The Maker of a Home

Are you good at your job? How can you tell? Increased salary? Accolades? More responsibility? Advancement? Maybe all of these together combined with an office and good health insurance?

I've never gotten any of that and having an awesome office in the future is unlikely. That's because my chosen vocation is a homemaker. Now, some of you may be feeling sorry for me about now, “Oh, that poor girl, locked in her house all day...” But, your pity would be wasted. You see, I'm a college educated, reasonably intelligent woman who's chosen to stay at home and take care of her husband and her children. I've chosen to be a homemaker when there were other options – easier options, financially rewarding options, intellectually fulfilling options. I chose, along with my husband, to be a homemaker, the maker of a home.

The responsibilities of a homemaker are great and I pile more upon myself because I'm loathe to buy bread when I can make it at home and I've actually taken to ironing the vintage napkins we use daily, passed down from Bobby's relatives. I pack lunches and cart the boys to school when they miss the bus. I occasionally meet my husband for lunch and try to start cooking dinner each night at 5. But, I also talk my 70 - something year old next-door-neighbor into going to matinee movies, and attend Bible studies and pray for the school my children attend.

What I don't do is sit around eating bonbons. Where did that idea come from anyway? If I spent all day on the couch (and I'm not saying it's NEVER happened), everyone in my house would know it and my punishment would be merciless teasing. There would be Pizza Hut for dinner and no clean socks. I have admitted before and will admit again to times of laziness – one more episode of Last Man Standing or just 30 minutes more of Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South. And, I am not as industrious as other women I know. But, I'm rarely afraid to open the door of my home to someone.

I'll be the first to say that I'm shockingly bad at a lot of the things my job entails. I make breakfast for my boys every day, but forget to deposit the birthday checks they received from grandparents. I used to sew adorable holiday outfits for my twin toddlers, but would let the dust lie on the furniture. My friend, LeeAnn, says she's a great “straightener” not a great cleaner. I can't say I'm great at either. But, I don't know that I was “great” at my other jobs either, definitely not all aspects of them. I've worked at a Hallmark shop and a dress shop, taught school and piano, been a missionary and a sous chef, handled customer service for a website and sold scrap-booking supplies. I loved parts of all those jobs and was really good at parts of them. Actually, they're probably the same parts I'm good at now – relationships and creating. I'm still terrible at organizing and repetitive stuff.

I know I'm extraordinarily blessed to be a stay at home wife and mom. I know that's not even a possibility for many and I count it a privilege. I'm grateful my husband thinks it's just as important as I do that I'm here – keeping the home fires burning.

But, it hasn't always been easy. This is a life of service, a life of duty and selflessness. That's hard for someone as selfish as I am. Though the people I serve most are super cute, I sometimes think they're impossibly demanding. I sometimes have to deal with pity and condescension (from within and without!), or others thinking that I have time for anything because I'm “just a stay at home mom”.

Before we married, Bobby introduced me to a song by Paul Overstreet called Homemaker. It talked about his wife's amazing abilities. She could have done whatever she wanted, “She could take this world and turn it on.” But, she chose to stay at home, “but, she takes her love and makes our house a home.” I felt so validated by that and by the fact that Bobby showed it to me.

When I get too whiny, I think of my Swiss friend's grandmother. Miriam's grandfather was a watchmaker. His hands were his livelihood, so he refused to do any manual labor. Miriam's grandmother was left to chop the wood and build the fires (literally keeping the home fires burning!) in addition to her other responsibilities. I can turn up the heat with the touch of a button and turn down the complaining with a prayer of thanksgiving.

I once heard a missionary say he wasn't called to the mission field, that instead he was compelled by Christ to go. I feel like that about staying at home. It's definitely a calling, sometimes it seems it would be easier to find a job. But, even when things have been financially hard, Bobby and I have both felt compelled for me to stay where I am. I think our lives are better for it, even if our savings or college fund isn't.

My Bible study teacher in college, Betty Thomas, was instrumental in opening my eyes to this way of life. She taught that being a homemaker was a high and holy calling and I've come to believe that it's true. She said that Ruth Graham, wife to Billy Graham, had a sign over her kitchen sink that said, “Divine work conducted here 3 times daily.” Preaching to thousands isn't the only form of divine service. Maybe making a great pimiento cheese sandwich and serving it with love is divine, too (especially, when it's homemade pimiento cheese and toasted until it's crispy and melted!).

Though the challenges can be frustrating, the rewards are worth their weight in gold. My children love to have friends over and we sometimes don't want to leave once we're all home. When we were packing to move from Nebraska to Pennsylvania, my son Davis threw himself on the floor of our basement in exhausted frustration saying, “Why do we have all this stuff?” I replied that it makes our house homey. Then, Davis shocked me by saying, “Stuff doesn't make our house homey. You do.” Awwww...

