I am motivated often times by guilt.  I have yet to figure out how wrong that is.  Perhaps by the end of this blog I will have had a personally breakthrough...probably not...oh geez more guilt.

Lets start with the sidewalk chalk.  Innocent, cheap, amusing sidewalk chalk.  Ha! Not so much as it turns out.  My kids love it.  My dear husband does not.  So a little compromise says wise mother (me!).  Keep it on the drive way where daddy's car is normally parked.  Brilliant right?  When daddy comes home he drives over the colorful creation.  It all seemed so simple.  But I have a three year old.  And simple flys out the window like a bird in migration when you throw a three year old into the mix.  There was a pencil crayon in the chalk bucket.  Yes I agree.  WHY oh why was there a pencil crayon in the chalk bucket?  My spirited, independent three year old naturally took the pencil crayon and drew "lovely" pictures on the front porch.  Guilt.  Guilt over getting angry at my little girl for her creations and guilt over acting nonchalant with my husband when he came home that night. 

Moving on...I had great ambitions of doing math, reading and writing with my kids regularily this summer.  I have been trying to figure out how my daughter has managed not to read a single book yet in the month we have been officially done our work.  I have these great intentions.  Then when she shows opposition I crumble in and feel, wait for it, guiltly.  It is her summer vacation after all. She did work really hard all year you know.  Then at the end of the day when the sun has set again without a book being opened...more guilt.

I really should summarize or this could go on all day.  Here is my list of reasons to feel guilty:

*forgetting suncreen one afternoon

*too much tv

*too much computer time

*not enough social interaction

*that pile of laundry that needs to be folded

*my husband running out of clean underwear (oops its in the washed but unfolded basket of laundry)

*my husband going to work with a wrinkled shirt

*watching what not to wear at 11:30 in the morning three days in a row

*watching my son have a raging fever for three days before taking him to the doctor

*no bedtime story two nights last week

*getting my kids to bed at a decent time than explaining to their friends that knock on the door at 9 that they can't play

*getting my kids to bed too late

*not writing love notes in my husbands lunch

*not calling my mom

*not keeping in touch with friends

*eating an extra scoop of ice-cream

It's all about the guilt.  I am surrounded, blanketed, emerged, and sometimes drowing in it.

More often than not I find myself on knees uttering a very simple prayer.

"Oh Lord, forgive me. Give me strength for another day.  Thank you for my joy."

Because in the midst of all the guilt there is joy still. 

The new day is before me.  A blank canvas.  A new beginning.  A fresh start.   A chance to make new friends and greet the old.  Can you tell I was reading some Charlie Brown comics yesterday?  The gray skies and persistant drizzle of rain will not deter me from having a good day.  Nor will the red circle on my calander reminding me that I should be experiencing some premenstral mind altering mood swings today.  This is the day this is the day that the Lord has made.  I'm actually singing.  I just broke out into song.  I'm a star in my own musical.  At 7:25 in the moring sans coffee I am cheerful. 

On the homeschoolling front we have taken a break from our regular studies and have been doing onfire's study guide for 'Cheaper by the Dozen'.  It is fantastic.  We all look forward to reading the chapter each day.  It has been exactly what we needed combat our 7 month burnout. 

As for  personal reflections into me as a person I must say I can't complain.  I don't begrudge myself anything at the moment.  I am content with my choices of late.  I feel loved by my circle of friends.  Father is a constant companion.  My children laughed and enjoyed my presence yesterday.  My mom is not angry with me for anything.  Life is all that is should be.

My husband and I are in love.  I'm talking excited to see him in the morning kind of love.  Can't wait for him to come home from work kind of love.  Still lose my breath when he stares into my eyes kind of love.  What a gift that is.  Not only is he my best friend and only person I can tolerate being around for long periods of time but,  he holds the match that lights my heart onfire.  Okay I just made myself laugh. 

As an unrelated side note to this blog I'm thinking of rounding up all the chocolate bunnies (and there are plenty) and dumping them into the outside garbage.  On a scale of 1 to ten how bad of a mother would that place me?  I am not the rightful owners of said bunnies but I am the only person they haunt. 

I had read a while back that dermatologists regarded vaseline petrolium jelly as one of the best facial moisturizers around.  Elderly patients who had the least lined faces admitted to using only petrolium jelly.  At $1.99 for the family sized jar compared to $50 or more for more advertised facial creams it is a steal.  A real bargain.  If you believe it. 

