Fire

     Easter was lovely in our house.  As one of (arguably the) holiest days of the year for a Christian, I am so pleased with the gratefulness that was flowing through the hearts of my family this weekend.

     We started by going to church together on Saturday night...our pastor preached a beautiful message about how God never wastes our wounds...He's always using them to make something new.  The next morning, the kids were thrilled to discover candy and trinkets and "Phineas and Ferb Live" tickets in their Easter baskets.  And, frankly, no one ever outgrows egg hunts.  So, they hunted eggs in succession according to their ages.  Then we finally got around to dyeing our eggs, which we then ate with our homemade Easter bread.  While we ate, Dan read the Easter story from the last few chapters of Mathew, and here's a beautiful blessing: everyone listened...even the little boys.  Amazing.  We cleaned, and family arrived.  The kids had a blast with their grandparents and cousins...there were lovely conversations, games, chicken observations, great food, and general merriment. As Dan's parents were leaving, they noticed someone had put a "Little Tykes" playhouse out for garbage; they called to see if we wanted it...um yeah!  So, Dan and some of the kids went to help load it into the back of Pooey's (my father-on-law) truck.  While they were gone, Nate and I tossed a nerf-style football around.  Once home and assembled, we saw that it was in decent shape - just missing the door.  Easily solved by cutting a piece of tarp and screwing it up over the door.  Voila!  Kids are amused.  Gram and Pooey also found two matching toy dump trucks that my little boys are just adoring driving all around the yard.

     So picture this...we're all outside, kids are happy and playing, Sophie is hungrily reading The Hunger Games, I am chasing my chickens around with my camera, and Dan is preparing our first fire of the season.  (See, I am married to a pyro.  And I am raising several more of them.  Fire is such a unite-r.)

     Before I know it, everyone has pulled up a chair around the fire pit...quiet conversation and contended sighs testify to the soothing balm that togetherness brings.  But it is the warmth, the glow, the fire that has me thinking.  It was not only the togetherness.  It was not only the gorgeous weather.  It was not only the lovely time with family, and it was not my homemade mac and cheese.  On Saturday, we went to sleep with praise music singing through our heads and our Pastor's words on our hearts, after worshipping together - no Sunday school,  no serving, no teaching.  Just all of us in church, together.  Then, we awoke to a remembrance of Christ's loving sacrifice for us; we started the day with prayer, broken bread, and His Word.  That.  THAT is the fuel to the fire. The Spirit is just fanning it into a something bigger, hotter, more consuming...  How do we keep that roaring in the minutia of everyday?  The key is in the fuel...we have to keep feeding the fire, so the Spirit has something to fan.

     I was noticing, as Dan and I put some old sticks and fence panels on the fire, how quickly this dry timber caught fire and how quickly it roared up into a huge blaze, a blaze that seemed to sear the fronts of our legs as we sat near it.  But in this huge blaze, this dry timber was so quickly consumed...isn't that so like our spiritual lives?  I am reminded of a portion of my favorite Shakespearean sonnet, from sonnet 73:

     "In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
     That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
     As the death-bed whereon it must expire
     Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by."

Shakespeare was not writing about God.  In fact scholars think he was writing to a lover who was not his wife, a lover the scholars call the "fair youth" (who was probably male).  But what caught me was this - can others see God's fire glowing in you?  In me?  And conversely, can they see when it is not?  Is your faith, my faith...is it lying upon the ashes of our youth - our foolishness - our world hungry selves?  Or is it lying on the ashes of His Word, His Love, His Sacrifice?  If you don't continue to feed a fire some fuel, the ashes will eventually smother out the remaining embers, right?  No fuel, no oxygen, no fire.  So a fire is "consumed with that which is is nourished by."  What are you feeding your fire?  How often are you feeding your fire?  What is in your ashes?  What about mine...if I don't provide good fuel of God's word, worship, and prayer, what once fed my fire will become the very thing that smothers it out.

 
     I have noticed that a hunger for God is often an inverse hunger.  The more I feed myself of Him, the more I want.  The less I feed myself of Him, the less and less I hunger for His word, His precepts, Him.  And isn't that so like a fire?  The more you feed a fire, the bigger it gets, the hotter, the hungrier.  But leave it be, and it will smother itself out.  So how can we feed the fire of a family?  Feed it together.

     Our God is a relational God - so relational that He Himself exists as a relationship between the Father, the Son, and the Spirit.  So to grow faith as a family, in a community, we must seek out ways to feed our fires His fuel...together.  Yes, we must grow our own faiths personally and independently, too; this is not to negate the importance of that.  But I can't help but reflect on the beautiful glow of my family, of my kids, of us as a family relational unit that came about on Easter Sunday.  We don't get a chance to start our day in prayer or God's word (or even end it, for that matter) as much as I want.  But this weekend, we were all looking at God's goodness and love, feeling thankful, lapping up the nourishment provided by His Word and the mystery of worship, and we did it together.  That is what fueled the fire...the fire that unites us with Him: "Both the one who makes men holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers" (Hebrews 2:11).

