“Jesus wept.”  John 11:35

A little bit ago on one of the message boards I frequent, I read a thread discussing John 11:35.  This was a jumping off point for my own musings about this beautiful verse…

Growin’ up, I really didn’t suffer much loss in the way of the death of loved ones.  My paternal Grandpa died when I was a teenager, but we were not very close to him.  I hurt for my Dad because I knew his heart was broken, I was sad that he had passed, but it wasn’t personal to me.

The first experience I had with this kind of loss was when my maternal Grandpa went to the Lord five and a half years ago.  I had never in all my life experienced the immediate and raw, physically painful heartache that accompanied the news.  My Grandpa had been ill for a long while, and his passing was certainly a release from his suffering here on earth into the Perfect Glory of God, and yet, the utter grief was like a violent storm that would not be stopped.  With time, God eased my sorrow and I came to look forward to the day I would join my Grandpa in Heaven.

Not long after Grandpa’s passing, my paternal Grandmother passed.  She, too, had been ill for quite some time, and yet her death was a different experience entirely.  While my grief and pain were just as sharp, there was not the spiritual closeness I’d shared with my Grandpa.  In some ways, her passing was easier, but in others, it was not.  I do not have the assurance of seeing her in Heaven.  Dad said he believed that Grandmother accepted Christ prior to her death, but I honestly don’t know.  This was the part that continues to nag me today.  Whether or not she gave her heart to God, I cannot guess, but I know for a fact that I never shared God’s amazing salvation story with her.  Sure, she knew we were a “Christian” family, and I’m assumin’ that meant she understood I was a Christian too.  I’m sure she was well familiar with the concept, but she never once heard about God’s sacrifice from me.  That a loved one would pass without sharin’ the most important part of my life, is nothin’ short of shameful.  I can only wait and hope that I will see her too, in God’s presence.

There were other losses of loved ones thereafter, and they, too, will be missed.  I think of Papa, my cousins’ grandfather who so lovingly “adopted” me as one of his grandchildren.  There were friends and loved ones of friends that would again remind me of the brevity of life.  Yet none of these can compare to the complete devastation of losin’ my own child.

We lost Gabriel last year, 6 weeks into my pregnancy.  His lifeless body on the ultrasound screen was the last glimpse I had of our cherished baby.  I would never get to hold him, I would never get to nurse him, or watch him grow or celebrate his marriage or my grandchildren with him.  I never knew that it was possible to survive such pain.  Every breath was sheer agony.  Every movement was hard fought against the paralysis of heartbreak.  What made things even more unbearable was that I continued to carry Gabriel for another five weeks.  Every mornin’ arrived with the realization that while my baby’s body was there, beneath my heart, he was no longer with me.  Every day felt like a death sentence.  When I finally miscarried, it was indeed a grueling experience, and yet, there too, was a strange sort of peace.  I have often wondered if Jesus experienced this peace when he declared, “It is finished”.  There was nothin’ more to do, there were no more hopes for a miracle, there was no more waitin’.  Gabriel had gone in spirit and now he was gone in body.

I not only hurt for my own loss, but I honestly hurt for my loved ones that tried so desperately to find words of comfort for me, knowin’ full well there were no words.  Every attempt to express their condolences only served to amplify my pain.  I would see him in Heaven, these things happen, oftentimes in these cases, there was somethin’ wrong with the baby, there would be more children, to each I found a “counterpoint” to harbor in my heart.  “I don’t want to see him in Heaven, I want to see him NOW!”  “I don’t want another baby, I want THIS one!”  “I don’t care that these things happen, it didn’t have to happen to ME!”  “I don’t care if there was something wrong with my son, I would have loved him and taken care of him!”

With time and prayer, I came to find comfort in the assurance that I would see my Gabriel in Heaven too.  That he has gone before me to join my Grandpa to worship God for all eternity.  The promise of Heaven was made that much sweeter, knowin’ I would be rejoined with him, albeit in a different sense than our earthly mother/child relationship.  God would also comfort me with an assurance that there would be more children for Carl and me.  God used other mothers who have miscarried to bring me fellowship with those I knew understood my longin’, a sort of sisterhood which showed me that I was not alone and that these things do indeed happen and I was no more “immune” or “undeserved” of such things than they.

The final hurdle, if you will, was the idea of there bein’ something “wrong” with Gabriel.  It just killed me when people said this to me!  Did they really think it mattered to me what was wrong with him, if there was?  Did they think that I wouldn’t love and cherish a “challenged” life with my child?  Did they think that I wouldn’t do anything and everything possible for my child, no matter what?  I held my tongue, but this “comforting thought” hit me in the gut everytime and I just wanted to scream at whomever dared utter those ill-chosen words.

Then I received the latest The Old Schoolhouse and I read about that dear family that lost their two oldest sons and recently came through a heart transplant with their third son.

I was completely broken by their story.  I could not stop the tears as I pictured my own husband, holding our precious boys as they passed.  I thought of what they went through as they waited for their son to come out of surgery.  I can’t imagine.

Soon afterward, my brother, 18 yo,  lost one of his best friends in a car accident.  Yes, my heart broke for my brother who was absolutely devastated, but I could not keep my thoughts from “Tex”’s parents.  How does one endure such a thing?  I don’t know.  Again, the tears would not be stopped.  All I could think of was how I longed to hold Tex’s parents while they cried, me, a complete stranger.

I cried out to God, WHY?!  Why would You take two sons from your children that love you?  Why would You take a young man so suddenly, with so much life ahead of him?  WHY??!!

Then I remembered, “Jesus wept.”  Jesus WEPT!  He’d just lost one of His best friends and He wept.  He knows our pain.  He knows our heartache.  He knows because He wept.

