I know practical. I am a boring, no nonsense kinda gal. Although I can usually get the job done, there is often much to be desired in my fleshly modus operandi. I assess the bottom line and trudge in headlong without noticing or caring about the people in the process. But I am learning ~ or rather, the Holy Spirit is teaching me that every step in the journey IS the journey. And practical is not always best. 

I like need order, too.  I used to think I was a control freak, and, while not discounting that completely (Mr. Visionary made me say that), I have learned that most some of this is just the way I am wired. I can't handle visual cacophony with my mental processing ability intact (I can't think in a mess). All of that is to say that I like things neat. Even with seven children, this desire has not abated. It hasn't materialized either, but that is another matter.

My old method in getting the girls to clean up their room was to come in and elbow-to-elbow with them, help them find order, fussing all the while, focusing more on the job than the little hearts. Partial enlightenment came, and I changed this method to: "If you can't keep it cleaned up, you can't keep it". That wasn't being mean, just...(here's that word again)...practical. If they couldn't keep it clean, they must have had too much stuff, so I'd help them get rid of stuff. Originally this method was met with weeping and gnashing of teeth, but over time, as they realized they never missed the extra stuff, the girls came to love getting rid of more stuff. It really was easier, they found.

But there are times now, even with very little clutter, that it is still a burdensome task for them to keep things orderly. Through praying for an idea to help my ladies, the Lord led me to a plan that blesses them even more than my help with the cleaning (although they still welcome this act of service). I came in today following the usual plan, "When the timer goes off, whatever is not in it's place goes in the bag", when the Lord whispered to me to rearrange the furniture. Huh? I didn't really get it, but I obeyed.

I made a few little changes here and there, only moving pieces that Mr. Visionary would approve of our moving without his help. A new doily, a new plant, and some of my Valentine's roses...and my girls were blessed. Oh, so blessed. It inspired them to feel good about their room, it encouraged their femininity, and if not giving them a new lease on life , then at least a new lease on their day. Smiling and encouraged, they flitted about, making their own changes, adding their own new touches, and the whole matter was concluded in half the time as usual.

These are good girls who sometimes get weighed down by their burdens. I don't need to add to it by being so practical. (C'mon, Mom, remember what it feels like. Weren't you feeling this way just yesterday?) Dawn is right, people and relationships  really are more important than everything else.

Thank you Lord, for letting blind eyes see... One. Moment. At. A.Time.

• Comments (2) • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link

A rumpled brow, a furitive glance behind each shoulder...then 'the question'. With obvious trepidation in their voice and fully expecting the worst, they ask, "What do (gulp) the children think of her?"   If these folks could be a fly on the wall in my home...   "Hurry up you guys! Everybody come quick-she's doing it!"   From every corner of the house, seven of us scurry to the scene, dropping everything in an effort to witness Babydoll's smile. As we jockey for position, striving to be directly in her field of vision, we hope that this priceless-but-fleeting grin will reappear.   In our family, there is an eight-way tie for who is most qualified to be president of her fan club, eight contenders for the Who-Can-Make-Her-Smile award. The prize is the smile itself.   It is not unusual for the entire family to stand encircled around this Blessing enthralled with her every breath, as the rest of life slips into suspended animation. It can wait...We have taught our children that if this is not our response to such an event, that there is something very wrong.   What do the children think of her?   Our children have been taught to think God's thoughts after Him. "Lo, children are a heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward" Psalm 127:3. This means every child. Not just the first child born to wealthy Americans with established careers. The blessing extends to the seventh child...or the fifteenth. The circumstances do not fulfill or negate the blessing.  "The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it" Proverbs 10:22. A child is a blessing simply because He has declared it so. My children understand this better than the average adult.    And that understanding deepens with every smile...   "Y'all come quick...she's doing it!"