Of course after reading those facts and being what some would coin "gullable" (I prefer "charmingly naive") I had to try it for myself.  Each night for a month I slathered my face in the smelly jelly.  I would lie down on my bed careful not to let anything but my hair touch my ridiculously high thread count egyption cotton sheets.  My husband learned to catch me before I indulged in this nightly ritual to kiss me goodnight and the times he was too late he went without.  He feared the grease transfer that happened upon the slightest touch.

Did it work?  Were the greasy stains on my lovely sheets worth it?  Well that is not so simple to answer.  Petrolium jelly does not blend easily into the skin.  It takes hours for it to be gone.  Upon waking however, my skin was dewy.  Yes.  Dewy.  Quite lovely actually. 

Did it help with wrinkles?  Nope.  Not that I could tell but then again I was looking for miracles.  What am I using now?  I have thrown my fate in with Loreal's anti-wrinkle cream.  Is it helping.  Nope.  Not anything I can see.  But then agian...yep miracles.  they are rare.  Does God even deal in between the eyebrows creases? 

Whew, I made it through my birthday.  It was harder than I thought.  So much for an empowered woman that is going to embrace this new year.  I am woman here me whimper!  The problem started when I listened to those annoying voices in my head telling me that I had no friends and that it was no wonder that I didn't because I was a lousy friend in return.  Not only did I listen but I believed.  How ridiculous of me.  How selfish of me.  My eyes left Father's and settled on myself and only sin happened.  How predictable.  I can't stand being predictable. 

The morning of my birthday arrived and I woke early as usual to pray.  I wasnt' feeling too motivated.  However, Father is good.  Aways.  Even when we are not.  Even when we are pouty, petulant, and obnoxious.  Perhaps I'm being to hard on myself...Anyway, despite my wallowings, He reminded me that he is good and trustworthy and that my day would be a reminder of his goodness. 

Never before have I had such a nice birthday.  Friend after friend called or emailed to wish me a wonderful birthday.  My mom came over despite being ill and brought me flowers and a cake.  My husband came home from work at lunch bearing my most favorite treat in the world : a panzerotti from Antonio's pizza.  Ahhh I can't even describe how amazing that was.  Then he came back only hours later to go for a walk with me!  Stolen time with my best friend.  Even more delicious than my lunch. 

It was a perfect day.  I didn't deserve it. 

I am 32. 

Let the good times roll.

This is my birthday month.  Happy Birthday to me.  I love March.  Who wouldn't.  It is the month of hope.  Hope of warmer days and melting snow.  I will be 32 years old on the 14th.  I am very excited to graduate 31.  It was a year of discoveries.  I discovered that I have to eat or I will gain weight.  I discovered that my smile lines don't always disappear after I stop smilng.  I also discovered that I really am no longer in my twenties. 

I feel that I have spent so many years waiting for something to happen.  Waiting to arrive at some destination.  Waiting for some revelation that will transform me into an adult.  It seems to have happen with little fanfare.  I couldn't tell you when I changed from child to adult.  I have been waiting for someone to tell me that I am one.  Apparantly that is not the way it works.  Am I grown up because I have four children?  Or is it because my children no longer wear diapers?  For me there in no clear answer.  No one determining factor.  No great revelation.  It just came to pass.

The joy in growing older is understanding that being grown up does not mean I stop dancing in my underwear or that I stop being awed at the grace and beauty of a Cardinal.    I can still eat ice-cream from the carton (when I am alone), I can still wear glitter make-up it I wanted (I don't), and I can still take part in and initiate public displays of affection with my husband.

10 reasons why this year will be better than all the rest:

10. all 4 of my children are proficient bottom wipers and hand washers

9. my children can all make it to the toilett to throw up

8. I only have to do my own seatbelt up now when I get into my van

7. any new wrinkle  just blends in with the others

6. new friends

5. homeschoolerblogger

4. my new sense of style (regular viewing of 'what not to wear')

3. my husbands raise

2. my summer vacation to Newfoundland

1. confidence that I am all that I need to be

I had a boy I loved

but the day came by

he said i'm moving on

He walked outside

I ran after him and cried

He said

why oh why do you have to cry

I saved your heart now I'm saying bye bye

He was with a girl he loved

but the day came by

that she said i'm moving on

so he came back to  me

I said  you broke my heart

he started crying

I sang why oh why do you have to cry you saved my heart now i'm saying bye bye

He said i didn't mean to break your heart

we fell on our knees and sang

why oh why do we have to cry we saved each others heart and now we're saying hi hi

I painted four rooms in  two days.  I think I have a problem.  I can't stop until my task is completely finished.  I painted until I dropped from exhaustion but it looks fantastic.  The Kitchen and fireplace room used to be a peach colour.  The dining room and living room were a basic light tan.