I thought of my own bitterness festering in my heart, about the angry, “I don’t care if there was anything wrong with my son!”  And there was comfort.  God was merciful in taking my son when He did.  Yes, the pain of losing him is beyond anything I have ever experienced, and yet, I know with everything in me, that my pain cannot even be compared to the pain of that family, or Tex’s family.  The last puzzle piece finally fell into place as I thanked my Father for giving me my son and for taking him when He did.  If there had been something wrong with him, I’m glad that God took him straight to Heaven and spared him of any suffering.  I found contentment and joy in God blessing me with the time I had with Gabriel and felt the last bit of resentment fade away.

I pray that that family as well as Tex’s family would come to a point when they can see past the pain of their loss, and remember with smiles and gratitude, the treasured time with their children.  I pray God grace them with the peace that truly passes all understanding.  I cannot imagine their pain, but I can pray for them.  And I do, everyday, I do.

God never did answer my “why”.  Maybe He never will, but I know we serve a good and gracious God that desires nothing more than to shower uncounted blessings on us.  I know He is not some unfeeling power, destroying or sparing with cool distance, that He cries with us and suffers with us.  I know His way is not our way and I know His way is perfect.  Someway, somehow, I know all of this will work to God’s glory and that is sufficient for me.

This is my latest cravin'.  I just can't get enough.  So, I thought I'd share my recipe, and see if I can hook anyone else.  *Big Grin*

Patti's Thai Papaya Salad or Som Tam

 (pronounced with a long "oh" in Som and an "ah" in Tam)

One green papaya

3-4 ripe tomatoes

3-4 cloves garlic

2 Thai chilies (more for the more adventurous, less for the...less)

juice of 2 limes

3 TB of fish sauce (or to taste)

Sugar to taste (usually around 1/4-1/2 tsp)

Peel the papaya and grate.  Cut and seed tomatoes into large chunks (usually 12 pieces per tomato).  Roughly chop garlic.  Slice thai chilies (I use my kitchen shears less "ouch" factor, LOL).  Put all into a sturdy bowl, addin' remainin' ingredients.  Pound everything together to get the "juices flowin'" (I use my mortar and pestle to pound).  Taste, add sugar and then fish sauce to desired flavor.  You should not be able to taste the sugar, it should just take the "edge" off the saltiness.

**You may want to start with less fish sauce than stated here, I loooove fish sauce but it is very salty to some.

Serve as an appetizer or add some cooked shrimp for a light and yummy summer salad!

I'll try to add more of my Thai favorites.

I need to take parentin' lessons from my son.  Yep, my son.

Last night, I was on the computer, working on some stuff and my children were off doin' who knows what.  My ears are not tuned into noise, because noise generally means that all is well, but when it's quiet...quiet is not a good sound in this house.  Quiet means someone's doin' somethin' that someone ought not be doin'.  Sure enough, as I plunked away at the keyboard, I could hear my boys at their play, but I could not detect any sound from my 2 1/2 yo, Carissa.  Uh oh.

I had many "uh oh" episodes last night.  Once when Carissa decided to draw on the table.  Another time when she was lookin' for an uncovered outlet to put her "keys" in (thank you Lord for whomever invented those plastic outlet cover thingies), another when she was attempting to shut the cat in the closet (okay, that one wasn't quiet, but it's tough to ignore Mischief's angry, "YEEEOOOOOOWWW!").  Each time I had to get up, I grew more and more frustrated.  Each time, I pouted more and more, "Don't I ever get to do anything for myself??!!"

I then remembered a conversation I had with my 13yo not long ago. 

Carissa sleeps in our room and her morning stirrings wake me up every day, if I am not already awake.  Although she has her own bed in our room, she often winds up in ours at some point.  We don't mind, we've co-slept with all of our babies and will continue to do so with any others God blesses us with.

On this particular mornin', I must have been really tired, 'cause I snoozed straight through her stirrings.  She apparently, heard Bryce downstairs about his day already, so she decided to head on downstairs.  I remained passed out cold.

Two hours later, my "Mommy radar" was blaring and I sat straight up from my dead sleep in a panic.  There was no little warm body snuggled up to me!  I patted around and found only Carl, still fast asleep.  Where was my baby?!

My ears could not detect any sound (remember, this is a bad thing) and I just knew that my child was about some disaster.  I rushed downstairs, my heart poundin', as my mind drew gory images of what might await me.  As I reached the bottom of the steps, there was sound.  Praise God!  I heard my child!

As my heart slowed it's jet engine pace, I decided to investigate.  There Carissa sat at the table, gigglin' with her big brother over a morning snack.  As I questioned him, I was in awe of the amazin' young man that is my son.

He'd come down that mornin' 'cause he decided he wanted to get some things done.  When his sister joined him, rather than wakin' me up like I would expect, he changed his plans in order to let me sleep.  Isn't that just precious?

My daughter is not an easy child, which is largely my fault because I haven't been consistent with discipline.  I just knew that Bryce had paid sorely for his sacrifice.  Imagine my surprise when he had not one incident with her?

How?

These were his words, "Well, I just figured that my plans could wait.  I kept her with me the whole morning.  I had her help me with my morning chores and in between I played with her and had fun."

My son is a child-rearin' genius!!

I like to think of myself as a dog fancier.  I love dogs.  I love readin' about dogs.  I love researchin' breeds, training techniques, how to feed and care for dogs, you know, all things dogs.  I'm fascinated by these furry beasts that occupy part of our homes and hearts.  However, I noticed something interestin', I thought I'd see what y'all thought about it.

Apparently, there is no such thing as a dumb dog.

I've read hundreds of descriptions of various breeds and every last breed club claims their breed is "bright" or "intelligent" or some other intriguin' synonym of "smart".  Some clubs claim their dogs are smart because of their high "trainability".  Other clubs claim their breeds are smart because of the difficulty in training, claiming they are often "too smart for ordinary training techniques" or their brilliance is shown through their obvious possession of their "own mind". 

