tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39641273823815865702024-03-13T23:48:23.952-04:00Though it be madness, yet there is method in it!A glimpse into the daily life and thoughts of this particular herd of "Sheps." Enter with caution. It's about to get REAL in here.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.comBlogger599125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-91865707095955194572024-01-02T21:52:00.004-05:002024-01-02T21:59:07.014-05:00A Super Short Word for 2024Brevity is not my strong suit, but I feel the need to get this out into the world of the internet or whatever you call this silly, old blog.<div><br /></div><div>I don't have time for nuance. What I am about to say is obviously not always true, but here goes.<br /><div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes, friends, when you're suffering, it's your fault.</div><div><br /></div><div>It might be that you're struggling with unforgiveness. It might be that you are quick to anger. It might be that you are gripped with all manner of irrational fears. Maybe all of those things are a problem for you. All of it is sin, and if you think that can't take a physical toll on your life, let me tell you from experience, it can. It will. It does. <i>Ask me how I know.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>If you find yourself in a pit, for whatever reason, cry out to Jesus. Ask Him to help you with whatever sin you're struggling with. Repent. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe God allowed you to climb straight down into that pit because you thought your way was better. He showed you how much you need Him. </div><div><br /></div><div>Don't let prayer be your last resort. Do it without ceasing. About everything. You don't need a prayer closet (even though that's awesome and go for it!). Please, please, cast your cares on Him because He cares for you! When you're driving, when you're sad, when you receive amazing news, when you're loading the dishwasher for the fourth time in a day, when you're late to pick your kid up from practice, when you see an emergency vehicle, when you get a free beverage at the drive-thru, when your imagination runs wild, when you don't know what to do, when you're so angry you're seeing red. Pray! And watch your life and your outlook be transformed. Only God can renew your mind in this way. It's a gift. A beautiful one. </div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you, Lord, for the hard lessons you graciously allowed me to learn in 2023. May my gaze be all the more transfixed on you in 2024. </div>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-85883664113965489202023-08-22T18:27:00.004-04:002024-01-03T09:37:09.468-05:00To the Young Folk and Old Folk. Maybe just folks, in general. Birthday musings from a middle-old folk.<div>I remember being 17, driving around in my car, singing Tim McGraw's "My Next 30 Years" and thinking, "Wow, that guy's old and SO WISE." Now, I don't consider 30 old by any stretch, but I would like to take a moment to celebrate the ending of an era and the turning of a page.</div><div><br /></div><div>For my 40th birthday, I'm giving you all a gift, a little thing I absolutely hate - unsolicited advice. If you're younger than me, think of this as mentoring. (YOU'RE WELCOME.) If you're older than me, feel free to correct and admonish gently, but I'd obviously prefer a hearty "Hear, hear!" I'm an introvert, a stewer (of thoughts, not soup), a chronic noticer, an over-feeler (in emotion, not physical touch, which lands dead last in my love language inventory), and a wannabe life coach (just kidding, I don't want to do that). At 40, I feel ever-so-slightly qualified to comment on the world around me. And so, as a gift to myself and my over-active brain, I'm composing this disorganized data dump of semi-ranting/perhaps-useful/not-at-all-exhaustive advice I've collected and/or learned the hard way. For your reading pleasure? Do with it what you will. </div><div><br /></div><b>Don't allow anyone to donate their first impressions of others to you.</b><div><span> </span><span> </span></div><div><span>Seriously, let it go in one ear and out the other or shut it down before it begins. If someone you know tries to tell you about someone you don't know, just turn your ears off. Form your own opinions, especially if the intel you're getting is negative. And also, don't be the person that slanders<span> </span>someone else. We all have bad days. Come on now.</span><br /><div><br /></div><div><b>Don't trust your own first impressions. No matter how spot-on you think you are.</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>I have always prided myself in my first impressions. (Red flag.) I think I can nail someone's character after just one interaction. And I don't really allow for re-do's in light of my self-proclaimed first impression superpower. I'm happy to say that I have given up on this and had many redemptive second impressions. Thank the Lord for second chances. I'm sure *I've* needed<span> </span>those over the years.</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Spend 100% less time worrying about what other people think about you.</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>I give you this word as one I think I will struggle with for my entire life. Literally no one is<span><span><span> </span></span></span>thinking about you. And if they are, then what? You might be misrepresented? Oh well. Right? What's going to happen? Literally nothing. Someone thinks wrongly? That's on them. Let it go. (Says the woman who obsesses over this very thing. Lord, help me stop!)</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Stop talking yourself out of living life.</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>I am basically afraid of everything. Speaking from experience, this isn't good for you (for about a<span> </span>million different reasons). There's a<span> </span>life rich with opportunity and people and experiences waiting to be lived. Don't let fear be the reason you<span> </span>missed out, on anything, large or small.</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Laugh often and loudly. </b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>Laughing is a great coping mechanism for a world gone cray. Highly recommend. And I also think we should be able to laugh at ourselves. It's not all so serious. Relax.</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Recognize the small things as the marvels that they truly are. </b></div><div><br /></div><div>Have you ever held a baby and thought, "Man, this is incredible. This is an entirely new person right<span> </span>here in my arms?" That should be our reaction. We should equally marvel at tiny ants carrying giant loads, rainbows, germinating seeds, the circulatory system, Saharan dust storms, yawning, the benefit of music to our brains, conveyance of light...shall I continue? It's <i>all</i> amazing. Don't take these things for granted. Right down to our next breath. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Be flexible in most things, but stand your ground on the important things.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>We are all differently convicted on things that, at the end of the day, don't matter that much. (I won't give examples.) In these things, extend grace. Then there are the things that <i>do</i> matter. In these things, stand firm. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Parenting: Do your best to emulate God's amazing grace and perfect justice in tandem.</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>(It can't be all grace and no justice. Or vice versa.)</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Paranoia isn't a good look. </b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>If you've ever wondered if there was a big conspiracy about [xyz], I'm going to just go out on a limb<span> </span>and guess that there probably isn't. I'm not even talking about political or societal things, I'm<span> </span>talking about personal relationships. No one is out to get you. They just aren't.</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>The log in your eye is WAY bigger than your neighbor's speck. Mind ya own business.</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>Oh, friends, if there were a most important tip, it would be this one. I am a professional at<span><span> </span></span>pointing out the sins of others, and most often, the things that drive me crazy in someone else are usually what I need to deal with in my own life. For example, I get angrier and angrier that someone is angry about something stupid.<span> See how dumb and ironic that is? </span></span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Encouragement costs nothing to give. If you notice something nice, say so. If something nice isn't obvious, keep looking. </b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>Second to last in my love language inventory is "Words of Affirmation," but I will tell you what,<span> most </span>people (aside from yours truly) genuinely love these things. Speak kindness and<span><span> </span></span>encouragement when you can. Notice little things and big things alike and say it aloud. When it's<span> </span>hard to find redeeming qualities in someone, keep looking. This was an exercise a friend and I undertook in high school, to find nice things to think and say about the harder-to-love folks in our circles, and it has stuck with me. It changes your perspective to look for good instead of dwelling<span> </span>on the negative. LITERALLY NO ONE WANTS TO BE AROUND NEGATIVE PEOPLE ALL<span> </span>OF THE TIME.</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Weigh your words.</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span>We think everyone wants to hear what we have to say (says the woman posting a blog of</span> unsolicited advice), but I would caution you to weigh your words, and, at times, hold them completely. Being proud of being the loud and obnoxious is foolishness. The Bible has so much to say about words. "Whoever restrains his words has knowledge, and he who has a cool spirit is a man of understanding. Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent." Proverbs 17:27-28</div></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Be quick to forgive.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Unforgiveness is poison in your life. Forgive and move on. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Read your Bible.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>If you are a Christian, this is your duty and privilege. It is your literal lifeline. We have so much to glean, and we <i>need</i> to know what it says. "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that<span> </span>the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work." 2 Timothy 3:16-17 If you<span> </span>are not a Christian, I dare you to open up the book of Mark and give it a read through. It's life-changing and of utmost importance.</div><div><span><br /></span></div><div>I have no doubt there's more, but I think that's enough. (More than.) Thanks for indulging my brain dump of unnecessary musings. And thanks for the many, many birthday wishes. I am indeed a blessed lady.</div>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-90059202475818226952023-05-19T00:40:00.001-04:002023-05-19T00:40:36.621-04:00Passive Parenting and the Battle for Our Children's Hearts<div>I'm not old. Despite what Abby says, pushing forty is not old. (I promise, younger moms, I am <b>not old</b>.) That said, I do find myself feeling...a little more tired day by day. Things are getting to me that didn't used to, or at least didn't used to as much. I am old enough that I've seen a lot of change in my lifetime, and even a lot of change in my nearly-twenty years as a parent. (Okay, maybe I <i>am</i> old.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I am definitely old enough to have seen a clear and obvious shift in parenting. </div><div><br /></div><div>Timeout. (Here's where I give a few disclaimers. But not as many as I used to, because, personal growth in the "fear of man" department.) </div><div><br /></div><div>My personal parenting philosophy is "I'm winging it" and "don't be jerks." I am not an expert or guru. I have made every mistake known to man. My children are not perfect. They, too, are sinners. I think that <i>might</i> be hereditary. I am not writing this post fishing for compliments or as an invitation for anyone to air my dirty laundry about the times my children and I were just flat out awful. (I really prefer not to think about how many examples there are.) I do not pretend to think there is a one-size-fits-all model, unless you've searched the Word and come to a conclusion based on it, and even then implementation probably looks different household to household. </div><div><br /></div><div>That said, friends, peers, we need to have a talk. I want a peaceful, pleasant home life for you all. I want you to put the work in to make life more enjoyable. I want you to raise well-rounded, <b>respectful</b> ruckus-makers. This comes from a place of concern. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not exactly sure when we collectively decided that all authority is bad and must be challenged...<i>unless </i>that authority comes in the form of a tiny tyrant we birthed ourselves. Then, by all means, we must bow and cower to their every demand. I am further lost as to when we decided that discipline and the doling out of consequences is somehow an inferior option to stooping down to to their level, plastering on a smile, and telling them how good they are and how you trust they won't do it again. (Facts: They aren't. And they will.) </div><div><br /></div><div>Gentle parenting has emerged as the trendy parenting style, it seems. I don't really know much about these things other than to overhear a buzzword and to observe the fruits of the collective labor from various vantage points in my everyday life. I think the the idea behind this trend is great. Gentleness is a fruit of the Spirit, after all! It's frequently misunderstood, a lot like meekness. Gentleness is amazing, but it's not to be confused with weakness at all. Meekness is controlled power to be used beneficially. It does not retaliate and is patient when wronged. Gentleness, likewise, corrects without harshness. Unfortunately, what I am seeing is not gentleness, but passivity. Being passive is accepting or allowing what others do without active response or resistance, under the guise of "gentleness." </div><div><br /></div><div>If you are a Bible believer, you understand that we are all born in sin. Our hearts are deceitful above all else. Until we accept the free gift of salvation and our hearts are regenerated, we are lost in our sins, serving ourselves above others. It is pretty clear that this is the condition of young children. Think about the ironic shrieking of "<i>They</i> have to <b>SHARE</b>!!!!" as a child demands that someone else give up a toy they are actively playing with so that they, the shrieker, can have it. That's not how this works. The demand that someone yield to your authority as the louder child who wants something is the elevation of oneself above another. It's not cute, funny, or age-appropriate for children to act a fool, willfully disobey their parents and teachers, or show physical aggression out of frustration for, I mean, who knows what. I'm sorry (am I?), but it needs to be called out and addressed.</div><div><br /></div><div>We need to teach our children (for starters):</div><div><br /></div><div>Respect: For their parents, teachers, peers, and themselves.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"Maybe you don't like what I am telling you, but you may not hide under the table while we're having this chat."</i></div><div><i>"It is not okay to make barfing sounds while your teacher is talking."</i></div><div><i>"Pushing to the front of the line and crying because you want to be line-leader is a great way </i>not<i> to get to have that fun job."</i></div><div><i>"Learning to express yourself is challenging, but pitching a fit is something we need to </i>not<i> do, in public or in private."</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Personal Responsibility: To accept when they have done wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"I understand that Suzie called you a cotton-headed ninny-muggins, but throwing a chair at her was not an acceptable response and that's on you. Check on her and apologize."</i></div><div><br /></div><div>As parents we aren't fighting against a sweet, innocent child. We are fighting against an unregenerate heart that needs to be pointed to Jesus, a person made in the image of God lost in sin. We are literally competing against Satan for the hearts of our children. If you think the enemy isn't crouched at the ear of our children repeating, "Do you <i>really</i> need to listen to you parents?" I think you're kidding yourself. </div><div><br /></div><div>A useful bit of advice I always hear and have probably doled out is "You have to pick your battles." That's worthy counsel, but "picking your battles" inherently suggests that you are, in fact, choosing some battles to fight, not surrendering them all. I know you're tired! Me too. Sometimes, you have dig deep. Your "battles" may be different day to day and child to child, but you are the authority in your home. You have been given this job as as gift from God to lead and teach these children well. You can't do that from the sideline. You can't do that with your hands tied behind your back. And you can't do that when you've handed the reins over to your children. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I was a child myself, a friend of mine shared with me a little nugget that someone (maybe her grandmother) used to tell her all of the time. It was:</div><div><b><blockquote>The earth has an axis, and it's not you.</blockquote></b></div><div>That might be a great lesson to start with for all of us. On the front end it sounds a little harsh, maybe. But let it sink in. Our message to our children has been quite the opposite. They are the center of our universe, the apple of our eye, the most amazing and perfect creatures that ever graced humanity. And to you, they may seem like exactly those things. I would caution you about creating little gods. I love my children. I think they're awesome. I also think they ought to be taught that they aren't perfect, that we should put others first, and that we should respect people of authority. If we disagree with the authorities, it is possible to do so respectfully and effectually. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you are a parent who desperately longs for bedtime because there is no peace in your home, your children have taken control, and you wish they would go to sleep because you don't even enjoy their company, I might consider whether you've allowed passivity to enter into your parenting. I don't mean for this to sound like judgment. Discipline and consequences are not inherently negative. They might be unpleasant for a short while for both the administrator and recipient, but that short unpleasantness totally and completely outweighs a lifetime of strife and weariness. Good results require hard work. Hard work is usually worth it. It is a guarantee? No. But wouldn't you rather risk a good result than a guaranteed bad one? </div><div><br /></div><div>Chaos is not what God wants for our homes and our families. We live in an ordered world, designed by the ultimate authority who tells us that discipline is love. </div><div><blockquote>And have you completely forgotten this word of encouragement that addresses you as a father addresses his son? It says, “My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son." Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? If you are not disciplined—and everyone undergoes discipline—then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace; for those who have been trained by it. Hebrews 12:5-11</blockquote></div><div>Our children <i>respect</i> our discipline. They need it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Things I truly believe our children will look back on retrospectively and be grateful for:</div><div><br /></div><div>Being taught to show respect.</div><div>Being told no.</div><div>Having boundaries.</div><div>Being given privileges after they've proven themselves trustworthy.</div><div>Being given consequences when trust was broken.