Of Expecting a Miracle

They must have expected a miracle that day.  What must it have felt like to watch Jesus breathe His last?  To have waited, anxiously for something, anything, to happen, for someone, anyone to intervene?  In a vastly more tragic way, it would have been like reading a book and knowing, just knowing, the author surely wouldn't kill the main character - no matter how perilous, you just know he'll always pull through.

But this Author was different.  He actually killed the main character.

And there they were, His disciples, in dismay, confused, shocked, scared.  Here was this man for Whom they had given up all they had, their livelihoods, their families, their very lives as they knew them.  They had thrown everything away to follow this Teacher, they had backed Him as best they knew how - as if He'd needed their backing.

And now they were alone.  Sheep without a shepherd, left to hiding out in locked rooms, not knowing what to do next.

What must it have felt like?

Sure, it's easy on this side.  We know what happened just a couple of days later.  They didn't know.

They had nothing to do but wait and wonder.

I was challenged by a fellow student during my freshman year of college to live through Saturday.  The uncertainty, the fear, the sorrow.  Jesus was dead and the future was very unclear to these who gathered, the ones who had expected a miracle from the man they had watched perform them multiple times in the past three years.

Remember.  Remember that they did not yet have the blessed assurance with which we live today.

Remember and praise - because we know.  We know Whom we have believed - and our Redeemer lives.




1,000 Gifts (inspired by the lists here and here):
207. Redemptive grace found on two perpendicular beams.
208. A tiny, multi-colored piano we can play together.
209. A home to house our three greatest blessings.
210. "The Way" borrowed from the library - inspiration to travel the world (as if we needed it).
211. Ingredients for pelmeni - oh, how I love the Russian pasta.
212. True freedom.


My Life: My Morning
The Yin and Yang of my day - the joy of  playing piano with this little one contrasted to the monotony of tackling this pile of laundry (which may or may not have been sitting in my living room the better part of the week).

Of Living Truth in the Small Things

Sometime within the last few years, I have become convicted about speeding - the idea that, as a Christian, I am subject not only to the law of God, but also to the law of the existing government (so long as it does not conflict with the former).  Therefore, following the speed limit, while frustrating at times, is a form of submitting to Christ.

And if that weren't enough reason, there's the simple fact that my budget has little room for a speeding ticket - and if I'm already in a hurry, stopping to get that ticket I can't afford would waste more time than going five miles per hour slower.  

Thus, I keep it slow and steady.

For the record, I was not always this way.  There was a certain time I was much less cautious with the gas pedal.  Like the time I made the drive from St. Louis, MO to Shawnee, OK, a drive that will take eight hours if one follows the limits precisely and makes only one necessary fuel stop, in less than six hours.  I may have waited to let my mom know I'd made it safely until I'd been there a couple of hours - and when I called, believing I'd just arrived, she may have said, "Wow, that was quick." Um, yeah . . . (This is the first she's heard of this, by the way - sorry, Mom).

So, anyway, that was the old me.  Today, the new me was making the hour drive to our midwives for my six-week post-partum visit in our Cavalier whose cruise control is sketchy at best, trying to set the control to where the two numbers on my GPS, the ones that indicate my speed in comparison to the local limit, would match precisely, after about ten attempts, I gave up, before realizing it apparently had set at some point.  And I was now going consistently 2mph above the speed limit.  

Now, to most people this wouldn't be a big deal.  And I really tried to convince myself it wasn't.  But, I know going a couple of miles over while passing or when I lose track of what I'm doing here and there is an entirely different matter than purposely telling my car to stay above the limit for a prolonged period of time.  

And I felt that nudge.  The nudge that says, "Do what you know is right."  That Holy Spirit nudge.

And I tried to reason with it, "It's just 2mph and this cruise control is SO obnoxious to re-adjust, surely just this once it'll be alright."  But I couldn't shake the feeling.  So I sadly pressed on the brake to re-set my speed.  After another five tries, I was set - 70mph, nothing more, nothing less.

About 30 seconds later, I was passed, just barely, by a pick-up, surpassing my speed only slightly.  Following just behind was a black and white SUV.  Just as the thought occurred to me that this resembled a police car, I noticed the shield on the door, State Trooper.  And just as I noticed that, I noticed the red and blue lights beginning to flicker.

