Chesed

Adam started summer vacation with a BANG.  Literally.



First day of summer vacation.  First hunting trophy.

And before you feel sorry for the rabbit, feel sorry for my garden instead.  The green beans would be twice as tall if the rabbits didn’t think it was a free all you can eat buffet. 



Go, Adam.  May you and your BB gun continue to be successful. 

It’s the first week of summer vacation for Adam and we couldn’t be more thrilled! I LOVE having that little, er big, guy home all day. We love waking up slowly in the morning. Adam said it perfectly Monday morning when I told him breakfast was ready, “GOOD. Now I can enjoy my breakfast instead of just hurry, hurry, hurry.”

Monday morning wasn’t exactly lazy though. We had our first house showing. Two months after putting it on the market and day one of it going live on the rental market. Talk about an adrenalin rush and a kick in the gut simultaneously. It’s like hosting bipolar emotions in one body. David and I sent the boys out to the van Saturday morning before Adam’s end of the year school picnic. We stood there in the kitchen, arms wrapped around each other and prayed that God would give us a showing this weekend. It’s hard to know how to pray sometimes. We still both feel God is calling us to camp, but how that is supposed to play out has felt really unclear in the months of nothing. I naively thought that if God wanted us to go camp, He was going to provide a miracle buyer within two weeks of listing it in the MLS system.

In those next four weeks of nothing, we wondered. My faith was wavering. Some days I wondered if we’d totally misread God. One Sunday morning in our pre-service prayer meeting I asked the ladies to help us pray that God would give us wisdom in knowing what to do. Are we supposed to rent it out? Are we supposed to slash the price and learn what it really means to sacrifice? Or are we not supposed to go? We are more than willing to do any of them. We’ll go. We’ll stay. We’ll take a loss. But we need to KNOW it’s what God wants us to do. And that Sunday Shirley prayed that God would give us a confirmation that we were supposed to go to camp. The following Thursday David called about a bike on Craigslist. We’re hoping to go down to one vehicle when we move to save money and so that David can get regular exercise since his job will mostly be desk and phone related.

The bike was about a hundred more than we were hoping to spend and David asked him what his best offer is. He told him what we are doing and that he’s hoping to use the bike for transportation to and from work. The guy made an offer (still high) and David said he’d call me to talk about it. My mom and sister showed up when we were on the phone and we hung up without being able to finish the conversation. Before I remembered to call him back, David called me. “So the guy just called me back and said he has no idea why he’s doing this, but he wants to give it to us for $400.” Talk about goosebumps.

Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been nine months since we first talked about going to camp. Everything seems to happen so slowly and yet fly by. When I think about it being nine months and we’ve had so little confirmation, I wonder how we can believe we are still supposed to go. When I think about moving, it feels like time is flying way too fast. Sometimes it feels like Abraham. Only getting the tiniest whisper about what is supposed to happen next. The father of many nations when you’re childless and your wife is past menopause? Moving to camp but not only are you not selling, you don’t even get showings? But underneath it all …. underneath the circumstances that seem to speak otherwise …. underneath the days when everything inside of me screams I don’t want to move …. underneath it all is a quiet understanding that this is what God wants. And at exactly the right time, it will happen. Just when our faith starts wavering, we get another tiny confirmation.

Saturday morning in the kitchen, I can’t say I had a huge amount of faith. Just enough to get the realtor book out and plop it on the island. And then we left for the school picnic where we don’t have cell phone service. Funny. From the school picnic, we headed straight to our church youth explosion weekend. I checked as soon as we had service. Nothing. Sunday afternoon as we loaded in the van after youth explosion, I checked my phone. One voicemail. I thought it was from Mom until I heard a male voice. “Hi Michelle, this is Mike from Remax ……………” Who said you need to go skydiving? I can get an adrenalin rush just from a voice mail. Especially when that voice mail is a direct answer to a prayer you prayed with shaky faith.

And here we are. One positive feedback showing, but no offers. I am more convinced than ever that God is going to finish this story at exactly the right time. One baby step at a time. Meanwhile, we are going to enjoy our summer instead of stressing. And get annoyed at Goldi who ran away again. No lightning last night but the bear dumped our trash can again. As he did the other time she ran away. Maybe that’s the common denominator. I feel really annoyed at having to pick her up. She refuses to jump into the van which means lifting the hulk of her, one half at at time.

But at least it’s summer. I can deal with almost anything when it’s summer.

There are too many scrap papers floating around here with little boy quotes scrawled on them. It’s high time to put them somewhere I won’t lose them so that someday we can sit and remember together.

Our former church and where Adam goes to school is connected to a home for mentally handicapped children. They run (among other things) a bakeshop to help support themselves financially; but families who work at the home can help themselves to things at the bakeshop for free. I don’t know when exactly Adam realized this fact, but it was noteworthy.

Adam: “Mommy, the people at the home can just go up to the bakeshop and help themselves to cookies whenever they want. They are soooo lucky. Can I do that at camp?”

Me: “Camp is run a little differently than Faith Mission. At Faith Mission, you get a very tiny money allowance but your house and food is provided. At camp, you get a little bit bigger allowance, but then you are responsible to buy your own food. So camp’s food won’t be ours and you don’t just help yourself. And remember it’s not good manners to ask for things.”

Adam: “Well, this might just be my imagination, but maybe Miss Esther will say, ‘Adam, would you like a cookie’? I really like those kinds of people.”

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When the boys stayed with their grandparents while David and I were in Jamaica, Liam lost his favorite red socks. He and Grandpa searched the house, but no red socks could be found. Liam decided it wasn’t such a big issue. “Oh, dats otay. “You tan dust email dem to me when you find dem.”

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It was early in the morning and Liam was acting like a lion cub tusseling all over Adam.
Adam: “Whoa! He has a lot of energy and he’s using it up right now.”