Though it won't fully fund our retirement account, that comment and ones like it are priceless and let me know I'm doing a good job.

Recently, a friend paid me a huge compliment. Faith had been by my home to borrow a necklace and I invited her to stay for tea. A week or so later she called to see if she could return the necklace and asked if she could invite herself for tea again. I smile to think of it. That blessing could easily have been turned down – uh, my house is too messy, I don't have any tea! But, I just threw the door open anyway and received a great blessing in Faith's visit and presence.

I'm not saying every woman should be a stay home wife or mom, just as I don't think everyone should be an orthodontist or pastor, and I know not everyone would want to. I'm just saying I'm thankful I can and you, my dear friend, can invite yourself over for tea any time!

Just Be Held

So, something strange happened to me this morning. I was dropping the boys off at school when a song came on the radio. It was a few seconds before I realized the song was vaguely familiar. I heard it for the first time about a month ago when a lovely, young lady sang it at church. The song is ”Just Be Held” by Casting Crowns: Hold it all together Everybody needs you strong But life hits you out of nowhere And barely leaves you holding on And when you're tired of fighting Chained by your control There's freedom in surrender Lay it down and let it go So when you're on your knees and answers seem so far away You're not alone, stop holding on and just be held Your world’s not falling apart, it’s falling into place I'm on the throne, stop holding on and just be held Just be held, just be held If your eyes are on the storm You'll wonder if I love you still But if your eyes are on the cross You'll know I always have and I always will And not a tear is wasted In time, you'll understand I'm painting beauty with the ashes Your life is in My hands Lift your hands, lift your eyes In the storm is where you'll find Me And where you are, I'll hold your heart I'll hold your heart Come to Me, find your rest In the arms of the God who won’t let go The song is beautiful and brings me back to the hurting and loss our church family was suffering when the song was sung. But, today was just a “normal” day. But, Monday wasn't. My son Allen got hurt in Monday night's football game. It wasn't bad. He walked off the field himself.  By the time he got to the parking lot after the final snap he was smiling despite a lot of pain. I wasn't even truly upset when play was stopped and I looked to see #40 laying on the field. He was moving his legs a little and soon took off his helmet. Then, he walked off the field with the trainer. I'm not sure what I was thinking while waiting to see what he would do; (my husband says he wanted to run onto the field, hug our son and tell him everything was going to be ok) but, I do remember, after the game resumed, having a hard time tearing my eyes away from the one son holding his arm tightly against his ribs to the other son who was still busting up plays and making sacks on the field. Today, when I dropped those kids off in front of the high school, I laughed as the hurt one dropped something and asked, none too politely, for his brother to pick it up. I smiled as I saw him, with his arm in a sling, holding the door open for several girls and a couple of friends. Then, as I pressed the gas to leave the parking lot something inside me snapped. Just be held. It could have been a really bad Monday night.  I won't go to the dark side here but, I will admit that I don't think I've ever had such a delayed reaction. What if... God has been showing me a lot lately that what I like to call MY life is really HIS. He can do whatever He wants with it. I could have been that lady who couldn't have kids or the girl who couldn't decide on a major so Auburn really did ask her to leave. I also could have been Miss America 1990 (because, you know, who didn't want to be Miss America?) or a ballet dancer in New York City or a judge. All real possibilities at one point or another, but none of these are part of my story today. I'm in a Bible Study about Hosea. Hosea is a shocking picture of letting God take control of your life. Wow. I'm sure as a young man Hosea wanted a bride who was pure and beautiful, a woman who would love him and give him children and be faithful only to him. But, that's not the story God chose for Hosea. I'm sure his kids would rather not have been named things like “No Mercy” (just imagine introducing yourself, aloud, to everyone at camp or in small group. “My dad was really creative...”). But, that was God's plan and that's our example of the great love the Lord had for His people and the love God has for us. Max Lucado has a thoughtful chapter in one of his books called “Out of the Carpentry Shop”. In it he talks about Jesus' last visit to his family's carpentry shop. Lucado says: “I wonder if He wanted to stay. 'I could do a good job here in Nazareth. Settle down. Raise a family. Be a civic leader.' I wonder because I know He had already read the last chapter. He knew that the feet that step out of the safe shadow of the carpentry shop would not rest until they had been pierced and placed on a Roman cross. You see, He didn't have to go. He had a choice. He could have stayed. He could have kept his mouth shut. He could have ignored the call or at least postponed it. And had He chosen to stay, who would've known? Who would have blamed Him?” I know, I know. Jesus was Jesus and he didn't have second thoughts and he didn't doubt his “calling”. But, what if he did? What if he wished for a life that was different or normal? But, that wasn't his story. That wasn't what God had chosen for him. And, he was completely and utterly yielded to it. He was ALL in. Committed, Surrendered, Resigned. But, he was also joyful. Yes, joyful. Hebrews 12:2 says, “Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Joy. Just be held. It's alright. God's got a plan. He's got you. This might not look like what you thought it would. It probably doesn't. But, God's got this. If you're walking through something that seems so yucky that it could only be an example to others and useful for growing you up, it's ok. Just let God hold you. Take a breath and trust Him. Hosea did and we still read about his righteousness. Jesus did and we still revel in his victory. You will and we'll all glory in your redemption. Now, we could talk about horrible situations being the consequences of sin or really, really bad decisions. But, let's not. Let's just assume you and I are doing our best to wake up every day and tell God we're ready for whatever He has for us, as long as He'll hold us up. Let's just assume that, ok? Allen with the hurt shoulder is going to be fine. But, until he heals he's got a sling to hold his arm steady and make sure the rowdy boys he's friends with don't jostle him too much. It would be embarrassing for me to clear a path through the hallways at school for him (but, you know I would totally do it!). But, even more, I know, no matter what, God is holding my kids. I know when they experience disappointments and frustrations and “why is life so hard?” moments that God is there, holding them. Their worlds won't be falling apart, they'll be falling into place. And, it's all part of His plan.

