You like me! YOU REALLY LIKE ME!

I’ve FINALLY been TAGGED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HOORAY!!!!!

Kim was kind enough to tag me for the 7 Weird Facts thing — THANK YOU, KIM!  I’ve seriously always wanted to answer one of these things (they just make you think! it’s fun!).

Ok… so 7 Weird Facts about Me

1.  I can hardly stand touching feet.  Not like baby feet or little kid feet, though my 5yo’s feet have already garnered my reluctance.  This presents serious issues.

2.  I love to be reading multiple books at once.  As in, 5 or 6 at a time.  I heart options.

3.  I do NOT like to be breathed on.  Ever.  Ever, ever, ever.  When my angels were babies, I would intentionally let them snuggle in a way that didn’t have them breathing directly on my neck.  If my husband falls asleep on the couch with me, I will “help” him move his head so he’s not breathing on me in any way (oh, and so his neck won’t hurt).

4.  I LOVE to fill out forms.  Yeah.. I got nothin’.  Doesn’t make sense.

5.  Given the opportunity, I will try a little sour cream in nearly any recipe. Soups, appetizers, casseroles, sauces… I’m pretty convinced sour cream will never actually *harm* the taste of a dish.
6. My favorite way to relax is to take a nap immediately after getting out of the shower. Needless to say, I don’t get to do this often (and before you ask, no, I cannot shower at night before bed; I have naturally wavy/curly hair and choose not to wake up looking like a Muppet)

7. I love to make myself laugh.  Not with corny jokes or something, but I love when something funny happens and I just get tickled — it’s like a gift from God!  Seriously!  There is something purely delightful about being completely alone, thinking of something, and bursting into laughter all by yourself! TRY IT!

Ok, that’s 7 Weird Facts about me. Thank you again, Kim!   I feel blog-invigorated now!

If you’re reading this, feel free to consider yourself tagged; I’d love to read all the fun stuff about you!

WFMW — Grown-up fun with a purpose

If you have a few minutes free on the computer and you’re looking for something fun and guilt free, head over to FreeRice.

It’s an addictive little word game with a great purpose: for every word you get right, FreeRice donates 20 grains of rice to the UN World Food Program. To date, there have been about 2 tons of rice donated. The site is a sister to Poverty.com and has garnered support from some major retailers.

So head over and play a few rounds — you’re feeding children in third world countries AND having fun! Now that Works for Me!

Head over to Shannon’s to see what else works this week.

WFMW — Grandparent Gift: Christmas Portfolios

This is a FUN gift for children to create and give to grandparents that’s *truly* from them:

Spread a plain manila office folder open on the table, outside facing up. Let your child paint, color, draw, glitter, etc the outside of the folder and then let it dry. If you’d like, print digital pictures on cardstock or printer paper to be pasted onto the folder once the paint is dry (paper because regular pictures don’t stay put well unless you laminate the final product). Flip the folder to the inner side and ask your child to write (or dictate) a “letter” to the grandparent. Next, let your child gather up her art collection — you know, all the paintings, drawings, letters, notes, scraps, etc she’s been stashing about (or maybe that’s just at our house?). Ask her to choose which pieces go to which grandparent and put them in the folders.

We love this because our kids get to *truly* give something from themselves. It’s also a great way to cherish all the saved up art — just when I run out of places to display and treasure it, Nana and G-Daddy get to enjoy it! Sure does work for me!

Head on over to Shannon’s to see what else works!

Grown-up paperdolls

It is likely that life without identity crisis would be convenient. It would not, however, be mine. Beginning the moment I learned we were pregnant with my daughter — because for me, the idea of parenting a girl seemed infinitely more complex — I began looking in every possible direction to find a model for how-to-grow-a-good-girl. And I have plenty of sources to draw from; we have amazing friends who are phenomenal parents, most of whom have girls.

So nearly 6 years ago, I began trying on mommy-hood. Let me assure you that all my fittings over the years sat nearly as awkwardly as they did over my swollen belly and big hips.