The Trooper was pulling over this truck who was going just barely over the speed limit.  Right next to me.  

That could have been me, wasting time I didn't have to get a ticket I couldn't afford, had I not been obedient to my convictions and the prompting of the Holy Spirit - to follow the speed limit, no less.

It's always good to have a reminder that sometimes when it seems so easy to let something slide - something that seems so insignificant - there are reasons we are nudged and there are reasons we have been called to live a life purposed for His calling.

1,000 Gifts (inspired by the lists here and here):
206. 11am: A GPS that knows where it's going, and an unplanned drive in the country.
207. 2pm: An exhausted girl telling me she'd rather take a nap than keep playing.
208. 6pm: A weight lifted through the easy return of a dresser we thought was a lost cause.
209. A reminder to dream in "And the Angels Were Silent" by Max Lucado.
210. A sleep-trained child, napping in his own crib.
211. A husband taking over the leadership I have so often clung to.


My Life: My Favorite Shoes

My Ssekos, I love them so much, I've even blogged about them on my deals site.  They're amazing.  Just sayin'.

Just a couple updated photos so you can see how this handsome little guy is growing.  The midwives weighed him at a whopping 13lb 14oz today - and he's measuring 23 inches!

Of Bearing Fruit

I shared last week about the fact that some of the deepest insecurities in my life were rooted in my hidden belief that, somehow, God was disappointed in me.  This morning, in the wee hours, as I held a hungry baby in my lap, during those precious hours in the dark when I have nothing to take up my mind but my honest thoughts and prayers to God, this is when I realized part of the cause of this belief was my misunderstanding of the idea that a true follower of Christ will be recognized by her fruit.

I believe my misunderstanding was caused by a confusion with the secular phrase "fruits of our labor" which indicates tangible "fruits."  Thus, I had been feeling lacking.  I had little fruits to show for my daily labors.  The folded clothes that are dirty again already, the washed dishes stacked by the sink again the very next day, the countless changed diapers tossed in the trash (or the laundry, adding to the chores).  None of these were lasting. 

I wasn't growing disciples, I wasn't feeding the poor.  While I had a few efforts for the benefit of others, I felt my tangible fruits just weren't enough to be counted as worthy.  My tree was ineffective at bearing good fruit.

What I was missing, though, was the Truth that the fruits which are to identify us with Christ are not physically visible - these fruits to which we refer are deeper than a simple act, or a series of actions, even.

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." (Galatians 5:22-23)

I had heard, read, studied this verse innumerable amounts.  So why had I never really understood?  

Somehow I read these as a to-do list.  I need to try to be more loving, more joyful, more patient.  If I'm lacking, I need to pray that God will help me be more gentle.  Not that the trying is wrong, but it's missing the point.  I was focusing on the fruits and not on the Spirit which produces them.

The branches can't force the fruit, it comes from within - the roots dig deep, the tree bears up and the fruit is the natural result of what the tree is.  The tree doesn't need to try to produce fruit, it just does, because that's what it was made to do.

When we are firmly planted in the Spirit, our efforts will not produce fruit, but, rather, these characteristics will be a natural result of who we are or, more specifically, who we are in Christ.  

Did you ever notice this verse in context?

These words directly follow a list of not-to-dos, specific actions that are against the Spirit.  So, why, then, are the fruits not equally specific actions?  I think Paul was purposely trying not to give us a neat little checklist that would give us some sort of confidence in our own flesh as we hold our own actions up against the items he names and feel we're doing ok - we're doing everything just right.

But that's just the point of the fruits coming from the Spirit - we cannot create them in our own power.  Again, only being fully planted in God allows these beautiful fruits of gentleness and self-control to blossom to maturity.

I mention all of the above because I have noticed, now that I have opened the dark corners of my heart, the ones I had left guarded, to the one God who created me and is not disappointed in the one who seeks after Him whole-heartedly, these fruits are truly developing in my life - I see more patience with my children, kindness toward my husband and gentleness in responding to others.  And these have come from no effort of my own - they just are.  

Clearly, I'm not perfect, but the fruits are definitely beginning to bud.