</div><div>Having parents with the fortitude to know better and act on knowing better when they were too young to understand.</div><div><br /></div><div>Start simply, but be bold. "Let your no be no and your yes be yes."</div><div><br /></div><div>If you don't require your children to respect you, how can you expect them to respect any, single other authority in the world. Teachers shouldn't have to handle undisciplined children. Volunteers at church, coaches, substitute teachers, and grandparents shouldn't have to either. We are manufacturing a generation of tyrants. It doesn't have to be this way. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you desire to parent gently, I encourage you to, but I caution you to guard against passivity. I would also encourage you, as you teach your children to express their feelings, to understand that there are consequences to actions and they are not always pleasant. Whatever form of parenting you subscribe to, understand that there are generational ramifications. How you train your children this very day will affect how they interact with the world - their immediate families, their teachers and classmates, their futures spouses and employers, their children (your grandchildren), and, not being hyperbolic at all, the world at large. This is the long game, a marathon with a million little sprints along the way. It's exhausting, but a privilege. We were chosen for this job to guide these little people. I know you're up for the challenge. Pray for guidance and fortitude. Be strong! Be the leaders of your family. I so greatly desire peace for your households.</div><div><br /></div>Discipline your children, and they will give you <b>peace</b>; they will bring you the delights you desire. Proverbs 29:17<div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Not that anyone asked...</span></div>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-58527373009850283502022-02-02T16:30:00.002-05:002022-02-02T16:38:22.704-05:00Stranded: A Memoir(I'm laughing out loud at the title. I'm notoriously bad at titles. To sum up for the TL:DR folks, we got stuck on I-95S in Virginia. It was not what I would call my favorite experience, but we were completely and totally fine. Feel free to read on, but I'm recording this for my own sake more than anything, for the memories and reminders of God's provision.)<div><br /></div><div>On the morning of Monday, January 3rd, the kids and I packed up Big Blue after a somewhat uncustomary visit to Maryland for the holidays. The week had held its share of challenges, apart from the weather, making the departure a little harder than normal. The forecast the night before predicted a couple of inches of snow where my parents live, with the worst of the storm hitting southern Maryland with 3-6 inches. In Maryland, this is not a major storm, especially since the temperatures had been high even as the precipitation started to fall and pre-treatment would prevent significant delays. With the weather in mind, and knowing that Sam was going to be staying behind in Baltimore for work, we went to the grocery store the night before to fill our little electric cooler with lunchmeat and fruits so we could have at least one meal on-the-go without having to stop and add time to an already-long trip. </div><div><br /></div><div>Obviously, not leaving would have been a better option, but my kids go to school one day a week on Tuesday, and missing that is the equivalent (in my mind) of missing a whole week. We were determined to get back for that and so we set off, trusting the Maryland DOT to do their jobs and observing that the small suburban roads outside my parents house were still just wet when we left. I anticipated a longer-than-normal trip, but slow and steady was my goal. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we set off at 9:30am, I took a picture of my parents' snow-covered home and posted on IG and FB with a quip:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzw8ZTEY7I-0S1iSVfuHFvmdsoNP4XjPL3GddyHZSGi_6Dk9mSjA8YuB8cBAoQGPl5CSVzEZJWCHhUfJHv8Y8QiAyDU6fsO-sE93XL9JiwpOSPuWJE_dB53vGi5WfUSzPc5aw0t4tOmkuQSy1sYe2llIRC4S6GVulWdl-Qev0c_Qp1rQnqYTEdYG0w=s1080" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzw8ZTEY7I-0S1iSVfuHFvmdsoNP4XjPL3GddyHZSGi_6Dk9mSjA8YuB8cBAoQGPl5CSVzEZJWCHhUfJHv8Y8QiAyDU6fsO-sE93XL9JiwpOSPuWJE_dB53vGi5WfUSzPc5aw0t4tOmkuQSy1sYe2llIRC4S6GVulWdl-Qev0c_Qp1rQnqYTEdYG0w=s1080" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzw8ZTEY7I-0S1iSVfuHFvmdsoNP4XjPL3GddyHZSGi_6Dk9mSjA8YuB8cBAoQGPl5CSVzEZJWCHhUfJHv8Y8QiAyDU6fsO-sE93XL9JiwpOSPuWJE_dB53vGi5WfUSzPc5aw0t4tOmkuQSy1sYe2llIRC4S6GVulWdl-Qev0c_Qp1rQnqYTEdYG0w=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;">The snow scared us. Heading back to Georgia.</span></div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div>The trek to I-95 from my parents' house was four easy miles with a stop at Royal Farms for some caffeine rations for Ben and me. As soon as we hit southbound 95, the trip truly begins. It's 600 boring miles to I-20 where we cut across South Carolina. Under normal conditions with stops for gas, food, and potty breaks, the trip takes around 12-13 hours. As expected, traffic was slower than normal, as one would hope in more treacherous conditions. There was a little bit of slush on the roads, but nothing scary to drive in. After exiting the Fort McHenry tunnel, the road conditions declined, but still I pressed on thinking even if I had to go super slow through that leg of the trip, the worst was supposed to be between Baltimore and Washington and that was nothing new, even without bad weather.<div><br /></div><div>The fastest we went from that point was 30 mph. Any progress was progress though, and I pressed forward thinking only of school the next day. As the ETA on Waze kept updating later and later, I was feeling more discouraged about our decision to leave, but with each mile we progressed, I considered it that much closer to home and, in my mind, that much farther through what was supposed to be "the worst" of the driving conditions. The closer we got to Washington D.C., the worse the roads got. As we made our way around D.C. on 495, there was no more slush to be seen, only a sheet of ice. When we approached re-entry to I-95, Waze recommended every exit as an alternative to the interstate. I eyed the exit ramps that were mostly uphill and considered my precious cargo, knowing full well no one can control a vehicle driving on ice, no matter your experience driving in winter weather. We watched vehicle after vehicle attempt to exit unsuccessfully and end up sideways, blocking exits, and careening off the road. My internal monologue said "just keep going, slowly but surely" with the ever-present promise of the mess being almost behind us as we neared Virginia. </div><div><br /></div><div>In Alexandria, VA, I spied an exit ramp that seemed passable so I decided to get off 95 and see what things were like on the secondary roads. To sum up, not better at all. The roads had about eight inches of snow on them at that point and were mostly unplowed. The way the GPS took me at the bottom of the ramp was left onto a road that crossed a very steep bridge obviously frozen over. We watched from the stoplight as people slid backward down the road on their attempts to go over it. I opted to go straight into a shopping center and ended up at a Shell station with the least threatening parking lot. Having been in the car for 3 and a half hours to go 76 miles, we got out and used the restroom, unsure when our next opportunity would be. I opted not to grab a coffee at the Dunkin' inside, a decision that would haunt me later that day. I walked out to the pump and cringed at the $3.86/gal pricetag (at home gas was at least a $1/gal cheaper). We'd only used about a quarter of a tank, but since we were stopped and the future was unpredictable, I went against my instincts to be cheap and topped it off. Abby got to work making sandwiches and fed everyone lunch in the backseat. </div><div><div><br /></div><div><div>We snaked around the little town trying to find passable roads en route back to the interstate. I considered my options: (1) turn around and go back to White Marsh, (2) stop wherever I was and look for a place to stay, (3) press on. We had already invested hours on homeward travel, and I was still convinced the worst of it was right where we were. The businesses at that exit were dark, and the parking lots snow-covered. I couldn't fathom even finding a hotel in those conditions. I audibly prayed as we made our way up and down a few questionable hills. We passed an on-ramp for 95S, another uphill ice rink. Three cars were already blocking it, disabled and sideways, and as we made the decision not to go up it, we watched another car coming <i>down</i> the ramp <i>from</i> the interstate. Things were looking bleak. By sweet Providence, a snow plow turned in front of us at a stop light and we followed it to an entry onto 395S which I considered a win. Time, of course, would determine that was a lie. The remainder of Monday beginning at 1:36pm yielded a total of 24 miles.</div><div><br /></div><div>At 4:30pm, we got stopped near Triangle, watching the sun set and the roads turn into 4-inch thick ice-skating rinks. We began watching the VDOT twitter page for updates on accidents. We could see across the interstate median that the situation northbound was absolutely no different than the parking lot southbound. The few exits we passed in those short miles were in no better shape and clogged with disabled vehicles, making exiting or turning northward unfeasible. It seemed our only option was to carry on and so we did. Watching the semi-trucks next to me continue to slide wherever their weight carried them after coming to "a stop" was about as unsettling as reality could be in that moment, but no better picture to describe the reason I was absolutely terrified. I verbalized to my kids that I would do everything I could to drive safely and carefully and to be frank that wasn't much when you're on ice, but what everyone else did was completely out of my control. And that's why I was scared. I probably said too much in my attempts to keep myself calm. </div><div><blockquote>As long as I can keep even one tire on pavement, I'll feel better. As long as I can keep creeping and not stop, I'm good. As long as I can get to the top of this hill, I know I can get down the other side. At least we're loaded down with as much traction as possible with this van full of who-knows-what from Grandmom.</blockquote><p>Sam was on the phone with me for the bulk of the day, the contractor he was working for having told him not to come in due to inclement weather. He was, as always, the voice of calm and reason. I felt almost worse for him than us because of how helpless he felt. I put on my brave face for my kids, who clearly saw right through it, but I always broke down when Sam got on the phone. He's my safe place, and it's hard to be vulnerable in secret when you're on speaker phone in a giant van with eight kids listening in. The gravity of the situation settled in when we crept along with the sight of the Marine Corps Museum remaining in our view for hours. Sam would ask for an update and I would resist telling him. Memories of stranded motorists in Atlanta ran through my head from years prior, an event which made a laughingstock of the south in a scant snowstorm that crippled the interstates for days. I just kept thinking that Virginia, by snow standards, is decisively <i>not </i>Atlanta, and they have means of pretreating roads. I further thought over and over again, "This is a colossal failure by the state of Virginia. It shouldn't be like this." I was mentally preparing myself for a night on the interstate. For me, imagining the worst case is a coping mechanism. Reality is rarely as bad as I'm capable of imagining. And, in truth, it really wasn't.</p><p>By 7:30pm, we were stopped for what would become the entire night about a third of a mile past Exit 143 in Garrisonville, VA. The next exit was three miles south. When we passed 143, it was closed due to a combination of untreated roads and disabled vehicles. The stretch beyond the exit was so unnerving due to the plummeting temperature, icy conditions, and hills that my nerves were completely shot. It was literally a relief to come to a stop. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJqbktVajzRYfHy--fAgr0gGL6px585aZPZ7RYLZk4F16lnRuAolMwvxtZTEIIgGamoWF7dxLktPpp67gV2AP3_I0an04cApQe9zN2SnT7Ujbn0hMp9Gte4YY0mGDpLvtaLYrFvmwXrj41jvH-97shkWbPhJLeksxbcOCipi_ILEwRTbWfPvBArTpC=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJqbktVajzRYfHy--fAgr0gGL6px585aZPZ7RYLZk4F16lnRuAolMwvxtZTEIIgGamoWF7dxLktPpp67gV2AP3_I0an04cApQe9zN2SnT7Ujbn0hMp9Gte4YY0mGDpLvtaLYrFvmwXrj41jvH-97shkWbPhJLeksxbcOCipi_ILEwRTbWfPvBArTpC=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p>On the bright side, my kids got to see me scared and praying audibly because there was nothing else I could do but pray and plead. At this point, I need to give full credit to all eight of my passengers because they were absolutely awesome. I'm sure they could sense my anxiety. I'm sure some of them were unaware of how very few miles we'd actually traveled and were quite tired of being in the van already. I'm also sure they really are good kids. I don't want to forget all of the sweetness of those hours stranded together. For a spell, Ben attempted an uncharacteristic optimism in Sam's absence to keep my spirits up. Abby worked her magic to keep the younger children entertained and not crying. Noah, Hannah, and Zachary took turns napping. Noah did not get carsick or ornery. Sarah and Leah were just their normal, good selves. They took care of me more than I took care of them. </p><p>A few things I wish to remember:</p><p>- Thanks to Noah's history of carsickness, we routinely pack a barf bowl/hurl holder/puke pot/vomit vault. We've fine-tuned the receptacle over the years and landed on an 8-cup measuring cup with a handle. While he did not need to use it for puking, the rest of the family was able to use as a makeshift toilet. Inglorious, yes, but necessary. For the record, no one needed to go number two. (I've been asked, and I may as well answer.)</p><p>- Thanks to a combination of a grocery run and my mother's desire to send all of the junk food in her house with us when we leave, we had no shortage of food to eat. Not Whole 30 or anything, but we definitely did not starve.</p><p>- While driving on ice and driving on dirt roads are not the same, I applied some similar principles Sam taught me in an attempt to stay a little safer. I could hear his refrains echoing in my ear: "Whatever you do, keep moving. Don't come to a stop." (And so on.) </p><p>- Around 9pm, Sam suggested that I put out some feelers on Facebook for anyone who might have connections near Stafford, VA. Though we were stuck, there was hope we could start moving at any time, at which point a driveway to park in for the night and maybe a legitimate bathroom would have been absolutely amazing. The outpouring of concern and offers of help were <b>above and beyond</b>. I had multiple friends offer me hotel rooms with their points. I had a friend searching tirelessly for a solution, even tracking down a friend of a friend within miles of us (if only we'd been able to move) that was literally offering to open her home to all of us with beds enough for everyone. She also called the hospital at the next exit and got permission to park there for the night (which became our goal, had we been able to get rolling). I had a friend who lives in Virginia offer to drive to the nearest exit and walk provisions to our car. I had friends I hadn't spoken to in years reach out with encouragement, concern, and prayers. God sustained my spirits through prayers and the tool of social media which I have so often wanted to scrap altogether. When I think back, even now weeks later, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude at the love we were shown. </p><p>- Determined to stay awake in case we started moving, I finally decided to turn Waze back on around 1am. (I had turned it off because the ever-increasing ETA was depressing.) Someone on map chat said they'd walked the entire length from exit to exit to see what was going on and multiple semis had slid together blocking the entire interstate with no hope of being moved likely until daylight. The truck drivers were all sleeping, so I was able to give myself permission to close my eyes and sleep.</p></div></div></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV1lvomnJfs2xHpgqIaSrrHdCJhN-Zr1_H4yZ-NkhMJP56gWJfkG9iUqqI48LY4tW1XS7ZGj92YIEKAVGbh1XceJ4xIveItlu2875_NQlJCPsEI7XEtY8Q5XquSUiRNheBlnOZwdR55bYYmlxHli-7juBBzqoZqyQski6RQpKSKmjugNy0k_pNAu0s=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV1lvomnJfs2xHpgqIaSrrHdCJhN-Zr1_H4yZ-NkhMJP56gWJfkG9iUqqI48LY4tW1XS7ZGj92YIEKAVGbh1XceJ4xIveItlu2875_NQlJCPsEI7XEtY8Q5XquSUiRNheBlnOZwdR55bYYmlxHli-7juBBzqoZqyQski6RQpKSKmjugNy0k_pNAu0s=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p>- The entire time we were parked, a total of 16 hours, we were never low on gas. We were able to keep the van running and our bodies warm despite the temperatures in the teens. It was 16 degrees overnight. We had a lot of blankets and body heat, but grateful we were never without heat. Furthermore, grateful we did not have to walk out of the situation like in Atlanta. I packed only my well-worn, slip-on, knock-off Toms for the trip with a hole in them no less, and those would not have fared well on an icy hike. </p><p>- I really did not do anything in particular to keep us occupied or pass the time. We couldn't stream anything like audiobooks or music or movies because phone service was in and out. (I guess everyone else was already watching Netflix.) What I did do was allow them a whole lot of tablet time because I'd had the foresight to charge them all the night before we left knowing we had a big trip ahead. Parenting win or loss, depending on your perspective.</p><p></p><p>- When we started to get low on water the next morning, our big kids took turns trekking over well into the median to grab water bottles full of fresh snow. Bekah enjoyed it by the handful from her perch in between the front seats. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgG8bfuLTFZAbZ5n-Zu0AXYKWNz4qb2qL1OMuA4D_ml-2-e_faFoiZsTMO92-HCsxPzL8qUZMI6eKmEQGo1akll6IkF2K-kjXnpMguiaKrc-FZA4SbOXbZietGORBYGk9H8G8YFgC3A6SradNjZ2VoLb2p1JwBBOigufSRuorT86e4XGFAFK-b4SjhP=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgG8bfuLTFZAbZ5n-Zu0AXYKWNz4qb2qL1OMuA4D_ml-2-e_faFoiZsTMO92-HCsxPzL8qUZMI6eKmEQGo1akll6IkF2K-kjXnpMguiaKrc-FZA4SbOXbZietGORBYGk9H8G8YFgC3A6SradNjZ2VoLb2p1JwBBOigufSRuorT86e4XGFAFK-b4SjhP=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>- Rebekah woke up screaming from her car seat around 1:30am. Given my opportunities to snuggle with her are growing increasingly more rare, we managed to squeeze together in the driver's seat for a couple of fitful hours of sleep. Then, together, we watched the sun rise over the snowy horizon. I can probably count on one hand the number of sunrises I've seen in my life. It was breathtaking. (But I'm still partial to sunsets.)</p><p>As the morning progressed, we watched the sun begin to melt the ice ever-so-slightly, despite the temperatures still in the upper teens and 20s. (And goes to show how pre-treatment would have totally changed the situation.) We watched the double-long Amazon truck get UNstuck from it's uphill perch on the northbound lane. We started becoming a little more optimistic. Sam found us a hotel room in Fredericksburg off Route 1 which seemed to be cleared from all information we could find. We were exhausted, but hopeful to be out of the situation before another night came. Having a destination seemed to revitalize us. </p><p>We received a text message from some sort of emergency alert system around 9:30am saying that crews were working to get vehicles unstuck and that they were coming up and down the interstate going vehicle to vehicle to make sure everyone had water and supplies. We never saw anyone, and we didn't need anything, but I hope they were really doing this and that people who actually needed help were able to get some. It did help to know that we weren't simply waiting and that work was being done to get things moving.