A Toast to Sumarie

I recently came across this thing I wrote a while back. It's about my sister's wedding and it gave me a sweet, nostalgic feeling. Maybe you have a couple you need to celebrate or maybe you need to celebrate your own romance, or maybe you just need to remember how much you love your siblings. Regardless, I hope you like this and I hope it makes you want to write your own tribute for someone you hold dear.

The thing on my mind today is my sister’s wedding. She and Keith Forrester were wed on June 27, 2009 in Atlanta. It was so beautiful. When I saw the first pictures, I was overwhelmed. The photographer managed to make it look almost more wonderful than the actual day. It was amazing to see two people so excited about being in love and getting married. But, it was incredible to see two families and two sets of friends so happy for a couple. 

Let me give you and example; I’ve been to weddings before where people clap after Mr. and Mrs. Whatever are presented to the congregation. That’s weird and a bit demonstrative for those of us in the South. But, at the end of Sumarie’s wedding people not only clapped, they whooped and hollered and gave the bride and groom a STANDING OVATION! Can you believe that? A real live, every single person in the room laughing and smiling and crying standing ovation. It was so sweet, and so them. Well, I didn’t think anyone was more excited than I was, but I was wrong! 

I’m going to share my reception toast with you here (if you were there, just skip to the end) because it sums up my feelings better than me just trying to tell you how it felt to have my 40-something year old sister finally hitched.

I’m Sumarie’s sister and I’m excited to be here tonight. As Sumarie started planning her wedding I would get lists of things to do or help her with. My response was always the same, “I’ll take care of that.” Amy, we need to get these programs to the church. “I’ll take care of that.” Amy, Keith likes Krispy Kreme donuts and I’ve seen these cute wedding cakes made of them. We are NOT having a Krispy Kreme wedding cake, but maybe we could make a groom’s cake out of them. “I’ll take care of that.” (I did too and it was really cute!) Never on my list was giving a toast at the rehearsal dinner or reception.

Soon, Sumarie started talking about who WAS going to speak at the reception; Keith’s brother, Keith’s dad…and I told Sumarie that I could do that for her. Over a couple of weeks I offered several times and her response was something like this, “You don’t have to.” So, I became determined to talk to you tonight.

Like any good, older sister, Sumarie has had a profound impact on my life. She had very definite opinions about what instrument I would play in band in sixth grade. In high school, she told me I should wear make up to school at least once a week and I should shave my legs with hair conditioner (at this point I looked at Sumarie who was nodding earnestly to a perplexed Keith). And, she had very strong opinions about where I would go to college.

She began subtly influencing me in this decision by doing things like inviting me to her college apartment, which I thought was very cool. On these visits we would do all kinds of sophisticated college things like walking around campus learning the words to silly songs and eating a whole Pepperidge Farm cake in one sitting. When I continued to talk to her about going to Texas Christian University in Ft. Worth, she pulled out the big guns and said, “You know if you go to school in Texas you’ll only get to come home at Thanksgiving!” And, since that seemed like an eternity to an 18 year old who had never been away from home, I moved to Auburn. (Whoops and hollers from the Auburn people in the crowd.)

I moved into the duplex our dad owned in Auburn as Sumarie was moving out. Once I was settled into 320 Genelda Ave. I was delighted to find that I had not only inherited most of Sumarie’s furniture, but several of her friends. One of those friends was Andrew Keys (here I motioned to Andrew who was sitting right by the dance floor and he promptly spit out the piece of cake he had just put into his mouth). Andrew introduced me to his roommate Bobby Britton who eventually became my husband. So, in a very real way Sumarie has influenced my marriage and adult life as well.