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This is only funny or sweet if you’ve ever had only one child for a very long time because some things take two or more kids.
Liam: “Don’t tell on me like that.”

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Liam was dusting the spindles of the stair rail on cleaning day.
“I need binders.” (short i sound)
Me: “What???? Splinters????”
Liam: “No. What are doze fings on Dampa’s doulders?”
Me: “Ooooh. Suspenders.”
Liam: “Ah. I need bubenders betuz my dortz teep fa-wing down.”

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David and I were getting ready to go see “Fiddler on the Roof” performed by a local high school. I walked into the boys’ bathroom to get something and met up with Adam.
Adam: “You look hideously beautiful and smell hideously good.”

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In Virginia Beach Adam was struggling with both seasonal allergies and a bit of a sinus head cold. After yet another racking cough I heard a voice from the back seat. “I’m afraid I got the whopper cough.” (whooping cough) He really was miserable. A little later he looked at me dolefully and said, “Do you think I’m on my death bed?”

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Adam and Liam are equally obsessed with horses right now. It started who knows where and intensified about a thousand times when we let them watch Misty. Then we watched the Black Stallion and recently Secretariat. There are thundering heels in the kitchen often as two boys gallop imaginary steeds as hard as they can go. Both boys are saving up their pennies and nickels and dimes, sure they will have enough money to buy a horse by the time they are sixteen.

Adam seems to be realizing that money takes a looooooooooong time to add up, but he is convinced he wants a $100,000 racing stallion. We have had frequent discourses on what God thinks is the most important thing to do with our money and why it might not be the wisest decision to buy a stallion worth that much money. He doesn’t get it. He just keeps saying, “But what if God wants me to buy a $100,000 stallion.” And so we don’t push it. He has NO idea how much money that is or what it could do judging by the fact that he thinks we should just sell our house to Ryan and Tury for $1,000 so we could hurry up and go to camp.

For a few days, he would come home from school and tell me he just WISHED someone would give him $100,000. Just for the record, me too, buddy. One day his tune changed. He walked in the door, eyes aglow.

“Mommy, I just can’t seem to get money out of my mind, but I’ve decided I want wisdom the most. Do you know why? Because Solomon asked for wisdom and he seemed to get all the other stuff then, too.”

People everywhere say it. “Money can’t buy happiness.”

I say, “Yeah, right.”

Whenever David or I get the “I wishes” or “oh what ifs” about something, he is always the one yanking us back to reality. I’m pretty sure he thinks he is more of an authority on this than I am. After all, he works for people who are exponentially richer than we are. While we live a comfortable, presumably average American life, he has done work for people who live in 20,000 square foot houses that include things like a bricked garage and remote-controlled fireplace (so you can start the fire to enjoy as you drive in, I guess. I can’t imagine they hang out in their parked cars just to stare at that particular fireplace.). They opt between taking their own private jet from a small airport to a large one or hiring a limo when jetting off to Europe. Heated pools. Enormous spa-like bathrooms. Closets that look more like actual rooms than closets. A sound system for one media room that cost as much as the framing package for our entire house.

David insists they are not happier than we are. They worry about safety. They are super careful about who is on their property and even more so about who does work for them. They work hard to maintain the image they’ve created.  I don’t blame them for stressing. And I don’t even want to be that rich. Well, actually, yes I do. I’d go buy a third world country and remodel all the orphanages in the world and hire wonderful nannies and rescue all the girls caught up in sex trafficking and buy my way through all the adoptions tangled in bureaucracy.

But I’m not talking about SUPER RICH. I’m just talking about comfortably rich. Like the eat avocados every day, buy new clothes for the boys at Crazy Eight instead of spending all that time searching Goodwill, order pizza in at least occasionally, have no house mortgage kind of rich. And I insist that people in that stage are happier and less stressed than those who are struggling to make ends meet or living in poverty.

Case in point, one Saturday I went to Whole Foods to pick up a few items for Liam. Town was absolutely packed with everyone preparing for the Super Bowl. I found my items and wavered between the looooooooooooong express lane and the line up of two customers with full carts in the regular checkout and opted for the latter. Ahead of me was a youngish older couple (meaning late sixties, not eighties). The cashier greeted her pleasantly, bagged her produce, and, as she began scanning the four bottles of wine, reminded her that if she gets six it’s considered a case and she gets a discount. So in spite of the crazy busy lines, the lady goes back to choose two more bottles of wine while the cashier finished scanning everything else and carefully (note: carefully) placing it in bags. When the lady got back she handed them to be scanned but the cashier had already taken care of it and they were ready to pay. The cashier then graciously thanked them for shopping and wished them a nice day. She calmly turned to me, smiled genuinely and repeated all the nice sentiments minus the wine since I didn’t buy any. “Oh, and just so you know, we do have an express lane,” she said, noticing my three items. “The line looks really long, but it does move super fast because it’s one line for several cashiers.” True enough. I hadn’t noticed that. She got a little bag of ice and placed it with the yogurt to keep it cool and I left, not minding the crazy rush at all.

I cannot visit Whole Foods without noticing the way shopping carts are loaded with fruits and vegetables, super fresh meat selections, fine cheeses, organic coffee, yogurt without all the added coloring and whole grain pastas. I look at the people who are shopping and, while they run the gamut of nature loving to preppy, their skin looks healthy. Their eyes are vibrant. They look engaged. There is an equal variety of body shapes and sizes, but I don’t recall seeing anyone who is morbidly obese.