</p><p>And move, we did. At 11am, we finally began the 3-mile trek to the next exit. It was 30 and sunny. Roads still coated with ice, and only when we were almost off, did we finally see any plows clearing the way. Lanes were non-existent, every vehicle was doing the best they could to not get stuck. We passed multiple tractor-trailers that had jack-knifed or were simply stuck spinning wheels. We watched a rogue truck driver with seeming reckless abandon scoot past everyone in the treacherous left lane, only to realize he was singlehandedly stopping at all of the other disabled trucks to try to help them. He was literally pouring jugs of salt under their wheels and bashing ice on the road by the tires with a giant wrench. Once dislodged, he'd pop on down the road to the next disable vehicle. It was a sight to behold. His kindness, resourcefulness, and willingness to help moved me to tears. (Even if, later on down the road he would verbally assault me at a stoplight for getting too close to a vehicle I did not realize was abandoned. I'm over it because we were literally all exhausted.) </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcpLC1UpxsNG6HkAvXjqzSDHY4qff9fIjNE2qsnCdOU2BA6gRLMYYfm2XOSvo1dYerhLYENFPCswPMef-8QVbC-O2bvOcATWXLqCQcOGUzTvXmxwfVWDeYaH7DBJkxw-psV9mfjE2WAW5SruDuElDU-vMokKOecydd9sboSJ2qciK3JGoLiUc11Wf0=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcpLC1UpxsNG6HkAvXjqzSDHY4qff9fIjNE2qsnCdOU2BA6gRLMYYfm2XOSvo1dYerhLYENFPCswPMef-8QVbC-O2bvOcATWXLqCQcOGUzTvXmxwfVWDeYaH7DBJkxw-psV9mfjE2WAW5SruDuElDU-vMokKOecydd9sboSJ2qciK3JGoLiUc11Wf0=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The moment we got off the interstate, the conditions of the roads were instantly better. By 2pm, we had made it to our hotel. The parking lot was an icy mess, but we were not daunted. We trekked up the hill through the foot of snow to find out their computer systems were down and they told me to check back in a little while as they were having it worked on. We used the lobby restroom (HALLELUJAH!), grabbed some complimentary coffee, and went back on the road to discover that most of the businesses in Fredericksburg were without power. No computer system was a small problem to have by comparison.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnVXeGSjPgrSlPEz8Gy9RXCkDOCUSiIVO_oIfEBXZ_uzNNWMPtptbgv9Q_XVidMalM5K-1dI7khdG_mtNUbVHpwYKxgdactNNfrrCUmnSbVPAR3iqk2mQRfEic-RGDBkjsljPQYbuFYlSRFyzRVA448xO3vpCzZKfCxdXEicHhP9xDxbbKHzsx-83c=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnVXeGSjPgrSlPEz8Gy9RXCkDOCUSiIVO_oIfEBXZ_uzNNWMPtptbgv9Q_XVidMalM5K-1dI7khdG_mtNUbVHpwYKxgdactNNfrrCUmnSbVPAR3iqk2mQRfEic-RGDBkjsljPQYbuFYlSRFyzRVA448xO3vpCzZKfCxdXEicHhP9xDxbbKHzsx-83c=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We landed at a Taco Bell for a feast of Taco Party Packs and chips & cheese. There were no leftovers. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMsfAm7aEgP0vM4sOWiQYJ9b0YTzILri66yRW3K_Y2YNpA_NgA4HL3f_B_bZevr_GRb1Z5RLGn0a6Z8MvhlJuR1162q5FxvzHaxbDy8nyl2j48ny19Ghk9tySgOM19hxfZfYu1BXn2Rig-MQMA75PZwiEQkL300Dg3Q3RMfPe80y3iYsDFW6HeJrpu=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMsfAm7aEgP0vM4sOWiQYJ9b0YTzILri66yRW3K_Y2YNpA_NgA4HL3f_B_bZevr_GRb1Z5RLGn0a6Z8MvhlJuR1162q5FxvzHaxbDy8nyl2j48ny19Ghk9tySgOM19hxfZfYu1BXn2Rig-MQMA75PZwiEQkL300Dg3Q3RMfPe80y3iYsDFW6HeJrpu=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We passed some time by building a snowman to assuage my guilt over having rushed off and not letting them play in White Marsh and not letting them play on the side of the interstate.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrZ_JtQE-NhDa73hYMIK9s0AYgXKACLD2acSPu0_uVhYXRi5NZFlGPmzkkzR7KCKNqvsFZ1Mjz9M1gERRluwHCeYUyIM3w6nU2z3pWylO7w2sW3Bn3M71eE_BJeCmbtDgnoiRw3W68eHbdFYFOR8cVlsTtUzoBD1pikKkLWvAmbt3oien0fFC8kgLX=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrZ_JtQE-NhDa73hYMIK9s0AYgXKACLD2acSPu0_uVhYXRi5NZFlGPmzkkzR7KCKNqvsFZ1Mjz9M1gERRluwHCeYUyIM3w6nU2z3pWylO7w2sW3Bn3M71eE_BJeCmbtDgnoiRw3W68eHbdFYFOR8cVlsTtUzoBD1pikKkLWvAmbt3oien0fFC8kgLX=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8Hl1owdy-1NCDS-6Zpbei3ryjQ_TdjVYMm-MtTwwsWrZogdS9qOwBgb6M7ujlJg_ZIjhqygXnF48g9TeEaL-d1MJiLJzfQ5ypw6eOcOjmkD4-m6KreA_aXLbINooinPaXXp-hB5gH3SAl_HJY0oYlAZuqX3V_ZmsWjlXri-hmIBF_73ctELpKlZc9=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8Hl1owdy-1NCDS-6Zpbei3ryjQ_TdjVYMm-MtTwwsWrZogdS9qOwBgb6M7ujlJg_ZIjhqygXnF48g9TeEaL-d1MJiLJzfQ5ypw6eOcOjmkD4-m6KreA_aXLbINooinPaXXp-hB5gH3SAl_HJY0oYlAZuqX3V_ZmsWjlXri-hmIBF_73ctELpKlZc9=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSZR5vo8EJ7Y9YbsCrJWOCe5f0Gb4oMjITOzsGJApTTVXXF4PvnoyUBBUsCtFxZZLPIjmS4S8cCtL6-liTf4pSkbozKH4Jjcqw0YqUFtOMHTEKY6n9UTQtHe7Rhx_pDodymknp30cVmIFJG14kIGDqiS1PUypAu8-swJLttfBbpBcaaHbp9E4NlFCV=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSZR5vo8EJ7Y9YbsCrJWOCe5f0Gb4oMjITOzsGJApTTVXXF4PvnoyUBBUsCtFxZZLPIjmS4S8cCtL6-liTf4pSkbozKH4Jjcqw0YqUFtOMHTEKY6n9UTQtHe7Rhx_pDodymknp30cVmIFJG14kIGDqiS1PUypAu8-swJLttfBbpBcaaHbp9E4NlFCV=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After Taco Bell, wiper blade replacements at Autozone, and a few groceries at Weis, we returned to the hotel where I filled out the necessary paperwork to confirm that I did indeed have a reservation despite their ability to verify on their computer. Then, in what felt like an episode of American Gladiators with physical and verbal assaults flying from a lobby full of disgruntled, miserable folks, we got the second to last room in the hotel for my crew, and in an uncharacteristic move, I went about as Mama Bear as I get when they attempted to give it away out from under me. Bless those workers though. They came in from homes with no power, bringing their kids with them and attempted to serve a host of angry folks. They did everything they could. Thank the Lord we got a room. Plan B would have been another night in the van in the parking lot or a little more trekking down Route 1 to Richmond. We all agreed that was the best shower and night's sleep we could remember. </div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning, we got on the road.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg07SIue7rEhgJHC77ZyJRjqzUJONf6ePZb_T0QoNP1TnSU9i6exya2h0SGox9czIiYj8D0IHZ6MwKVTen1lx8AOfESgzmadXgcxF3XZKoTiKgIIl8JA3JWO89FE7cE7ZKVSNM6cDGMv2KxRFFfzi1liqEWr6eLuZjtVY5Psd6jQHwXs2cz67opCqUX=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg07SIue7rEhgJHC77ZyJRjqzUJONf6ePZb_T0QoNP1TnSU9i6exya2h0SGox9czIiYj8D0IHZ6MwKVTen1lx8AOfESgzmadXgcxF3XZKoTiKgIIl8JA3JWO89FE7cE7ZKVSNM6cDGMv2KxRFFfzi1liqEWr6eLuZjtVY5Psd6jQHwXs2cz67opCqUX=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div><br /></div><div>The last order of business was a stop for gas. Unfortunately, all the nearby gas stations were out from the influx of travelers down Route 1. I looked at my gauge, and Ben noted that we exactly a quarter of a tank in reserve - the very same amount of gas I almost decided not to top off two days prior at that first Shell station. I almost cried (again). <b>God is good.</b> That quarter of a tank got us to Richmond where the gas stations were fully stocked, and the roads were <i>perfectly clear </i>like nothing had ever happened, a mere sixty miles from where we were stuck. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2wrWjhyTLagYxq0D_5E9yb_OAXs2OiSBbpgn1ypp4-LWLZXRzzGAPW6AAQVH2jdIbw99HXZ1fsdrv4fuPfLU8sv4toqt3YYQr6fOk9Q3jlgQx5jFsyq_Ed1vgoVRzuCIsf9K6P_eA3xYEaE4pUceQEV3ii3HI5cFJ4IGCSiBWOZpZwXCsYGzUMrD8=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2wrWjhyTLagYxq0D_5E9yb_OAXs2OiSBbpgn1ypp4-LWLZXRzzGAPW6AAQVH2jdIbw99HXZ1fsdrv4fuPfLU8sv4toqt3YYQr6fOk9Q3jlgQx5jFsyq_Ed1vgoVRzuCIsf9K6P_eA3xYEaE4pUceQEV3ii3HI5cFJ4IGCSiBWOZpZwXCsYGzUMrD8=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The rest of the day went like any other trip home with the added bonus of Ben taking a long turn at the wheel. We were so grateful to get back to Georgia safely. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0jisGnHt3p4k4Zv5ciKiNJjvAvBwpydd8djbbIen6RZzUtjkZqPjJvv0eiGqqqWa2SuYU1FynCi7yxZJisKyog3waK9SnUWzBvY_rY85De66voeNLGkmipzOumicusfpRcLngB_XimoPhz6GKYTJBE2vb7jnqefC68ojsAlEIbViT48dIkxE927ee=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0jisGnHt3p4k4Zv5ciKiNJjvAvBwpydd8djbbIen6RZzUtjkZqPjJvv0eiGqqqWa2SuYU1FynCi7yxZJisKyog3waK9SnUWzBvY_rY85De66voeNLGkmipzOumicusfpRcLngB_XimoPhz6GKYTJBE2vb7jnqefC68ojsAlEIbViT48dIkxE927ee=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We arrived home around 10pm that evening to a home that had been "broken into" by dear friends who left us food in our fridge. And another friend who had breakfast delivered to us the next morning. We are so, so grateful to be surrounded by such an awesome community of loving, kind people. To God be the glory. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Let's not do that again.)</span></div>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-27725812099220227972021-05-16T00:22:00.004-04:002021-05-16T00:43:43.854-04:00In Defense of Teens<div class="separator">It's probably not a great idea to sit down at the computer late at night when I'm "fired up," but here's a quick message I think is important to share.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the parents reading this, remember holding your new baby in the presence of someone who asked you how things were going? Maybe you decided to give them a real answer instead of the canned "great" response. Maybe you were vulnerable and replied that it was tough, the baby isn't sleeping well, he cries inconsolably during the daytime, you're exhausted. And instead of a hug or a cup of coffee, you got the SUPER HELPFUL retort, "You think newborns are hard!? Wait till he's a teenager."</div><div><br /></div><div>A few years pass by and instead of a colicky baby, you have a strong-willed, cunning, bottomless-pit-of-energy and fearlessness wrapped up in a sticky, uncombed mess of a three-year-old. You long for the time when you put the child down and he stayed there. You have exchanged your sleepless nights for napless days. It's all too real how much of a relief it is to know your precious angel is finally in bed for the night because you can stop wondering for a few hours if they're in peril from the inability to make wise decisions. The stranger at the store watches as your wrangle your way across the parking lot and comments with a chuckle, "You'll miss this when he's a teenager."</div><div><br /></div><div>In the blink of an eye after some very long days and nights, you reach the tween years. At nine years old, your child is feeling big emotions and learning how to express them appropriately, albeit not always successfully. Sometimes, they hit so fast you didn't see them coming. He's not a baby anymore, but he's not an adult either. These are more or less the overlooked years, which I guess is why we've given them the name "tweens." You don't get as many overt reminders that the teen years will be harder, but you've been conditioned by so many to be wary of what's coming that it's always echoing as a refrain in the back of your mind. "Just wait till he's a teenager."</div><div><br /></div><div>Well.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://youtu.be/Ow0lr63y4Mw" target="_blank">Stop it.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>A few years ago, I wrote<a href="https://herdofsheps.blogspot.com/2018/08/telling-myself-im-awkward-and-stopping.html" target="_blank"> a post about believing the words that I spoke only to myself about myself</a>. The same principle applies here. On one hand, it doesn't seem beneficial to belittle the present-day struggles of a parent in the trenches by offering them a dismal picture of the future. Additionally, it seems a bit like a self-fulfilling prophecy to warn of the abysmal experience of raising teens. If we expect that, it seems most likely that's how it will go. One must also consider that our children are always listening. If society expects teens to be the worst, why should they behave any differently? Generations ahead of us paint our children with broad strokes - they're lazy, disrespectful, phone-obsessed, unmotivated, sassy, inappropriately-clad. These things might be true of some teens, but not all. Dare I say, these things might also be true of a similar percentage of the older generation's own general population. </div><div><br /></div><div>To the parents of littles, I offer you this encouragement: Stay the course. Put in the hard work in the early years. You won't be this tired forever. Don't let it slide. Let them learn lessons the hard way now. Expect good things from your children. Pray with and for them. Thank the Lord for sleep and new mercies every morning.</div><div><br /></div><div>To the parents of teens: Just love them. Talk to them about little stuff and big stuff. Work through politics, faith, social issues - give them the lens through which you would have them view this world. Laugh with them. Pray over them. They're not to be feared. These people you've raised are on the cusp of adulthood, and what better time to nurture your relationship with them then when they're preparing to launch? </div><div><br /></div><div>To the teens: You're awesome. I don't think people tell you that enough. It's been my joy to laugh and learn alongside two awesome teens (so far). I don't want to be all "I believe the children are our future" but we're counting on you to do the things you're capable of doing. Do hard things. Don't settle. Don't compromise. (And don't listen to anyone who says your generation is a bunch of hooligans. We know better than that. Prove them wrong.)</div><div><br /></div><div>To my elders: I love you. And I hope some day I remember the words I'm preaching to myself. I know the world seems topsy-turvy, but I also believe <i>the world has always been topsy-turvy</i>. Before you jump to conclusions about someone because of their age, just consider that you might be wrong. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWMh1dPd0W0ptF1Y35AK5UqA5JkQfs_qtaIbTkBJWNwGUz9VvnUqcCcePdlHCSknaWceeids2cXSS-CIFe0-Yiv0RsVP31-npZ5H3naRhS9isUq_kpvnMnYr4EwvGsxy9PtnwtIreIYc/s2048/20210331_122346.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWMh1dPd0W0ptF1Y35AK5UqA5JkQfs_qtaIbTkBJWNwGUz9VvnUqcCcePdlHCSknaWceeids2cXSS-CIFe0-Yiv0RsVP31-npZ5H3naRhS9isUq_kpvnMnYr4EwvGsxy9PtnwtIreIYc/s320/20210331_122346.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh45xDBmMnW07a7xJx2o2d9g4Jt80gD-2NkXtHdrm2vylDdRC4jYZbAwQda4XDBzQ8CHkiTKT3KzgIeoyKHqWPaXFr5FAQYtNdo2EDaTozYmcSyGuCMEFm-T-m3W3e36OkGuKbKpiUurM/s2048/20210411_153901.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh45xDBmMnW07a7xJx2o2d9g4Jt80gD-2NkXtHdrm2vylDdRC4jYZbAwQda4XDBzQ8CHkiTKT3KzgIeoyKHqWPaXFr5FAQYtNdo2EDaTozYmcSyGuCMEFm-T-m3W3e36OkGuKbKpiUurM/s320/20210411_153901.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>To everyone: The good Lord knows I have a foot-in-mouth occurrence nearly six times daily (plus or minus). I'm simply suggesting that we weigh our words and try not to diminish the struggles of others. It doesn't help to tell someone who is having a hard time that someone else has it worse or that it will inevitably be harder later. Be an ear. Give advice (only) if they ask. Coffee is usually a good idea. </div><div><br /></div><div>May the words we say be used to build up instead of chip away. </div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Words are, in my not</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">-</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">so</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">-</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">humble</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"> opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.” – Albus </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">Dumbledore</span></span></div></blockquote>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-6278127228384020442021-03-18T00:01:00.003-04:002021-03-18T05:28:58.575-04:00The Best Kind of Neighbor<div>I grew up in a relatively small community in the Baltimore metro area. We lived in a modest, paid-for home that my parents bought in the 70's. Our backyard was enclosed by a chain-link fence with a privacy fence on one side to keep us delineated from the four (to six) neighbors' yards (depending on how you counted) that abutted ours. The house to our left was nestled atop a hill. This hill was perfect for riding bikes down for a minor thrill. We practically wore ruts in diagonal lines across that slope, but never so badly that a good rain wouldn't fluff the grass right back up. </div><div><br /></div><div>The woman who lived in that house on the hill was more than a neighbor. I would say she was more than a friend. She was family, closer even than many of my blood relatives. Mrs. Ruth opened her back sliding door to us every time we knocked, offering us Tastycakes and refrigerated Hostess cupcakes and anything else she had in her pantry. She and her husband joined us for Christmas brunch every year. Mr. Bob trekked back and forth from their door to ours carrying packages like Santa Claus. She brought with her a feast of homemade sticky buns and pistachios, which I ate until my fingers and face were dyed red. (I recently asked her for her sticky bun recipe, and she mailed it to me! What a treasure!) When she needed help delivering Avon books, my sister and I trekked them around the neighborhood. When she went out of town, we took care of her parrot, George and her dog, Brittany. When our clothesline was full, she let us hang our extra stuff on hers. We kept her company at the annual craft fair. My sister was in her daughter's wedding. When she wanted to get the house ready for a family reunion, she hired us to clean. Then, she invited the four of us to her family reunions. She never cared, at least not out loud, if she looked out her kitchen window and saw us climbing her trees. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not one moment was forced. We just did our lives together. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now as an adult, we live in a similar type of neighborhood. We don't have clotheslines so there aren't as many spontaneous backyard chats. Our yards are mostly delineated by privacy fences to keep children and pets in and riffraff out (I guess). Most folks keep their grass and flowerbeds nicely maintained, the trees trimmed, and their homes tidy. Then there are some folks (ahem) that are in a season where other things like caring for and educating eight kids (ahem) take priority. For the past year, one of these things has been adding on to our home (about which I could and really want to dedicate a whole bunch of posts. Some day, Lord willing.). When we began our renovations, all I could think was, "Our neighbors are going to hate us." There is noise, traffic, bad parking jobs, trash, mud, gravel, and all manner of extra people coming and going at all hours of the day. It's been in the works since July, and it's not over yet. As one who wishes to offend no neighbor and who gets stressed out by ridiculous things like whether my kids are making too much noise in the public right-of-way of our road while riding bikes and if we've been parked on the street offensively-too-long, it's been an interesting few months.</div><div><br /></div><div>This afternoon, as I took a break from frantic-feeling school lessons (Would you believe we're behind? Yes. Always.) to put some lunch on the table, I heard my phone ding. I received a message from our neighbor to the right with this picture attached:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKU0Po9rC6W-66zBjCpApZZQbM-YrIjXR7QbdVD13hIxj9IDO1yoIPapc0AcWB9s0Dcp_rtYhs3rdTVgWS6nbxaasBC-J0921XNYdM0hQ3fS2Usomzc7wELGQBvuJNkgV1owG7x2OJEkc/s1560/159591223_499190921078851_3078273562477421734_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1560" data-original-width="1170" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKU0Po9rC6W-66zBjCpApZZQbM-YrIjXR7QbdVD13hIxj9IDO1yoIPapc0AcWB9s0Dcp_rtYhs3rdTVgWS6nbxaasBC-J0921XNYdM0hQ3fS2Usomzc7wELGQBvuJNkgV1owG7x2OJEkc/w300-h400/159591223_499190921078851_3078273562477421734_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div>This is a view of my Leah from her backyard running across the muddy, clay hills in our own backyard like a raving lunatic, something she has enjoyed doing almost daily since they started moving dirt. The note she sent me was absolutely precious. I hope she doesn't mind if I quote it here:</div><div><blockquote>That is a memory maker of a hill right there. I love it! They will have memories of that just as much as they are going to have incredible memories in your pool.</blockquote></div><div>I almost cried.