     So the take-away:  let the glow of togetherness as a family be fueled by a seeking of Him together, outside of Sunday's church.  It needs to be regular, like eating, sleeping.  And honestly, praying before meals and bed isn't gonna cut it anymore.  We are hungrier now, older in our faith.  We haven't yet found something that we can stick with as a family to do this, regularly, always.  Pray with me that God will show us how?

Grateful for His web of grace,
MamaWebb

Slaphappy hairy pits

     It's just been that kind of day and I could commit a homicide if I were promised a big corner brownie for it (I like the crunchy corners the best).  I returned home from taking Fia to dance, to find one child in time out (we call it "reset") for using potty words, and the rest of the kids sitting at dinner with  Dan.  Well, sitting might not be the right word.  They were full-on slaphappy.  Someone slipped them crack, or some sugary red dye #40 kool-aid while I wasn't looking or something.  They were loud, crazy -- possibly deranged.  There were at least 52 references to butts or pee or other bodily parts/functions, one child wearing a zip up sweatshirt as pants and jumping up to yell, "Look at my tail," as he waggled the sweatshirt's dangling hood between his legs, several elephant imitations, a few weakly muffled belches, and the piece de resistance:  the following conversation.

     Nate:  "Anna, a trick question...what is one plus one?"

     Anna:  "Uh, 2, duh!"

     Nate:  "No, one plus one is-"

     Jamey, interrupting:  "Hairy pits!!!"

     This, of course, set off much laughter and discussion about hair, armpits, and smells.  I finally got Nate to clear the dishes, but right now, from upstairs, I hear some sort of assault being launched with a hair dryer (which the teenaged daughter left out after using it to dry her nails).  Someone is spitting something offensive out of his mouth, and the house has that "the-middles-of-the-rooms-are-sort-of-clean- because-we-piled-everything-up-on-the-surfaces-and-shoved-it-all-to-the-edges" look. Ah, and just now, someone let the dog out who is barking at all the passsersby.  Annnddd, now they just went out after her.  Maybe they'll put away the three tires they stacked in the middle of the yard, their father's baseball stuff they dragged out, the multiple shoes, socks, scooters, bikes, toys, tools, trucks, and sippy cups they left out.  Oh yeah, and maybe they'll put away the bent, rusted, broken 5' bit of shale bar that they keep sticking into the ground in weird spots all over the yard like a minimalist sculpture.  Or not.  I bet they're on my dirt pile that we're in the process of moving into the raised bed garden boxes that I built (almost all by myself, I might add).  I'm just gonna hide in here until Dan gets back with Fia.  On the upshot, I made a cool broccoli salad for lunch.  I thought I'd share the reason and the recipe.

     I have started working out with some Richard Simmons DVD's.  And they are hysterically fun.  Hard, too!  So I ordered his Foodmover system and have been following some of his plan. And I am starving.  Sigh.  It's all about portion control.  That's tough for me.  I don't eat too terribly  - pretty healthfully, actually,  compared to the standard American diet.  I just like food.  And brownies.  And Cadbury eggs. A lot.  So today as I was snapping closed little purple Foodmover windows and contemplating what I could eat, I decided on a broccoli salad with some ingredients I had on hand.  It would be great with a few raw cashews or almonds thrown in, too.  This is a lunch serving for one, so increase accordingly, as desired:

1 cup raw broccoli, broken into tiny 1" florets
1/4 cup mandarin oranges, cut in half (the kind packed in juice with no added sugar)
1 tbs very finely minced onion
1/3 cup baby bell pepper slivers (i used one red, one orange, one yellow - i get them in a 2lb bag...they are very small)
1 tsp fresh grated ginger (or the grated bottled fresh from the produce section, not powdered from baking aisle)
1 tbs juice from mandarin oranges
1 1/2 tsp lemon juice
2 tsp extra virgin olive oil
few cracks of black pepper
pinch of garlic salt
few pinches sea salt

1. Mix orange and lemon juice, ginger, salt, garlic salt, pepper in a small mixing bowl and whisk together. Let marinate while you cut up the veggies and oranges.
2. Throw the rest of the ingredients in and stir around to coat.
3. Add the oil, stir really well, and allow to marinate about 5-10 minutes, then serve.

     I also thought I'd throw a few numbers around for your amusement as well, before signing off.  In the last two days...

The number of sticks I found in the house yesterday: 3.5

The number of times I had to run Dan and Nate's paintball camo stuff through the wash because I kept forgetting it was in the washer: 4

The number of baskets of clean laundry waiting to be folded: 4

The number of times I asked the kids to clean up the yard: 3

The number of academic subjects I taught or oversaw daily: 7

The number of times I cleaned out the baby chickens' waterer: 5

The number of times I "Partied off the Pounds" with Richard Simmons: 1

The number of times I told Fia or Nate to sit down and do their school work: 15, 000

The number of times I have desired to eat chocolate: 21, 600 (every 4 seconds or so)

The number of times I wished I had someone else's life:  0

Blessings and Love to you all,
MamaWebb







   

Fried Flower Petals and Foxhole Prayers

     It has been a day of fried flower petals and foxhole prayers.  What?  Yeeaahhh, I know. Let me explain.  So, my one son faces daily the difficult struggle of ADHD.  I hate to have some alpha-bits defining him, so I try to just use this diagnosis as a point of reference for help, for understanding, for the practice of grace and faith.  Because in a family, especially in one where almost all the members are home doing life together ALL DAY LONG - every day, a challenge like ADHD is not just a challenge for the child, but for the whole family.  We are each affected; we all struggle...strangling down our hurt and impatience with mercy and love.  Sometimes.  And sometimes, our ugly responses leak out anyway; aren't we all so broken?