Unfortunately, I cannot afford to get all my groceries at Whole Foods. And unfortunately, I often choose Walmart because it is the grocer closest to my house. On a super crazy day, it looks more like this. Lines with five loaded carts to wait behind. Stoic cashiers and weary looking customers. Moms snapping at children. Carts piled with five frozen pizzas, two packs of hot pockets, three 12 packs of sodas, four boxes of cereal, two extra large bags of chips, and one bunch of bananas. While people run the gamut from downright slovenly to business dress, the overall feel is different. There are more pimples and fewer smiles. More eyes that look vacant. When it was my turn, I placed my items on the moving belt. The cashier never looked my way or acknowledged my presence in any way. She just kept mechanically grabbing items, scanning the bar code, and putting them in bags. I swiped my card, said, “credit please,” and she finished the transaction as I loaded my bags back into the cart. “Have a nice day,” I said, and finally I heard her voice. “You, too.”

I know money isn’t the only factor here … obviously there is a completely different set of job training skills and expectations happening here. Neither am I insinuating that everyone who shops at Walmart is stressed and poor. But how much does money … or the lack of it factor in to someone’s stress level? If it is true that giving little surprise gifts to your spouse for no particular reason builds your marriage, is it then also true that not being able to do that can put a strain on your marriage? What about the couple who takes a weekend away every two months just to spend time together, rejuvenate, talk about current issues in their marriage or family and set goals for the future versus the couple who can’t afford a night out more than once every couple of years? Or on that day when your day goes backward instead of forward … if it is true that you feel a huge sense of relief when your husband offers to pick up chinese takeout, is it not fair to think that someone who can’t do that is going to be that much more exhausted? If it is true that burning a candle on a rainy day helps to lift your spirits, is it not also true that having to leave candle on your list because there wasn’t enough money left that month just negated that?   If it is true that being in a beautiful environment ….. gorgeous architecture, huge trees, manicured landscape, vibrant flowers …. is restful and rejuvenating, is it not true that living in a poverty and trash-ridden area would do the opposite? 

There are always exceptions to everything, but on average is it fair to say that people with less money tend to eat fewer healthy foods, have fewer stress-busting resources, and live with a greater level of stress knowing that they are always only a few steps away from desperation? 

Why then do we say that money can’t buy happiness?

Do you agree or disagree with the statement, “Money can’t buy happiness?”  If you’ve lived with different levels of resources for whatever reason … job change, debt load or debt payoff, emergencies, or economic crisis for whatever reason ….. how do you think money or the lack of it played into your stress level? 

Have you ever had to give up something you always thought was “basic need” and now you consider it a “splurge” item?  Did it have a negative effect on you or make you more grateful?

I’ve missed this little spot! I’ve hardly even clicked on my xanga home page at all this week and when I do I stare at it incapacitated by the backlog of subscriptions I want to read and the simultaneous urge to write. Since sitting around feeling overwhelmed never got anyone anywhere, I am powering through in divide and conquer mode. Write today. Read and catch up tomorrow (I hope!).   I do have such huge problems in my life to deal with, don’t I?

Where have I been? I don’t know. Do you ever feel really weird when someone asks you what you’ve been up to and you know you’ve been busy but you can’t at all remember what in the world has made you feel that way? Both hands raised. It’s a million little things instead of one big thing and somehow they all roll up into one big ball of vague “umm, I can’t remember.”

But I WANT to remember. Not the work part …. I’d be just fine with NOT remembering how often I’ve vacuumed the house, painted something, or washed off the front porch hoping today would be the day the realtor calls. But the other parts? They’re worth remembering! So here’s a tiny recap of some of the fun things that have been happening in March and April before they go the way of oblivion in my mind.

A birthday brunch celebrating my Mother In Law. We should have started this a long time ago so we could call it an annual tradition. If we’re in Virginia next year, I hope we get to do this again.  We are overwhelmingly a family of boy power so it’s always fun to get together with just the girls and some estrogen oriented food and conversation.












(Emily was home taking care of a puppy and I forgot to get a picture of her when she got here, bummer!)

Dinner with Trell and Cynthia. I feel so crazy, incredibly blessed to have them only an hour away again. I only moved an hour from home when I got married, but almost all my besties moved all over the place and I rarely get to see them. But now Cynthia is relatively close by again and better yet, our husbands like hanging out together. A lot. And the boys? Well, never mind that there are no play mates. Adam *almost* picked going to Trell and Cynthia’s over going to a slumber party with his friends. You see, Trell is one of those people who works near magic with a grill and Adam is a foodie.

Meeting two blogger friends in two weeks time. Pictures or not, I love being able to put a real person to a blog face!  I hope we get to meet again sometime, Jessica and Luci!

My birthday partieS. Talk about celebrated! Jeannine took me out for lunch, and as always, we way overstayed our time. We can never get done talking! And FINALLY I got to introduce her to the fabulousness that is tomato basil soup at Cafe Europa!

 







That night we delivered a frig to my mom and dad’s house and celebrated all over again. I love, love, LOVE that my birthday happens during the Spring season and this year was extra fantabulous because it was warm so much earlier than normal. (Never mind that it’s 55 degrees and rainy today … aka freezing cold in my dictionary).  There is just nothing like food at mom’s house.  Ever.








And yet a third celebration Saturday night when David completely outdid himself. He’d told me he was taking care of dinner and I thought, “cool.” Well, he didn’t just take care of dinner. He grilled a Greek pizza (and yes, made the crust from scratch), fixed a Greek salad, and made key lime pie. I loved it! But the celebration just went on and on. I was supposed to kill time until he was done with dishes. No problem there. The boys and I read stories and before I knew it, he was finished and had the boys come help deliver his present. Next thing I knew, two giddy boys were leading me upstairs where I found my favorite Bath and Body Works spa products from the boys so I could take a long, hot bath in candlelight with music while he put the boys to bed. And as though that weren’t enough, I got a full thirty minute massage afterward. I’ve been telling David for years he missed his calling as a masseuse.







A fun family day when Adam had a short Spring Break. He always thinks he misses out on all the fun because of school. The weather wasn’t as awesome as we’d hoped those two days, but we still managed to play outside. At least it wasn’t raining. I can hardly wait to do this again sometime after school is out!