• Comments (3) • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link

There are times when I am unsure if I am dreaming. Did I hear it or did I imagine it? In the early morning hours before I awake, I am half listening for it, half savoring the last few minutes of slumber before it comes. It always comes. Without respect for the day, the season, the temperature...it comes. At exactly point eight millimeters from my ear, at precisely 90 decibels, (a full hour before I desire to be awake),  Little Napoleon startles me awake  every morning by whispering, "Mom, can I have a snack?" While this forced discipline of waking early is technically helpful, ( I do need to get up), let the record show that it is not my preferred method of waking. A more propitious ceremony for my tastes involves waking with the sun gently shining on my face, snuggling with Mr. Visionary, and slooowwwwly slipping into coherency. In silence. Although this is (*sigh*) not the life of a Momma, and the rest of the family has to be fully awake before even thinking about food, this little tike is ravenous the second his eyes open. Enter cookies for Santa-my "great" idea. While our family does not participate in any of the sweet stories, storybook legends blasphemous teachings about Santa Claus, we have drafted, tongue-in-cheek, this euphemism about the plate of cookies. Each night before bed, I will set out a plate of non-perishable snacks (crackers, fruit, raisins, etc.) and a drink on the kitchen table. My plan involves Little Napoleon waking in starvation mode, and going directly to the kitchen to savor this snack, this "first breakfast" before the real breakfast is served. This would conceivably give me time to get ready for the day, meet with the Lord, and have a clue what will be for breakfast. Besides, I cook better when fully dressed. There have been a few glitches in the plan, that have been easily remedied. First, I occaisionally often forget to leave the snack on the table. One morning of being jolted out of a dream cures my memory issues temporarily. This forgetfulness has built-in consequences. The second detail to accomodate is that Little Napoleon has acquired a trusty sidekick in the person of Doodle. So I leave a snack for two. Problems solved. The last dilemma to settle is that when I do remember to leave the snack, at exactly point eight millimeters from my ear, at precisely 90 decibels, Little Napoleon startles me awake every morning by whispering, "Mom, is it OK to eat my snack?" Even with no sleep, I'd rather wake to this little voice than an alarm clock any day.

• Comments (3) • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link

During the time Jonah was angry with God, the Lord made a plant to grow up during the night to shade him. When the Lord saw fit to have the plant wither and die the next day, Jonah was even angrier with God.  While our current circumstance is not exactly parallel to Jonah's, the similarities are sure. Our barn cats are a needful and effective addition to our farm. Without their proficiency in eliminating mice and moles, we would be overrun with snakes. When the cats step out of the realm of mice and moles, and into birds and, as in the present case, baby squirrels, our Deuteronomy 6 role changes. Instead of confidently proclaiming God's wisdom and ways, we quietly ponder the mysteries of His will, praising Him with certainty in the former, and by faith in the latter. Yesterday afternoon our children rescued a baby squirrel from one of the barn cats. They researched how to nurse him back to health, and exuded all that is tender care and concern for him. They optimistically ignored the statistics that showed squirrels rarely surviving cat encounters. They prayed for his recovery, and in a mother's humble opinion, did everything possible to ensure his return to health. His death late last night was a hard blow to the children. After the funeral, it should prove to be a hard lesson as well. "Then said the Lord, Thou hast had pity on the gourd, for the which thou hast not labored, neither made it grow; which came up in a night, and perished in a night" Jonah 4:10. When their compassion for the squirrel is compared to their compassion for their siblings, my prayer is that they are equally grieved. The Flower Child, who never met a baby or a critter she didn't love...

