you.

To eat, to drink, to live,

There's things that you must do.

The Zois family immigrates to New York in the United States around 1964.  The American Dream starts to come alive for Prokopios, who becomes known as Paul.

Land of dreams you enter;

See Lady Liberty?

Her torch held high to New York's night

For one Greek boy to dream.

Paul started work at TWA around 1977 as a travel advisor.  He is known for his helpful attitude with the pilots, his thick accent, and his smile.  Paul always smiled.

Clearly, but with accent, "I'll help you," said young Paul;

Remembered for his kindness;

Remembered for his smile;

He'll meet the woman of his dreams

While working all the while.

Paul graduates with a bachelor's degree from Brooklyn College in 1978.  He has a background in psychology.  He also meets a wonderful woman, Dorota (possibly Kassimatis?) at TWA.  They are married on October 3rd, 1981.

Big Fat Greek Wedding?

Perhaps it was just so.

When Paul and Dorota married

More than twenty years ago.

A maid of  honor listed

As only Anne Marie

Was there that day to witness

Love that steadily would grow.

In 1984, a daughter, Stefania, is born.

In 1986, a son, Theofanis Paul (named after grandfather and father), is born.

Paul spends hours with his children.  He plays with them and cares for them.  Dorota works nights as a nurse, so Paul is the one who makes sure homework gets done and baths are taken.  He pursues soccer and basketball for his children and other children, coaching in his free time.  His childhood gives him a strong desire to let his children play.

A blessing full of children!

A daughter and a son;

He'll teach them to play soccer

Before they quite can run. 

He'll coach them, love them, raise them,

As their mother works at night,

These children are his treasures;

He makes sure they're raised right.

Sometime prior to 1997, TWA moves to St. Louis and Paul takes furlough, rather than move his family from New York.  He later takes a position with American Express in their corporate travel services department-- placed in the Marsh & McClennan Company offices on the 94th floor of the World Trade Center.

Time is growing short,

Yet somehow you anticipate.

Family first, family last,

Time well-spent before "too late".

On September 7th, 2001, Theo asks his father for a new top-notch pair of soccer shoes.  They aren't in the stores, so Paul orders them, then tightens new nubs on the old soccer shoes because the season is starting.

Ticking, ticking,

Making memories to last.

Could you know

How time would pass?

On September 11, 2001, the World Trade Center is struck by an airplane.  Paul is working on the 93rd (according to Dorota) or 94th floor.  The Tower crumbles and Paul is missing.  Rumor says he helps rescue crews and wounded.  It would fit his personality.  He is known for sacrificial giving and generosity. 

I am looking for PAUL ZOIS. He was working on the 93rd FLOOR of TOWER 1 at one of American Express's offices. He has been missing since the attack at the WTC on Tuesday Sept. 11. If anyone has any information please contact DOROTA ZOIS at 1(516)-xxx-xxxx. This is my husband PAUL ZOIS. Once again, if anyone has ANY information,whether it be another victim or hospital personnel or anyone that might know something about him, please contact me immediately.Thank You.

Posted Thursday, 9/13/01 at 3:06am

By Dorota Zois

On September 12, 2001, Paul is still listed missing.  A package arrives for Theo... the soccer shoes.  The 15-year-old boy sits on his bed, hugging the shoes, and cries.  Where is his father now?

A rough embrace

So hard to face

Shoes you bought

With memories fraught

And still the word... missing.

On September 29, 2001, Paul is scheduled on a flight to the Bahamas with his wife.  It is to be their first vacation without the children.

Instead, a memorial service is held for him, his picture and a few small trinkets in place of a casket.

Saint Paul's Greek Orthodox Cathedral of Hempstead, on Long Island, was the scene of one of many funerals and memorial services throughout the New York area for fallen victims of the September 11th terrorist attacks against America. Here, in a somber ceremony, pierced occasionally by helpless cries from family members, the final memorial hymns were sung for Prokopis Zois, who was at work for American Express on the 94th floor of Tower One of the World Trade Center. Zois, who also taught at Queensboro College, was the founder of the Cathedral's youth soccer and basketball teams and was considered by many to be one of the pillars of that community's youth athletic programs. Archbishop Demetrios officiated the ceremony, which instead of a coffin, had as its center an enlarged photograph of Zois and some of his personal belongings. His son Theofanis and daughter Stephanie delivered eulogies to the packed church.

October 3, 2001 would have been the 20th anniversary of Paul and Dorota Zois.  20th is such a significant number in marriage. 