But, I want to let it be known that I had a part to play in bringing about this happy day. Several years ago I got a book called The Power of a Praying Parent and began praying for my kids Allen and Davis. (Here Allen waved to the crowd, Davis hid behind Bobby) I started praying for their education, their friends and their spouses. After several months, I began including Sumarie in those “spouse” prayers. I prayed them for a long time and I had fun imagining what “Mr. Sumarie” would be like. (had to pause here for the laughing to die down, didn’t realize this would be so funny…) In some things I was right on. I imagined he would love dogs, like to travel and be very close to his family. I also thought he would be very serious, quite liberal and tall. Keith, I’m so glad I was wrong. (Allen asked me later, “Mom, you’re glad Uncle Keith is short?” Well, no, Allen, I don’t really have an opinion on Mr. Sumarie’s height, good point.) 

I’m so thankful God let me see such a happy answer to my prayers. (Started crying here and really didn’t think I would. People started clapping for me. If I’d known that was all I’d have to do to get applause…) I only hope God will let me see such a wonderful answer for Allen and Davis. Sumarie, if they find someone who loves them as much as Keith loves you, they will be blessed indeed. 

Raise your glasses with me again to my sister and brother-in-law, to Sumarie and Keith! God Bless!

I told Keith later that I was surprised to see people laughing and crying. I thought my toast was so personal to me and my relationship with my sister. He said something about the human condition.  Anyway, it was all really sweet and wonderful.

Now, 6 years after the fact, I'm happy to say that Sumarie and Keith are still happily married. They travel and entertain and are a wonderful aunt and uncle. They love their dogs and old houses in Atlanta and their friends and family. 

They give me hope; not just that you can find love at any time in your life, but also that life is fun and good. I'm so thankful for my sister and I'm so glad I FINALLY got that big brother I never had.

Wisdom from Pinterest: “Before marrying someone, you should first make them use a computer with slow Internet, just to see who they really are.”  I don't think Sumarie and Keith did that, but I'm glad it worked out anyway.

I Wanna See You Be Brave

I've been thinking about being brave a lot lately. At MOPS, mothers of pre-schoolers, where I was a “soul” mom or older mom (I learned after agreeing to help out) our theme last year was Be You Bravely. I love that. Well, I love that idea. I love the thought of living this one life I have bravely, confidently, trying new things and bursting with excitement. But, I'm not sure that translates into my everyday life.

I have a wrapper from a piece of Dove chocolate pinned to my bulletin board. It reads, “Be the first to hit the dance floor.” I'm not often the first to hit the dance floor. I'm also not likely to be the first to raise my hand in a class or try out a new trend in clothes. I like to make sure someone else gives it a whirl first, then, if they survive, I may jump in with both feet. But, I won't be first, definitely not first.

So, does that mean I'm not brave?

And, what does it mean to be brave anyway? Do you have to face down gladiators like Russell Crowe in Gladiator? Do you have to single-handedly bring down a giant like David with Goliath? Do you have to be willing to have a section of your hair dyed purple?

In the dictionary brave means “to meet or face courageously; to brave misfortunes; to defy; challenge, dare.” My son, Allen, says being brave is doing the right thing, even if it hurts you.

I bet there are women out there who don't even think about being brave. They're just out there, doing their thing, living their lives, kicking butt. I bet bravery isn't even on their radar because they're so full of bravery they don't have time to ponder it. Or, maybe they're so busy, they don't have time to think about it.

Sara Bareilles has this wonderful song called “Brave” where she sings about telling people the truth and speaking up for yourself. The video of this song is adorable. I love it. In the video there are people dancing in strange and unusual places - a sidewalk by a bus stop, a shopping mall, a library, a farmer's market and, probably the most impressive act of bravery, a gym.

This video makes me laugh out loud, especially the man in the library. But, does dancing in a public place when no one else is dancing make you brave? I guess in a way it does. These people don't care what others think about them. Or, maybe they care, they just do the hard, or silly, or extravagant thing anyway.

Apparently, this feeling of not being brave isn't unique to me. In the movie You've Got Mail, Meg Ryan's character worries about her life. She writes, “ Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.”

Well, I want an answer! But, I don't think I'm going to get one. Like most things that are important, I think I'm going to have to struggle through it.