• Comments (3) • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link

My middle son has been reincarnated. Well, at least his personality has. It has appeared in  the form of his younger sister who is currently at the ripe old age of two and a half. What these siblings have in common is their tendency to be stormy toddlers. You know the ones: grouchy, easily offended, with hot little tempers.   Of course everyone can be like this at times. We come by it honestly, being the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve that we are. Gratefully, sanctification can deal a death blow to the majority of it for those of us older folks. Toddlers do not have the ability to deal with it effectively, however, at least not without some training. Enter Mom and Dad.   As I have prayed recently about our feisty Doodle, and how the Lord would have me handle her outbursts, I suddenly remembered. I have been through this before! Why I had not recollected it sooner, I cannot say. I would need to use the old standby, the Chair Treatment.   As a toddler, when The Dreamer had an episode of "losing it", the only cure was to pick him up (kicking and screaming if necessary), take him to the rocking chair, and rock him until he melted. The amount of time it took to get our happy little boy back varied, but the plan never failed. Eventually he would be a good-humored, happy-go-lucky little guy again.   We have recently taken up this practice successfully with the Doodle, and are likewise experiencing  foolproof results:   It appears to work for The Daddy, too.

• Comments (1) • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link

My children love to read. Every one of them will pick up a book, or in the case of Little Napoleon, an arsenal of books, and read during any free moment (even moments when they aren't supposed to be free). They come by this trait honestly, as Mom & Dad also have a healthy appetite for books, and the children have been read to since they could breathe.

Reading books is a good thing. If I had to choose between my children loving to read or detesting the practice, there would be no contest. It makes every part of educating them easier, even if it means you have to first censor every printed material that reaches your home.  

However, I have recently discovered that there can indeed be too much of a good thing. I have had my eldest, The Literary Lady, tested by a Pediatric Occupational Therapist , a board certified vision therapist, and an optometrist to discover what exactly was happening with her vision. She would often complain that she couldn't see "straight"-that the letters would move around on her, or that she could not focus on the words she was reading.  Her letters and numbers were frequently backward, and she grew to hate writing of any kind.

What we discovered was a condition that was far easier to treat than I had hoped. My Literary Lady was struggling because of a condition called accommodative fatigue, which is caused by simply reading too much. During childhood, a person's eyes are not strong enough handle the stress of shifting from reading fine print close up, to writing, or reading at a distance. The eyes get tired, and just can't focus clearly. The solution: cut back on the reading.

After a mere two weeks of restricting the amount that she has been allowed to read books, (with tons of explanation, of course), she is drastically improved! She is back to enjoying writing, and doesn't have headaches or blurred vision.

All things in moderation, right?

Well, except that I am shopping for a nice large print Bible for her, because of all things, I will not restrict her reading that.

• Comments (1) • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link

I can't decide if this means I have done something very, very wrong, or very, very right. The reaction I am receiving is surely not an accurate barometer, as I have been , against my will, cast in the role of Wicked Mommy of the West.  The weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth has to be (at least in part) pure melodrama.   A recent tradition in our family is to have pizza for dinner on Friday nights. Nothing spectacular about that except for my favorite part: the big girls (Lady Literary (11) and The Flower Child (allllmost 10) make the pizza from scratch. I'd love to tell you that I do something meaningful or especially redeeming with my time that is freed up by not making dinner, but I can't without stretching some truth.   Last night, the girls were sent inside ahead of the rest of the family to start the pizza, while the rest of us stayed out finishing yard work.  The rule having always been, "If you have trouble, come get Mom",  and since I heard nothing from them, I was fully expecting to come inside and praise the ladies for their hard work,  increasing skills, etc.   But...the ladies had, instead of making pizza, been...(insert gasping, sucking-in-of-air-in-shock-and-dismay sound here)...reading books. Disappointed (but not surprised), I sent them to Pj's and showers while I threw the pizza together and Mr. Visionary laid down the law that the girls were "off books" for a week. Gulp.   My inner debate is between knowing it is great that they love to read books so much, and knowing that they still need to obey in a timely manner. My inner chidings stem from knowing that "someone" bought the six full-size bookshelves in our family room and stocked them with books , and that "someone" (who loves to play in the dirt) stayed outside way too late because it was more fun than coming in and keeping us on schedule.   So we'll be returning to Self-Control 101 for some remedial work.   Especially the Mommy.

• Comments (1) • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link