Posted on September 11, 2003: 

Dad you were the best thing that ever happend to me. From teaching me how to play soccer to being there for every game i played in and i loved it when u used to tell me how i played after each game. You truly are my angel. I hope that you are in a good place and i alwasy want you to know, I Love you and miss you.

Theo Zois, 7:54 pm

It could end here.  But it doesn't.  Instead, Paul's presence lives on.  Whitney Crittenden loses her mother in the attacks and the Zois family adopts her.  Dorota becomes a nurse at an elementary-level school.  Stefania receives a scholarship to attend St. John's University, where she studies to be a physician's assistant.  Theo is a scholarship receipient as well and chooses New York Institute of Technology.  He plays soccer.

"Zois" means life.  Prokopios "Paul" Zois embraced life, shared life, and gave life.  His gift will continue to grow in his wife and his children.

I remember Prokopios Paul Zois.

[For more remembrances of the 2996 people who died 9/11/2001, please go to the 2996 .  All information contained herein is accurate to the best of my ability.  My references follow.] 

• http://www.september11victims.com
• http://cf.newsday.com/911/victimsearch.cfm?id=2474
• http://www.legacy.com/Guestbook.asp?PersonID=101788
• http://www.ousc.com/scholarships.html
• http://www.sept11thmemorial.com
• http://www.csrwire.com/article.cgi/1951.html
• http://old.orthodoxnews.com/138/Holds.htm
• http://www.kellenberg.org/scholarships.html
• http://www.smilinjack.com/cgi/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=6;t=000406
• http://www.psc-cuny.org/PDF/Clarion_Feb_04.pdf
• http://www.brooklyn.cuny.edu/bc/text/pubs/bcmag/bcm-spr02/mem911.htm
• http://www.suzannerandolphfinearts.com/amex.html
• http://www.greekamerica.net/pastissues/7-2/terror_hits_home.wu
• http://orthodoxnews.freepage.ru/138/Holds.htm

Prayer Vigil for the Godfrey Family

I posted way back in June about Susan Godfrey's pregnancy.  Susan's baby has Potter's Syndrome, a rare kidney disease that means the baby will only live a few hours after birth.  Not only have Susan and her husband known about this since June (and bravely stood by their convictions to bear to term), but this is their second child to have Potter's Syndrome.   Although Susan has been unmeasurably brave, she confesses in her latest post that she had to pull over while driving to cry and pray a bit.

Amy (Dandelion Seeds) has come up with a wonderful plan to pray around the clock for Susan and her family.  If you go here, you can sign up for a prayer vigil time.  Let's lift this family up in love and prayers.

Oak Trees and Neighborly Squirrels

I love my oak tree.  No, no, I'm not a tree-hugging, granola-munching, Save Our Mother Earth person.  I just love my tree.

In summer, the leaves provide ample shade to keep our backyard several degrees cooler than our front yard.  In fall, the falling leaves provide mulch material for my garden.  In spring, when the rains hit, the falling limbs provide firewood for our backyard campouts.  Oh, and did I mention the acorns?

Our tree provides enough acorns to feed at least a dozen squirrels with surplus.  I can verify this because I have seen at least a dozen squirrels in my backyard, but we still have crunchy, hard little acorns underfoot.  An industrious person would probably just rake up the acorns with her leaves, but since I avoid raking my leaves until I absolutely have to, my acorns just sit there.  Crunching.

Every time I step on one, I stop and think, "This could feed a friendly little woodland creature, if only one was around to stop and eat it."  Then I look around for one of said woodland creatures, only to find it in my neighbor's yard-- eating store-bought corn.

Alright, it's bad enough that the squirrels get finicky and would rather eat the birdseed from the feeder than the acorns, but I do believe my neighbors are spoiling them!  If all was right with the world, the squirrels would be industriously hoarding all my acorns in some stash for the winter.  Instead, they turn up their noses at the acorns and drag the empty corn cobs into my yard, depositing them at my front door much the same way a cat deposits a dead mouse or bird.  The corn cob is easier to clean up, but I feel just as much dread when I see it.

There are acorns going uneaten, unstashed, untouched.  I will crunch when I mow the lawn.