</div><div><br /></div><div>That simple note from our sweet, sweet neighbor melted away eight months of meaningless anxiety. This neighbor shares my sentiments on what's important - finding joy in the mundane, appreciating beautiful messes, taking pleasure in watching children make memories. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've been thinking a lot about neighbors lately. I know I'm not to any of mine what Mrs. Ruth and Mr. Bob were to me. I don't know exactly how to fix that, but I'm willing. We have quilt literally built a bigger table. Maybe they will come if I just open the door. Our church touts the slogan "Life is Better Together." I wholeheartedly believe this is true, not only in our church family, but of our closest neighbors as well.</div><div><br /></div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/240/144EB2E9001EAD7126AB36DBBCFEAA97.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0px;" /></a>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-56385381382299069042020-06-09T00:13:00.001-04:002020-06-09T00:13:30.012-04:00For Homeschooling Noobs/Hopefuls/Contemplaters - Things You Probably Didn't Ask Me to Tell You<div>I'm going to begin by apologizing. Much like when you scour the internet for a simple recipe for, say, homemade hamburger helper (or something fancier for my more-gourmet friends) and you end up reading the entire irrelevant life story of the recipe developer, I fear I may end up straying from my original intentions for this post. With all humility possible, I thought it might be moderately helpful to offer a few thoughts to anyone considering homeschooling this coming fall, for whatever reason you might be thinking about it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Homeschooling is simple, but it's not easy. There's no right way to do it, but there <i>are</i> a million <i>different</i> ways. I believe God equips parents to educate their own children, but I also believe it's a calling not to be taken lightly.</div><div><br /></div><div>Early in 2012, about a year after <a href="http://herdofsheps.blogspot.com/2010/11/every-exit-is-entry-somewhere.html">I lost my civil engineering job</a> and just months before our fourth child was born, I was lounging around one evening, probably feeling sorry for myself because door after door had been closed to me on the job front, when Sam casually said, "Have you ever considered homeschooling?" That was easy to answer. I chortled and said, "Nope." Not even a little. That was basically the end of the conversation, but over the next few days and weeks, it turns out that I did consider it. A lot. All it took was the simple mention of it, and it infiltrated my thoughts. I did two of the nerdiest things possible: (1) I made the mother of all pro/con lists, and (2) I went to the library and checked out all the books I could find about homeschooling. There may have been more, but I specifically remember three. I also remember the fear and trepidation that came over me when I took them to the counter. I did <i>not </i>want the librarian to think I was a homeschooler, because, obviously, those people are weird. I guess people select books on stranger topics because she didn't bat an eyelash or give me the side-eye. I dove straight into "The Well-trained Mind: A Guide to Classical Education at Home" by Jessie Wise and Susan Wise Bauer. Long story short, the road map in that book empowered me. I found the scales falling off of my eyes, so to speak, and suddenly it became crystal clear how a parent could successfully educate their child at home. I admitted all of this to Sam. Upon Ben's completion of second grade and Abby's completion of Pre-K, I withdrew my babies from public school and brought them home. The rest, I guess, is history. (Some yet to be written.)</div><div><br /></div><div>A lot has changed since then, including my answer to "Why do you homeschool?" We started because we felt like our eldest was coasting and hoped we could challenge him. We wanted to be able to travel during the off-season, sometimes for weeks at a time. I felt like I was being urged by God to do it, in spite of my lifelong vehement opposition to all things homeschooling. Those things are still true, but we <i>keep</i> doing it because I love what it's done for our family. I love spending this time together. I love being able to go at our own pace. I love that we can spend extra time on some things and gloss over others. Though exhausting for these introverted ears, I truly <b>love</b> the conversations. Your "why" might be entirely different. And that's okay.</div><div><br /></div><div>The best thing about homeschooling is that there aren't any rules. Okay, there are a few, but in Georgia, there aren't many at all. (More on that later.) Perhaps a better way to say it is that with homeschooling, there are a million different ways to do it, and there's no single "right" way. This might be frustrating to the planners who want a cut and dried schedule or exhilarating to the free-spirits who are more prone to winging it, but either way, the biggest gift is the flexibility.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lest it sound like I'm lobbying, let me be clear that I am not. School choice is a personal one, and regardless of where your kids are learning, I hope that you, as parents, are involved in their day to day education. That said, here is my spiel to people who reach out to me with the general inquiry, "Tell me a little bit more about homeschooling."</div><div><br /></div><div>I used to recommend "The Well-trained Mind" and Cathy Duffy's Top 102 Picks for Homeschool Curriculum as the two go-to books for beginners. These are both great resources, but because my focus has shifted from academic rigor (which you most certainly find in The WTM) to living life together and loving learning, I now recommend "Teaching from Rest" by Sarah MacKenzie. This short book reinforces what our family is doing and why - and offers practical suggestions on how-to. </div><div><br /></div><div>People ask me what curriculum we use, and it makes me cringe a little. We still largely use the recommendations from "The Well-trained Mind," but I won't say that what we do is the best or perfect or even right. We're doing the best we can, for us. There are literally a million options for curriculum from workbooks you pick up at Sam's Club to complete box sets from dedicated homeschool vendors to free online options to online public school. What I'm saying is that what we use isn't necessarily what I recommend everyone else use. Maybe that's a cop-out. It's just too broad a question to provide a singular answer especially if the inquiry is meant to be used as a recommendation. How do your kids learn? How do you want to teach? How involved do you want to be? These are questions to ask yourself. Then go find Cathy Duffy's book, thumb through some curriculum at a homeschool fair or a friends' bookshelf or a used book store, and take a chance, but keep it simple. Worst case, you scrap it and try again. (There's that flexibility thing I mentioned earlier.)</div><div><br /></div><div>In Georgia, there are <a href="https://www.gadoe.org/Curriculum-Instruction-and-Assessment/Pages/Home-Schools.aspx">very few actual requirements</a>. Summed up, you must:</div><div>1. File a Declaration of Intent to homeschool before September 1 each school year with the GA DoE. </div><div>2. Include five core subjects in your studies: Math, English Language Arts, Science, Social Studies, and Reading.</div><div>3. Have your student tested every three years starting at the end of third grade by a national standardized test. (There are multiple ways to accomplish this. I got approved as a tester so that we can do it at home.)</div><div>4. Provide 180 days of instruction.</div><div>5. Keep annual progress reports for each student.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">None of that is too complicated. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm typically hesitant to offer firm advice, but I'll try to wrap this up with a few tidbits specific to things I've lived and learned.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On having babies & toddlers while homeschooling older kids: Utilize nap time. Encourage independence on the part of your older kids. Hold the baby while you work through schoolwork. Just let the littles be near you. My favorite joke is that I'm training bomb defusers and air traffic controllers. A lot of times, the big kids have quite a few distractions around them. They adapt. And if they can't, we table it and come back to it when things have calmed down (i.e. - nap time).</div><div><br /></div><div>On homeschooling preschoolers and kindergartners: Let. Them. Play. Read them books. Get them outside. Do not feel pressured to structure things or use formal curriculum. That's the full extent of my advice, but I hold to it. If your two or three year old wants to learn to read, absolutely let them. Do <b>not</b> <i>make</i> your two year old learn to read if they would rather chase butterflies and make mud pies. They'll learn to read soon enough. It's not a race.</div><div><br /></div><div>On high school: Keep in mind that transcripts will be required for graduation and it's to your benefit to keep good records (if not before) beginning in ninth grade. Also, do not be afraid! You can do it!</div><div><br /></div><div>A few resources: <a href="https://www.rainbowresource.com/">Rainbow Resource</a> (favorite curriculum vendor), <a href="https://www.weirdunsocializedhomeschoolers.com/">Weird, Unsocialized Homeschoolers</a> (fun blog with practical homeschooling advice across the ages), <a href="https://www.facebook.com/thesmilinghomeschooler">The Smiling Homeschooler </a>(Todd Wilson "The Family Man", great podcast on homeschooling but also offers me the greatest hope that everything is going to turn out okay for my kids)</div><div><br /></div><div>What have I missed? Tons. Ask questions and I'll try to give you a vague enough answer that I can't be held accountable if things go terribly wrong. But seriously, I'm here to encourage. If you decide to take the plunge, I'll be your biggest cheerleader. Happy Homeschooling, friends!</div><div><br /></div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/240/144EB2E9001EAD7126AB36DBBCFEAA97.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0px;" /></a>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-47437403016091189072019-03-11T14:35:00.000-04:002019-03-11T14:49:51.182-04:00An Unexpected TreasureTen years ago, I was twenty-five years old. Sam and I were neck-deep in a bathroom remodel we were desperately trying to finish before the arrival of our third child. We'd arrive home from our jobs, inhale a quick dinner (maybe), and work for hours doing all the things that come along with an extensive remodeling project. One morning, I woke up and groggily walked out to the coffeepot,\ as I do <i>every single day. </i>In my half-awake state I heard an unfamiliar whooshing sound coming from the hallway across the house. I walked that way and about halfway across the living room, my foot squished into the rug, which should most definitely not have been wet. The water on the floor got deeper, and the noise got louder as I approached the bathroom. A cap had blown off a pipe and was shooting water onto the wall and floor with the force of a fire hose. I did what I do in all emergency situations. I yelled for Sam. We got the water turned off in the yard, called out of work, and spent the day remediating the water damage. To this day, ten years later, I get anxious when I hear water, whether it's a drizzle outside I didn't know it was supposed to rain, or the dishwasher whirring that I didn't know someone had started, or even someone washing their hands in the bathroom.<br />
<br />
A few years after that, once again in a half-awoken state (a common theme in my life, it seems), I heard the door to our garage lower as Sam left for work. Moments later, I heard the strange sound of what I thought might be a lawnmower outside of my bedroom window in our backyard. "That's interesting," I thought. "Maybe someone is pity-mowing our yard for us." I stumbled, once again, toward the coffeepot before even glancing out back because my priorities are, admittedly, not in perfect order. When I reached the kitchen, I was able to see straight out the big windows that give an almost-panoramic view of our backyard and witnessed no fewer than half a dozen policemen with guns drawn, and a police helicopter flying so low that its skids were hovering just a few feet above where the treetops would have been, had they not been bowing towards the ground from the force of the wind. As I looked on, a policeman ripped the sheet off a blanket fort my kids had made on our back porch the day before. I did what I do and called Sam on his cell phone. No answer. I called my dad 700 miles away and cried with fear. I would soon find out that a robbery had occurred a few miles south at a convenience store and the fugitive burglar was hiding (and subsequently apprehended because WRPD and Houston County Sheriff's Office don't play) in the stormwater detention area behind our fence. Even now, years later, when I hear the unexpected sound of a nearby motor, I peek out of my blinds half expecting another invasion by police forces in relentless pursuit of a criminal.<br />
<br />
I tell these stories to highlight the fact that I have experienced very little trauma in my life. I do not say this from a position of bragging, but most humbly and by God's grace. Prone to fear, I get a little knot in my stomach when I can't quickly place unexpected sounds, particularly water and engine noises. It's almost laughable. Hold that thought.<br />
<br />
Last week, as Ben pulled a notebook from a pile in our office, some very-yellowed newspaper clippings fluttered to the floor. Not exactly sure of their origins, I was curious enough to peek at them. The first two were of little note about distant family members, but the third one took my breath away. Both of my grandfathers served in the Pacific in World War II. My dad's dad was in the Army and fought in both Okinawa and the Philippines. Occasionally, he would talk about his time there and in our conversations what I noted the most was how much compassion and love he felt for the Philippine people. Although I knew my mom's dad served in the Navy on the San Francisco and New Orleans, he did not talk about his time in the war. In fact, we really just knew not to bring it up. Having lost a brother after the war as a result of the devastation of what we now know is PTSD, my grandfather coped with his experiences by shutting them away as many men and women of that great generation did in order to carry on with post-war civilian life. I can hardly blame them. Based on his dates of service, my dad has been able to track the movements of the ships my grandfather was on and figured out some of the battles in which he fought. These puzzle pieces are all we have had as a tribute to his time in the service.<br />
<br />
Until the newspaper clipping fell to the floor.<br />
<br />
I will let the words speak for themselves.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVWN8uO3upEtXQHNJpePtE5h5D3fr7zMS4SzeJRF0zxovCB5oNm5Krb8aTnMHOB_LdF7rm8w4lsRCxWeLj0V3i5mUgcv_mKrZeXlgAPBgXfF5kvUT2uXiKVWjShpvsZaiTXQNsu639BTo/s1600/Page1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVWN8uO3upEtXQHNJpePtE5h5D3fr7zMS4SzeJRF0zxovCB5oNm5Krb8aTnMHOB_LdF7rm8w4lsRCxWeLj0V3i5mUgcv_mKrZeXlgAPBgXfF5kvUT2uXiKVWjShpvsZaiTXQNsu639BTo/s1600/Page1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI87J0ur9JnTV3Ui3ZN1p8t-P7hUxlQprQ8ajTMMiJ2vPlhB6TPXfmhxhl0kC_QvOFYUEaXOIrMFcqPgF3eS46g9j8neNseXeGsA6DRtGCqUsEOYk70oMuuSJvC7UPXjaFnRp2njK81Lc/s1600/Page2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI87J0ur9JnTV3Ui3ZN1p8t-P7hUxlQprQ8ajTMMiJ2vPlhB6TPXfmhxhl0kC_QvOFYUEaXOIrMFcqPgF3eS46g9j8neNseXeGsA6DRtGCqUsEOYk70oMuuSJvC7UPXjaFnRp2njK81Lc/s1600/Page2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
(In case it can't be read, some quotes)<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Young McGrath, home on furlough after approximately eighteen months of active duty in which his ship took part in practically every engagement that the navy has encountered during his stay there, is rated as an Electrician's Mate, 2/C, but had to transform himself into a gunner when the gunner whose place he filled for the remainder of the voyage was scalped by a Jap bullet during one of the engagements.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
My ship once had more than a hundred feet blown off during a battle. That was a big hunk out of a ship, but we got it repaired. I thought my time had come, however, not then by the time a Jap plane plummeted to our deck, sprayed the whole section with high-test gas, and then burst into flames. It looked bad for awhile, but we came through finally.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Young McGrath helped to rescue the line Marine who remained on Guam for twenty-one months. He was operating one of the search lights when the Marine swam out to a lifeboat. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The Electrician's Mate-Gunner will report back to the San Francisco later this month. <b>He has already signed for more sea duty.</b> (emphasis mine) </blockquote>
It was surreal to come across this piece of history one day in the midst of our normal routine. No one in our family had every seen this article or knew these details about his time in the Navy. We lost my grandfather nearly 19 years ago, and with each passing day there are fewer of these brave men and women left to tell their stories. When I stop to consider how weak and cowardly I am when contrasted to the bravery and fortitude of the young people of the greatest generation who not only witnessed, but ran towards and fought against the unspeakable horrors of war, what I feel is gratitude. We cannot thank you enough for your example and your courage. And, on a personal note, thank you, Grandpop, for coping with trauma in the best way you could, for being one of the bravest men I knew even before I had an inkling of your war experiences, and for loving and living with passion and a smile for the rest of your days.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbvdthpUndCMY11UAnSP7iNmRPEt7X4ZWBNaFiQ_xcGgVQ6-aZUhtO9Kr7IwTiHHSqwt0LozcA9Jn5xaJlNUUT7ISwmPFj658LLmRA4enNwM9LRm1hYPbkVF5vFz1segv4Gaj-Z0tXW0/s1600/GandG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="512" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbvdthpUndCMY11UAnSP7iNmRPEt7X4ZWBNaFiQ_xcGgVQ6-aZUhtO9Kr7IwTiHHSqwt0LozcA9Jn5xaJlNUUT7ISwmPFj658LLmRA4enNwM9LRm1hYPbkVF5vFz1segv4Gaj-Z0tXW0/s400/GandG.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-1299940526595446632018-11-01T23:07:00.002-04:002018-11-01T23:09:47.250-04:00QuietThere's something magical about staying up at night, enjoying the sound of silence, while everyone else around me sleeps. It's even more special on beautiful fall evenings when the temperature is so perfect that there's no whirring of air conditioning running and it's not cold enough to turn on the heat. Fall is that way, quiet and magical. I don't know how anyone would enjoy any other season more.<br />
<br />
In an effort to dig into the season that I hold in such high regard, I resolved to step away from the clutches of social media in October. I can't honestly say I'm coming running back to it. Sure, I logged in to make sure I didn't miss things like announcements about neighborhood yard sales (oh wait, still managed to miss those), happenings in our homeschool co-op, and my local news headlines. What I needed a step back from was the noise - whether in the form of the insta-awesomeness of everyone I "know", the passionately charged, election-season political opinions of acquaintances from high school, the comments sections of literally everything, the time-wasting Tasty & Nifty videos, the funny memes, just all of it. I have no willpower. I can't just look a little. If I give myself access to it, 2 hours later, I'm taking a quiz to find out what my favorite bread says about my personality and trying to solve the mystery of how two people I know from two different states and stages of life know each other. It's like the bag of Halloween candy that remains untouched if I don't break the seal, but if it's open, I can't stop myself. Inevitably though, even small interactions with social media cause my blood pressure to rise, and I get sad and wonder to myself, "Is this really what we've become?"<br />
<br />