Now isn't this somethin'.  The very thing that is proof of intelligence in one breed, is actually the opposite of the proof of intelligence in another breed.  I have yet to come across a breed club that says, "Y' know what?  Our dogs are dumb as dirt but they sure are purdy."

Like I said, I love dogs.  I've spent most of my life sharin' my home with a canine companion.  My kids are bein' raised with dogs.  I even trained dogs for a livin' for a season.

There most certainly are dumb dogs.  I've seen 'em, I've trained 'em and I've loved 'em, but they were without a doubt, a few eggs short of a dozen.

I once had a roommate with a dog.  Beau was a beautiful dog, I mean, this dog turned more heads than a runway supermodel.  Beau, however, had this peculiar habit of peein' on my roommate's foot.  Yes, he would lift his leg right next to his "Momma" and relieve himself on her.  Now, some behaviorists would say, "No that's not stupidity, that's dominance."  I assure you, sharin' a roof with this dog, I know that dog didn't have a dominant bone in his body.  There was, however, plenty of evidence that his bulb did not shine as bright as most.  In fact, most of the dogs I came across of his particular "persuasion" seemed to demonstrate the same marked lack of a smart gene.  No, I'm not goin' to share what breed Beau was.  I really can't trouble the base police with the task of lockin' up the angry mob sure to picket my house if I did so.  However, I will say that Beau's happiness was not at all affected by his...um...dull-whit, because with love, patience and consistency, Beau learned to be obedient.

My roommate eventually rehomed Beau, I guess she got tired of bein' mistaken for a fire hydrant.  Fortunately for Beau, the family that adopted Beau was willing to take the time, effort and commitment to teach Beau what he could and could not do (I am assumin' that the first area addressed was his errant leg liftin').  He was showered with so much love while bein' consistently trained, he learned the immense joy of pleasin' his family.  Eventually Beau became so happily well-behaved, he was often mistaken for a smart dog!  Imagine that?!

I thought long and hard about Beau and the other dogs that have come in and out of my life.  I thought about all those breed clubs touting "intelligence" as some sort of high honor.  You know, it isn't.  Smart or dumb, bright or dull, really is not the issue.  Cheerfully obedient or not, that is what really counts, that is what separates a "good dog" from a "bad dog".  I've known dumb dogs like Beau, who's love and devotion to his family was beauty incarnate.  I've known razor sharp dogs who wind up on "death row" at the pound.  I've known stupid dogs that didn't care one whit about their family and I've known brilliant dogs that would give up their lives to save theirs.  A smart dog can (and does) bite a child just as easily as a dumb dog can (and does).

In almost every case there was one definin' factor that determined the dog's fate, it was not intelligence, it was the love and commitment of his family.

We have a particularly rigid method of housebreakin' our puppies.  We adhere to strict feedin' and cratin' schedules that in the beginnin' can appear rather restrictive.  A friend of mine got a puppy several years back, and sought my advice how to housebreak her pooch.  She dismissed my method with a, "I can't believe you are that cruel to your dogs!"  Two years later, when she couldn't housebreak her dog with her "respectful" method that offered "freedom to be him", the dog was put down and she shed not one tear.  Tell me, who was cruel?

I realized that we make this mistake in so many areas of our lives.  High grades equal "smart", low grades equal "dumb".  College degrees, even better yet, multiple degrees makes one more desirable and is perceived as smart and a high school drop out, nothin' more than a "hick from the stix".  We often hear that homeschooled children are on average "better" than their public schooled counterparts because they often outrank them by an average of two grade levels in standardized tests.

As a Christian, I've come to realize that I must confirm or deny principles based on God's Holy Word.  I believe that God expects His people to be educated.  We are called to "be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear" (1 Peter 3:15).  This absolutely requires us to be knowledgeable, but does this have anything to do with what the world calls "intelligence"?

When the word "fool" is used, the common assumption is that a "fool" is "stupid".  The Word of God says,  "The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. They are corrupt, they have done abominable works, there is none that doeth good." (Psalms 14:1).  By this definition, MENSA itself holds in it's membership, great fools.

As parents, our charge is not to raise an intelligent generation, it is not to raise up a college educated generation, it is to raise up a Godly generation.  Now, I am not sayin' that Godly is mutually exclusive to intelligent.  Indeed not!  God used people of all backgrounds, didn't He?  They all shared one common factor though, they knew enough to recognize and serve the Lord cheerfully and obediently.  He used fishermen, scholars, doctors, "teenagers", and isn't it wonderful that God chose to send His son to be raised by a carpenter?

I do not believe it is wrong to desire to raise academically-sound children.  It is not wrong to desire for our children to be college educated.  I do "school" my children to use proper grammar in speech and writing, higher math skills, chemistry and so forth.  I admit there is the part of me that puffs up with pride when our children appear to show a higher than usual aptitude in certain areas.  But I have to remind myself, what is the true goal here?  I could boast all day long if my child becomes a doctor, but what if that same child grows to be a doctor that performs abortions?  I have still raised a fool.  What if I mourned that my child grew to be "only" a janitor, but that child grows to have an obedient and ready heart for God?  I have raised a child fully educated to God's standards.

It is so tempting to embrace the values of the world.  Big paychecks, big IQ scores, big investment portfolios, big degrees, from big universities, all so highly heralded in this fallen world as "the" greatest achievement.  Yet Luke 9:25 says, "For what is a man advantaged, if he gain the whole world, and lose himself, or be cast away?"

I joked earlier about dumb dogs.  I am not at all sayin' that there are "dumb children".  Dogs and children are different and while there may be some lessons applied to both, in other cases generalizations are not wise.  I do believe that our children are individually gifted.  One child may paint like Michaelangelo, another may be a financial "guru".  One child may climb trees like a cat, while another is usually found peering through a microscope.  All of our children need to be brought up with a heart for God, and the creativity to use their talents within God's appointed roles.  Some gifts the world will scoff at, and reject, some may be labeled as "stupid" or "ignorant".  Our children may have certain needs, be it "disabilities", permanent injuries or whatever, some of our children may even be so challenged, that the world does not consider them worthy of life.  Others still leave us long before we think they ought to.  May God encourage each of us to see our children as God's reward, that each child is fearfully and wonderfully made in His Image.  Let us not confuse our purpose, nor the purposes of our children.