(Peter was nonplussed with my decor.  He wouldn’t take a drink until the paper was OFF his cup and he didn’t want a “pickle” on it either.  I love two year olds!)


















A birthday party for Adam. I love having an eight year old! We don’t do a big party every year, but since we are (hopefully) moving and won’t be close to family and friends, we decided this year is a party year. We asked him if he wanted to do friends or cousins and he chose friends. He is one of three boys in second grade and there are no boys in third grade which means they are the only three in the classroom. They are like the three musketeers! By the way, never use S’mores frosting to decorate because it WILL run, even if you put it in the frig. Last year the writing on Adam’s cake ran horribly by the time I got it to school. I thought it was because it was warm in the car. This year I didn’t like the brown color I’d mixed (I didn’t have brown coloring) so I added a little s’mores frosting to help ease the ugly color and by the time we ate, it was garishly running down the sides of the cake. So just to clarify, I wasn’t trying for anything ghoulish.





(Thanks to Christy for the amazing Pinterest link when I told her I wanted to do a camping theme but didn’t know what to do for the cake!)















My mom made the getting ready day SOOOOO much more fun by coming to help.  I shot a wedding in Va beach Saturday and we didn’t get home until 11 Sunday night.  Monday I couldn’t crash because it was Adam’s birthday which meant snack at school, I had to unload the van, clean up the weekend mess, download pictures, and get the van clean so David could take it to the Allegany Board meeting because it was his turn to drive.  He didn’t get home until 2:30 that night.  We weren’t going to do the party until the weekend so I thought I had all week to work on things as I could, but suddenly the weather prediction went cold and rainy so I knew if I wanted to be outside, we had to do it Tuesday night.  I knew I had all day to get ready for the party, but it was so much easier and more fun and way less stressful to have help.   Thanks, Mom!  Oh, and that’s her lovely font on the cups!






(Liam’s first s’more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I found gluten free graham crackers at Martins.  This is so crazy exciting!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I just melt inside when he finally gets to have something special that the rest of think is normal shnormal!  And yes, I know not having s’mores isn’t exactly deprivation when so much of the world would be happy for a bigger bowl of rice.  But when he lives in the middle of so much party that he can’t experience, I just want to jump up and down when he finally gets to experience it.  You bet I cheated and let him have chocolate.)

(See what I said?)










(How ceeeute is this note from Cole??)





I LOVE yard parties and cannot wait to have more of them this summer with or without birthdays!

Oh, and nothing like pictures to show you how obsessed you are with something. Apparently in the last four weeks I have now served subs or ham and cheese sandwiches twice when my friend, Tury, was here, during our Spring Break family day, when Darius and Ro moved, and at Adam’s birthday party. Does anyone sense a pattern here? It’s called, “I am ACHING for summer and picnics and swimming and eating outside.” Hey, at least it wasn’t hot dogs. If you don’t like subs, you may want to stay clear of our house.


And of course, a wedding in Virginia beach could only get one thousand times better if your amazing friends sing at the wedding and offer to split a beach house with you …. and the weather on Sunday is somewhere around 80 degrees and sunny!  It was such an incredibly refreshing and rejuvenating weekend.  Jonathan and Heather are one of those awesome “couple friends.”  You know the kind both of you just love being with and you’re not saying, “we’re hanging out with her friends or his friends.”  I love that we have so much fun with them, that conversation is so easy and restful and so interspersed with laughter.  I love that our children love to play together and hardly ever fight.  And I love that they are passionate about knowing Jesus and have inspired us so much to pursue God hard.  I think this should happen after every wedding …. so if you hire me to take pictures, please hire them to sing!  Jonathan’s solo at the wedding was stellar, just FYI.















Whose crazy kids get in the water in APRIL?  And what kind of crazy mom lets them???  Their faces are hysterical.  Look at the terror on their faces as the water hits them.  It was numbingly cold.  Yet they turned around and went in for more. 



Adam and Damaris pretended to be kings.  Adam told me I should try sitting up there.  “It makes you feel really rich.”  Somehow I doubted a stack of plastic chairs would have that ability, but I didn’t try it so I guess it’s kind of his word against mine.







 





Do you ever stop to think about how crazy rich and blessed our lives are??? There are so many little things. The other day I drove past road construction on my way to town and I realized all over again how nice our roads are. We drive past beautiful architecture, gorgeous flowering trees, well-maintained yards and plazas …. so much beauty. I loved Jamaica, but coming home made me realize how very much I appreciate order and beauty. But the best part is people!! I was backing up our personal pictures from the last two years and just remembering again how many, many friends we have. From all over the nation and world, really. Friends who call and talk for an hour. Friends who call and say, “Can I come over?”. Friends who send sweet little packages in the mail. Friends who make time for a lunch date. Friends who allow us into their lives and enter into ours.

If I could, I’d declare today a national friendship day in honor of all the amazing people in our lives!  And now I’m off to pick up another online friend at the airport!

A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week.

A simple, special, extraordinary moment.

A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. (inspired by soulemama)

In the past six months three people interactions have profoundly impacted my life in ways that leave me grasping for words. David thinks it’s a little funny that I can’t just say, “Wow, what nice people,” and leave it at that. But I can’t. Each time I feel something so intensely it leaves me analyzing the encounter, looking for clues. Not so much because of the person, but because something in their demeanor is incredibly compelling in a way that tells me they have learned something about life I have not yet fully understood. It’s something I wish I were more of … but I don’t even know how to learn to become more like it until I know what that thing is.

What makes this vague rumbling paragraph even more odd is they didn’t really do anything crazily extraordinary. Extraordinary, yes. But their actions and words alone would never be enough to describe what I felt … and how can I explain how I felt when I don’t know why I felt that way? And how am I going to develop more of that character if I don’t know what it is?