It behooves me to turn the sound down. It's not just an ostrich-with-her-head-in-the-sand kind of thing. Literally, good things happen when I step away from the computer/phone screen. I had this nostalgic thought that maybe I could <i>not</i> know every opinion and life happening of every person I encountered. I could wonder about people instead of coming into interactions with a pre-conceived notion developed through the lens of social media. Maybe, I could just get to know people through conversation. Maybe it would be awkward (because that's my specialty), but it would be true. Maybe I don't need everyone to know what happens in my life at 10:20am on a random Tuesday.<br />
<br />
I started this year out with "Brave" as my 2018 theme. I'm not abandoning that, but I'm tacking on another word for the final three months, and that word is "Quiet." There is so much value in turning down the noise. It's a little gift I'm giving myself.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://quotefancy.com/media/wallpaper/3840x2160/475441-Mother-Teresa-Quote-God-speaks-in-the-silence-of-the-heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://quotefancy.com/media/wallpaper/3840x2160/475441-Mother-Teresa-Quote-God-speaks-in-the-silence-of-the-heart.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-28881850753737451462018-08-14T08:57:00.000-04:002018-08-14T09:48:40.673-04:00Who cares? Well, apparently, me.Sam is an engineering project manager. His job is to oversee the execution of a project from start to finish and ensure that it is completed in a timely, effective manner. In my opinion, a large part of what makes a person a successful project manager is not only their ability to troubleshoot problems as they arise, but to anticipate what might go wrong in advance and have a solution at the ready in case it does. Sam is great at what he does. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you juxtapose Sam's ability to solve problems against my ability to anticipate the worst case scenario in every facet of life, you might say we're a perfect pair. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sam booked the tickets for our imminent European adventure on May 13th. It is now August 14th which means I have had exactly three months to worry about every possible thing that could go wrong. What this also means is that Sam has spent every spare moment in the past three months anticipating problems and creating preemptive solutions for all things European/travel related. The other night, I stayed up late fretting and listing my concerns in my head and rather than physically writing them on a piece of paper so I wouldn't have to carry them around in my brain (an exercise I affectionately refer to as a "data dump"), I remembered to pray about them (if I'm honest, my inclination is to worry first, pray later). When I woke up, 2 Timothy 1:7 came to mind:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, of love, and of sound mind.</blockquote>
As a special added bonus, God has also given me Sam.<br />
<br />
I told him that morning that I was going to voice my fears to him about the trip with the hope that we'd talk through how silly they were or how we'd deal with them if they arose. I hoped we'd do more of the latter than the former. Knowing many of my concerns were rooted in how other people would be affected, I wholeheartedly expected Sam to meet them with "Who cares?" If there's another thing Sam is really good at, it's not worrying what other people think. For me, it's as much a part of my routine as making sure I shower daily. Later that day, we took a walk and thus began the <strike>therapy session</strike> conversation. I suspect Sam felt like he was an unwitting participant in this game:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QsVs_f_2SArCdi4t3hKeG3BQ5Mo7WogS4X5sSijHhpjv1dwhpktVJkaAreOpC9dWOfu2j2m6kI4PN_u8UlVgQlGENERzFo042YFB8mjzWa4gEcFxfKd0ov-unZ3oHUy2K_6LOh16OcE/s1600/51iBMWwRRKL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="500" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QsVs_f_2SArCdi4t3hKeG3BQ5Mo7WogS4X5sSijHhpjv1dwhpktVJkaAreOpC9dWOfu2j2m6kI4PN_u8UlVgQlGENERzFo042YFB8mjzWa4gEcFxfKd0ov-unZ3oHUy2K_6LOh16OcE/s400/51iBMWwRRKL.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Nevertheless, he humored me.<br />
<br />
What if Zachary cries for the entire 8 hour flight? <i>He won't. We can walk him up and down the aisles. We can make him room to walk around in our row. He'll probably sleep some. Airplanes are loud. He likes white noise. </i><br />
What if our kids are terrible in a foreign restaurant? What if we don't know what or how to order? <i>We just won't go to restaurants. We'll cook our own food or buy street food.</i><br />
What if someone gets hurt? What if I get a kidney stone? What if someone breaks a limb? <i>We aren't going to a third world country. We'll just go to a hospital and get taken care of. Our health insurance covers us.</i><br />
What if our phones don't work? <i>We'll go to the store at the train station and buy prepaid ones.</i><br />
What if we get separated on the train? Like, you and half our kids are on the train and I'm left in a foreign city with half our family and I don't know how to speak the language and I don't know how to get in touch with you and I just sit down and cry because I don't know how to find you? <i>That won't happen. But if it does, all train stations have wi-fi. You can get in touch with me no matter what. You can get a new ticket for the next available train or rent a car and drive to us. </i><br />
What if someone steals our passports? <i>I made copies. We take them to the US Embassy and they'll make us new ones on the spot.</i><br />
What if one of our Airbnb reservations is canceled upon arrival and we don't have a place to stay? <i>If there's a train station, there are hotels. We will find a place to stay. I also have Marriott points to redeem, if we can find one of those.</i><br />
What if I have a headache the whole time because coffee isn't as readily available there? <i>Literally every place we're staying has a coffeemaker. </i>PHEW!<br />
<i><br /></i>
There were more, both that he answered and that I forgot to ask. I think you get the point. Some people have contributed to my list of fears without realizing it by posing their own concerns and voicing warnings to me, to which I can now say, "Bring it! I have Sam and he has the answer."<br />
<br />
To his credit, he did not say "Who cares?" one single time.<br />
<br />
My biggest unvoiced concern is "What if people are rude to us?" The answer to that truly is "Who cares?" But also, "How would I know?" I can understand a very tiny bit of German, can speak even less. And other than that, I know virtually no French and absolutely no Dutch, Swedish, or Danish. They can say whatever they'd like to or about us and I can remain in blissful ignorance.<br />
<br />
Maybe we're a little crazy to take a trip like this, but with each passing year, it becomes increasingly more important to me that "someday" doesn't turn into "never" or "we missed our chance." We want to see the world, to take our kids out of their bubbles, get <i>me</i> out of <i>my </i>comfort zone, try new things. What are we waiting for? Nothing.<br />
<br />
If you would, please pray for our safety and sanity as we trek to Europe. Please pray that the only reason we would stand out is as a light, whether here or there. Also, pray that I don't gain back an unwanted 20 pounds in chocolate, bread, and frites.<br />
<br />
A literal foreign land full of history, culture, food, and people awaits.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-82071104117339771092018-08-13T17:21:00.004-04:002018-09-24T23:38:37.221-04:00Telling myself I'm awkward. And stopping that.I have had a lot of awkward conversations in my lifetime. You might say I'm particularly gifted at them. When I walk away from one of these encounters, I typically assume the fault was on me, like 100% of the time. Under very few circumstances do I leave and think, "Man, that other person was <i>super weird and hard to talk to.</i>" On the contrary, I carry on with life, rehashing the strange, possibly offensive, confusing words of chit-chat I attempted to contribute, telling myself that someday I won't be so goofy and uncomfortable. If there's one thing I can do well, it's own my awkwardness. I do give myself a little credit for trying. If you knew me 20 years ago, you'd probably think I've come a long way. Credit where credit is due.<br />
<br />
What I didn't realize is that other people do this too.<br />
<br />
A few days ago a sweet friend came up to me and said, "I'm sorry I was so awkward when we talked last night. I thought about it all night."<br />
<br />
I was taken aback. I didn't think the exchange was awkward at all. In fact, I had thought nothing about it after I left. I assured her nothing about it was odd in the slightest and confidently declared that if it was awkward, I accepted sole responsibility. I wish she hadn't worried about it at all. I hated that she spent even a moment thinking about it on my account.<br />
<br />
And that's when I realized that this is <i>exactly what I do. </i>How many times have I replayed what I presumed to be awkward for hours on end, fretting about what I could have said instead or maybe not at all, worried the other person was upset or thought less or differently of me because of it.<br />
<br />
Only, that other person? They didn't think about it. <b>At all.</b><br />
<br />
You may have heard it said, "You probably wouldn’t worry about what people think of you if you could know how seldom they do!" — Olin Miller<br />
<br />
I never really believed that until the aforementioned conversation.<br />
<br />
Sometimes people don't believe I'm an introvert (hahahaha!). Sometimes, people tell me they don't think I'm awkward (that's really kind of you, thanks). I don't think that introversion is a bad thing that needs to be fixed, nor do I think we're all meant to be public orators or the life of the party. Thank God he created us to be unique. I am a big fan of the fake-it-till-you-make-it philosophy though. Sometimes, you have to be cordial to strangers and engage in nominal conversations, clunky as it may be. A few things are possible: it was not as awkward to them as it seemed to you, they thought it was awkward too but assumed they were responsible, or they literally thought nothing of it and carried on with life. None of those are worth losing sleep over, right?<br />
<br />
I have an idea. Let's be as generous with ourselves as we are with other people. This is a little corollary to the Golden Rule. Of course, we should treat others the way we want to be treated, but sometimes I think we speak so unkindly to ourselves that we start to believe that we're....whatever we say we are. Maybe you tell yourself you're awkward. Maybe it's something else altogether. Slow-witted, disorganized, too fat, lazy, un-athletic, boring, a terrible cook, fill-in-the-blank with your own personal brand of self-deprecation. Then, stop saying it. Seriously, stop it.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Speak kindly to yourself. You are always listening.</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">This means I'm TOTALLY NOT GOING TO THINK ANY MORE ABOUT how I exhaled Twix cookie crumbs all over our precious church preschool director this morning because I giggled (naturally) mid-bite. Surely she didn't think that was as awkward as I did. Right? RIGHT? Right. Definitely.</span>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-41036499089323512282018-07-31T09:02:00.001-04:002018-07-31T13:58:17.374-04:00Simple Pleasures - The Power of PerspectiveTwelve years ago when we moved into this home, I was a fledgling civil engineer working primarily in the realm of stormwater conveyance. It was my job to design new construction projects to drain away from the buildings to an inlet or pond. Getting rid of stormwater water was kind of my "thing." After the first rainfall at our new house, I was less than excited to find out that the curb and gutter had been constructed so that the low point was not at inlet, but rather, across the entire length of our property in the road. Translation: Every single time it rains, we have standing water in front of our house. I'll be the first to admit that in the grand scheme of life this is not a major problem, but it was a regular annoyance. Each time the rain fell and I saw that property-long puddle in the front of my house I'd shake my head and grumble about the irony of a faulty conveyance system in front of the home of a civil engineer. (Grumbling is my default setting.)<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love that God is so sweet to soften our hearts on things. Sometimes all it takes is a solitary experience. Other times it happens little by little after years and years. Regardless of how I got there, I find myself looking at that water through different lenses now. Beginning with the firstborn on a tricycle making his way through the river to yesterday with the whole crew of rowdies enjoying a rainy jaunt with countless other water play moments in between, I see it as an opportunity to be a fun-loving child in a world that would have them grow up way too fast. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtxOYiY7ajV4lEyxj5J3SCJhfwykdK9Wg0GlOlsi6dC9p4LsIV3YYGUAmeqtTcgZ9oysDpCrQzZykgSDpkn2-EUjRPIHinMkjz_uSIMpT9WkaVwpsAkTu_vhDwQGtRMAtL3XimpECHtM/s1600/Gutter1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="336" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtxOYiY7ajV4lEyxj5J3SCJhfwykdK9Wg0GlOlsi6dC9p4LsIV3YYGUAmeqtTcgZ9oysDpCrQzZykgSDpkn2-EUjRPIHinMkjz_uSIMpT9WkaVwpsAkTu_vhDwQGtRMAtL3XimpECHtM/s400/Gutter1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMf-QHVg9KShHqdnbZOPKEBZDzouDqt3E6UxbH4XrEUzCq4Cc_0Em6mJNyOM8cq-cQ_er7MRHo-0VfjHMEKeLp_Thg2wfgE2pJkhfzemrQX5AaoLzlmXt79TMHFPJfRWMN7rWLsZ7Nlg/s1600/Gutter2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="960" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMf-QHVg9KShHqdnbZOPKEBZDzouDqt3E6UxbH4XrEUzCq4Cc_0Em6mJNyOM8cq-cQ_er7MRHo-0VfjHMEKeLp_Thg2wfgE2pJkhfzemrQX5AaoLzlmXt79TMHFPJfRWMN7rWLsZ7Nlg/s400/Gutter2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwq7dxF4l8Fw4voB5KxZsukMOMmSN1u0YTlG_qJw0crV3-aIwBZ53Vpgf655aoPrdy6v1Z0e0fYWwS-zvDBaj5VY-iYpAWMMgEkop-NLyraSzfRNoVr1CIwF3OY1LjCiVM_5epgnVePQI/s1600/Gutter3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwq7dxF4l8Fw4voB5KxZsukMOMmSN1u0YTlG_qJw0crV3-aIwBZ53Vpgf655aoPrdy6v1Z0e0fYWwS-zvDBaj5VY-iYpAWMMgEkop-NLyraSzfRNoVr1CIwF3OY1LjCiVM_5epgnVePQI/s400/Gutter3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OLoTMZ3HTeGUngmRFURPYTPVItz4t6kUN7VRSzoifLH-OiaeLraM4HYDBCW1xAZ6RrRwpxaMFzehM_PFzGp0Zb6w_dOiupYvj9BGmoKrnpgxk8Bcckxa1dpCfdU3zeiTWr8mvXblDvc/s1600/Gutter4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OLoTMZ3HTeGUngmRFURPYTPVItz4t6kUN7VRSzoifLH-OiaeLraM4HYDBCW1xAZ6RrRwpxaMFzehM_PFzGp0Zb6w_dOiupYvj9BGmoKrnpgxk8Bcckxa1dpCfdU3zeiTWr8mvXblDvc/s400/Gutter4.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe there's hope I won't end up a grumpy curmudgeon in the long run. If so, I owe it, in part, to these smiles and some faulty construction. Training myself to see the opportunity instead of the obstacles is not a natural tendency for me, but blessings abound when we let God change our hearts.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I challenge you to look for unlikely blessings today.</div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-5404271251795412402018-07-12T10:29:00.003-04:002018-07-12T11:02:10.616-04:00The Butt of SO MANY JokesI like to laugh as much as the next gal. Probably more. In fact, my laugh usually precedes me. People hear me coming. I don't even realize I'm doing it, but I laugh so obnoxiously, people will poke their heads out of doors and see me in the hallway and offer a quip like, "I thought I heard your laugh!" I think that will probably be one of the things on my tombstone.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She was always laughing. Even when she shouldn't have been.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here's a list of reasons I laugh:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm nervous.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I don't know how to respond.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can't hear what the other person said.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I remembered something from 1994 that was even a little bit funny.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My kids have just said something ridiculous.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To keep from crying.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My mom. She gives us a lot of material. (Bless her heart.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A situation in real life reminds me of a Seinfeld or Friends episode.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I do something embarrassing, like pour coffee in my lap and have to walk around like I just wet my pants.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I just watched a Geico commercial. (They get me every time. <a href="https://youtu.be/Ck7tFH9R1kE" target="_blank">This one</a> on the World Cup is the cause of my most recent giggles.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I do something that reminds me of my mother.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I read a clever pun or joke.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The guy passing the communion wafers hit the tray on the corner of the pew and spilled some on the ground.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I think about a situation that was once stressful, but that retrospect has turned hilarious.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And the list goes on.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So, really, all of this is to build my case that I <i>love</i> to laugh. (And smile. But that's probably another whole blog post.) Not to be cliche, but laughter, in my opinion, truly is one of the best medicines. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