Here is a picture of my girls. 

Just becasue they are so beautiful. 

I'm looking for a woman's bible study to do online.  I think it would be a nice change from doing my own studies for awhile.  I think it would be nice to find a group of woman who all want to do the same one so we can talk about it.  Any takers?  Like our very own oprah book club.  Um without Oprah. 

February is wearing upon me.  It feels like we will never again play outside.  I forget what it is like to not have to provide a days entertainment indoors.  Not that I provide much.  "go play" really doesn't count right? 

I have vague memories of endlss hours outside.  Infact, I do believe I used to lounge around in the sun while the children frolicked merrily together in all of natures bounty.  That sounds accurate right? 

I am TIRED of my curriculum.  Boring.  I must press through and work hard...sorry, make the kids work hard.  If we can get through our regular stuff then I plan on switching things up in April or May.  My good friend wrote a study guide for "cheaper by the dozen' that i plan on using.  It will be a nice change from our ordinary stuff. 

I don't even do regular homeschool curriculum.  Mine is of the relaxed eclectic traditional notebook approach.  LOL.  Try explaining that to you mother.  I can't imagine what more "at school" homeschoolers are feeling right now. 

I need a date.  A night out.  A glass of wine.  A good conversation.  My husbands devotion for two hours.  Maybe next week.

When I woke up this morning I was less than thrilled about Family Day.  A new holiday from our government.  I mean a whole day of time with the kids!  Oh wait I do that everyday.  My lack of enthusiasum had much to do with my weekend of bed ridden illness I was still revovering from.  Me and three children had suffered through fever, chills, sore throat and hacking cough.  My oldest son was taking his turn and his fever this morning added to my reluctant feelings to this 'holiday'. 

I deternmined to make the best of it however declared that  there would be no t.v. at all today.  I am a little embarrassed to say that we all overdosed on movies during the weekend. 

Our kitchen table was a crafters paradise.  I pulled out the assorted collection of macaroni, paints, glitter ( i hate glitter), pipe cleaners, paper plates.   We sang silly songs.  We layed around together in a heap and talked.  We played a marathon game of monopoly.  (i hate monopoly).  I actually got the giggles.  I can't remember the last time i got the giggles.  I have been trying to get them but they are so elusive when being chased. 

It was a good day. 

Now I must go take care of my sick husband.  He was the rockstar of all husbands this weekend taking care of us all.  At one point there was four of us in our bed with fevers.  Such a man.

I have been recently in touch with some old friends.  Dear friends.  It is nice to reconnect.  It gives fresh perspective to so many things.  I have had an opportunity to reflect on my past with new eyes.  My family, my children, and my free time.

Having four kids I often hear the words, "my you must be busy".  I respond with a knowing smile and a slight roll of my eyes and a hearty nod.  "I sure am."

More and more lately, however, I feel untruthful when I respond as such.  How busy am I?  Too busy to watch Oprah?  Nope.  Too busy to blog?  Nope.  Too busy to revel in my husband? Nope.  Too busy to play duck duck goose?  Nope.  Too busy to light some candles, pour a glass of wine and soak in a tub?  Nope.  Too busy to read the entire Harry Potter series over Christmas. Nope. 

My long lost friend is hard to connect with.  She is so busy.  She is so busy she can never find time to email.  She is almost frantically busy.  Hmmm.  This has got me thinking.  Should I be busier?  What is wrong with me?  Should I be sowing homemade clothing for my kids?  Should I be cooking for a month in advance?  Perhaps I need to be spending even MORE time with my children.  Latin instruction perhaps?

I love my life.  I really find it peaceful.  And restful.  My time is my own.  Well it is after I spend time with Father at 6:30 every morning before the kids get up.  After I see my husband off to work.  After I make breakfast for the kids.  In shifts.  As they awake.  After I spend time with the little ones while the older two work.  After I spend time teaching the older two.  After I think of crafts.  After we make crafts.  After I vaccuum.  After I plan my meal for the month.  Okay so my time is my own in bits and pieces.  Here and there.  In shifts. 