I'd like to think I'm becoming more brave. I'd like to BE brave. I'd like to be like Eowyn from The Lord of the Rings. In the movie Return of the King, instead of staying safely at home and assuring her place as the next ruler of Rohan, Eowyn rides courageously into battle, confident and bold; her long, blond hair tucked under her metal helmet. At a crisis in the battle, Eowyn comes face to face with an awful, huge, faceless, witch king. He's about to kill her uncle, the king, when Eowyn steps in. The witch king takes Eowyn by the throat and says, "You fool. No man can kill me." At that point, Merry, a hobbit, stabs the witch king in the back causing enough of a distraction for the witch king to let go and for Eowyn to pull off her helmet, letting her wavy hair fall beautifully over her shoulders. Then, she delivers one of the most moving, inspirational, "girl-power" lines in the history of movies. She says, clearly and dramatically, "I am no man!" Then she stabs the witch king where his face should be, causing him to implode. It's AWESOME!

So, does bravery have to look like that?

Or, is bravery my friend who's a single mom of 4 boys who keeps getting up every morning and making breakfast and going to work and fighting to make sure her kids are treated fairly? Is it the lady at the farmer's market who paints her nails fluorescent orange or my friend who's a farmer and a woman and a blond in a profession dominated by men?

Does it even matter? Is bravery like so many things in life that looks different on each person who tries it on, like some sort of cosmic little black dress?

I love the way bravery looked when Lucy in Prince Caspian (from the Chronicles of Narnia) tried it on. At one point she, a little girl in a long dress and flowing cape, walks alone onto a bridge to face a huge mob of enemies. They laugh at her when she stands there, brave and proud. They can't believe her audacity and stupidity when she soberly stares them down then draws her tiny knife. But, she knows what they don't. Aslan, the Lion, the hero, the leader, who "isn't safe. But, he's good," is right behind her. Right Behind Her.

God is right behind me, all the time, always there. He's got my back, he's on my side. But, how quickly I forget. As much as I'd like to think I'm courageous enough to slay monsters and face down armies, I really don't fit that mold. I get stressed out and spend afternoons watching Jane Austen movies while eating bowlfuls of white, natural Cheetos ("natural" Cheetos, right...). I'm busy and distracted. I'm impatient and critical. My natural inclination is to think that if God loves you, He must not love me. If He's doing something amazing and glorious in your life then I am less than you, I'm not as spiritual as you, I'm not as important as you.

How absurd. Like Lucy, I know that God is right behind me - The God of the Universe, the Creator of Man, the God who will Provide. Why in the world would I NOT be brave? Why in the world would I NOT trust? Why in the world would I ever compare myself to someone else when God is in control, when I know, I've seen that He provides?

Sara Bareilles says, “Show me how big your brave is.” Maybe my brave isn't as “big” as Queen Esther's who literally took her life into her own hands when she even approached her husband without an invitation, much less when she told him she disagreed with a proclamation her husband's #1 man made targeting her people. Maybe I'll never have to agonize over whether to quit my job or not because of something I'm being asked to do that's wrong.

Maybe my brave just looks like a mom who doesn't buy her kids a cell phone even if EVERYONE ELSE has one.

Or, maybe my brave just means hitting the dance floor first.

Pinterest

I'm an idea saver. Since I picked up my first Bride's Magazine in the free bin outside my local library, I've clipped pages of magazine pictures I love. I've cut recipes out of the newspaper and off boxes, copied inspiring quotes from books and articles and saved pictures of furniture and homes that I'd like to replicate. I have manila folders of garden ideas and tips on buying art. I've saved articles I need to re-read and lists of movies I need to watch. While this is wonderfully inspirational, it's also fairly bulky. My husband makes comments about my folders occasionally (which I may sometimes ignore) and I'm continually trying to work my way through a basket full of recipe clippings.

That's why I was so intrigued and excited when a cousin first told me about Pinterest. “It's fun,” Jamalyn said. “I'll invite you.” She did invite me and it's then my eyes were opened to this new world of virtual bulletin boards. Anything you can find on the internet (or webber net, as my son calls it) you can potentially save or "pin" to one of your “boards”. This was made for me, I thought. A virtual, “green”, file-cabinet-freeing, marriage-saving world of loveliness. I dove right in.

I happily pinned away for a year or so until I realized that, horrors, I was just willy nilly pinning and maybe never seeing these pins again. I was throwing craft ideas and recipes and fashion advice into another file cabinet, virtual it may be, and slamming the door.

You know that quote that says, “Have nothing in your home that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful”? I wanted that to apply to my computer too. Pinterest was beautiful. But, it was less than useful.

So, I had an epiphany. I would go on a Pinterest quest. I would endeavor to Do, See or Make every single thing on my Pinterest boards.

Well...I have 1.3K pins divided between 28 boards. So,.... right. That's 1,300 individual recipes, outfit suggestions, places to visit and craft ideas. I'm sure there are people with many, many more pins. My friend, Cyndi, has 2,400 but, I'm not aware that she's trying to DO something with them all.