With that being said, it might surprise you to learn that as much as I love to laugh, sometimes it gets exhausting being the punchline to so very many jokes. Apparently, it is open season on large families who homeschool and drive gigantic vans. I guess we're just asking for it. (Except, we aren't really. I never asked. I really, truly, would love to just blend into the background like the rest of the world.) When we go places, I have to give myself a big pep talk beforehand. "Alright, Jennie, this is it. You know who's going to be there. You know which ones are going to think they're hilarious and make the same, tired jokes at your expense. Smile and nod. You can do this!"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Most of the time, I can take it. Sometimes, Sam and I even try to beat people to the punch. We know the jokes are coming, so we make fun of ourselves first. "Haha! We have seven kids! That's <i>CRAZY!</i>" Other times, though, maybe when I'm tired or over it, a serial comedian makes one of the same jokes we've heard a million times on the heels of half a dozen other comments, and despite my best efforts, I'm unable to control the eye roll. If you've been a victim of this, I would like to apologize. It's not you, it's me. (Maybe a little bit you, too.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I don't want to be the person offended by every little thing. I truly don't. But the family size thing is starting to wear me down. I'm going to get serious for a quick minute. Then I promise to go back to giggling. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The reason we have so many kids is because God has given them to us. Well, actually, he's allowed us to be the ones who have the privilege of shepherding them (no pun intended). They're on loan. Each of these kids are His. While we're on the subject, so are everyone else's. We are just like every single other family. Whether you have one kid or seven kids or any number in between (or higher), we're just parents doing our best. We consider them to be the blessing that God tells us they are. My canned response to people's shock is - "I wouldn't return any of them." We look at parenting as one of our greatest priorities. Our intention is to point these kids to Christ. That is our prayer. Our end goal. I don't expect everyone to understand, but I do sincerely hope that our church family *gets* that our heart's desire is to raise a whole household full of Jesus-loving humans who will go and change the world. There can't be too many of those, right?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've had one kid, two kids, three kids, etc. I have been a parent while being a full-time student, work-out-of-the-home mom, work-at-home mom, and stay-at-home mom. I've breastfed and bottle fed. I've public-schooled and home-schooled. I've parented newborns, toddlers, preschoolers, grade-schoolers, tweens, and teens. Guess what? IT'S ALL HARD. Things worth doing usually are. In the end, it's worth every hard day, hour, and minute in between. My convictions about children are strong and serious. They are not a joke to me, and neither are my kids themselves. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Unless they say something funny, obviously.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I did not set out to have seven children. I also did not plan to go to college in the South, live in Georgia, give up my career, or homeschool. I love that God takes our sub-standard plans, crumples them up like a rough-draft, and writes a much better story. I love that I get to look back and laugh at how cute my plans were. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Laughter is a theme in our home. Come over and laugh <i>with</i> us. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I'll try to keep the eye-rolling to a minimum.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Edited to add the following disclaimer (it's what I do): If you're reading this, it probably does not apply to you. I'm literally just venting. Please don't stop being my friend.</span></div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-24067707181522194882018-05-24T14:05:00.001-04:002018-05-24T14:13:38.422-04:00The Woman at the Post OfficeOn May 11th, a friend sent me a Facebook message detailing a promotion by Scandinavian airlines where up to eight children could fly free with each adult ticket purchased. I looked at it, chuckled to myself, and closed it. The promotion expired on May 13th, and in those 2 days we had soccer games, a birthday party to host, Sarah's actual birthday, and Mother's Day, not that I was even considering it. While my adventurous husband does like to plan wild and crazy "field trips" for our herd, this seemed like too much. Even for him. Through the events of the weekend, I didn't give it another thought.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then, as we settled in for our Sunday afternoon rest time, he casually mentioned, "I think we should book the tickets." After I picked my jaw up off the floor, we weighed the pros and cons. Long story short, we booked the tickets for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's the beginning of the story that will end up being our European Adventure of 2018. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With a momentous decision like "taking a family of nine to a different continent" comes a lot of planning, not the least of which includes upgrading the family passport cards for land and sea travel to passport books for air travel. It took a few days to fill out the forms, take the photos, and get to the post office, but we got it all accomplished in about a week. Yesterday, we took the entire family for our appointment to prove we are who we say we are live and in person. We got situated in the "waiting area" in the center of the post office replete with two whole chairs, the entire family on display for the world to see. I was sweating (because that's what my body does <strike>when I'm stressed out</strike> at all times). It was already going better than the last time we went for passport cards and Noah peed in the middle of the floor. The kids were mostly sitting still, mostly being quiet, and Ben had the foresight to bring the Switch for the kids to play a game of Mario Kart while they waited. One of the postal workers looked at me and said, "Those all your babies?" I confirmed the fact, and she replied, "That's great. Large families are great." Phew. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We awaited our turn to go into the separate [less conspicuous] passport room for several minutes beyond our allotted time, when a customer approached us. She commented on the kids, that we were a beautiful family. (PSA - "You have a beautiful family" is *always* an okay statement to make. To any family. You should say this to everyone you see. It's the nicest possible compliment.) She told us she has worked with children for decades. She didn't say exactly in what capacity, but mentioned books and reading to them. She told us that she got to enjoy many firsts with kids and wished their own parents would have relished in those times as much as she did. Her whole body and all of her language exuded joy in her work. It was precious. She told us she never had kids of her own, to which Sam replied, "Sure you did! A whole bunch of them." She loved it and replied, "Yeah, I guess about 1500 of them." As she looked over our family she told us that she reminded the parents often that the kids did not really belong to them, they were God's children in their care. What a mighty calling and blessing to be responsible for souls. We nodded in wholehearted agreement. At this, she paused and asked if we were there for passports (a logical conclusion, I suppose, since most people probably don't bring their kids to the middle of the post office and hang out for fun). We said yes. She inquired where we were traveling, and Sam answered, "Europe." Upon hearing this, she looked us straight in the eye and said, "Y'all are believers? Can I pray for you?" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And right there in the middle of the Russell Parkway Post Office, this woman prayed blessings over our family and our upcoming travels. She prayed for our safety. She prayed that people would notice us and that we would be an encouragement to them. She prayed that we would find a way to share Jesus with those we encountered. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's how it came to pass that I shed tears (not surprising) and hugged a stranger (totally shocking) in the passport line.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Seconds after her "Amen" our name was called, and I thank the Lord the postal worker was running a few minutes late or we would have missed meeting this beautiful soul. With a "Bless you, sister" she carried on her own post office business at the counter, and it hit me so hard. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She <i>is</i> my sister. And this <i>is</i> how we should love each other. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She might never know how much that meant to me. God is already relieving me of my fears surrounding the trip. Prayer is powerful. And I pray the same things she did. Mostly, even before we leave, that our lives, in word and deed, will be an encouragement and witness to those we encounter.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I also pray that when the Spirit moves me, I will capitalize on the opportunities to encourage and pray for the people around me. Even the strangers. Despite my introversion. Because you know, I may not be the most gregarious person on the planet, but God can use <i>anyone</i>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And because I can't even stand how cute this is, here's one of Zachary's rejected passport photos. He was having way too good of a time. It doesn't quite meet the criterion for "neutral facial expression."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxDfY-2a52L3MWg6hq-7wJWt-9vlVyAYaktO_7lET3rdKSPwsdjG_o0dScGj5laqx4f6sIK00jb0GwYKUVv2aN5sPCXc_iAX1JiZzAgrukjr6b6g19F6ldmR_VnOGEbmu6FzIqfyvvcg/s1600/Smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxDfY-2a52L3MWg6hq-7wJWt-9vlVyAYaktO_7lET3rdKSPwsdjG_o0dScGj5laqx4f6sIK00jb0GwYKUVv2aN5sPCXc_iAX1JiZzAgrukjr6b6g19F6ldmR_VnOGEbmu6FzIqfyvvcg/s400/Smile.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-38713472030633827922018-05-23T08:21:00.000-04:002018-05-23T08:23:57.123-04:00Dreaming<span style="font-size: x-small;">This post was written as a contribution to the </span><a href="http://www.centralwr.com/" style="font-size: small;" target="_blank">Central Baptist Church</a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> website. I am copying it here.</span><br />
~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
I'm a dreamer. I don't necessarily dream when I'm asleep, but when I'm mowing the grass or taking a shower or trying to settle down for the night, my brain kick-starts and I dream up lots of big ideas. I call myself a dreamer because I'm not always the best at implementing these big ideas, but I do enjoy tossing them back and forth in my brain. I dream of ministries I could start up, places our family could travel, ways to improve my home organization, blog posts I could write, or what I might want to be when I "grow up." Then, I put the lawnmower away, walk out of the bathroom, or roll out of bed the next morning, and it's back to reality.<br />
<br />
Sometimes when I'm caught up in the daily grind of life, I find myself wistfully preoccupied with "someday."<br />
<br />
Someday life won't be so fragmented, and I'll be able to concentrate on writing.<br />
Someday life won't be so busy, and I'll be able to pour myself into meeting the physical and spiritual needs of my neighbors in big, tangible ways.<br />
Someday life won't feel so chaotic, and I'll be able to get organized and finally be able to accomplish tasks efficiently.<br />
<br />
What I have to remind myself is that I'm not guaranteed someday. These fragmented, busy, chaotic, noisy moments are precious. They are a gift. I need to utilize them to the fullest. Maybe the daily grind doesn't feel glamorous. Maybe my current calling won't make headlines. Maybe humble, small gestures aren't just the starting point, they're the whole point.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Jesus said it wouldn't be what we said we believed or all the good we hoped to do someday. Nope, He said we would identify ourselves simply by how we loved people. It's tempting to think there's more to it, but there's not." -Bob Goff</blockquote>
<div>
Maybe it's just me, but in my desire to make some sort of big splash for the kingdom of God, I find myself missing the little opportunities that can add up in big ways. I forget that life is made up of countless moments in which we can minister. In his earthly ministry, Jesus did some amazing miracles, yes, but you know what he also did? He noticed when someone touched his robe. He sat for a chat with the social outcast. He had a lot of conversations over shared meals. He welcomed the children.<br />
<br />
Instead of waiting and hoping to do something big someday, I am challenging myself to do what I can, today. </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"There are many of us that are willing to do great things for the Lord, but few of us are willing to do little things." - DL Moody</blockquote>
Someday I might go on mission in a foreign country, telling others about Jesus as I go. Someday I might decide to pursue some great and noble career. But right now, I will practice what we preach to our Girls in Action on Wednesday nights. I will live a life on mission. I will love my neighbor right where I am. I will praise Him at my kitchen sink. I will teach my kids about the love of the Father. I will exemplify my need for forgiveness by asking for it when I wrong my family and friends. I will send notes of encouragement when God leads.<br />
<br />
Life is made up of moments. Let's make them count.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. Colossians 3:17</blockquote>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-6508165352210666582018-05-18T09:10:00.001-04:002018-05-18T09:18:46.806-04:00Children in a Broken World<span style="font-size: x-small;">This post was written as a contribution to the </span><a href="http://www.centralwr.com/" style="font-size: small;" target="_blank">Central Baptist Church</a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> website. I am copying it here.</span><br />
~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
Sam and I have seven children. Because this is an atypically large number, I usually try to present this information right up front to people. It’s not as if I can keep them a secret. A family of nine simply does not sneak around or easily blend into the crowd. As one who prefers anonymity, it has become abundantly clear that it is God’s plan to stretch the limits of my tiny comfort zone by growing our family. <br />
<br />
Having a large family opens us up to a variety of friendly inquiries. Typically, we are asked how big our house is, where all of the kids sleep, what kind of vehicle we drive, whether we are going to have more, and sometimes –<br />
<br />
“Aren’t you afraid to bring more children into this broken world?”<br />
<br />
Honestly, despite my inclination to worry unnecessarily, this particular concern is not on the list. <br />
<br />
If the Bible were our only history book, we could see that this world has had a brokenness problem since the beginning of mankind. Since the serpent asked Eve, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden?’” we have been under the curse of sin. One must look no further than Genesis to find accounts of deception, murder, natural disasters, marital infidelity, famine, slavery, genocide, plagues, and war to name only a few. The thousands of years following the first encounter in the garden have been a repeating loop of consequences from living in a sinful world. Solomon said it best in Ecclesiastes 1:9: “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” We should not be surprised that sin and evil exist in our world. God, though surely grieved by it, is also not surprised. The good news is that He does not leave us without hope.<br />
<br />
The good news is that as a follower of Christ, I have been given power through the Holy Spirit to combat the sinfulness of this world. I have been given God’s Word as a weapon, a sword of the Spirit. When all else feels bleak and dark, I have God’s Word as a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. If I teach these words diligently to my children, if they write God’s Words onto their hearts, they will be ready to face whatever this world can hurl at them. It is my privilege to be raising arrows ready to launch into this world, as speakers of truth. It is my job to equip them to fight the battle by pointing them to the Word.<br />
<br />
Worrying about the world our children face is evidence of a lack of faith and an indication that we do not trust that God is in control. I choose to trust God with the future of my children, and the future of our country and world. I will make it my primary goal to point my children to Jesus at every turn, to teach them that in spite of our sin and because of His grace, we have every hope in Christ. During this season of life, my primary mission field is my family, and I pray that God would multiply His kingdom through us. I pray that in the uncertain future that God holds in His hands, He would use each of my children in mighty ways to bring glory and souls to Him. <br />
<br />
So, to answer the question, no. I’m not afraid to bring children into this broken world. Quite the opposite, I’m honored to have the huge privilege and responsibility to raise kingdom warriors. I think that is precisely what this world needs.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-7290640725251863672018-05-10T23:53:00.003-04:002018-05-11T00:31:10.613-04:00Servant LeadershipOne of my favorite accounts of Jesus in the Bible is when he washed the feet of his disciples. I don't love feet. I think they're gross. Also, I know just what my feet look (and smell) like after a day of bare-footing around my less-than-sparkly home and flip-flopping around the yard and all over town here in central Georgia. I can imagine pretty well that the sandals-wearing, desert-walking disciples' feet weren't looking or smelling so hot either. Nevertheless, Jesus, God incarnate, in an act of service and humility, stooped down to wash the dust and day off his friends' feet.<br />
<div>
<br />
Why? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because He didn't just want to tell us what to do, he wanted to show us.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
You call me "Teacher" and "Lord," and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet. I have set an example that you should do as I have done for you. John 13:13-15</blockquote>
When I think of Jesus, the ultimate authority, acting in the humblest service, I cannot help but think of the amazing staff families at my church. Over the past couple of years, we have been blessed with the most sacrificial, serving men and women, and I just want to brag on them. They are the epitome of servant leaders. They saw what Jesus did and the follow his example day in and day out. Not one of them is too important or above serving their church family. It's an honor to do life with them.<br />
<br />
How do these men and women love with servant's hearts? Let me list some ways.<br />
<br />
-They've helped us carry dinner trays on Wednesday nights when my children grossly outnumber the number of parental hands available.<br />
-They've carried our trash and helped strip down tables after events.<br />
- They carry bundles of walking sticks intended for a VBS craft on their shoulders in a long sleeved-collared shirt on a hundred degree day.<br />
- They rushed to the aid of a young teen who slipped in a puddle of water, cleaning up her spilled tray before she even had the chance to be embarrassed.<br />
-They've offered to babysit, so we could go on a date night or take the big kids somewhere.<br />
-They have offered to take children home from sports practices.<br />
-They go out of their way and make a point to say hello.<br />
-They encouraged me in the parking lot after voicing fears on Facebook.<br />
-They brought me food when I had a baby.<br />
-They hung out with me in the ER for far too long as we awaited test results.<br />
-They offered to sit with my kids at home while we waited in the ER for far too long.<br />
-Though surely taxed by other areas of ministry, they still find time to lead the childrens' choir.<br />
-They snuggle babies while presiding over a deacons meeting. And any other time they can get their hands on one.<br />
-They teach their children to find ways to serve others, like holding our baby while we eat dinner or warch our bigger kids play basketball.<br />
-They show up at the hospital to pray over my babies, sometimes praying over the delivery - like <i>during</i> the delivery.<br />
-They have made countless phone calls, sent texts, and written notes.<br />
<br />
These are just a few I thought of, off the top of my head with very little effort. Now realize that I represent just one of hundreds of families in our church. I suspect each one can name a time they witnessed or were personally blessed by the leadership in our church family.<br />
<br />
The final example requires a bit of a back story, but it's one of my favorites. Last soccer season, Sam coached a group of Pre-K and kindergarten girls. At the same time, we had three other kids playing so Saturdays were pretty hectic. When it came time for the end of the year celebration, Sam had to travel for work. It's generally expected that coaches show up to these things, so I was the next in line to serve as substitute. This event so happened to occur the night Leah was fitted with a full-arm cast. In addition to the Sam being gone and Leah's arm being broken, I was stressed to the max because we were leaving the next morning to take a trip to Maryland, and I was beyond overwhelmed at how to be in four places at one time for the after-ceremony pizza party. Each team had a designated room in the Family Life Center in which they'd hang out one final time and eat some pizza. When we arrived before the awards to drop off our supplementary snacks, I expected to find my kids' rooms scattered on different floors and in opposite corners of the building. (That's what I do.) What I discovered was that the gym also had tables set up. I found the first team on the back wall. I took a few steps further to the next table, which belonged to my second child. As I proceeded down the wall, I started to wonder if it was just a cool coincidence that they were together. Then I reached the third. And finally the fourth. All four of my childrens' team tables were on the back wall. With dozens of teams, it couldn't have been accidental. Our precious recreation minister had orchestrated the pizza party so that parents with multiple children celebrated in the gym. Because he's amazing. I almost cried right there. (I did cry, later on.) It was such a sweet, sweet gesture. He did not have to do that, but it meant the world to me that he had.<br />