Thank you, God, for considering me worthy in Christ to continue to work to develop my spiritual maturity; I am humbled by Your love.

1,000 Gifts (inspired by the lists here and here):

200. Confirmation that He Who began a good work will be faithful to complete it.

201. Hope in His deliverance.

202. Understanding His grace is sufficient.

203. A cradle resting in my room which has now rocked not only my babies but their father as well, and was built by the hands of his uncle and grandfather.

204. Clothes that were old to them but new to us.

205. A big boy releasing himself from his own blue jacket, unzipping it and all.

My Life: My Reflection

Mr. Joseph has started doing this as of late - it's pretty adorable (though be not deceived by the angle - while he's getting bigger every day, he wears the weight well and is not quite so chubby as this photo might indicate).

Of Physical Touch

We have learned over the past twenty-one months (has it really only been that long?) that our eldest son's primary love language is clearly physical touch.  He loves to snuggle while watching TV, he'll smack us lightly on the leg with a mischievous grin just to say, "I'm here and I love you."  Spanking works as a punishment for him because touch is very important and speaks volumes.

I definitely enjoy this language of his - the language that causes him to run into the kitchen and hug my legs while I make dinner before scampering away once again - but sometimes it can be a trial, like the other times I'm making dinner and he is melting down either from a rumbly tummy or too little sleep and all he wants is simply to be held and, as holding a toddler doesn't really work when trying to chop vegetables, I have to deny his request to fulfill his emotional need in the interest of meeting his physical needs.  Times like those are rough.

But times like these, when the kids are sitting at the table, watching cartoons on the iPad after breakfast and Micaiah says, "Look, Mommy, Emmett's holding me!" and I walk over to see him simply watching the screen with one hand rested casually on his sissy's back, so as to say, "I'm here and I love you."  These times are wonderful.

1,000 Gifts (inspired from the lists here and here):

194. Piles of puzzle pieces coming together to make beautiful images of God's love.

195. A willing spirit inside a stubborn heart.

196. Beautiful bread out of my oven.

197. "What do I do next, Pirate Daddy?!" - a fun game to make helping a joy

198. Philip: "Deal?"  Emmett: "No deal!" - a Daddy encouraging his kids to obey

199. "You hep me, Diddy?" (Translation: "Can you help me, Sissy?") - knowing who to turn to when you need a helping hand.

My Life: My Smile
One of the reasons I smile.

Of Sorting Through the Blessings

In the past, the changing of seasons had been something I would look forward to as I sorted through the latest round of hand-me-downs for my little ones and packed up the old favorites to be saved for a future child (as there were sure to be).  It was like shopping for free as I pulled out the adorable clothes which had been graciously offered to us - all of them precious.  I loved it.

However, it appears the task only gets more complicated as the years go on.  For one, I now have to do this process three times - and for each child I really need an entire day (or two) to complete the sorting and packing.  For two, our storage shed is quickly piling up with totes and boxes in varying sizes of children's clothing.  In an effort to stay organized, I have done my best to separate and label all of them - Girls 0-6 Months, Boys 12-18 Months, etc., all the way through to Girls 5-6 and Boys 4T.  It's a lot of boxes.  And they are not uniform - usually whatever plastic tote or cardboard box I could dig up that happened to fit all the clothes (or at least still close, somewhat, once full).

And now I have an added level of headache I had never before had to face.  As I pack up Emmett's clothes from winter I'm suddenly facing the idea that I will, indeed, be pulling these same clothes back out soon - only for a boy who was born in a different season - so will I be pulling the 12-month winter clothes out this fall, when he is still only six months old?  Or will it be next fall, when he has hit the 18-month range and may not fit the others?  Which box do I put these in so I can find them later?

And will I really be pulling out these same clothes this October?!  What?!  How did I get two boys so quickly?!

Finally, there's the bittersweet feeling of realizing I'm already packing up clothes which no longer fit Joey's growing body.  Itty bitty favorites he only wore once or twice because a 9.5lb baby doesn't really squeeze into the newborn labels for long.

Yes, it's been a rough week in our household as my love-to-organize personality tries to wrap itself around the puzzles pertaining to the purging and packing.  But because these struggles mean our children own a more-than-sufficient amount of clothing which we have never had to worry about, clothed like the lilies of the field, I will take my "problems" any day.