I have considered the very unneighborly action of trespassing in my neighbors' yards and removing their squirrel feeders.  I have debated buying up all the feed corn in a sixty mile radius and sending it to poor starving squirrels in Ethiopia.  I've even debated removing the air from my neighbors' tires so they can't replenish their supply.  For some reason, the Holy Spirit never lets me get any farther than the plotting stage before I'm getting some major jabs to my conscience and doing some serious confessing.  I don't entirely get it.  I mean, I'm trying to tend to the earth and protect the delicate balance God put in motion.  Surely a little trespassing, stealing, and vandalism is nothing in comparison.

Ouch!  Okay, okay!  Jab any harder and I'll have a concussion, or whatever you get from a severe blow to the psyche.

Anyway, I need to come up with a solution to the acorn problem that does not involve gathering them all to make tasty acorn-paste pancakes or stringing them on strings to hang on my Christmas tree.  Letting the boys shoot them into other yards with slingshots is probably not a good idea either.  It's really quite the dilemma.

I guess I'll just have to import more squirrels.

Fosterling

A queen has a daughter, a beautiful young daughter without defect, blemish, or fault.  Although she loves this daughter dearly-- because she loves this daughter dearly-- she sends her to one of her poorer subjects to be raised.  As she tearfully kisses the baby's face goodbye, she says softly, "You will always be a princess, no matter where you live, but you can only truly be royalty by learning to live away from court."

The young woman who agrees to be the foster-mother is appropriately awed and honored at being chosen to raise a child of royalty.  She takes the small instructional scroll the queen gives her with reverence, vowing to read it daily to keep the very basic requests close to her heart.  "She is my daughter," the queen says gently, "but she will be your daughter as well.  These instructions are for both of you.  I have raised many children before this and I know this will help you."

The new mother keeps her word and reads the scroll daily.  She cherishes the sweet daughter given to her, making note of every smile, gurgle, tear, and advancement.  Every night she sends a letter to the queen, reporting on the daughter's behavior.  She asks for advice.  She reiterates that the child is not only hers, but the queen's as well.

Time passes and the child, as most children do, grows up.  She turns one and toddles around the small hut her mother calls home.  She turns two and learns to say "no" to everything her foster-mother says.  The mother is sharp with her, then penitent, shedding tears as she holds the royal toddler close.  Hoarsely she repledges her promise to raise the girl to the scroll.  In soft whispers, she reminds the girl of her true heritage.

More time passes and the sweet-faced child is now six.  She is a verbal dynamo, requiring far more energy than her foster-mother seems to have to keep up.  The queen sends assistance at times, usually so subtly that the young mother isn't aware of where it is coming from, but still the mother falters.  The letters reporting on her daughter's progress become fewer and farther between.  The little scroll is neglected, dusty, and then forgotten.

Still more years later and the princess is nearly a teen.  She no longer remembers that she is royalty, nor does she act like it.  She is rude and inconsiderate to her mother and others alike.  Her language leaves much to be desired.  Her weary foster-mother watches her with a kind of despair.  The little scroll has been untouched for years. 

On her sixteenth birthday, the princess demands a party.  Although she doesn't have the money for the party her daughter asks for, the foster-mother hopes this will be a turning point in their relationship, so she pulls everything together to give the girl her desires.  Spoilt and greedy, the young woman throws the gifts aside, stages a massive temper tantrum, and runs away, leaving her mother standing in the midst of the rubble of her dreams.

The girl vanishes.  Although the heartbroken foster-mother searches everywhere, the girl cannot be found.  She is simply... gone.  Wretched and guilt-ridden, the foster-mother finally takes herself to the throne room of the queen.  Not ever looking up, she throws herself prone on the ground, her care-worn face streaked with tears, dust, and sorrow.  "I have failed you, Your Majesty," she sobs out, her words nearly lost to the ground.  "I have forgotten your rules and neglected your daughter.  I didn't raise her like you asked.  Now, she is gone.  You gave me one precious charge-- a sacred trust-- and I failed."

There is a rustling and a gentle hand lifts the dejected woman's face.  The queen is down on her knees, affection and forgiveness in her countenance.  "Dear child," she says gently, "I have waited years for you to come and tell me.  Had you come to me when the princess was two, you would have been spared so much misery.  Had you come to me when she was six, there would have been pain, yes, but it would have been brief.  Even if you had come to me when she first approached womanhood, she could have been restored to you.  Now, however, the damage is done.  I have brought her home.  She had a very difficult time when she ran away, but some part of her remembered she was mine.  She came to me-- and here she will stay."

The heart-broken foster-mother closes her eyes in anguish.  "Will I never see her again?  I do not deserve to raise her, but I love her as my own."