<br />
Guys, these folks are TOP NOTCH people. They exemplify Christ. With love like this flowing down, I cannot help but get excited about what God is going to do at Central Baptist Church. You should join us! </div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-9795639571238120762018-05-02T00:53:00.001-04:002018-05-02T08:13:54.741-04:00Punching Fear in the FaceSeveral years ago, I was driving with the kids. The road we were on wasn't a busy one, and I can't remember where we were going or why. What I do remember is that we were, of course, stuck behind a car that was obviously not on a schedule. Maybe it's because I'm always late, but cars out for a Sunday cruise in the middle of a week frustrate me to no end, especially when they're traveling under the speed limit (or as I like to think of it - "the minimum speed"). It was a rural area, one lane in each direction, and the road had a dotted stripe down the middle. I kept easing toward the center line to peek around the car in front of me, and every time I considered passing, I opted not to.<br />
<br />
That's when Ben chimed in with something to the effect of, "If Daddy were driving, he'd have passed already. He's not scared."<br />
<br />
Offended, I retorted. "I'm not <i>scared</i>!"<br />
<br />
"Yes, you are. You're afraid of everything."<br />
<br />
I eventually passed the car. But not without a lot of internal huffing and puffing at the suggestion that I was afraid. Of everything.<br />
<br />
I'm hardly a psychologist, and I cannot speak to the validity of the claims made in a Pixar movie. Nevertheless, I think there must be something right about <i>Inside Out. </i>For me, instead of a dominant personality trait, I have two duking it out for the head seat. Anyone want to guess which two? A year or two ago, I wrote a blog post detailing my propensity to get angry. That's still true, but after several eye-opening conversations, a little soul-searching, and, actually, an enneagram personality test, it has become abundantly clear that I'm afraid of <i>just about everything.</i><br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, determined to create better habits for myself and our family, we took a little walk around the neighborhood to a nearby playground. We don't have sidewalks, and the main road through our neighborhood is used as a cut-through for several adjacent housing developments. Knowing that all routes from our house require passage on this street has stopped me from doing any kind of exercising with the entire herd. I sabotage my healthier habits with fear.<br />
<br />
"What if that crazy black Camaro hits one of the kids?"<br />
"What if Leah veers to the middle of the road on her bike?"<br />
"What if someone falls out of the wagon?"<br />
"What if Zachary starts screaming at the farthest point from our house?"<br />
"What if someone falls?"<br />
"What if we really hug the corners and walk against traffic and we still get plowed down by a distracted driver?"<br />
"What if we get 0.1 mile into the walk and everyone starts complaining?"<br />
"What if someone robs our house while we're gone?"<br />
"What if it starts raining?"<br />
<br />
Literally. These were my thoughts.<br />
<br />
At the beginning of 2018, I made a decision to be <b>Brave</b>. It doesn't seem like I've made much progress, does it?<br />
<br />
As you can probably imagine, we survived the walk. Everyone got 1.7 miles of fresh air and exercise. No one was injured. Our home was untouched. The weather was gorgeous. And I thought to myself, what in the world would I have robbed myself of if I'd given in to my fears? (Answer: 1.7 miles of fresh air and exercise with the family on a gorgeous day.)<br />
<br />
A similar situation arose this past weekend where I had the opportunity to spend a Sunday afternoon with the families in our Sunday School Life Group. One of the couples organized a low country boil, and I never responded knowing that Sam would be traveling for work and that left me alone to deal with seven kids. Near a pond. In an uncontained area During naptime. Trying to peel shrimp. "No way!" I told myself. Then, Saturday morning, I thought about how fun the last time was that we'd done it, and how my kids would be so sad if they knew we missed out, and how if I can't take my circus to a picnic with my dearest friends to help me, where <i>can</i> I take them? I made an apologetic, last-minute text message, stopped at the store to grab a few picnic essentials, and we were ready to roll.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0SrDHrgJe7rXOJswnu3evqk_eL1pwrYXHTULPJIEKXLfY1yDZKMEs8Ng7A-no8wz_xsu3AObpRrHeJvCmtnqRPTs8VBb_cfIcq_rK_LOJjhfD1keE9brwv5Dbymk6SQIEls_NqLSO1-w/s1600/20180429_133937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0SrDHrgJe7rXOJswnu3evqk_eL1pwrYXHTULPJIEKXLfY1yDZKMEs8Ng7A-no8wz_xsu3AObpRrHeJvCmtnqRPTs8VBb_cfIcq_rK_LOJjhfD1keE9brwv5Dbymk6SQIEls_NqLSO1-w/s400/20180429_133937.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNHIukTKzoSHuyRnu87hsTLu0YKTU7qeGmshGtd56SbPD5rIEVBx9jGJWiWPvnrEekKMob8ZWsKLGzDmKhzihW-r0JJOaVu00TYM6Pg7I7rX6bXQu3obrTVy-xFyM4iip7MtojqphELA/s1600/20180429_134049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNHIukTKzoSHuyRnu87hsTLu0YKTU7qeGmshGtd56SbPD5rIEVBx9jGJWiWPvnrEekKMob8ZWsKLGzDmKhzihW-r0JJOaVu00TYM6Pg7I7rX6bXQu3obrTVy-xFyM4iip7MtojqphELA/s400/20180429_134049.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglXRJhgiPaqi4xJnIMoJtYIPo_y2o7jPnnms-GbrTyqJrohSUKRjXcFlQaGzhLPNGPviAWtFSa6GiMXNPSdA_RFCCJNxHzVMAD91nka3EO4BYSmjOP3Tsh17iXUiooo6CGM1enTXhLlF8/s1600/20180429_133903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglXRJhgiPaqi4xJnIMoJtYIPo_y2o7jPnnms-GbrTyqJrohSUKRjXcFlQaGzhLPNGPviAWtFSa6GiMXNPSdA_RFCCJNxHzVMAD91nka3EO4BYSmjOP3Tsh17iXUiooo6CGM1enTXhLlF8/s400/20180429_133903.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF_it8lRvtgr4mYQv2WG0lmd0U1gdiX3-7OcxKmBGH0lLoB1zohU6DrY_oIJyW066tew66s6Y4bAqEUpCzFfC0WAdDnL3Zwx1SnNMRB2KHq9sloPjWYVY0rEWKQ5o6urGntl1HIDLC6UE/s1600/20180429_133833.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF_it8lRvtgr4mYQv2WG0lmd0U1gdiX3-7OcxKmBGH0lLoB1zohU6DrY_oIJyW066tew66s6Y4bAqEUpCzFfC0WAdDnL3Zwx1SnNMRB2KHq9sloPjWYVY0rEWKQ5o6urGntl1HIDLC6UE/s400/20180429_133833.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
Would I rather Sam have been there? Absolutely. Did we have a great time in spite of me? Yes. Would I have regretted missing it? Without a doubt.<br />
<br />
Thinking over the events of Sunday afternoon, which far surpassed my grave expectations, I took a mental inventory of the times in my life where I was most terrified and contrasted the fear to the outcome.<br />
<br />
Moving from Maryland to Georgia to go to college<br />
Getting married at 19<br />
Raising a baby while finishing my degree<br />
Presenting my senior design project<br />
Finding a job<br />
Sitting for the PE<br />
Losing my job and not being able to find another<br />
Homeschooling<br />
Growing our family<br />
Traveling the country with 4, 5, 6, now 7 kids<br />
<br />
Can I tell you something? Fear is a punk. It doesn't matter what we are facing, God is faithful to see us through it. I couldn't tell you what of my fears are rational, how much of my anxiety is normal. I only know I spend too much time fretting about things beyond my control and not enough time giving it over to the One who wants to bear the burden for me.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your mind in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6-7</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me. He freed me from all my fears. Psalm 34:4</blockquote>
When I reach the end of me, that's when God shows up and shows off. I'm so grateful for the gift of retrospect so I can see God's unfailing work in my life. My current prayer is that instead of looking back to see what He has done, that I will trust him when my fears try to prevent me from living life, before I see what He's going to do.<br />
<br />
Let's face it, if I'm not the one taking my kids to a low country boil, who else is going to?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/1srs1YoTVzs/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1srs1YoTVzs?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-78269366055825583422017-08-01T00:27:00.002-04:002017-08-01T00:27:56.692-04:00One Sentence EulogyIf you are my Facebook friend, it's no secret that I have been reading a book (again) that I deeply love. The title is Listen, Love, Repeat by Karen Ehman. I don't get paid to promote the book. I don't get a cut if you buy it. I just think you should read it because it teaches us why and how to put others before ourselves in a world screaming "me first!" <br />
<br />
One of the reasons I've really enjoyed it is because it gives actual, practical advice on <i>how</i> to love others beyond taking them a meal or sending a text (both wonderful things to do, however...not knocking either of them). Like any great book, she goes out on a high note with my favorite two chapters coming at the end - entitled "Nearest and Dearest: How to Really Care for your Clan" and "Scatter Kindness." <br />
<br />
As I sit here, plagued by a third trimester overactive bladder and inability to get comfortable in any sleeping position, I found myself contemplating both chapters. You see, I'm not in a great mindset to be putting others first right now. I'm grumpy, uncomfortable, sweaty, and tired. Fortunately, that's all just temporary. (Well, let's be honest, not the sweaty part. Okay, or the grumpy part, if I'm being totally transparent.) Nevertheless, how I treat others cannot depend on my mood. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
We need to remember our why, the reason we love and serve and give thoughtful gifts and do good works. It is so that others will see Jesus. They may look at us, but we hope they see him.</blockquote>
I have the beautiful luxury of having a lot of "nearest and dearest." This is amazing because I have seven, soon to be eight, staggeringly different personalities to learn and know and love and navigate. It means I have seven, soon to be eight, people as a constant audience of me at both my best and, more often, my worst. Our nearest and dearest have the unfortunate privilege of getting to see our ugly side. We share with them the short-temper and harsh tones we wouldn't dare show to anyone else. I am the number one offender when it comes to taking for granted that they know I love them. I am guilty of pouring into others when I neglect to pour into my own. "Yeah, but they <i>know</i> how I feel. I don't have to <i>show</i> them." <br />
<br />
Wrong.<br />
<br />
This weekend was my husband's birthday. It came on the heels of a week of business travel for him, and a whirlwind week for me at home with the six kids, a huge belly, plus tons of extra things going on (first soccer practices, volleyball practice, a few play-dates, hosting book club at my house, routine church activities, chores, etc.). I was feeling less than energetic and inspired when it came to figuring out a present and a way to celebrate. Fortunately, Sam rose to the occasion himself and arranged for us to pick him up at the airport and spend the night in Atlanta, where we ate at a couple of his favorite restaurants, enjoyed a favorite treat (Auntie Anne's Cinnamon Pretzel), "relaxed" at the hotel pools with six kids, and browsed the exhibit hall of a Homeschool Expo (wait, that part might have been for me). Knowing he loves a good nap, we let him take a good one on Sunday after we got home, and the kids prepared the decorations and entertainment (an improvised Happy Birthday song to the tune of a wordless Disney karaoke track) while I prepared the caramel cheesecake because I had literally <i>none</i> of the ingredients to make a copycat Chili's Molten chocolate cake. We presented the photos we took while on the way to Atlanta at church for a gift, and I prayed he somehow picked up on the fact that we adore him. I simply cannot take for granted that he knows. We have to show him and tell him we love him.<br />
<br />
In the final chapter of the book, Karen poses a question to the reader. If someone were to record a one-sentence eulogy about me, what would they say? How would they describe me? I took that thought another scary step and pondered what my kids, specifically, would say. Late in the third trimester suffering from insomnia is probably not the best time to be contemplating this, but I pray they'd be able to say something like:<br />
<br />
She laughed more than she cried. <br />
She praised us more than she criticized. <br />
She let a lot of things go that might make other people crazy.<br />
She succeeded more than she failed.<br />
She apologized when she was wrong.<br />
She did for others what others wouldn't do for her.<br />
She was patient even though she was tired.<br />
Maybe, she gave us soft, gentle, thoughtful answers rather than using harsh, painful, and careless words that stirred up anger. Oh, wouldn't that be amazing?<br />
<br />
I'm not sure they can say those things, but I can dream. <br />
<br />
Knowing how fleeting our moments are here on earth, I want to do life better. To scatter more kindness. To love my nearest and dearest the way they deserve. To invest in the lonely and brokenhearted. To recognize the necessary people. To reach out to the cantankerous and prickly knowing I might get hurt. To glean my free moments to do these things instead of wasting them playing Cooking Fever or checking Facebook. (Not that I do either of those things all day long. I'm a grown woman! Seriously though.) <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Kindness starts simply.<br />An encouraging word.<br />A loving gesture.<br />A tender sentiment sent through the mail.<br />A thoughtful small token.<br />The gift of unhurried time.<br />A rousing pep talk.<br />Simply vowing to speak and act in a way that is gentle and kind is the starting point.<br />Aesop was right: "No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."</blockquote>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-43645741546373444962017-03-13T23:33:00.000-04:002017-03-13T23:33:14.387-04:00A Beautiful MessThere was a time, I seem to remember, when I was a fairly "together" kind of person. I maintained tidy work spaces, had legitimate organizational methods, and obsessed about minor details. (Okay, I still do that last part.) I had the luxury, way back when, of maintaining order at a more professional level.<br />
<br />
I'm sure you can guess what happened.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUZ0CMmrZByk9ez2jM28BwMZKfbJmrY-Y_pVMOO9uYJtmvQaV-3Fpcqndk7z6XvsGUkl7-2uScitRouIjm7lrDZLoHw5S02eQfJgh7vAnaHjh_f2ohSZXTo8mVxufNJ_sAqvwj2Hy70U/s1600/seven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUZ0CMmrZByk9ez2jM28BwMZKfbJmrY-Y_pVMOO9uYJtmvQaV-3Fpcqndk7z6XvsGUkl7-2uScitRouIjm7lrDZLoHw5S02eQfJgh7vAnaHjh_f2ohSZXTo8mVxufNJ_sAqvwj2Hy70U/s400/seven.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
(That's just one more on the way. In case you're confused. We just like to be surprised on the birth day and prepared with a tiny onesie in either case.)<br />
<br />
As we've added children, our lives have gotten fuller, both in the emotional sense of having more love and all that jazz, but also in the very real, physical sense because we have more stuff, schedules, and personalities to navigate. As the years have progressed I've had to teach myself to delegate. (Actually, my much-wiser-than-me husband not-so-subtly suggested that it was imperative to include our children in the household duties for lots and lots of very good reasons, not the least of which was that I was running myself ragged and not accomplishing much despite doing so.)<br />
<br />
For example, I delegated towel folding to my eldest who picked up the folding torch and keeps the stacks nice and uniform, facing the right direction. He, in turn, delegated the task of carrying the nice, neat stacks to the bathroom cabinets to his younger siblings who actually seem to enjoy running around like tiny delivery people. The part that makes me itchy is when these younger helpers insist on doing some folding on their own. The stacks are less uniform, almost never facing the right direction. But they are folded. And no longer on my fireplace. Or favorite green chair. Or on my laundry room floor. Lord knows I need all of those places for the next load of unfolded, but clean laundry. And so, I concede to the imperfection.<br />
<br />
Another chore of utmost importance is doing the dishes. I have not clung to many formalities in our large family life, but eating off of legitimate plates with actual silverware is one that, save for an occasional backyard picnic or pizza and movie night in the living room, I just cannot let go. As you can probably infer, this means we load and unload the dishwasher on pretty much a constant basis. True to my own personality type (or flaws, whatever), I had a difficult time delegating because I had particular ways of doing things (like loading the plates in a certain direction) and I wanted to be able to actually find the dishes, etc. that were unloaded. We started with unloading only. I would stand (or hover, depending who you talk to) over and watch as the younger ones attempted to comb their hair with clean forks before putting them in the drawer or touch their mouths to the clean cups before placing them in the cabinet. Gentle correction remedied these minor transgressions. For the most part, they do a fantastic job. They've broken no more dishes than their spaz mother manages to break and things are generally where they belong (even if I can almost <i>never</i> find a colander), despite the fact they might not be put away <i>exactly</i> how I'd like them to be.<br />
<br />
Tonight, as I was about to prepare my nightly cup of water (so I can chug it at bedtime and then proceed to get up every hour all night with an urgent need to pee - why? why do I do that?), I opened the cabinet and chuckled.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7YtwRJbNojZIxyuZ1bI3B6BVf54HIjoYaRT8e2OyHDsAQL5aYqfrtXOGJX7Jn8fYEV2HQApm5a-zaRkvrpNqbJal-cNOmcDffW7scrZPgOhjjgK73eLUPCAhaSYZAn31zf-Bunjlj34/s1600/20170313_215107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7YtwRJbNojZIxyuZ1bI3B6BVf54HIjoYaRT8e2OyHDsAQL5aYqfrtXOGJX7Jn8fYEV2HQApm5a-zaRkvrpNqbJal-cNOmcDffW7scrZPgOhjjgK73eLUPCAhaSYZAn31zf-Bunjlj34/s400/20170313_215107.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
The stories this cabinet could tell. Who looks in a cup cabinet and gets nostalgic? Me. That's who. The days of perfectly-cut shelf paper and matching, organized glassware are a distant memory, but the remnants of 15+ years of my life carry on this cabinet. A cup I used as a pencil holder when I was a senior in high school after selecting Mercer as my college destination. Free cups from Mercer events, including a customized one from my freshman RA. Preakness glasses that, ironically, Sam got on a business trip to Baltimore but that remind me of "home." A few, yet unbroken, glasses from a set that we picked out at Ross when our college glasses dwindled. A set of stemware that our girls use to drink ginger ale out of when they're feeling particularly fancy. A lovely set of platinum rimmed tea glasses that were gifted to me from family. A cup from Publix when we went trick-or-treating there with our brood. Small juice cups that mostly serve as dippers on our watercolor painting days. A giant plastic football cup from the last event ever held at the Georgia Dome.<br />
<br />