So grateful, today, for our Jehovah-Jireh, the God Who provides.


1,000 Gifts: (find the lists here and here)
184. The wheels on the scooter they love to trade off on.
185. A bucket of chalk, waiting for play.
186. The ball re-discovered in his closet.
187. The cat the kids love to chase who doesn't get taken care of as well as she deserves.
188. The faded and chipped building which stores our excess blessings.
189. A too-small hat on a too-cute head of curls.
190. Beautiful green grass covering the earth as spring lays way to summer weather.
191. Making room for all we've been given.
192. Changing perceptions of what constitutes the expected "dessert" - strawberries can be as satisfying as chocolate.


My Life: My Handwriting
This is the only thing I took the time to write today, my hardcore coupon-shopping breakdown for how to make the most of my deals - even better, it's written on the back of a coupon.

The kids played outside today while I toted boxes of clothes to and from the shed and then proceeded to sort through them there on the patio.  They didn't complain.  I loved how adorable they looked in their hats and sunglasses.  

Of Sleep Habits

For a little boy who only entered the world seven weeks ago, he seems mighty complacent with being laid in a large crib (comparative to his small stature for the time-being) in a dark room all by his lonesome, eyes wide open, and then, simply, drifting off to sleep.  He really is an amazing baby.

Lately, he has also been mighty complacent about the idea of sleeping through feedings, at all hours of the day.  And after two mornings in a row of eating first thing and then being content to sleep past noon, I was afraid he'd never learn to switch his nights and days - until he slept from 9pm yesterday to 5am this morning.  Apparently he just prefers sleep to food.

Clearly, judging by the cheeks, his little body is doing just fine on the amount of nourishment he chooses to take in.  Maybe he just has better self-control in recognizing when he's had enough.  Or maybe he just knows his Momma appreciates a low-maintenance baby with two other little ones scurrying about.

Either way, we're not complaining.


1,000 Gifts: (I don't have an April list, yet, but I'm still catching up on January.)
181. A cleansed heart.
182. Evidence of fruit in my life.
183. Determination to achieve the goal.


While last month's photo challenge from Paper Coterie focused on Taking Time for Play, the challenge for April is to share more about myself through photos, so enjoy.


My Life: My Home
My home is a live-in scrapbook of my life and my travels. From the paintings from Peru, Ecuador and Venezuela, to the photos of family, to mementos and photographs from my semester in Russia, and little tangible pieces of my relationship with my husband, each artifact gives one small piece to the puzzle of me.

Of Running Away

A couple of days ago, Micaiah pulled out one of the Zhu Zhu pets she and Emmett had received for Christmas - of which they have been terrified when actually in motion - and pushed the button to make him go.  Then, she promptly encouraged Emmett to, "Run away!  Run away!"  Instantly calling to mind images of Monty Python in his search for the Holy Grail.  

Since that day, they played this game multiple times.  With each instance, the little brown faux-rodent scurries about electronically while my children run squealing around the house.  

But what's even better are the times when no one has pushed Cappuccino's button, but my son still suddenly hops to his feet, crying, "Run away!  Run away!" in his adorable little not-quite-two-year-old voice and sets off sprinting to and fro, making circles around the couches and all-around having a great time.  All by himself.

He did this again this evening when we headed outside for a little spring-evening fun.  There he was, dashing through the grass, giving his warning cry for all to hear.  I adore that boy.

Running away.

1,000 Gifts:

178. "Run away!"

179. A clean boy, wrapped in his blue towel, wanting to be carried to his bedroom.

180. Precious time scratching the garage sale itch with a good friend.

Taking Time for Play: In the Air

I'm a sucker for the startle reflex and I love how it makes it look like he's flying as Daddy tosses him up.

Other photos of our backyard adventure:

Emmett's turn to fly, only he was not letting go of Daddy's hands for anything.

Just hanging out - this is about the extent of his outdoor fun - well, this and the flying.

Love this beautiful girl!

Just in case you couldn't visualize my description the other day, this is dear Joseph enjoying his bouncy seat.

Blowing dandelions - she's so grown up!