The queen's voice is soft, loving, but firm.  "One day, dear child, you will come to live here, too.  Then you will see your daughter again.  Until then, you must live the life you have."

With an emptiness where her heart still beat, the foster-mother trudged back home.  For long years she worked... until the day she could once again hold her daughter in her arms.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I am not a perfect mother.  Worse, I am not a very good foster-mother.  I do not want to do things God's way; I want to do them mine.  But these children, these sweet, frustrating children that tug my heart in so many directions-- these children are not mine.  They are God's.  I am a foster-mother, given the awesome and terrifying responsibility of raising the children of the King.   He gives me everything I need to raise them-- if I will take it.  He gives me every instruction I need to get through the hard times-- if I will read them.  He wants me to tell Him their every action, to ask Him for advice concerning their every move, and to listen when He tells me exactly how things should be-- but I fail to listen.

If I fail long enough, I may lose them.  I may lose them to the world.  I may lose them to teenage rebellion.  I may lose them in death-- and only see them again, God willing, in Heaven.  Oh, how a part of my heart dies when I think I might lose them!

Math, science, reading, writing... it is all "meaningless! Meaningless... utter meaningless!" as the prophet says in Ecclesiastes 1:2.  Or, as it says in Matthew 16:26:

 For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

Instead, I should

 Train ^[a] a child in the way he should go,
       and when he is old he will not turn from it.

Proverbs 22:6

and

Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.

Ephesians 6:4

Isn't it amazing how many of us parents quote Ephesians 6:1 at our children ("Children, obey your parents in the Lord"), yet we neglect the parents' command to raise our children in the training of the Lord?

My children are still young.  God hasn't taken them from me yet.  There is still time to throw myself down, unworthy, at the feet of the King to beg for a second, third, hundredth chance.

There is time to change.

There is time to read the scroll, to drink in His wise and experienced instruction.

There is time to learn.

There is time to spend hours on my knees, kneeling before the Most High, not only reporting on how I am raising His sweet children, but taking in His guidance in their lives.

There is time to pray.

Amen... Omaine.  So be it.

Inborn, Learned--- or Does It Matter?

MomofSix put an interesting comment on my previous entry:

I might consider boycotting them as well. I don't like what they are doing. I must say that I don't believe that God would put a desire in someone and then call it sin. So, I don't believe homosexuals are born that way. I had one try to recruit me at college. She tried to convince me by saying that I would like it better because that other woman would love me like my mother didn't...using her lack of mother's love for an excuse to get into that lifestyle. My girlfriend's son is in that lifestyle and he was recruited by a public high school teacher that made the moves on him...From all my own experiences and understanding, I say it is a learned behavior that warps the mind...as God says he hands them, the rebellious, over to a depraved mind. I tend to believe that scripture....Just a thought or belief from my viewpoint....God bless you for your boldness to speak out.

I just wanted to clarify here that I don't believe GOD puts the desire in them; I believe that the sinful nature of a fallen world does.  But I do believe that, for some, that desire-- or curiosity-- is internal, not external.

Every person has areas where they are more tempted than others.  For me, it's a hair-trigger anger reflex.  I am generally a passionate, enthusiastic person-- but that passion and enthusiasm spills over into my temper, too.  I can honestly say that I believe this is inborn; I would get absolutely furious as an infant when I got mad.  I have three sisters, raised in the same environment, and none of them has quite the same temper problem as I do (although one is close ).

My DH is naturally laid-back in temperment.  This makes him wonderfully patient (most of the time), but it also results in a very low self-motivation drive.  If he doesn't fight it, he is naturally lazy.

Both of those desires come from deep within us.  They are part of who we are.  Did God make me an angry type and him a lazy type?   No.  I agree that God does not put sin in our hearts.  But God allows thorns in our lives:

7To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. 8Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

2 Corinthians 12:7-9

Couple that with Satan asking God for permission to harass Job (see Job 1) and God granting permission, I do believe God allows us to have an area of weakness for two reasons.

1.  This is a great opportunity for us to bring glory to God.  After Job loses everything, he could have cursed God.  He could have questioned Him.  He could have blamed Him.  Instead:

20 At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship 21 and said:
       "Naked I came from my mother's womb,
       and naked I will depart. ^[c]
       The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
       may the name of the LORD be praised."  

Job 1:20-21

God was glorified through the way Job dealt with his thorn.  As God works through me provides the self-control to deal with my temper, it is pure glory to him, because those who know me well know I have tried everything to control it myself-- and failed.