The first was Jan Karon. I had no idea who she was other than David dropping her name in reference to job related things. To me, she was just another of David’s clients. David told me she was an author and that I’d like to meet her. It was the middle of August, I was crazy busy and said, “mmm hhmmm.”

He kept mentioning it and the chapel project he was doing sounded interesting so without a lot of thought, I breezed out to visit one of his last mornings on the job. I grabbed a copy of my children’s books and took them along, not expecting to stay long because I had a huge to-do list and a houseful of guests coming two days later to spend the weekend.

I was halfway up the paved driveway when I realized I had gravely underestimated this encounter and that I should have been paying a LOT more attention to David’s comments.

As if the antebellum house and immaculately groomed grounds were not enough, out stepped tiny, elegant Ms Karon herself. I looked at my flip flops and the dress I was planning to scrub the deck in the minute I got home and told myself, “the only way you can make this any worse is to be self-conscious and draw attention to yourself.” Yes, I do give myself pep talks when the need arises.

The house was beyond incredible. Think of Monticello as a private residence and then imagine having the owner give you a detailed tour herself. Wallpaper hand-painted in a tiny studio in France? Oh. My. Word.

But what blew me completely away was not the house, but Ms Karon herself. She was graciousness defined. Read that again because you probably glossed right over it. You know how some people are just so sweet because that is really who they are and other people try to be sweet sometimes and it comes across kind of syrupy? Well, Ms. Karon IS graciousness in the way some people (like me) TRY to act gracious. I’d already walked in with my books (this is something authors do with other authors I learned somewhere along the way) before I realized she was not only an author, she was a New York Times best seller and had written many novels … something I’m not even about to attempt. Resisting the urge to hide them, I handed them over and she accepted them as delightedly as I’d accept a pound of Blue Mountain coffee. She seemed never to notice that the boys and I were not exactly dressed in visiting-rights finery … not in that, glance at you and be polite anyway type of seeming to not notice, but as in really did not seem to notice. Was that it? The ability to really see people as people?

When we finished our tour and she insisted I have a cup of tea or espresso in her kitchen even though her guests were due to arrive in five minutes, I knew there was something different about her. She “should” have been shooing us out the door. Instead, she was sitting me down at the bar and asking the housekeeper to fix me a shot of espresso.

Why?

Then there was Tom and his beautiful wife (I am so sad that I cannot remember her name) whom we met at the homeshow. Tom has artistic talent that will make you stop dead in your tracks when you’re running with your head down. We all know I’m prone to exaggeration, but I’m not guilty this time. If you don’t believe me, check out his work here.

I discovered that I sort of expect people of enormous talent to be a bit snobbish, or at least reserved. If you were crazy talented or rich or famous or all three, wouldn’t you get tired of of everyone oohing and ahhing and exclaiming? Wouldn’t it eventually feel as though everyone wanted a little piece of you? As though people were trying to bask in your spotlight?

Not these people. There wasn’t even a millimeter of snobbiness. Not an ounce of condescension. In fact, they hardly seemed to realize they had a spotlight. Maybe that was part of it ………….. they love what they do, but it’s not what makes them who they are?

I don’t know. I only know that David and I loved them so much we both wished we lived close enough to hang out with them after the homeshow was over. Fun. Easy to talk with. And our kids are about the same ages. Just the kind of people who make you feel like you’re really friends already inside.

And then we went to Jamaica. David and I both love to travel (who doesn’t?) and when we do, we want to experience the real culture. This is part of why we chose to stay in a tiny resort that didn’t include food. Ok, let’s be honest. The biggest reason is because we couldn’t even afford to look at an all inclusive. But really, we are more of the give-me-the-real-Jamaica people at heart. We knew we’d want to try the local flavors and meet Jamaican people. It’s hard to do that when you only have five days. How do you wade through all the rip offs to find the honest locals you really want to support? How do you know what is a fair price and what is ridiculous? When to bargain and when to leave it as is so as not to offend them?

Friday morning we were standing at Miss Vern’s fruit stand when suddenly someone was at my elbow — “Oh, Vern has the best fruit on the island. We always buy from her. And she’s sweet, too.”

“Well, I don’t know about the sweet part,” said a male voice we later learned was Ron. Vern laughed. “You messing with me, my brother?” It was the easy back and forth banter of someone who knew exactly what David and I wanted to know.

“I’m so glad to know that,” I said. Just like that another Jamaican was at David’s elbow, pressuring us to go snorkeling with him. “I’m Vern’s son,” he said, capitalizing on the exchange he’d just heard. We said great, listened to his spiel, but told him we’d come back later.

Nancy (the first voice) wrapped her arms around me in a big hug and whispered in my ear, “We’re staying next door if you need anything and I just want you to know that is NOT Vern’s son.”

Oh, how I loved her. She didn’t have to do that. Who does? Who puts themselves out there for a total stranger? Later when I went to see Miss Vern for a green coconut to drink, Ron and Nancy called me over to their little porch. I waited on Vern to open my coconut and she told me the man who talked with us that morning was a known thief. “And I just want you to know he is not my son. If you want to go snorkeling, I’ll hook you up with a good driver.” I respected her so much in that moment. She had every right to have refuted what he said the minute he said it.

When I got to Ron and Nancy’s, we finally did introductions and met their friends who have lived on the island for nearly thirty years. They told us all we needed to know about the local attractions … which were tourist traps and which were fun and where to find the best local food. They explained exactly what it would be like to go to Mayfield Falls so we went prepared.

When we were ready to go out that evening, we hopped back over to their little porch for a taxi recommendation. As soon as they heard we were going to Sunset After Dark (their recommendation), they told us they were going to the same place and insisted we ride with them in their van.

Who does that?