The secret to staying home all these years I tell my working friends is losing the guilt when you read for an hour or when you steal a bath in the afternoon.  Taking time for ourselves is the original anti-depressant.  Who needs drugs when there is a hidden bag of chocolate covered almonds tucked away in my cupboard?

I will stand. 

I will walk. 

 I will run down any road you lead me to.

and if I fall

I know I will

I will reach my hands to you

I'll close my eyes

I'll take that step

the one that keeps me safe with you

I will sing

I'll sing for you. 

My Lord and King. 

Take my words my melody. 

It's all I have

you're all I want

For all the world to see and no one but me

I sing. 

 I sing for you.

When I can no longer carry

the burrden I bear

Let me lay it at your feet

and hurry on with your plan

My destiny

Your light in me

let it shine

 for all the world to see

I don't care

I will sing

I sing for you

My Lord and king

take my words my melody

Its all i have

Your all I want

for all the world to see and no but me

I sing

I sing for  you

When my journey ends

and I have no cares or worries

when the road I have followed true

leads me home to you

I will sing. 

 I sing for you.

My son was reading over my shoulder an email that an old friend had sent.  She had written asking if I was still the funny girl she once knew.  Dear sweet son commented "I didn't know you were funny mom!"

Hmmm. Of course I argued intently with him that I was extremely funny.  At his unbelieving look of supreme doubt I hastened to explain that my humour was more of the dry wit variety which was more over his head. 

"So how are you funny then?  Give me an example" he asked.

I scoffed at the notion that I had to prove my funniness all the while desperately trying to think of something funny.  Nothing.  I had nothing.  Reaching over I tickled him fiercely until he laughed.  Ha.  I made him laugh. 

I am FUNNY!  I know that i am.  I am sure that I am.  I must be.  I don't laugh a lot.  But i smile and say "thats funny".  I don't make jokes but I get jokes.  Usually.  I have a sense of humor I know that I do.  I just don't know how to describe it. 

After much thought here is my list of what makes me laugh (i do realilze this has nothing to do with my own abiltiy to make others laugh but i've moved on):

My kids

My husband: in a sweet "your such a goof" sort of way

My dogs: more of an indulgent chuckle

My friend Kristina: it is a shared laugh at ourselves mostly I think.

My mom: when she asks when i'm going to put my kids back in school or when she wonders out loud if my kids ever do work

My friend Jesse: all my memories of her are funny.

The movie 'Dude where's my car" : don't judge me until you see it.

My surrogate sister katie: she a bit of a neurotic 18 year old who keeps me entertained with her life. 

I have such a short list. 

Is it just me?  Am I the only one who laughs so little?  What is my problem?  When did life become so serious? 

"From silly devotions and sour faced saints, spare us, O Lord" Teresa of Avila

Yesterday I decided that we could all use a break from daily life.  So i announced that it was a day off.  Truly a mental health day for myself.  I let them watch an hour of television in the middle of the day.  That was a HUGE treat.  They were able to play games on the computer and do whatever they wished.  My other motive was a desire to see how they would spend free time on a last minute whim.  All in all it was a good day.  I became slightly snarky when my oldest two tried to find find an ulterior motive in my 'family fun day'  (i have an obsession with marking things with names.) I do regret my burst of anger because I was trying to see if I could be more fun and lighthearted as well.  Oh well.  I cannot make it through one day without losing my patience.  It's not the most enlightening revelation.  I did have doubts that I could do it.  I do think that the very act of mothering is foreshadowing to some sort of breakdown.  The very presence of children is a recipe for irratation at some point.  The foolishness of children can wear upon even a saint's nerves. 

What bothers me the most during the course of any given day is the bickering between my brood.  Oh it wears upon my nerves.  When i'm at my weakest and my nerves are bandaged up and recoverying from a previous assult it BUGs me.  When I'm rocking the mother deal and my nerves are rested and at peace it BUGs me. 

It is the area in my parenting that has been the most inconsistent.  Sometimes they are sent to a neutral corner and sometimes they duke it out.  I have manipulated peaceful co-existence with shameless bribery and I have refused to get involved in any way. 

Still, as I type my boys are fighting over room territory at the same time the older two are fighting over who is the faster worker.  My stragedy for today?  My ipod and it's trusty ear buds.  Michael Buble and volume control. 

My Day Take 1

Oh the bliss of staying home and parenting my four sweet angels.  There is nothing more rewarding than the knowledge of a job well done.  It was a frigid blistery day today.  We snuggled in the warmth of one another's love and cuddled under the soft fabric of my endless patience.  Homeschooling bliss. 