2.  We learn to rely on God in the areas we are most weak.

10That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12:10

Walmart Goes Rainbow

Okay, I was already semi-boycotting Walmart, but after reading Academy252's post about this article here, I am doing it officially AND encouraging it in other Christians.

Don't get me wrong and start spamming my blog.  I love people who are homosexuals and I believe that it is possible that they are born with homosexual desires.

Guess what?  I'm born with heterosexual desires.  If I act on them outside of marriage, it's sin.

Or, to hit a little closer to home for me, I was born with a very short fuse on my anger.  Having the short fuse doesn't make me a bad person.   Having an angry THOUGHT doesn't make me a bad person.  Dwelling on or acting on those thoughts, however, is sin.

In the same way, having homosexual tendencies does not make a person bad.  Having a homosexual thought cross your mind does not make a person bad.  Dwelling on or acting on those thoughts, however, is sin.

Since Walmart chooses to support sin, I choose to not support Walmart.

Merry Christmas, ACLU!

Hopefully this will be my last post tonight!  There's a lot out there to make me think today. :)

Do you know the verse about being kind to your enemies?

21 If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat;
       if he is thirsty, give him water to drink.

 22 In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head,
       and the LORD will reward you.

Proverbs 25:21-22

This Christmas (yes, it's a little early), give a little "food for thought" to the ACLU.  Send them a Christmas card.  They want to remove "Christmas" from the winter holiday period.  Let us give them a Christmas blessing instead.

Send your Christmas card (clearly saying "Merry Christmas" and/ or something about God) to:

ACLU

125 Broad Street

18th Floor

New York, NY  10004

Remember, be kind when you send it.  Bless the ACLU (but don't send them any money to fund programs).

Thanks to WaitingOnTheLord for this one.

TAG: What's One Thing...

I actually got tagged by name (thanks, Angela!).  Here are my answers:

1) ONE HOMESCHOOLING BOOK YOU HAVE ENJOYED
Just one... this is tough because I'm a curriculum junkie (ex-addict, in recovery *laugh*). 

2) ONE RESOURCE YOU WOULDN'T BE WITHOUT
God (when I am without Him, it's not a pretty sight!). 

Beyond that, my library card.  My children love to read (or be read to) and they learn far more just from reading everything they can get their hands on than I could ever try to teach them.

3) ONE RESOURCE YOU WISH YOU HAD NEVER BOUGHT
The Story of the World.  I like all the Well-Trained Mind stuff... except that.  I couldn't make my son do it; I yawned through it.  (The activity book wasn't bad, though.)

4) ONE RESOURCE YOU ENJOYED LAST YEAR
 Actually, I'm going to echo Angela on this one.  HSB has been a huge resource.  One of my first posts here was to announce I was quitting and sending my rambunctious six-year-old to PS.  I was talked out of it by more than one person (the start of many a good friendship!)  I continue to treasure the insight, resources, and inspiration I get from everyone here.

5) ONE RESOURCE YOU WILL BE USING THIS YEAR
I'm going back to using my brain, combined with the vast resources of the Internet, to create half of our studies.  I haven't grown brave enough yet to try math or science on my own, but everything else is working out, bit by bit.

6) ONE RESOURCE YOU WOULD LIKE TO BUY
A piano.  But I'm learning to be thankful for our keyboard!

7) ONE RESOURCE YOU WISH EXISTED
A no-no alarm, so that every time I get wooed by the "ultimate curriculum," a "wonderful enrichment activity" or the next "big thing in homeschooling," I would just say no.  No.  NO.

8) ONE HOMESCHOOLING CATALOGUE YOU ENJOY READING
I love Vision Forum.  I adore it.  I... well, you get the idea.  I'm saving up for it, but I'm not allowed to read the catalogue right now  (see #7).

9) ONE HOMESCHOOLING WEBSITE YOU USE REGULARLY
Just one??   I  love Starfall.com.  I will recommend it to anyone with a pre- or emergent reader as the best reading resource ever. :)

10) TAG FIVE OTHER HOMESCHOOLERS

(If you've already done it, you're off the hook... but so am I *laugh*)

* Eyecorn: I love reading your ideas

* TC: I'm not so much interested in what you writes, as how you write it. ;)

* Trish (tallenmomof5): After all, if we're just reading each other's minds...

* JennLovesJesus: I haven't read much new from you lately

* Someone who random blogs in here and has never posted to me before

You're it!