A dear friend of mine lost her eight month old baby last year.  I didn't know Rebecca in person, but through a message board her mother shared the nearly constant medical struggles faced by this brave little girl.  When Jesus called Rebecca Home, I wept.  Yet God used this precious life as an undeniable testimony of His Greatness.  Praise God that He blessed us with the miraculous albeit brief glimpse of Heaven through Rebecca-bun.  Through her, I am so challenged to encourage and train my own children with their eternal purpose in mind.  I do not know how God will use them.  It may be their strengths that bring glory to our Creator, but then again, it may be their seemingly insurmountable weaknesses that testify His Holiness.  Either way, I pray God uses them and that I raise them with the heart to know and recognize their Savior when He calls.  Smart or not, may they be faithful to Him that loves each of them to offer Himself a living sacrifice while they were still sinners.

I’ve seen thousands of versions of this classic tale, you know, the beautiful, gentle hearted gal inescapably paired with some wretched horror of a man.  Slowly and patiently, “Beauty” peels back the hurt and rejected layers of “Beast” to reveal a handsome prince any woman would be proud to call her own.

A charming tale, but not really accurate.

I have my own “Beauty and the Beast” tale, except in my tale both beauty and beast reside inside me.  You see, I have it in my self the ability to be either beautiful or beastly.  For much of my life, there has been more Beast than Beauty, as I have continually sought my own agendas, my own will and shomean spirited words at anyone that stood in my way.

Bein’ the outspoken, opinionated and controllin’ gal I can be, it’s no wonder that the “submission verses” pierce the heart of me.  I’m a loophole lover to boot, while I declare I have the desire to be obedient, I like to look for the exception, the “way out”, usually with the purpose of twisting things around to justify my own disobedience.  This is the “Beast” in me.

To complicate matters further, my beloved, Carl, is a fairly easy goin’ kinda guy.  He is a “Mr. Steady” (in reference to Created to Be His Help Meet” by Debi Pearl).  He hates discord and naturally gravitates to the path of “least resistance”.  My heart is heavy in remembrance of all the times I’ve bullied, badgered, and nagged him into doin’ things “my way”, sometimes usin’ angry, hurtful words, sometimes I played really dirty, pullin’ out the tears and the drama to achieve my goals.  I was an odious wife.

Have you ever looked up the word “odious”?  For the longest time I didn’t, because there was no need.  Odious just sounds horrible and ugly doesn’t it?  Dictionary.com has it defined as:  Arousing or meriting strong dislike, aversion, or intense displeasure.  It is more than just bein’ ugly, it’s producin’ a terrible and negative emotion in others.  It’s synonym is HATEFUL.  OUCH!

God’s Word says that the earth is DISQUIETED by an odious wife (Proverbs 30:23).  These brawlin’, angry women drive their men to long to live on rooftops (Proverbs 21:9, 25:24), even into the wilderness (Proverbs 21:19).  Oh sisters!  How horrible it is that my own husband has likely had these exact thoughts!

When Carl and I first married, Carl was not saved.  His father is agnostic and his mother, a devout Buddhist.  Carl’s own leanings favored his mother’s teaching but he wasn’t necessarily “practicing” (for lack of a better word).  In the beginning, I didn’t think that our religious differences would be that big of deal.  I mean, love conquers all, right?  To be honest, Carl was a lot nicer than any of the Christian guys I knew, and growing up in church and Christian Schools, I knew plenty.  Carl was kind to my son and was a real gentleman with me.

In my own stupidity, I chose to live with Carl before we were married.  While I continued to profess the name of Jesus, I did not live my convictions, so in that sense, my lifestyle and morals were no different than Carl’s, there was no discord in our paths at that time.  I am so grieved at the lifestyle that I lived and worse, exposed my son to.  Carl did not know any better at the time, so the fault lay completely with me.  I should have been a light, instead I snuffed it out.

Shortly after we married, God started callin’ me back to Him.  I’ve found He doesn’t leave me “out there” for too long before He says, “Okay Pat, time to come Home.”  I felt it on my heart to start livin’ how I believed.  Unfortunately, I didn’t do what I was suppose to (not surprising considering I was not walkin' in the Spirit).

Had I been in the Word and prayer like I should have been, I would have read what *I* needed to do to be a Godly wife.  Instead, I twisted scriptures and applied them to Carl, yeah, I like to do that (*sigh*).  You see, I was a Christian, I didn’t need any work (*snort*), I was saved and forgiven, right?  Carl was the heathen, therefore, he was the one that needed to “get right with God”.  Boy oh boy, was I a mess, and you can probably guess what state our marriage was in.

Had I been in the Word properly, askin’ God to change ME not my husband, I’d have read verses like 1 Peter 3: 1-6:

“Likewise, ye wives, be in subjection to your own husbands; that, if any obey not the word, they also may without the word be won by the conversation of the wives; While they behold your chaste conversation coupled with fear.  But let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.  For after this manner in the old time the holy women also, who trusted in God, adorned themselves, being in subjection unto their own husbands:  Even as Sara obeyed Abraham, calling him lord: whose daughters ye are, as long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amazement.”

I did, however, I become very familiar with the verses that spoke to husbands, as I began to demand that he behave as a “Christian” husband.  My conversation was far from chaste, I was not meek and quiet, and I certainly did not call him, “Lord.”  I had chosen to take the path of foolishness which says that my inability to do right was someone else’s fault, neglectin’ the fact that no where in the Bible is any believer excused of sin based on a non-believer's sin.  Yet in my mind, if I wasn’t a “Godly wife” it was because my husband was not a “Godly husband”.  Afterall, he is the head of the house.