     So, today, like most Mondays, started a little slow, a bit late.  But we got the ball rolling, ate our oatmeal, did some character work from a cool book called Character Sketches from Living Nature, we prayed, and I sent them to their respective study spots to get started.  I usually sit side by side with my son, to help him stay focused and to guide him through.  But it just so happened that today, my youngest daughter also had some math questions on a new lesson (insert silent foxhole prayer here).  It also just so happens that my oldest daughter has been really struggling with her math in general for the last month or so, as the Pre-Algebra has really ramped up (she is her mother's daughter -- foxhole prayer).  So, the oldest son, not being in a new lesson and having been very successful with the long division for the last two weeks, was sent to get started on his own (foxhole prayer...please, please, please just do it).  I answered several questions and helped the girls through what they needed to do in order to work independently.  When I moved over to my son's desk, he hadn't started yet (30-40 minutes in; insert another foxhole prayer), so I started talking him through the first problem.  I had him get going on number 2, while I attended to another child (foxhole prayer).  Upon my return, he had solved a long division problem mentally, and I suspected it was wrong. I asked him to write out the problem, showing all the work, and he just never really got to it. You know why?  He was frying flower petals on the light bulb of his desk lamp.

     As the tulips I spontaneously purchased from Shop-Rite had bloomed and started to wilt, my son started pulling off the lovely petals, resting them on the light bulb, and crisping them.  Sigh.  He was amused with this.  I was not.  So I sent up my 327th foxhole prayer of the day.  God please help me not to yell. Please help me not to create a battle; help me love well in this frustration.  So I have decided to count this as science for today.  Perhaps I can discuss with him what was happening to the petal as he roasted it over 75 watts.  Perhaps he could have to then explain it to his dad tonight.  And better yet, maybe explain it also to his co-op class since I am currently teaching on the topic of plants.  Or perhaps, I let go of my expectations.  Dan says expectations kill relationships; we need to communicate, not set expectations. He tells me that what Nate learns is not as important as learning to learn  - learning to self-control, self-monitor, self-motivate.  So while Nate is unable to do that from the inside (very little intrinsic motivation yet...it's neurologically not consistent yet, as per those aforementioned alpha-bits), I must monitor him, with love as best I can, from the outside.  But just try to provide extrinsic motivation to someone whose struggle has only one thing consistent about it: that it is inconsistent!  A very hard task. How do I teach skills to my kids when I am not sure I even have them myself to impart?  How do I help my son battle this fear, this anger, this frustration - when his behavior rouses the same in me?

     The answer is this: I can't.  This has to be God's work.  He tells us in Isaiah: "All your children shall be taught by the Lord, and great shall be the peace of your children, In righteousness you shall be established; you shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear; and from terror, for it shall not come near you" (Isa 54:13-14).  I have to trust that God's got this.  And I have to be a channel for His love to flow through to Nate, a Love to be made tangible to a boy so hungry for the agape love of which he deeply fears he's not worthy.  How?  I can only pray for God to bubble up in me a thankfulness for all those gifts He's given Nate - the ones that get hard to see through the haze of unfinished work and fried flowers.  I can only pray that God will use His Spirit to nudge me into throwing a tight and loving embrace around my son's thin shoulders when he flings his work to the floor and announces, "I won't do it, I don't want to...it's too hard!"  What's flashing in his eyes isn't anger, it isn't defiance, it's fear...fear that silently screams, "I can't control my thoughts enough to do this right now.  If I don't try, then I can't fail!" But, oh!  It's so hard to remember these things in that moment.  In my sinful humanity, I feel rage-full, violent, hurt. My mind races to those dark self-important corners: "Don't you see what I am trying to do for you here?  Don't you know how this is inconveniencing me? If you fail at this then I will have failed at this..."  Oh, how pervasive our pride is.  My pride. Ugh.  Sanctification hurts. When the last thing I want to do is move toward him in grace and mercy, that is EXACTLY what he needs me to do.  Jesus died for me, for you, while we were all sinners.  He doesn't leave us alone in our mucky pit. So I am standing on God's words in Isaiah. I am too weak to do this alone, and I don't have to.  Repentance can only come when the Spirit helps you use courage and humility to rip open the stinking black flesh of pride, exposing it to the Light, letting the Living Water wash it clean.

     Tonight I'm praying that the Living Water washes away the fried flowers and dark corners of today, and that I can be thankful for what those spent petals exposed to me and in me. "Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning;  great is your faithfulness" (Lamentations 3:22-23).  Pray with me, will you?

Wrapped in His web of grace,
MamaWebb