While my oldest two sat at their desk's working diligently my young son and daughter entertained themselves as I made my grocery list for the next two weeks.  Before I knew it my dear ones reminded me that it was time for the promised "wednesday afternoon games".  How could I have forgotten?

We danced to music while the littleslest amused herself by turning the sound on and off, watching us "freeze" then unfreeze.  We recited nursery rhymes and acted them out in pairs.  On and on the games went all the while my perfect roast was baking to perfection in the oven scenting the air with delectable and inticing aroma. 

Game time ended and we all dispersed for our pre dinner activities.  A winter's day bliss.

My Day Take two

Another day trapped inside.  A prisoner of winter's harsh hand.  Forced into cowardice by the cruel wind.  Mocked by each falling snowflake.  One more winter afternoon to entertain four tired, whiny children.  My oldest balked at their assignments.  As if it were news to them that they really did have to write out their grammar sentences.  As though that were not something they have been doing now for five months.  Their supply of sibling affection and good humour was running low and the well in which I drew my patience from was fast drying up. 

I flopped onto my bed and reached for my book.  There was nothing I wanted more than some mommy time after stressing over my grocery list and menu plans.  Then I looked up at the four eager faces at my bedside. 

"it's wednesday." (daughter)

"and"? (me)

"wednesday afternoon game day"daughter

"crap" (me)

We danced to the music and froze each time littlest one paused it.  Littlest one paused too often causing everyone to "freak"  out.  More dancing.  Oldest gets a little too excited and rams an eblow to oldest daughter's chin.  Much crying.  Much.  Red light green light.  Fist in a stomach.  Much crying.  Much.  Nursery rhymes.  Crying.  Can't remember why.  Game time ended.  I turned the t.v. on.  My faithful roast turned on me and scented the irritable air with a less delectable burnt crispy aroma. 

A winter's day ended.  Bedtime: one and a half hours.

:)

We have made it too easy to be a Christian.  The sole requirements are the recitation of a creed and attendance at a local church where there is no community and litlle fellowship.  Christianity used to be risky business, it is no longer.  Cost-free dischipleship produces wimps-

-Brennan Manning

My sole desire today and all the days that I have left is to serve my King.  To live bravely and surely for him.  To have a sacrificed life that is as sweet perfume.  I care not if I offend those who do not believe with his name.  I KNOW him.  He KNOWs me.  Jesus.  My entire life is a love song to HIM.   

I will not be a wimp for the kingdom.  I will give more than easy membership to a club and the required words that dictate the rules of attendance. 

I am the daughter of a King.  I will live in that favor...my children will bask in that certainty. 

I am sick.  Ugh.  This is my first cold of the season so really I shouldn't complain.  And I don't.  I barely get mopey.  How can I?  Same old story.  Busy mom with little help.  No time to get sick.  I prepared myself for a tough day.  Said goodbye to my husband with no resentment at all.  I was an old hat at this.  Expert at functioning through just about anything. 

Before I knew it the kids told me they were hungry.  It was 11:30.  11:30.  I had spent the morning mostly on the computer sipping at my coffee.  I asked my son how his work was coming. 

"Almost done mom."

My two little ones had been doing pre-printed crafts at the kitchen table and my oldest daughter, sick as well, had been reading.

Got lunch.  Mentioned that I might lie down and read my book. 

"Oh you should do that Mom.  We'll be uspstairs playing heroscape."

I finished my book and snuggled with my youngest.  She then got her own playdoe out and finished off the afternoon making "cookies" while I dozed. 

My husband came home from work with medicine, ginger ale and made dinner for us all.  The kids and I snuggled up in my bed watching a movie.  Before I knew it I was snuggled up in bed, the kids all asleep.  My day was over. 

Sometimes it takes slowing down to realize how quickly life has changed.  I have moved to a new stage in life.  A good place.  A new place.  I am ready to have more independence.  I think.  Well I'll adjust.  I may need to sacrifice that marytr complex I tend to wear like an old lady's shawl. 

Early morning.  Daylight has yet to waken.  I am up.  My morning greeting is gruff.  Coffee is scenting the air invitingly.  I have a double date.  My husband is already pouring my liquid bribe.  He is far more awake than I. 

Prayer.  Wisdom.  conversation.  resoration.  The sun is now awake and so is my family.  One by one "goodmornings".  Breakfast in shifts.  Another cup of coffee.  A kiss goodbye.  A day begun in earnest.