So, here's my low-down.

Of the 12 pins on my "Products I Love" board, I've bought 2. I've made about 5 of my 151 "Great Ideas to Make". One was a wreath for Easter made out of Peeps. It was adorable and I loved seeing it on my door whenever we came home. But, the sun is hot, even in Pennsylvania, and the Peeps didn't like that. They first faded, then, melted down the door sending me scurrying with a magic white sponge to clean it all up.

Often, I get confirmation of something I've already done or something I plan to purchase. My “For The Home” board helped me find what kind of bed I wanted and what kind of quilt should go on that bed. I was brave enough to keep the pink and purple rug that was supposed to be blue and green because I'd seen pictures of bright rooms and thought it could work.

I often revisit my “Quotes” and “Favorite Places and Spaces” boards for comfort and inspiration.

"My Style" is a pre-labeled board which I first thought was for anything that I liked, so there are clothing ideas, but there are also rooms and furniture that I love. I've since pinned more clothing style related pins and am often reassured that what I have in my closet can work. I would love to find the sequined cowgirl boots on there, but alas...

But, what I have most of is food / recipe pins. There are 239 pins on my “Recipes and Yummy Stuff” board and I've tried 78 or about 33%.

Some of my favorites are brownies that taste like they came out of a box (which is a good thing); beautiful and delicious strawberry cupcakes that really did come out of a box and got doctored up; the best pizza sauce and homemade crust recipe ever; and hot ham and cheese party rolls. The couple who posted the party roll recipe are pictured wearing paraphernalia from Auburn University which is my Alma Mater. Small world.

Some of my not so great recipe tries were tomatillo avocado ranch salad dressing, but I really shouldn't pass judgment on that one since I didn't have an avocado and left out a couple more key ingredients. Zucchini brownies were not a hit either. My kids told me I "defiled" the proud brownie name and they actually went bad sitting on the counter before I could finish eating them (the brownies, not the kids). Tacos assembled and then cooked in the oven don't stay crispy and taquitos completely fall apart. Rubbing half a cut onion on the grill before tossing meat onto it did NOT make our grill non-stick as promised and a ham I cooked for Easter was way too sweet.

But, oh, the strawberry grapefruit juice, oven roasted smoked sausage and potatoes, and one pan Mexican quinoa more than made up for it.

I could also mention cheesecake, lemon cookies and almond shortbread. Definitely more delightful successes than epic failures.

So, while I'd still like to arm knit a blanket in 45 minutes, paint my piano bright blue and visit the Betsy Ross house in Philadelphia, I'm content that I'm actually doing some things, making some progress, real and virtual.

In my life, most things have to be done over and over, like a stay-at-home mom's perpetual Groundhog Day.  It would be a boring movie, but it's real life around here.  So, it's encouraging, it feels productive and I know I won't HAVE to check these things off my list again, if I don't want to. And, that's worth a bit of space in my life any day.

Now, I'm sure you'll excuse me.  I've got to take the 3 Ingredient Beer Bread out of the oven so we can eat it with the Fool-Proof Melt in Your Mouth Fall Off the Bone Ribs.  80 recipes down, 159 to go.

Moving

I wrote this in November 2014, with a cross-country move looming, boxes waiting to be packed and sad kids dragging their feet in the hopes that if they didn't pack - we just couldn't move.  My husband was 1196.27 miles away which did nothing for my peace of mind.  Just so you know, that's where I "was" when I sat at the kitchen table and wrote this.




Moving


If you google the word "moving", you will get 123,000,000 results in 0.48 seconds.  That's pages and pages of tips on everything from when to begin packing to where to get the best free boxes for your books to who to call for estimates on packing your belongings onto a truck.  There are tips on how to keep your friends happy once you enlist them to help and how to keep your pets from feeling insecure.  Did you know that it's a good idea to wrap your drinking glasses in socks for extra protection before placing them in a box, or that you should feed your friends something they can eat off paper plates with no utensils to keep their spirits and their stamina up? 

Well, I did.

I've moved 12 times and am about a month out from my 13th.  Most of these moves happened after I met and married the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy with the easy smile.  My parents didn't move.  Still haven't all these years later.  Today, I could magically appear on my parents' front porch and run my hands over the same beautiful, shiny, wooden door all my friends could unlock with the not-so-hidden key.  My saxophone and wedding dress are under my childhood bed.  And, the coffee table my sister kicked, hard, while we were making up dances in the living room is still implanted in the carpet.

That house with the magnolia tree in the front yard will always be home to me.  I breathe a sigh of relief when I pull up in the driveway and know there will be a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge, so sweet it will make my teeth hurt.  My children know where my mom has "hidden" the Krispy Kreme donuts and my husband doesn't hesitate to kick his feet up in the recliner in the den and commandeer the remote.