So I became what had driven Carl away from Christians.  I became the worst kind of hypocrite, brow beatin’ him with the Word, verbally condemning him, all the while continuin’ to live my own life with an infected, ***** log in my eye.  Carl had had several encounters with “Christian” families in his childhood, and they were not pleasant, I’d say they were downright painful.  Imagine his heartache to discover he’d married what he had so carefully avoided?

Well, God had it in His mind to save Carl, despite my sad behavior.  Carl had joined the Air Force, a sacrifice he made in desperation to save our family.  So off he went to Basic Training, expectin’ change, but got more than he believed possible.  God used a Gideon’s Bible (issued to all Airmen), a surly TI (Training Instructor) and an old football injury to call him to God's Gift of Grace, our Heavenly Father saved Carl during the fifth week of Basic.  It is an amazin’ story to say the least, however, there is a part of his salvation testimony which stings.

You see, God sent Carl AWAY from me to save him.  He cut off communication from me.  No part of my testimony was even a consideration in Carl’s salvation.  Many had planted seeds here and there, my parents, my Grandpa (can’t wait to see you in Paradise, Gramps!) and a dear friend, but not me.  I was humiliated, here I was his WIFE, and I had stood in Carl’s way to eternal life.

I wish I could say I learned my lesson.  Sadly, I did not.  In some ways I became even worse.  However, you will have to grieve with me another time as this tale of the Beast continues.  For now, I just wanted to share how we can be instruments of grace or total ****ation.  Eternity is on the line sisters, and we cannot waste time bein’ disobedient and contentious.  Praise God that He worked miracles in spite of my wretched words and actions.

Sisters, if you find yourselves in a marriage to a lost husband or if you know someone who is, please, go to God’s Word with prayer and humility.  Even if your husband is saved but just needs some help findin' his way, do not become the odious and brawlin’ wife that I had been.  Go to our Heavenly Father’s feet with fear and tremblin’.  God’s Word says that we may just win him without the word!  Through our conduct and chaste conversation, appealin’ to the “hidden man of the heart”, God can use us powerfully in our husbands’ lives, or we can be a stumbling block that stands in the way of Heaven.

I was just introduced to the music of Casting Crowns.  All I can say is WOW!  There was so much truth on that CD and I just kept sayin', "YES  LORD!!  YES!!"

"What if His People Prayed" really touched me and challenged me.  Sometimes prayer is seen like "not enough" and yet it is the most powerful thing any of us can do!  To call on the name of our Heavenly Father is no small thing!  God help me to remember you first, not when I've exhausted all other options!

What If His People Prayed

What if the armies of the Lord
Picked up and dusted off their swords
Vowed to set the captives free
And not let satan have one more

What if the church, for heaven's sake
Finally stepped up to the plate
Took a stand upon God's promise
And stormed hell's rusty gates

Chorus:
What if His people prayed
And THOSE who bare His name
Would humbly seek His face yeah
And Turn from their own way

And what would happen if we prayed
For those raised up to lead the way
Then maybe kids in school could pray
And unborn children see light of day

What if the life that we pursue
Came from a hunger for the truth
What if the family turned to Jesus
Stopped asking Oprah what to do

Chorus:
What if His people prayed
And THOSE who bare His name
Would humbly seek His face yeah
And Turn from their own way

He said that they would hear
His promise has been made
He'll answer loud and clear yeaah
If only we would pray

If My people called by My name
If they'll humble themselves and pray
If My people called by My name
If they'll humble themselves and pray

Chorus:
What if His people prayed
And THOSE who bare His name
Would humbly seek His face yeah
And Turn from their own way
He said that they would hear
His promise has been made
He'll answer loud and clear yeaah
If only we would pray

What if His people prayed

If My people called by My name..........

I’m feelin’ so yuck

Da dum da dum

This yuck is just muck

Dad um da dum

Most certainly stuck

In this Influenza funk!

I got it quite bad

Da dum da dum

It makes me so sad

Da dum da dum

This ain’t no cool fad

This influenza funk!

My head is quite large

Da dum da dum

As big as a barge

Da dum da dum

It’s full of garbarge (Come on, go with it, it works!)

This influenza funk!

I’m feelin’ so pukey, Momma

I’m feelin’ so pukey, Momma

I’m feelin’ so pukey, I could…

sleep for a really long time.  I mean seriously long time.  I mean, I could honestly sleep clear until Saturday, maybe even Sunday.  In fact, I think the cows could come home before I would want to wake up.  Ack!  Back to my song…

This Influenza funk!

(This is a blatant attempt to drum up a whole lot of pity.)

Now, if y'all will excuse me, I've got a boat to catch.

Thirteen years ago today, I welcomed to this world my firstborn.  It is so hard to believe that that much time has passed and that he is right there, in the doorway to bein’ a man.  Our lives have been turned upside down a thousand times in these last thirteen years and the results have been truly glorious.  I cannot deny that my life and my son’s life is the handiwork of God.  He has a way of creatin’ something beautiful out of the desperate and hopeless that one can’t help but see His Mighty Hand.

About thirteen years and nine months ago, I could not embrace the truth of Psalm 127:23.  I was a drinkin’, smokin’, partyin’ fool with not enough sense in her head to do otherwise.  It was utter nonsense from the start of my day to the end.  I don’t even know how I was the person I was, I don’t even know her anymore, I can’t for the life of me, answer that naggin’ question, “Woman, what on earth were you thinking’?”

My parents raised me to do right.  They told me to stay away from boys “like that”, they told me not to drink, smoke, do drugs and so forth.  I grew up a “good Christian girl” goin’ to private Christian schools and conservative Christian churches.  I’ve asked myself so many times, “Why, Patti, why?”  Only to be answered with silence. 