Mostly, though, I see the crazy, upside-down, right-side-up randomness, and it makes me smile. That's not something I ever imagined I'd say. This insane cup cabinet tells the story of my crazy, upside-down, right-side-up, random family. It's messy. It's imperfect. Some days, it's seriously upside-down. Some might call it chaotic. The thing is, it's us. It's teamwork. There's beauty in that mess. There usually is. Given the choice or the chance, I wouldn't trade it for perfectly-cut shelf paper and matchy-matchy. This is the beautiful mess God has given me. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #e5e5dd; color: #330000; font-family: georgia, "bookman old style", "palatino linotype", "book antiqua", palatino, "trebuchet ms", helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, "avante garde", "century gothic", "comic sans ms", times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Family life is a bit like a runny peach pie — not perfect but who’s complaining? ~Robert Brault</span></span></blockquote>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-47535227443889411572017-02-06T15:27:00.000-05:002017-02-06T15:27:09.048-05:00Only Kindness MattersFor as long as I can remember, I have cared too much. About everything. I get bogged down in details and feelings and hypotheticals and I lose sleep and I emote excessively. It's the reason I was awake all night a couple of weeks ago (and several times since then, in fact). I followed a conversation started by a friend on social media that seemed to civilly and genuinely tackle one of the hot button topics of the times. In my sincere desire to understand why people think so differently from each other, I read the comments. And there were many. As things tend to, especially online, tensions quickly escalated, people began making assumptions and blanket statements, and then the name calling ensued. End productive conversation.<br />
<br />
I find myself grieving the loss of civility in people I know and love and feeling crushed by the words and opinions of people I do not even know. <br />
<br />
One comment, a puny ten words or less, from a person whom I've never met kept me awake for a solid night because I wasn't able to separate real life from virtual "reality." What I am unable to do is distinguish hastily typed (or even carefully selected) words in the midst of an online debate from a personal attack on my character or choices. I guess I'm still that little girl seeking everyone's approval. Even strangers. On the INTERNET. Lesson to learn: People I don't know cannot speak for me or about me. Even if it feels like it, no one is personally attacking <b>me</b>. <br />
<br />
I don't know anyone in day to day life, literally, not <b><i>ONE SINGLE PERSON</i></b>, who is advocating for divisiveness, hate, and vitriol. Granted, my world is small, and I recognize that fully. But, my dearest friends and family members from all sides of faith and politics are calling for peace and kindness. This being the case, how is it that we're getting nowhere? Is it that peace and kindness look different to each of us?<br />
<br />
And what can I, Jennie with the tiny circle of influence, do about it?<br />
<br />
Seriously, if you've got ideas, I'm all ears. Text me. Email. Send me a postcard. Pop in, you can help me fold towels.<br />
<br />
I've unplugged from my major addiction for a spell. It's been quiet, and embarrassingly enough, a little lonely. I have relied on a manufactured virtual community to fill my need for actual friends for far too long. I don't want to be the ostrich who buries her head in the sand and pretends everything is okay. I know better than that. But I cannot accept that people are online who they are in real life. I cannot believe the hatred and animosity coming out of the mouths of friends are the same things they'd say to me in a face to face conversation. <br />
<br />
So, come on, let's talk. Face to face. Amidst the syrup drips still on the table from breakfast. And the crumbs still on the floor from lunch. I'll probably cry. Because I'm embarrassed of the mess, but mostly because that's who I am. Please, let's just <u>all</u> remember that the words we speak affect <i>actual</i> people. As much as we feel opinions define our character, I believe that the way we present our opinions, regardless of what they are, matters just as much if not more. In the end, only kindness matters.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/AfsS3pIDBfw/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AfsS3pIDBfw?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
My cry and prayer is a grieved one. Forgive us, Jesus, because we're so far gone. And yet, even still, knowing how awful we are, every one of us (and believe me, I'm the worst!), you deemed us worth pursuing and loving. Thank you isn't enough. Thank you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-308962280871899972017-01-04T12:55:00.000-05:002017-01-04T12:55:04.055-05:00Nailed ItSince the public schools went back today, I decided to follow suit and [finally] get back to our daily routine. I confess to being hopelessly behind. I know, I know. Same story, different year. Only this year, it's beyond behind. It's embarrassing. Despite my declaration of authenticity for 2017, I will give no further details other than to say we embarked on our January schooling with a sense of panic and dread.<br />
<br />
One positive thing is that we are all consistently behind together. {Think we can make up four months of work in the last five months of the year?! Don't answer that.}<br />
<br />
After a late breakfast of honey buns (a stellar start to the day I know) and about an hour of reading time, I sternly informed my children we were going to have our history discussion. Then they would each complete a math lesson before we ate lunch. <span style="font-size: large;">"AND, don't dare ask me what we're having for lunch!"</span> I warned them. I'm not sure why, but the constant inquisition as to what we're having for our next meal makes me want to throw things. To prevent that from happening, I beat them to the punch with a preemptive prohibition. Opening our history book to read aloud, I told them we were finally moving on from the Civil War (where we parked for a long time, on purpose, because, well, there are a million fascinating things to park on). Today's discussion would be about the war between Paraguay and the Triple Alliance of Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay, happening about the same time that the Civil War ended in the United States.<br />
<br />
We read and talked about how Lopez's Paraguayan army had some good ideas about attacking with their fast, agile river fleet against Brazil's slower maneuvering ocean fleet, how the Paraguayan army eventually got pushed back up the river and the whole country became land-locked and eventually cut off from supplies and faced starvation. We discussed how it was risky for Lopez to attack other countries, particularly large, powerful ones and especially considering his own people were so disunited to begin with. We talked about the social classes within the Latin countries, how they were made up of three main people groups; native South Americans, former African slaves, and Creoles.<br />
<br />
Me: What's a Creole?<br />
(blank stares)<br />
Me: We talked about this in our last history book. Remember when the Spanish came and conquered most of South America?<br />
(still staring, small glimmer of something familiar in their eyes)<br />
Abby: So that's why most people in South America speak Spanish?<br />
Me: Yes. So what's a Creole?<br />
(blank stares)<br />
Abby: (venturing a hesitant guess) A Korean War Hero?<br />
<br />
Close.<br />
<br />
Me: No, a creole is someone of Spanish decent, a spanish colonist born in South America. We'll just keep going.<br />
<br />
We continued the discussion about how cholera decimated the Paraguayan troops.<br />
<br />
Sarah: What's that?<br />
Me: It was basically an intestinal worm that made you very sick. And it was highly contagious. Now we have antibiotics that can kill the bacteria, but back then they did not. It caused you to become sick and get weaker and weaker until you died. But we don't have to worry about that here and now.<br />
<br />
Then we discussed whether Lopez was a patriotic hero for Paraguay or an insane dictator drunk on power.<br />
<br />
In closing I asked each kid to tell me one thing they learned today.<br />
<br />
Sarah: I learned that worms eat your intestines.<br />
Abby: I learned that most people in South America speak Spanish.<br />
Ben: I learned that God doesn't always smite dictators by saying (dramatic God voice), "Fire and ash will rain down upon thee!"<br />
Me: (my turn to blank stare) Interesting. Okay, move on to math. <br />
Ben: So (smug smile), what's for lunch?<br />
<br />
Ordinarily, my instinctual anger would have reared it's ugly head.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Today, I laughed.</span><br />
<br />
Maybe it's not perfect, but this is us. #Authenticity<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFIU2tAZABmKPQt24GqK5WAZ5_CAACeyQHory0utxfws7kXVdXy_aKfyfm3b9CVOWfRGH_bfhDyuV693x-BQipB7tcOQnUQEQst975PYH4Uhv2hDe7VRbIPQtEOYIQGol7d2AV5t_Jow/s1600/20161019_103537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFIU2tAZABmKPQt24GqK5WAZ5_CAACeyQHory0utxfws7kXVdXy_aKfyfm3b9CVOWfRGH_bfhDyuV693x-BQipB7tcOQnUQEQst975PYH4Uhv2hDe7VRbIPQtEOYIQGol7d2AV5t_Jow/s400/20161019_103537.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-17373513851335391102016-12-28T13:42:00.002-05:002016-12-28T13:59:45.970-05:00The Year of AuthenticityInstead of a resolution or set of resolutions that I will invariably quit before I even sollow the trend of selecting a word or theme for 2017. I batted around a few ideas, "Others" being the main contender, before deciding on "Authenticity." I hesitated to land on this one because I'm afraid it won't stretch me to improve. I'm afraid it will encourage me to be content with my flaws and dysfunction instead of challenging me to overcome them. Ultimately, I decided that's no different than what I'm doing now, and by being "authentic" I'm at the very least admitting that I have these flaws at all, and maybe some public accountability will help me change. Or maybe, what I consider to be a flaw isn't one at all and hashing it out with friends will help me to embrace it. (Wishful thinking.)<br>
<br>
I think I'm just tired. Of pretending to be everything other people think I am. I'm tired of pretenses. Let's just be honest here.<br>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
To kick off the Year of Authenticity I decided to come right out and confess some things. This will paint a picture of Who Jennie Is at the beginning of this adventure. </div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
This is me. In bullet points.</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I have trouble getting started with most tasks because I overthink them and anticipate every possible problem. Also, having 6 kids pretty much guarantees that whatever I set out to do will have to be accomplished in <a href="http://herdofsheps.blogspot.com/2012/03/incremental-living.html" target="_blank">15 minutes increments of time</a>, a lifestyle I have not yet embraced or accepted.</li>
<li>My inclination is to react instead of listen and respond. I spend a lot of time unnecessarily angry.</li>
<li>I am genuinely content to stay home ALL THE TIME. That said, my greatest adventures and best memories are from the times I venture out of the home and my figurative comfort zone. So maybe, just maybe, I need to be a little braver.</li>
<li>My home is mostly chaotic all of the time. It's not all kids screaming and running around, just stuff and actual dirt everywhere. I feel like I can't keep up and live in fear of someone just popping in and seeing how gross our living conditions are at any given moment.</li>
<li>I have no idea how to wear makeup.</li>
<li>I feel like the first 30 seconds of this video every time I wake up. To quote Garth Brooks, I'm much too young to feel this *#$! old.</li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/JRAfm5glLFY/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JRAfm5glLFY?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>
<ul>
<li>I care too much about just about everything.</li>
<li>I tend to hyper-focus on unimportant details.</li>
<li>I genuinely want to and seek to ease the burdens of others, but feel paralyzed by thinking what I plan to do isn't "big enough" or "helpful enough" or simply not knowing <i>what </i>to do.</li>
<li>I am very guarded about letting others help to ease my burdens. I <i>hate </i>asking for or accepting help.</li>
<li>Having 6 children has forced me to change in ways I never expected. I prefer who I am now over who I used to be, but my brain hasn't caught up to the fact that I am no longer a Type-A perfectionist.</li>
<li>I rely a little too heavily on comfort food. And comfort coffee.</li>
<li>I rely a little too heavily on myself. <i>Trust in the with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Proverbs 3:5-6</i></li>
<li>I have a passion for missional living. For me, this means figuring out a way to show love to my family, our friends, my neighbors, and even strangers whose paths I believed I was ordained to cross. </li>
<li>My inner voice is ceaselessly negative. Despite the fact that I feel totally comfortable encouraging others, I am an expert at discouraging myself.</li>
<li>I'm terrible at receiving compliments. </li>
<li>I think my kids are awesome, but I also know they're all sinners. And they're learning from one of the best sinners in town (me).</li>
<li>I prefer to blend into the background. I despise being the center of attention. God's funny joke is that he gave me six kids. You can't lurk around with a family our size. Because, you know, we bring the party wherever we go. </li>
</ul>
<div>
So there you have it. The good, the bad, the ugly. It's all true. </div><div><br></div><div> What is the point of all of this? I guess I'm just laying my cards on the table. In the spirit of authenticity. Maybe I'm looking for validation in the form of a "Hey me too!" But if I don't get one of those that is fine also.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
I read a timely quip from the author of one of my all-time favorite books, <i>Love Does, </i>just this morning. </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Don't let who you are keep you from who you're becoming. ~Bob Goff </blockquote>
Here's to a New Year embracing who I'm becoming in spite of who I am.Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-40539592253192597622016-11-01T00:26:00.001-04:002016-11-01T07:55:51.784-04:00The Noise, Noise, Noise, NoiseI don't know if this blog adequately portrays my life. I paint pictures of sunshine and roses, but there are some big, dark, cumulonimbus clouds and painful thorns as well.<br />
<br />
I try, very hard, to find the treasures in the little things, in each of my kids' personalities, in their successes, in the lessons from our failures. But, sometimes, things just aren't okay.<br />
<br />
I don't know if it's an early-onset of seasonal affective disorder, or what, but I have been <i>cranky</i> lately. I'm extra snippy, overly sensitive, and easily provoked. For those of you who have been wondering, Anger is my de facto ruling emotion of late.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/pixar/images/7/7a/Io_Anger_standard2.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150425021210" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/pixar/images/7/7a/Io_Anger_standard2.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150425021210" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Some days just aren't okay.<br />
<br />
I feel a little overwhelmed. Not just by the normal managing-the-household, homeschooling duties, but from a run-of-the-mill life perspective. ALL OF THE THINGS are stressing me out. I want to fix everything. I feel helpless to do anything. I don't know how to feel or think about most things. I spend too much time reading the opinions of others and weighing them against my own thoughts and feelings. "Is that what I think?" I wonder. "That doesn't seem right."<br />
<br />
I think this is my natural tendency as an introvert. I pool all of my resources and try to figure life out inside my already crowded brain. And it's not crowded with important stuff. It's crowded with things like the random location I saw Noah tuck Abby's Bible Quizzing book and how many and what kind of donuts each child likes and an internal debate about whether or not I can actually go the alleged 60 miles to empty it reads on my gas gauge. And don't forget to move the wet clothes to the dryer. Then actually <i>start </i>the dryer. When you add the NON-STOP opinions of a world that freely gives their opinions to that mess, it's utter chaos.<br />
<br />
It's when I turn into the Grinch. All the noise. Oh the noise. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/KUg5UTC3x3A/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KUg5UTC3x3A?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
I think this is why I'm broken. There's too much noise. I'm spending so much time reading and considering the words of others that I'm neglecting spending any time reading and considering the Word. I'm seeing the world through my feelings when I know full well the heart is deceitful above all things. I'm hoping to fix things and control things with my own feeble abilities instead of trusting in God, that same one who, you know, created the entire universe.<br />
<br />
When I look around, I see nothing but mayhem. When I look to God, I find peace and comfort. Why do I bother with anything else? Because I'm human. It's what we do.<br />
<br />
Maybe not a great thing to admit, but I'm adopting the prayer of the father of the epileptic boy.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"</blockquote>
It's my own lack of trust that prevents me from experiencing the fullness of a life with Jesus. But I think that I might be on to something. I'm done with the noise. If you need me, I'll be listening for that still, small voice.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(But seriously, if you need me, call/text/email/stop by/send me a letter. I'm still here for you. Even if I seem crazy.)</span>Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3964127382381586570.post-8604399578826206032016-10-14T01:10:00.000-04:002016-10-14T01:10:04.589-04:00No Filter.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Those family portraits with the perfect hair and matchy-matchy outfits? We know it took 100 takes to get the one you posted on Facebook that you casually referred to as a "snapshot." Because otherwise it would look like, say, this one: </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyNoQ_wKCZrUGaCtDEbLARreobx3vYAuP_8wZ1QNwKorgaUT3zi3ERBDdYw56KfJPDkaAI2XfF6L0knRpp40QtZS1NgebRAsyHaiNKtmGZggIjmmbToI8gIiv8tpDrpSWgnp3MEiFagA/s1600/IMG_4459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyNoQ_wKCZrUGaCtDEbLARreobx3vYAuP_8wZ1QNwKorgaUT3zi3ERBDdYw56KfJPDkaAI2XfF6L0knRpp40QtZS1NgebRAsyHaiNKtmGZggIjmmbToI8gIiv8tpDrpSWgnp3MEiFagA/s640/IMG_4459.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Like with one kid pouting because we didn't let her hold the baby, one kid acting absolutely insane because she's so tired but
past the point of getting a nap sporting hair that's doing who-knows-what, one cranky toddler who sat still for 10 solid seconds but protested <i>loudly</i> the whole time, one baby who desperately wants her mama, and two big kids who basically rock (at least in this particular shot). </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I think that's why this is one of my favorites of late. Because this is real life. Personalities galore. No filter. Unedited. Authentic. My herd. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Maybe it's weird to pick a word on October 14th, but I'm doing it. My word for <span style="font-size: xx-small;">the limited remainder of</span> 2016 is <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Authentic</b></span>.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I can feel the burden of expectations lifting right off my shoulders. I'm free to be me. We're free to be us. It's a lesson I want my very unique children to learn much sooner than their slow mother. </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It's about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen. ~Brene Brown</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWCaJZ6ucygnAHTAN3HdcFj09AnwJaCiCCoJwu_OapnXsymw4Lc94OLLK1exnCfLmP86xTgE8nnF5TLnQgB3bOyma2_iIbXZhZfzoQn-u9edInepUiwIsTiwQpnCkdz6amcziDTEuiG0/s1600/IMG_4362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWCaJZ6ucygnAHTAN3HdcFj09AnwJaCiCCoJwu_OapnXsymw4Lc94OLLK1exnCfLmP86xTgE8nnF5TLnQgB3bOyma2_iIbXZhZfzoQn-u9edInepUiwIsTiwQpnCkdz6amcziDTEuiG0/s400/IMG_4362.JPG" width="266" /></a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Jenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09387693157648013613noreply@blogger.com0