It's comfortable.  It's worn and familiar.

My children will never have that.  They've lived in 3 homes in 3 states in their lifetimes and will soon add a fourth.  Though I hope they'll feel peace and security when they come back to visit from their adventures, they won't have that same sense of place, that same feeling of belonging to one particular spot.  That's the life God has chosen for them, and I'm alright with it.  It's just so different from the life I lived til I was 22.

Their world is much, much bigger than mine was at 15 years old.  They've learned how to make friends much earlier than I did.  They know what it's like to wake up to breath-taking heat or intense cold outside.  They know what different accents sound like from the lips of people who've adopted them as family.  They've had to do adjusting and growing that can only help them be better men.  And I'm alright with that.

So, as I look at websites for packing tips, again, and wonder at all the quotes about "moving on" on pintrest, I wonder why there's not something out there about how to handle your heart as you move to a new place or unpacking those hard feelings that surface, get pushed down because you're too busy or overwhelmed to deal with them, and then surface again.

Moving is hard.  It's exhausting to purge, pack, load, clean, clean again and unpack. But, it's just as hard to find the right fit in a church, a home, a friend.  If you're like me, it can even be hard to find the grocery store without a map or figure out which gas station has cheap Coke from a fountain.  (Because the Coke from a fountain is different, I promise you.  You don't believe me, but it's true!  And, they don't put THAT on maps.)  It's hard to face the fact that you'll never be able to fit all your earthly belongings in the back of a pickup truck.  You may blame this on your wife and children, but you might want to clean out your closet before you do.  

In his novel Angle of Repose, Wallace Stegner says, “It's easier to die than to move ... at least for the Other Side you don't need trunks."  True, very true.  When you die and get to see Jesus face to face, you probably don't worry too much about the stuff you didn't bring with you.  You probably don't worry about the people you left behind either.

None of that is true of moving across the country.  If I leave something in this move, say, my new, long-wanted, Mary and Martha lazy Susan that sits regally and helpfully on my kitchen table, I'll be upset.  I may even need to return to collect it.  If I couldn't get back, I might make a very nice gift of it to a very dear friend.  But, I'd like to take it with me.  

I'd like to pack up my friends and take them as well.  I've fought and prayed and worked hard for these friends.  I've risked vulnerability and honesty and they've just begun to realize they love me.  And, I'm just really getting to know and love them.  I can't pack them up and take them with me, even if I wrap them lovingly in my socks.  They can't come because God has another plan for them that doesn't include the horrifying realization of how much dust has settled on the baseboards behind the entertainment center, or that it takes more than 50 boxes to pack up the stuff in their kitchen.  Those dear friends get to / have to walk the same aisles at the same grocery store and drive the same roads to the burger joint.  They get to / have to see the same people in Sunday school and sit in the same section at next year's high school football games.  I know it's not any easier than what I'm called to in this move.  It's just different.  

And, I'm working really hard to be alright with that.

My Charlotte Mason "Testimony"

My friend, Melanie, asked me to write something about my Charlotte Mason "testimony".  I could write and talk and think for days about Charlotte Mason in particular and education in general.  But, I'll try to be concise.  I'm sure I'll write about this again, but here is why we began a journey using Charlotte Mason principles to raise and educate our kids and some of the fruit I've seen along the way.

In my mind, when it came to educating our children, there were two possible choices:  public school or homeschool, using Charlotte Mason's ideas.  Over my children's education we've done both and we've experienced private, Christian school too.  All have been good in their way, and all have had faults.


Long before we began homeschooling, we starting "living" Charlotte Mason. Charlotte Mason said, "Education is an atmosphere, a discipline, a life."  Because of that, I try to create an environment at home that encourages slowing down, and appreciating the best - in books, food, art, nature.    

Atmosphere isn't just about what your home looks like, it's about what your home feels like.  It's the people in it and the ideas you share.  It's laughter and fun, and comfort and security.  Education is not about making a good grade, it's about living a good life.  Thus, it includes all things and continues throughout life, beginning with the earliest memories and only ending when we do.

I know some people who homeschool because they are afraid of public school.  Not me.  I'm a product of it.  I was awesome at school.  I could memorize and regurgitate almost anything for a test and, as a result, was Salutatorian of my graduating class.  But, ask me to tell you what was really happening in a poem or the deeper meaning of a book and I was hopeless, much to the amusement and delight of my friends.   

Part of my problem was that I was never really asked to form an opinion on anything.  So, I just assumed I was supposed to like everything.  I'm naturally agreeable and this missing piece in my educational puzzle took advantage of that fact.