So, there I was, lost in two packs of cigarettes and a case of beer a day habit.  My “friends” were about as wholesome as the bottom of my outside trash bin after sittin' for a week in the hot and humid aftermath of a hurricane.  Yeah, that nasty.  Was I happy?  Hardly, why do you think I drank a case of beer?  Because six beers were not enough to numb me to the utter depravity I’d drowned myself in.

I was angry.  My life was a waste.  That “holy” teenager with the “heart for missions” I wrote about in my previous blog died not long after graduation.  I was in trouble and I knew it.  I was so far beyond the point of no return, I shouldn’t be alive today to be honest.

Finally, I had had enough and I shouted at God.  I told Him my life stunk and I was all alone and He promised me that I would never be.  I was so foolish I couldn’t even see that it was me that left Him, not the other way around!  So I told Him, “Fine!”  If He wanted my sorry life, He could take it.

Just so you know, to our Heavenly Father, those are the most precious words He could hear, and be ready for the earth to shake, ‘cause mountains were gonna start movin’!

It wasn’t but a month later that I was stumblin’ down the hallway to my filthy, tiny, ghetto apartment to the bathroom, hopin’ with all my might that what I thought was goin’ on wasn’t what was goin’ on.  Two pink lines.  In that moment, there was not a speck of me that felt two pink lines were an evidence of a “reward”.  Those two pink lines felt like a death sentence.

Praise God that my parents were able to hammer into me two truths.  Number one, every child born or unborn is a life, and abortion is an abominable act.  Number two, your child is innocent of your sins and you’d better not make them suffer for your stupidity.  In that moment, two things stopped that very day, I did not smoke another cigarette, nor did I drink another beer during the course of my pregnancy.

The first thing to go was my pride.  Never in my life have I ever had a more monumentous task before me than the task of goin’ home to my somewhat estranged (by me) parents and tell them I was pregnant.  The second thing to go was my job.  I was fired from the restaurant I worked at because they didn’t want a teenage pregnant girl greetin’ their customers.  I didn’t fit with the partyin’, good-time atmosphere.  The next to go was my “friends”, since I couldn’t swig a beer anymore, and I couldn’t be around cigarette or any other kind of smoke.  I was no good to them, no more fun.  The last thing to go was my baby’s father, who couldn’t even muster the guts to tell his parents.

It was not an easy pregnancy.

Fast forward nine months, and there I was holdin’ my new born baby.  I had no job, no home, no husband, and my child had no Daddy.  But somehow I just knew, somehow, we were gonna make it.  Somehow, God was goin’ to work a miracle in the lives of this scared and lonely teenager and her precious son.  No matter what it took, we would succeed.

I have told my son so many times, that I believe God sent him to save my life.  He was the reason for the severing of ties with an unholy crowd.  He was the sweet healing balm between my parents and me.  He paved the way for my beloved and me to meet.  He kept my beloved and me together when we were both so lost that the only solution appeared to be to quit.

So today, I celebrate not just my son’s birthday, but in a way, my birthday too.  The day that a bratty, selfish teenager was born into a mom.  The road has not been easy.  There have been so many times when there were more bets against me than for me, and there were times when I fully deserved those condemnations and judgements.  I am, sometimes, not smart enough to learn the easy way, so I have had to learn certain lessons several times over.  I have really an amazing capacity to sink to complete foolishness and repeat said foolishness ad nauseum.

Holdin’ my baby boy, lookin’ into his trusting and innocent blue eyes, I knew that things were gonna turn out alright for us, but I had no idea.  Today I am married to the most awesome man that walks this earth.  He was handpicked by God Himself to be my baby’s loving and adoring Daddy.  Never could I have imagined that that little infant would grow to be such a kind, gentle hearted, selfless young man that would adore his siblings and look forward to having more little ones to pester him.  I never would have seen myself being able to stay at home with my children, exactly where I want to be, to homeschool them and be free from the burden of having to help support our family.  I am livin’ out my dream and it is so very sweet.

Now I don’t know what God was rewarding me for when He gave me my son, ‘cause I haven’t done much to deserve the endless joy that I’ve been blessed with in the faces of all my children.  I guess it’s just one of those grace things where I was given a totally unearned gift of grace.  But now that I know how truly amazing each of my children are, now that I embrace that these little lives are my heritage, my reward, I cannot help but fall down at the feet of my Heavenly Father begging Him to bless us with more, lots more.

All this because our Father, in His infinite wisdom, opened the womb of a depraved teenage sinner and blessed her with a child.  Thank you God, and thank you Bryce.  Happy Birthday, my sweet son.

Growin' up, our church had a sign that hung over the exit that said, "You are now entering the mission field."  I always thought it was the coolest idea.  Whoa, when I step foot out this door I am ministering to all those lost souls "out there".  Every time I passed under that sign, I would read that sentence and feel...I don't know...holy.  I was goin' out to minister to the heathen.

Now, the thought behind the sentence I'm sure is a good one.  But my mind can do silly tricks and turn things into what it wasn't meant to be.  I suppose the same was true of this sentence.  "The mission field" became something that was "outside".  It was not intimate, and it certainly did not include my siblings nor my parents.

In high school, I thought I had a "heart for missions".  Two summers in a row I went to Tecate, Mexico on youth mission trips.  Sure it was hard work, we built houses and helped do a VBS for the kids, but more importantly, it was a parent approved hiatus from being with the ol' family.  In all honesty, they were vacations.

Anyhow, there I was, pouring all my love out to those Mexican kids, while in my own home, there were two little children who really wanted the love and care of their older sister but instead got resentment and brush off's.  In Tecate, I was hammerin' nails into concrete, hangin' drywall and paintin' exteriors, but at home, I couldn't manage to keep my room clean.  So far from home, I could smile at my fellow mission trippers and laugh at the inconveniences of close quarters, when few of my family even heard much more than a sarcastic remark and a sneer from me.

Friends, this should never ever be the case!