But there is more. After we ate, they drove us (the opposite direction of the hotel) up on the cliffs and stopped at Ricks Cafe so we could see where locals jump off the cliffs. They explained the surrounding area and a bit of the local history. And in between they cracked jokes and kept us in stitches. For that night, we were part of their party … not just the strangers hitching a ride. Those four friends were one of the best things that happened to us on vacation.

They even hooked us up with their taxi-driver friend who agreed to taxi us to the Falls (up a horrendous road he normally won’t travel because it’s so hard on vehicles) just because they asked him.

“What is it about all these people?” I asked David again later as we walked down the beach in the moonlight. “What makes them go waaaaaaaaay out of their way to be so nice to us?”

I know Ms Karon gives tours of her house to bus loads of people, but what made her take that much time for just us? What made her offer coffee? What made Tom and his wife exchange so much more than the usual pleasant small talk of one business man to another? What made Ron and Nancy look out for us when they could have quietly let us learn it all ourselves the hard way?

The best (and still vague) way I know to describe it is that they live their life with their arms wide open instead of crossing them against their chest until you’ve proved yourself. They live with freedom instead of fear … whether it’s fear of your reaction to them or fear of how you may take advantage of them. It’s like they don’t even think of themselves at all. They simply give. And in that giving, they changed my world.

What if we all lived life a little more wide open? What if we all sprinkled a little more kindness and generosity? What if we all gave a few more hugs? What if we all changed the world around us a little bit more?

I keep thinking about Jesus and how He gave and gave and gave and gave and gave to people. When I read through the gospels I tear up every time I read phrases like this one … “and Jesus lifted up his eyes and seeing the multitude, was moved with compassion” ……………….

Who does that? Who gives when they are exhausted? Who gives when they’ve given and given? Who gives when it doesn’t include any reciprocation? Who gives when they may be rejected?

Giving isn’t always about exquisitely-wrapped birthday presents and checks in the offering basket Sunday morning. It’s a heart attitude. It’s smiling at the cashier at Kroger and saying, “How is your day?” when it was her job to say hello and you really just want to get out to the car ten minutes ago already. It’s saying “I’m coming” instead of sighing when your three year old needs big bathroom help for the fourth time today because his digestive system is unhappy. It’s slowing down and listening when you’re talking to your friend on the phone instead of simultaneously banging around putting dishes away. It’s seeing that someone needs a hug before she tells you. It’s being your best when you really just want to go to bed and not think about anything until tomorrow. It’s speaking encouragement when you could have stayed quiet.

It’s giving your best when good would have sufficed well enough.

These boys of ours continue to provide the best medicine ever. I have got to get better at writing more of the story immediately instead of scrawling a few words convinced I’ll remember. A few stories are lost in translation, but a few are too good not to remember forever.

It was 11:20 and Liam was starving.
L: PLEASE let’s eat lunch before I die.
Me: (laughing) Oh, Liam. I missed you so much in Jamaica.
L: I’m just funny cause you’re home from Jamaica.
Me: So you weren’t funny when I was gone?
L: No

Nice to know I didn’t miss anything!

*****************

Liam was outside playing when suddenly I heard him come in the back door. “Mommy, I need a band aid.” I got one out of the box and went over to investigate where I saw a teeny tiny scratch on his finger that barely qualified as compromised skin. As I bent to place the band aid Liam said, “P’ease don’t get b’ood all over ‘ou hands.”

*******************

For something special for David and I, I purchased alfalfa sprouts for our salad. Adam ate them quietly. “It feels like I’m eating weeds,” he said. Suddenly I remembered the time a few years ago when he first spotted alfalfa sprouts on a salad and burst out, “WHAT is that hairy stuff?”

*******************

Anyone else want a turn answering questions? They come at the oddest times … just a sudden-sprung question out of nowhere.

Adam: “Who invented the jacket?”

*******************

Liam while clearing the dishwasher: “I am so fascinating.”

******************

Liam: “Mommy, you have two carrots on your plate and I have two carrots on my plate. That is so bizarre.”

Oh, how I snickered.

His phrasing is just so odd. Later he was taking his shoes off when I heard him muttering, “Oh b’ess my heart when I touldn’t make it.”

*****************

This one should be a video clip because Liam’s accent and his mispronounced words and most of all his dramatic emphasis are what make him so funny. We purchased a minivan about a month ago and Liam still has not gotten over the awesomeness of this. (Can you imagine how differently he will feel in ten years?) What struck me funnier though was this frequent little interchange. Imagine a touch of nasal tone going on.
“Mommy, are we doing to put du tar on du martet (market)?”
Me: “Yes, we are.”
Liam: (with a whooshing thumbs up) “DES!” (yes)

*******************

We have boys, not girls. But somewhere along the line they inherited a touch of drama. One warm afternoon we were all outside. The boys were picking up stray sticks and hauling them to the pile to be burned. The wind started picking up and a few clouds were moving in. It was hard to tell if the rainstorm was going to come our way or go around us, but there were definitely light grey rain clouds above the woods next to our house. I looked down the hill to see both boys with their heads craned back, staring into the sky. I glanced up and saw and two airplanes flying just low enough to make out their outline instead of looking like two silver bullets. Nothing about the clouds or the airplanes was at all out of the ordinary.
And then I heard Adam, “Oh, that’s bad. Two fighter jets moving into the eye of the storm …”

********************

Just the other day Adam was sprawled out on the kitchen floor being lazy. He will sit around and just think. Sometimes he starts rambling about an invention after awhile. Sometimes he decides to play something. And sometimes he will suddenly burst out with something just completely off my radar. This was one of those days. All was quiet and then out of the blue, “Mommy, for the first time in my life, I stood bewildered.”

********************

I hope your day is every bit as fascinating as Liam clearing the dishwasher.