While living in Fort Worth, when my children were in about 5th grade, the Kimball Art Museum acquired the first known painting by Michelangelo, "The Torment of Saint Anthony."  It's believed that Michelangelo painted this "masterpiece" when he was just 12 or 13 years old.  It is a picture of ghastly demons and fire, dark colors and wickedness.  We didn't like it at all, but it IS a Michelangelo.

We visited this painting several times to see if it would ever grow on us.  It didn't.  So, is it OK to say, out loud, that you don't like the first ever painting by Michelangelo?  Is it OK to say you're not crazy about Beethoven's 5th Symphony?  Is it OK to say that the Grand Canyon just doesn't do it for you?  When I was younger, I would have thought "No!  You HAVE to like these things.  They HAVE to move you deeply."  But, my children aren't afraid to have their own opinions.  I think that can only help them as they grow and explore and learn what really makes them tick.

Though I don't believe either of my boys will turn into a great and profound artist, I'm glad they've been exposed to great art.  I'm glad they've had to make their way through many an art museum and that we've hung beautiful pictures on our walls at home.  I'm also thankful their world has been broadened by wonderful music and by nature study.  All these "subjects" have this in common:  they serve to develop a habit of attention in people who might otherwise rush through life attentive only to their "to-do" list or their cell phone.  Believe me, I know that of which I speak.

Our boys were leaving to catch the school bus one morning when my husband, Bobby, noticed Davis bent over on the front walk with his hands on his knees.  Thinking Davis was sick, Bobby hurried outside only to find Davis looking at a caterpillar. While I swell with pride and think how wonderful it is that this young man is so attentive and curious and adorable, it's really all Charlotte Mason's fault.  She told me to go outside and let my children NOTICE and I did.

Another time during our life in Fort Worth, we were driving on the interstate when we saw a billboard advertising an upcoming exhibit at the Kimball.  On the billboard was a painting of a woman.  We had recently studied that very painting in artist study at home.  One of my children saw the huge painting on the billboard and said, "Hey!  We know her!"

I'm sure there are many children out there who would notice the same things - caterpillars and art.  But, I believe it's a characteristic that MOST "Charlotte Mason kids" share.  It's a part of who they are and how they embrace the world.  When they begin to notice, they begin to connect what they notice with what they've read and studied and heard which makes a greater and deeper and more interesting education. 

I'm having to learn those things now.  The habit of attention is hard, especially when you didn't cultivate it while growing up.  But, it's enriching and addictive and lovely.  It leads to a deep, beautiful, meaningful life.  And, that's what I really want for my children, myself and for your children too.

In addition to NOTICING and easily forming their own opinions, my children have developed a love of learning.  They read for pleasure and don't wait until the last minute to complete assignments.  The down side of this (if you can call it that) is that they have very little patience for what Ms. Mason calls "twaddle" - anything that has little redeeming value, books that are trite and silly.  You know, twaddle!  They also have little patience for others who don't value learning.

In his book, Teach Like Your Hair's on Fire, Rafe Esquith says the "danger" of public education (or any education!) is the tendency to a "systemic conspiracy of mediocrity."  He says that to combat this, children need to learn to love to read.  He says, "If a child is going to grow into a truly special adult – someone who thinks, considers other points of view, has an open mind, and possesses the ability to discuss great ideas with other people – a love of reading is an essential foundation."


Reading is definitely a discipline.  I continue to learn about education being a discipline.  Whether it's reading a book on my own, making time for fresh air and exercise or making sure my children actually study for a test, it all takes discipline.  If I'm honest, it takes a bit of discipline to make the bed and floss my teeth too, but those things also make my life better.

Education is a life, it's appreciating more than what might come naturally, it's being challenged to try something new.  It's reaching out to someone else and taking time to make yourself a cup of tea.  Education is ALL of life.

I felt a tremendous freedom in homeschooling as Charlotte Mason suggested.  Offer a wonderful "feast" for the mind and imagination, set the children's feet in a "wide room" with many options, and let God guide them to what they need.  Let them take in whatever is most "nutritious" and beneficial to them at the time and leave the rest.  The Lord will show them what they need.  It's up to Him to move and educate, and open their eyes.  Just like in the kitchen, I need only prepare the feast in the schoolroom and lead the children to it.

While I'm thankful for the academic knowledge my children are developing and the varied insights and experiences their Charlotte Mason education has provided them, what I pray for most is for them to be the kind of men that you want to have living next door, coaching your kids' little league team or marrying your daughter.  I want their lives to be enriched by "little" things like appreciating a beautiful sunset, knowing when the space station will pass overhead and running outside to see it, or noticing when the daffodils bloom.  I want them to be men who love and serve the Lord with everything they have in them, whether that's in a pulpit or a bank or a gym.  I want them to recognize beauty and truth and holiness and seek after those things.  I believe Charlotte Mason has given them a great start to get there.