How utterly wrong I was in thinking that the "mission field" was somewhere "out there"!  No dear brothers and sisters, the mission field is right here, in our faces, in our space!  In our homes, under our rooves.  The mission field is not just outside the church, it is inside the church too.  The fact is, the mission field is every minute of every day, with every person.  We rarely ever LEAVE the mission field!  How can we strive to be Godly warriors for Christ as we throw all that we are into our "ministries" while neglecting our closest loved ones?

I used to think how I treated my family really had no impact on what sort of person I was.  I mean, teenagers are supposed to be disrespectful, siblings are supposed to fight.  I'd be nicer to my family if they were less annoying...You know, I was right.  How I treated my family really did have no impact on what sort of person I was, it WAS the sort of person I was and it accurately predicted the type of person I would be as a wife and mother.  How I acted with my family was my true self.  It was the ugly me that my friends never saw.  That the boys I was interested in would never know.  Who you are isn't the person you "put on" for outsiders, the person that makes you say, "You know, you're such a good person," it's the person you are when no one (in your mind "important") is looking.

It wasn't until I had my own family that I realized how off my perception of the "mission field" was.  I would watch other people's children as a favor, and I had more patience with other people's children, and showed more attention and kindness to them than I did my own children.  When guests came into my home, I poured on the hospitality, serving every last whim with a bright smile, when only minutes prior to their arrival I was quarreling with my husband and snapping at my children. 

Oh, but those children I babysat and those guests I had in my home were my "mission field".

WRONGO!

I recently read through Proverbs 31 with my incredible mentor, whom I dearly love.  Something dawned on me, that woman ministered TO HER HOME!  To her household, to her children, to her husband.  She wasn't out there cryin' about "her own ministry", her home WAS her ministry!  Her "mission field" was right there, under her own roof and she knew it!

The Word says so much to us parents about training our children, to us wives about submitting to our husbands, IN ALL THINGS (wow, does it really mean that?).  It constantly equates our relationship with God and fellow believers in familial terms.  The church as Christ's bride, Christ as it's groom.  In some cases, if the love of God were to be likened to the love between a husband and wife, people would be runnin' for the atheistic hills!  And our fellow believers are brothers and sisters?  Hmmmm, I can't think of the last time I hurled an insult at someone at church, yet that is exactly what I would not think twice about doin' to my siblings!  And what of this picture of God being our Father?  Our Parent?  Are we the parents to our children that God is to us, do we even try to be?

The Bible talks about these close familial relations because they are suppose to be our strongest ties, our most meaningful relationships.  And yet so often, there is this pull that our ministry is "greater" than these!  How wrong for us to desire more when we are such poor stewards of what we have!

I have realized that the time I spent under my parents roof was preparing me for ministry, the ministry of service to my family.  The ministry of being and raising Godly warriors for Christ, the behind the scenes ministry of supporting and following my husband, that was what I should have been learning.  Instead I learned to be resentful, to jealously guard my "rights", my "personal space", my "privacy".  I learned how to be sweet and kind as a temporary condition, rather than truly being transformed into a humble and quiet spirit that delights in seeing to the cares of others.  Too often, I heard the same irritated and inconvenienced tones I used with my parents and siblings again as I interacted with my own children and husband.  I was well versed at rolling my eyes at my husband's "unreasonable demands", as I'd had many years practice in rollin' my eyes at my parents.  I never thought twice about speakin' ill of my children or my husband to outsiders, just as I had done to my parents and siblings.  I spent my whole childhood rebelling against authority, telling myself that life would be better once I was my "own person".  All those times I told myself that my actions and attitudes would change when I had a husband and children of my own were my deepest moments of disception.

There was so much that I should have learned.  The fact that I didn't learn these things, I will tell you straight up, is not the fault of my parents.  I bear the full burden of my harbored sins and attitudes.  It is with so much regret that I remember all those unanswered opportunities of grace.  I've watched my younger brother and sister struggle with things that I, as their older sister, could have helped them avoid!  Many times, I wonder if I was the one that led them to such things!  I choked on the yoke of authority only to discover that I am ALWAYS under authority.  I am now under the authority of my husband, in addition to the authority of Christ Himself!  I spent a childhood fightin' to be "on my own" when even now, I am still not on my own and never will be.  I do not have the freedom to do as I will as I thought I would.  Far from it.

I realized that my husband MUST come first (in terms of human priorities, obviously God comes first before all things).  My children MUST come after him.  His Holy Word is very specific in how I, not "should" but MUST commit myself to these duties.  This is my first and highest earthly priority.  And if those two realms are in hand, then and only then, dare I increase my efforts outward.  If those two realms are not, what foolishness it would be to seek ministry elsewhere!  What would it profit me to gain the hearts of others while losing the hearts of those dearest to me!  God forbid!  Lord save me from my arrogance of desiring my "own ministry" for it completely devalues the fact that He gave me my "own ministry" the day I married and had children.  I squandered my training when I lived with my parents and siblings, I completely missed the point of that time in my life, Lord help me not to waste these precious opportunities now.

I still have my "heart for missions".  However now, the stakes are so much higher!  It is so easy to put on a flashy show, sing some songs with starving children and swing a hammer.  How utterly convenient it is to turn off the "missionary" in me after the four week stint is done.  There was a sense of glamor in swooping in to "save the masses", of being the heralded "savior" of poor degenerate souls.  I've learned so much recently that I shake my head in shame of the mindset I once claimed.  The mission field is at times ugly.  It is grueling and ever present.  You don't get to turn it on or off.  You don't get to tell yourself, "In a few weeks this will all be over."  It is smilin' when you don't feel like it, holdin' a little one on your lap when you've had it "up to here" with her.  It's tellin' your friend, you can't join her for tea so that you can have the house tidy when your beloved comes home from work.  With all the hearts I saw turn to Christ when I was a Pharisee, nothin', not one single thing, will ever compare to hearin' any of my children's first earnest prayer.  At the end of the day with my straggly hair and my worn down nails and my food and water splattered dress, there is no where else in the world I'd rather be or no where else I'm needed more than when my husband pulls me to him and says, "I'm the most blessed man on earth because I have the best wife of them all!"