As much as I would love to be, I am not the funny mom. I *love* reading blogs by or listening to the funny mom, but I painfully am not her (and I split infinitives on a regular and personally delightful basis).

I am not the cutting edge mom. Yes, I shaved the back of my head in college and dyed the rest (or remainder) of my hair an odd purple. But trust me, D would *not* have married me had he met me during that phase. I would be the cutting edge non-mom. (ooo that wasn’t funny… see, whad’I tell ya?)

I am also not the bountiful mom. I don’t grow/make/bake/cook/dehydrate everything we eat. I do not homestead; I keep a (rather sad) herb garden through the summer. I do not keep a good schedule for homeschool. I do not have a “warm and inviting” or “charming” home (unless the fire of my embarrassment upon your arrival counts).  I am not an especially adept hostess or Titus 2 girl. I can’t seem to cross over to the place I really want us to be nutritionally and in homeschooling. I (greatly) enjoy some time away from my children. I *hate* schedules & rules (much to my own detriment).  My house is furnished in Fisher-Price (so please, step accordingly).

I am not the have-it-all-together mom. See above dissertation.

I am not the always frazzled mom (surprising after dissertation).

I am not the [fill in the blank] mom.

This is disconcerting. Because I am a first born. I like there to be a label and a set of standards so that I can surpass expectations. Or ignore/balk/intentionally fail at them. My inner rebellion *does* enjoy trumping my inner over-achiever.

And then God says,

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. “

Wait, LORD… what?

In the dry valley of striving, You are moving in a whole new way. In the bondage of comparison and measuring, You are moving in a completely different direction — one yet to be perceived, not paths already taken.

Never before this season have there been people like my children on earth. God designed them specifically for *this* season — both the times and places their lives would span. He ordained their home; He ordained their mother. Because they are unique in calling, gifts, abilities, weaknesses, dispositions, and personalities, so I am unique. I cannot “put on” any one style of mothering. I have to listen, I have to hear.  I wouldn’t want LittleBit or LittleMan to be a carbon copy any other girl and boy; interestingly, my Father doesn’t want me to be one of any other mother.

Undoubtedly, He has provided patterns for me to examine and emulate in part.  But at the end of the day, He speaks and I must listen.  Moses didn’t approach Pharaoh in diplomatic appeal; Joshua didn’t conquer Jericho with swords and spears; David killed a lion, a bear, and then a giant who scared a national army; Esther defied law, the king, and common sense to save her people; Paul went back to the very churches he’d previously tried to violently snuff out.  I’m hardly the first or most notable person who’s had to lay aside “the norm” to embrace “the call.”

There are days (like today) when it would *definitely* be more convenient to “slap on” Mommy-hood.  To find someone more patient today, one more adventurous tomorrow, one more creative near Christmastime.  But it wouldn’t be Him.  And He’s my morning and evening.  So I wouldn’t want that.

I have to go now.  The Entirely Inexpressible Mom has to go do some illogical mothering and inexplicable housekeeping.  At least by “normal” standards.  But as the Amazing Ann says, “All’s Grace”!

I’m just ashy, how are you?

It’s been a L-O-N-G time since I got to write anything around here. At least it *feels* like a long time.

I realized that today when I was thinking about what I’d like to say to somebody – ladies, you know that feeling; it’s just the need to talk. My husband has categorically NEVER had that need, bless his heart. At any rate, I did have that need today in a most unlikely place — the bathroom. Actually, on the side of the tub while I was shaving my heels.

You read that right.

See, I have ashy feet. Flash back to where I grew up: I played ball with some of the greatest African-American girls you’ll ever meet. We’d be on the bus together after a game and they’d pass around a bottle of cocoa butter lotion for their arms and legs. I would ask to use some on my heels and ankles and they’d laugh. “You don’t get ashy! I don’t think that’s even possible!” So one night I took off my socks.