And we have tag #2. Which I have equally procrastinated completing. I’m not completely sure why except that I am good at procrastinating and secondly, I’m not sure how to answer all of these questions. Which leads me to question whether I am actually a writer at all. Isn’t it just a little telling that I actually headed over to dictionary.com and looked up meme?

The questions:
1. How long have you been blogging, and how often do you post?
I published my first blog post in August of 2006 so 5 1/2 years. My posting schedule is random because I don’t have one. I blog online when I have time and write in my head when I’m inspired and sometimes the two worlds collide and I actually get to post something a little more inspired. And yes, I know that to have a successful blog you must deliver regularly and frequently. I’m really not worried about successful blogging. I just need to write sometimes. And I love the social life it provides both through other bloggers and people who let me see snippets of their lives in the comments.

2. Have you had anything published, and if so, what and when?
Yes. A short article in the Calvary Messenger (a monthly periodical) when I was a teenager and two children’s books. My sister and I self-published a book for new brides.

You can order all three books here.

You can also find them on Amazon.
We Build A House

My Brother’s Keeper

Marital Bliss with a Kiss of Reality

3. Who is the author who best speaks your language and who you would most like to be like, in style and message?
I loved Erma Bombeck for her concise, short humor and I liked John Grisham for his ability to keep you in suspense until the very last page. I hardly read enough these days to know a particular author well enough to say, “that’s the style I like.” I’ve only read a good book here and there. But what I wish that I could be in style is to always be fresh. Unfortunately, I get caught in the same trap so many other writers do and everything begins to sound the same. Same word choices. Same thought patterns. Same old. Same old. I wish I knew how to break that up a bit. Message? I wish that I could always convey an undercurrent of hope.

4. What do you see as the unique message God has given you to share with the world?
I’m not sure about this because it seems like something that you should feel called to and I haven’t felt that specifically. I do know that women often tell me they find themselves in my writing … that I put words to the feelings they weren’t able to express and it helped them to communicate with their husband, with others, or just to understand themselves. So I’m not sure that is a message from God but it is humbling every time I hear it … to know that the gift God gave me helped someone else. This is also why I feel so passionately that women need to share their gift instead of selfishly hoarding it because of their own fear.

5. Who or what has made you believe in yourself as a writer?
Affirmation from people. When I was in eighth grade my teacher frequently assigned little creative writing assignments. One day he read my (and another students) paper to the class. The other guy’s paper outshone mine like the sun outshines the moon, but his compliments on my descriptive phrasing were like rain in a parched teenager’s land. My first English semester in college the same thing happened. My professor read my paper to the class about two classes into the semester. He encouraged me to pursue writing (I was on a science track) throughout the entire semester. Later it was David who encouraged me the entire way through our marriage book. Having something published and so well-received has been affirming, but there is nothing like those first few people who draw out a gift in another person. I wonder what talent the world would see if we all encouraged the buried talent we see in other people?

6. Who or what has done the opposite?
Working with a publisher who stifled literary language with stilted realism among other things.

Being a Mennonite female writer is an oddity of sorts that can frequently leave you feeling alone and “out there.” I struggled with it some, especially because the culture in our church at the time did not always lend validity to what I was doing. All three of my books were published within one year and it was an incredibly overwhelming time … yet if someone called to see if I could take dinner in for someone my “busy” was not considered valid because I did not have many small children. In an effort to be honest with someone in leadership, we mentioned some of the scenarios that had happened … hoping that we could help to generate a more encouraging community not just for writing, but for others who might be involved in different things in the future. His answer essentially was, “This is not the time for you to be writing or to be having speaking engagements. This is your opportunity to be at home and have children.” It left me reeling for a long time. I felt called to write and I think that his answer would have been wrong either way. But those words in the face of our inability to have the children we longed for was devastating. I truly, truly believe this statement was made in innocence and thoughtlessness. But because it was someone who was in spiritual authority over me, it took me a long time to feel grounded in what I was doing and is one of the reasons I have not heavily pursued writing anything to be published since.

7. Besides blogging, what types of writing have you done? (journaling, poetry, news articles, letters, short stories, etc.)
I kept journals before I was married, now I mostly do a spiritual journal. I love it because it helps me to remember what I am learning and also because I can see growth over time. I used to love letter writing. I wish I’d do more of that again. My girl cousins and I do a “Mommy Moments” circle letter. Most of them are great writers so it is anything but the hum drum mom talk you often hear. Otherwise, not so much. I’m not disciplined enough to make it happen.

8. Where would you like to be, writing-wise, in five years?
I have two book ideas brewing. Make that three. I have no idea if they will emerge into existence or go the way of most midnight inspiration. In my wildest dreams, I’d like to see one of them published in five years.

9. What would need to happen to move you from here to there?
A ton of discipline. The older the boys get, the harder it is to write. A bit of confidence. But mostly inspiration from God. When it’s time to write, I can’t stop myself.

10. Any advice for beginning bloggers/writers?
Be your own voice. Write about things that evoke emotion in you … whether that is excitement, passion for a hot topic, sadness, or loneliness. Most of all, don’t create stilted words into writing. See life. Really see life in all it’s color, detail, and emotion. Life and people are absolutely fascinating. All you have to do is describe it and you will be writing without realizing it. Advice for beginning writers? I could do an entire post on publishing versus self-publishing. And I would love to read a post by someone else on writing things besides books. I am stuck between the covers.

11. Just for fun: what’s a skill you have that almost no one knows about? (example: I know how to develop black and white film in a darkroom.)
I have no idea. Apparently I don’t have any.

I’ve been tagged twice in the last few weeks … and since I’ve always been a sucker for filling out surveys, I can’t help myself. Even if I’m only, what, a month behind. Maybe two.