I'm thinkin' I'm gonna make my own sign.  It will say, "You are now entering the mission field."  And I will hang it on the outside of my front door so I can see if every time I come home, 'cause that is my first mission, to serve and nourishing the hearts of those that share my home.

No one ever accused me of being a trend setter.  So here I am, remaining true to form and jumping on the blogwagon long after it's come and gone five times now.

There is something cleansing about a New Year.  I've always seen it as a time to get rid of the ol' baggage, make new promises and dream new dreams.  Usually around this time, two things happen, I get irritated with myself for my failure to achieve my resolutions and I promise myself to do better.  You know?  That method just ain't workin'.  It hasn't worked for me for that last upmteen-jillion years, it ain't gonna work this one either.  So I'm ditchin' the New Year's Resolution nonsense.  'Cause I've learned somethin' incredible!  It's so exciting and so liberating and so energizing I want to shout it from the rooftops of every home in my neighborhood.  I'd do it to if I didn't think I'd get thrown in the brig for disturbin' the peace.  I'm not feelin' too peaceful at the moment, I'm feelin' like I'm gonna explode with glee!  Are ya ready for my newfound wisdom?  It's a kicker!

I'm a terrible sinner with no hope of achieving righteousness on my own.

THAT'S IT!  Ain't that just beautiful?!  I don't have to spend my days a-frettin' about what a loser I am.  I AM A LOSER!!  I don't have to kick myself in the pants for letting everyone down.  THAT'S MY NATURE!!  I am over the tippy top of my head in filth and I have no hope of comin' clean on my own.  MY SINS ARE SCARLET RED!!

Now, I know y'all are scratchin' your heads and wonderin' if you might need to call an intervention on my behalf, but seriously, I have never been more sane all my life.

As bizarre as all this may sound, and depressing to boot, let me share with you all why this is such an incredible lesson that is going to change my entire world.

You see, I'm a control freak.  I know, I know, all of you that know me personally treat yourself to your sarcastic, "Nooooo, really?"  Yes, I am.  Through and through.  I am a complete wreck when I am not holdin' all the cards, callin' all the shots.  And for those that are feelin' sorry for my husband right about now, you ought to, the poor man gets it full on.  However, as hard as I am on other people, there is no one that bears the burden of my drive heavier than me.

Have you ever read "The Cat in the Hat"?  You know that part where the cat is balanced on the ball while juggling all those insane objects while looking for more objects to add to the mix?  That's me.  At least the cat was a little smarter than me, because he only attempted that bit of nonsense once, then it all came a-crashin' down.  Not me.  My day crashes all around me only to wake up the very next morning with a bright and shining, "Look at me!  Look at me!  Look at me now!" as I climb right back up on that silly ball.  So, every New Year's previously was just like that but on a much grander scale with heavier burdens with dangerous implications.

You see, when I take matters into my own hands.  I'm bound to fail.  Because Patti is a sinner.

And with all that bein' true...in the end...I'm a winner.

Huh?  Yep!  I'm a winner.  Oh, not because I'm gonna climb up on that confounded ball again.  Not because I'm gonna finally figure out a plan that works for me.  Not because I'm gonna willpower my way to being a healthy, intelligent and compassionate human being.  I'm going to win because I've given up.

Yessiree!  I've thrown in the towel, bought the farm, lost the race, the fat lady has done sung her song and packed up her bags, Elvis has most certainly left the building!

While I cannot possibly succeed in my own merit, there is someone who not only can but already HAS!  This person has already agreed to take upon himself every evil thought, every wicked deed, all my selfishness, arrogance and foolishness.  He has bought and paid in full for each transgression.  When I was still in my muck and stench, He loved me, and by His love and sacrifice, He removed every inch of slime and waste in one moment.

Are you gettin' the picture?  This man, born so many years ago, who was present at the earth's creation and sits on the Seat of Judgement, knew what a sorry sort of person I would be and yet, He sacrificed Himself without hesitation for me.  And through Him I am washed clean, WHITER THAN SNOW!

Hallelujah!  Christ has won!  He's already paid the blood price for you and me!  He stretched out his arms to hold us even as they beat him, mocked him, stabbed him and drove the nails through his body.  As the demons cheered, as Satan raised his fist in victory, Jesus Christ was hurled into Hell itself bearing the weight of my wretched sin.  But how those same demons shrieked, how Satan howled when my Lord and Savior burst forth from that fiery realm and broke me free forever of my bondange!  Oh Sweet Beautiful Jesus!  Victorious and Magnificent!  I am whiter than snow because of You!

In the past, I've taken this for granted.  In the past I've even scoffed and mocked His saving grace.  I've taken His sacrifice for license to continue in my ugliness.  I've shunned His gift of mercy for the desire to control my own life, my own "destiny".

That day is done.  Startin' right now, before New Year's Day.  I am givin' up all controls, all desires, all ambitions for one simple thing.  I want to know Jesus more.  I want to love Him more.  I want to live for Him more.  I want Him to finish in me the good work He has begun.  I cannot finish that work, all I can do is step aside and let Him in.  I have His Holy and Perfect Word to guide me.  I don't have to guess at what kind of woman God wants me to be, it's all right there in the Holy Bible.  I don't need to search out psychologists, motivational speakers, or the great Supernanny herself, because I've got His unchanging, UNFAILING truth to teach me the joy of the freedom He's given me.

So you see, I don't have to have a New Year's resolution.  All I need to do is study His Word, obey His Word, pray without ceasin', experience His joy and peace and claim the victory over my sin nature that has already been decided.  I cannot fail, because God's already won!  Hallelujah!  Hallelujah!

"Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."  Isaiah 1:18

Today's Bible Study:  Psalm 51