Math and grammar.  Tears and hugs.  Fights and games.  Reading and vocabulary.  Whining and crying. 

Lunch all together.   A dash for the van.  Urging, yelling.  "Hurry Up!"   A sigh.  A wrinkled brow.  An apology. 

Swimming lessons  for my middle child.  Lest he be forgotten.  Back to the van.  Back to my home away from home.  Another trip to the grocery store.  Many stares, many unasked questions as two very school aged children roam the aisles with me.  We alternate between arguing and laughing.  That is always our way.  Our family signiture.  It causes raised eyebrows and some jealous smiles.  That is always the way.

Home in time for tea.  A friend.  A new friend.  A new rhythm.  Conversation.  Relaxation.  Laughs and insight.  Time flies.  Hours gone spent with ease with likemindess.

Supper time.  Daddy's home.  Chaos.  Energy.  Headache.  A quick kiss and snuggle by the stove.  A chubby, tiny hand tugging.  Interupting.  A last glance of longing.  A promise in his eyes.  Baths.  Books.  T.V. 

Time for bed.  Relief.

My life is simple.    My days are spent for the most part in domestic obscurity.  Raising and lowering the blinds to signal the endless repitition of the beginning and the ending of each day.  Teeth brushing, hair brushing, leg shaving.  Math sheets, grammar, creative writing.  Laundry, dog walking, movie night.  Saturday cartoons, morning devotions, oil changes.  Nail clipping, bath night, wiping behind the microwave.  Lightbulb changing, sock sorting, snow shovelling.

I am housewife hear me roar.  Whether or not it will it be a roar of an empowered woman content and strenthened by the certaintly of a job well done, or a roar of frustration that there are clean clothers in the dirty laundry hamper depends on my mood.  Unfortunately my mood is fickle and tempermental just ask my husband (he better not answer).  My feelings are about as trustworthy as the Motion Picture Rating system.  I am likely to dissapoint everyone my life sooner or later.  I can't do it all or be it all.  Though I do find myself trying. 

There are days I worry that it is all for nothing.  That rather than a joy it (my life) is a sacrifice.  On these days I find comfort in an old monk's journaled word's:

"if God wants it to, my life will be useful through my word and witness.  If he wants it to, my life will bear fruit through my prayers  and sacrifices.  But the usefulness of my life is his concern , not mine.  It would be  indecent of me to worry about that." Dominiqu Voillaume

Every other week I gather the clan and drive to my Grandmothers apartment to clean it for her.  I have been doing this for about  four years now.  She has always paid me $20 to do this.   Paid me when I desperately needed it for extra groceries and still pays me now when it is just nice to have money in my wallet.  She refused to let me clean without being payed. So as I am dusting, scrubbing, and vacuuming my children get to play with their great-grandma.  They all gather on her carpet to play with the assortment of toys she keeps in an old green box.  Toys which I recognize from my childhood days on her carpet.  'Grammy' is there too sitting on the carpet building planes, farms, reading stories.  'What does the cow say?"  She has asked each of my four before patiently repeating "moo moo".  My grandmother thanks me profusely when the vacuum has been put away and I tell the kids to clean  up.  As if I am doing her a favour.  Hmmm.  I know differently. 

Our day with 'Grammy' never ends with the vacuuming.  We all pack up, bundle up, lock up and drive to McDonalds.   Where she buys lunch.  I have perfected the order to float around $33 and yesterday i managed to get it to $26.  Yea.  Good day.  I am careful with her money because she has so little yet gives so generously.

The kids ran to play and we chatted and drank our coffee.  It was in the middle of her retelling a story I had heard so many times before that I was suddenly struck by her.  She is impossibly tiny and savagely wrinkled as if she baked one time too many in the sun.  She lives alone and has been widowed for about thirty years.  She is my rock.  My sympathetic ear.  My example.  My encouragement.  My truth teller.  My best friend.  She brought me to the library for the first time as a child.  And kept bringing me back.  She made sure i was at sunday school each week.  She expected a certain behaviour and always got it.  She convinced me I was a good writer and said I would write a book one day.  When I wrote two she wasn't surprised only proud.  She is as unchanging with my children as she has always been with me.   When I describe my homeschooling style I say "it is like the education my grandma would have gotten".  She has influenced so much of my life.

Staring at her in McDonalds I realized that she has been Jesus to me.  And it was in that moment, sipping coffee with her and listening to her stories that contentment flooded through my weary soul.