They passed the lotion immediately.

My lifelong love of being barefoot hasn’t helped the situation any, so once again, today found me on the side of the tub with that nifty little razor thingy that Sally’s sells, shaving my ashy feet, slathering them in heavy duty lotion, and donning loathsome socks to lock in moisture. I *have* to do this every few weeks because I *should* do this every week. I probably wouldn’t actually get ashy if I’d be consistent.

And there, oddly enough, is a *great* metaphor for my walk with Christ right now. I wouldn’t have to spend days shaving off sin and its consequences if I’d deal with it initially — and regularly. God pointed out something *terribly* poignant to me this week — I’ve been praying about (read as: struggling with) consistency all my life. He literally took me back to my 11th grade journal and I could see my prayers for greater consistency there in my own handwriting. Ugh…

Without tipping my hand too much to my age (though it is *entirely* possible I’ve actually posted it somewhere around here) I will tell you that 11th grade was over a decade ago. And involved large bangs. Oh, and involved Bryan Adams and the earliest works of the best band on earth, the Newsboys.

Isaiah 61:3 says that Jesus came to “…provide for those who grieve in Zion, to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes….” Can I tell you I *long* to embrace that verse today??? I want SO badly to let go of the waste-places that my selfishness and inconsistency have created. I *do* mourn over lost moments with my children because I was too busy “getting things done” when I could’ve stopped for 10 minutes and played. I roll my eyes in embarrassment over the stack of work that sits piled in my living room awaiting attention while I watch the Food Network or check out Facebook. There’s a tangible weight when I think about the stack of laundry that’s perfectly clean and folded but I’m too comfy upstairs where it’s warm to go grab a basket and put some up.

Basically, I’m a moron.

And I desperately need a Savior — to save me from my stupid self.

One of the best friends I’ve ever had — a true Iron-Sharpens-Iron kind of girl — was once speaking of the human tendency to hang onto sin and go our own way, praying God will bless our-will-not-His-be-done rather than repenting, surrendering, and enjoying His fellowship. She said, “Go ahead, honey! Pick up your ashes and run!” That’s the kind of junk I’ve done this week — picked up my ashes and just run, run, run (well, as lazy as I’ve been, it’s probably picked up my ashes and mosey, mosey, mosey then complain, complain, complain).

Now that I sound all rotten and negative, let me tell you the GRACE and the HOPE I’ve received in the midst of all this — this verse is riveting for me. “…a crown of beauty” is a FAR cry from the miserable state I feel. But that, in spite of my sin, is what He’s given me. So the moment I come in repentance I experience rest; as I am quiet and trust Him to change me, I am strengthened — and I want ALL OF THAT! He not only forgives, He changes me — John Piper calls it “Gutsy Guilt.” Isn’t that a great description of our life in Christ? Trust me, it’s a great expression of how I’m being healed today!

I don’t know about you, but when I’m wearing fabulous clothes, I feel much more fabulous. In fact, I’m blessed with a couple of outfits in my closet that I can put on when I feel absolutely worthless and be suddenly transformed into a total diva. Today has been much that way — I do feel worthless. It’s not a self-pity thing or a “please somebody, for the love of pete, pay attention to me” thing, it’s just a “I have screwed up royally, LORD, and I haven’t spent time with You, and it’s painfully obvious, and I am so sorry for this gi-normous mess” thing.

But He’s given me a crown.

He sees me differently.

He sees me differently.

And maybe, if He sees me differently, maybe I really *am* different. Either way, the sparkling jewels at the top of my way too wild hair make me feel… well… royal. So I walk a little straighter, a little faster. I smile a little more friendly. I see others a little more royal as well. And I do what’s good for the Kingdom; not what wafts about over the trash pit.

So yes, I’m a little ashy today. I’ve had the razor that splits bone and marrow divide between my heart’s motives and my hand’s endeavors. And I am so grateful for it! I am softer and surer and better prepared.