The first tag is to list seven wild things about yourself. Wild. Grow up as a Mennonite girl. Try to fit wild into that. Ok, you can stop laughing now. Somehow I equate wild with evil behavior. Not that I’ve been an angel, but you know, I mean, really naughty. And that’s not me. But then I looked up a few synonyms: insane. self-willed, riotous, unrestrained, uncontrollable. reckless, rash, … I kind of bet my mom said some of those words about me more than a few times. And apparently there were others who thought I was “wild” judging by the anonymous letter David received soon after we started dating warning him not to pursue a relationship with me. I will forever be grateful to my father-in-law who said that an opinion sent anonymously doesn’t hold full merit because it can’t be validated.

At any rate, my “wild” list probably borders more on a less than thrilling “unusual” list since most of the time, I was more like Curious George. Really not meaning to get into so much trouble.

1. When I was 13 my family hosted an enormous extended family gathering in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Think great aunts and uncles and second cousins you’ve never met. Many of us hiked Humpback Rock, a moderately strenuous hike, including my 62 (?I think?) year old great aunt who hiked it in pantyhose and dress shoes. I did not come by my spunkiness illegally. After we’d been up for a few minutes and climbed around on jetting rocks that would have given my mom heart attacks had she been there, I had the wild idea to start back down on our own. I was just a little too cocky and liked being in charge just a little bit too much. Dad asked if I knew how to get back down (of COURSE I did … I’d been up Humpback once before that summer) and six or seven of us started off. I was the oldest with an entourage of best friend first cousins and two second cousins who were five and six and adored us because we adored them. My great aunt (the one in the dress shoes) silently became the caboose to our little party. We tramped down the trail with wild abandon feeling cooler than cool and larger than real life and very grown up. After about a mile, it seemed as though we should be getting to where the old trail and the new trail divided. But we didn’t. I didn’t really want anyone to know I was dubious, because well, that would make me look dumb. We walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. The real trail is just shy of a mile. And not until I reached an open clearing that was definitely unfamiliar did I admit that I’d gone very, very wrong. We turned around. By now Esther and I were taking turns carrying the five year old. My great aunt didn’t say a word, just quietly turned around and followed us. By the time we reached the top of Humpback, no one had any energy to talk or to laugh. We were all tired. I wasn’t scared, but definitely wondering if I was going to get into trouble. We were terribly thirsty. The Appalachian trail runs past Humpback and I’d glibly walked right onto it instead of heading in the right direction. We’d barely started down the correct trail before we heard people yelling our names. People we knew. And water. Turns out my dad had alerted the park rangers and they were getting ready to start a search. Esther and I happily handed Bobbi off to her dad to carry and we all hiked to the bottom. According to someone’s estimation, we hiked well over seven miles. I was pretty proud of myself at the end of the day for how far we hiked carrying someone, but looking back, my great aunt is my hero. She never once complained or scolded us. I can’t even imagine how terribly sore she must have been the next day. The other unsung heros are my cousins who did not know me and who never said one word to me about being irresponsible with their precious, way too young for that, daughters. To this day I can see the look on dad’s face when I ran the last thirty feet off the mountain and the tone in my mom’s voice when she saw me (she was in charge and had to go back to cook for the group not knowing where we were). And yes, I still look twice every time I start down off that mountain.

2. Just before I turned twelve my parents sold their darling cape cod house in SC and moved into a teeny tiny single wide trailer while they decided where they were going to move. Most of our belongings went into a small storage area between the ceiling of the school library and the much higher ceiling of the school gym. It was an old school building with wooden floors and dad propped a ladder against the wall to the space approximately twelve feet off the ground. Mom was the organizer of boxes at the bottom, dad carried them up the ladder, and I shoved them back against the wall to make room for more. It was a great system and I loved the little adrenalin rush. To keep the excitement level a little higher, I took frequent drink breaks because of course that meant going up and down the ladder which was far more thrilling than just sitting in a space twelve feet off the ground with an open ledge. The edges of the ladder stuck up past the floor of the space a good bit and on one trip I mistakenly pressed too hard with my hands before putting enough weight on with my foot. The top of the ladder went in, the bottom of the ladder went out, and then both the ladder and I took a wild, fast ride down. I sprained an ankle, broke a foot (which the doctor didn’t catch at the time), but of bigger significance developed more than a little fear of heights.

3. I’ve had three brain concussions. I love reading medical research about how multiple head injuries are linked to degenerative brain disease later in life. (heavy sarcasm alert)

4. I’ve gone parasailing in FL and rode a skycoaster in Virginia Beach. I fully intended to go skydiving until I became a mom. My inner wild child left with the exit of that first placenta.

5. When I was a brand-new RN on orientation, I had the coolest mentor ever. She taught me a dozen survival skills for the CCU, and set up fascinating experiences. The best was when she called a surgeon and set up a day for me to watch open heart surgery. I’m not kidding. Not only did I stand beside the bed and watch them crank those ribs apart, the surgeon let me hold the heart so he could stitch the bypass on the back of it. And then when it was time to get that heart restarted, he let me hold the internal defibrillator paddles. I am still in awe.

6. I’m kind of looking forward to having a mid-life crisis …. at least if it means I get to drive the bright red little Mazda Miata convertible I dreamed of in my twenties.

7. In the past year it feels as though I have been learning so, so much more about God and what it means to be one of His children. I hope that someday soon I will be able to put some of this into words. For now, I’m still just thinking about it in my heart and trying to learn all I can. What I do know is that in many ways this feels like the wildest and most incredible ride of my life. I have rarely lived with my hands this wide open or with this many unknowns in my future. I have never lived with my hands this wide open, this many unknowns, and simultaneously felt so incredibly at rest. And about all I can say about that is “thank you, Jesus.” Over and over. I feel so excited about our future and that is completely a gift from God.

And now, I was supposed to tag a few people, but it’s been so long I can’t remember who did this and who didn’t since I procrastinated too long. Just humor me and leave me one “wild” thing about yourself. Please? It would make my day!