The Ants Go Marching

Because we lack shelf space in the girls' room, the ant farm now lives in the dollhouse. Very fancy.

     As an early birthday present, Lydia got an ant farm from her Grammie and Grandpa.  She is so excited, and can't wait to take it to school.  UPS dropped it off in the evening, right at bedtime, and since there were live ants in the package, we had to open it.  If you've never had an ant farm, it is wild.  The harvester ants come in a test tube that you have to put into a container of gel.  Within 24 hours they start building tunnels and for a couple of months you get to watch the tunnels grow.  Magnifying glass included.  Since it was so late, and we lacked patience, we did Not read the directions that said to put the test tube of ants in the refrigerator for 10 minutes so that their heart rate would slow down.  Nope.  We just opened up the tube, on the girls bedroom floor, turned it over into the gel and watched half the ants freak out and scatter every which way out of the container and onto the carpet. Oh, the squeals!  I commend Kenny's cat-like reflexes for saving several of them, but there were a good 5 or 6 we squashed dead trying to get them back in the container.  Should I make the "dead-ant, dead-ant, dead-ant" pink panther joke.  (That may be totally dating myself.) But, despite the massacre, there are many ants left for us to watch tunnel and, it must be said, to march one-by-one.  Hurrah, hurrah.

BEST SALAD EVER!

Isn't it so pretty?

Today's post is a bit mundane, but I have to tell anyone who will listen about my most favorite salad - The Turkey Avocado Cobb from my favorite sandwich place. Ooh, boy, Schlotzsky's got it right. It's got everything -- avocado, turkey, bacon, goat cheese, egg, tomatoes, beans, croutons and because it's all so good, you don't even taste the mixed greens. I'm not a fan of lettuce. 
    I get one of these delicious bowls of goodness once a week and I really hope I don't tire of them too soon.  It's one of those rare salads where you will eat the entire meal and have no need for the gooey Cinnabon rolls that Schlotzsky's is now trying to tempt you with.  And why a "somewhat" healthier fast food option, had to go and throw in the high calorie sweet, I don't know.  But, you won't have a need for it after you devour The Best Salad Ever.
     How's that for an advertisement? And I didn't even get paid. 
 

Kum-by-yah, anyone?

    On my 18th birthday, I received two gifts.  The first, an extra bag of stuffing for my flattened bean bag and the second, my guitar.  I had this great desire to work at a church camp (which I did) and play my guitar (which I didn't). I dreamed of being one of the counselors in front of worship playing "Shake another hand" or "Pharoah, Pharoah." And then at the end of a campfire with the sun behind the trees, I wanted to sweetly strum "Father, I adore you" or "Go, in Peace."  I really wanted to do that.  I saw myself doing that.  As a teenager and younger twenty-something, I loved everything about church camp.  It was one of those places where I felt God's peace, connected to His creation. Music helped those mountaintop experiences.
     That dream went unrealized, unfortunately, but my love of "trying" to play camp songs did not.  Our youth group leader at my home church, took me under her wing and taught me a few chords, made copies of camp songs, and then I was on my own to practice.  I did a little, but never enough. Because it didn't come naturally, I slowly found time to do other things.  Never would I have the ability, let alone the courage to play in front of a group of camp kids.   
     But twenty years later (despite some "Peter, Paul and Mary" jokes) I have decided to dust off the guitar, get new strings, learn how to tune it, callous up my fingers again and play those old camp songs.  I won't have a group of campers to sway in front of a campfire, but maybe I'll be brave enough to play in front of 3 of my favorite kids.
   

The Purple Wristband

    Last Friday, LSA held their annual Miles for Mission where the kids get pledges for how many laps they will walk around the track and the money goes to 3 missions they learned about during Lutheran Schools Week.  It's a fun, easy morning where we encourage the kids (marathon-style) and count their laps.
    This was Lanie's first run (although as a 2-year-old she was there but purely as a spectator) and she managed 5 laps around.  I loved watching all those little legs run, then walk, then stop for water, then grab a teacher's hand and run again.  I had one kid run a lap and then stop and say, "are we done?"  I'm not so sure the whole concept was explained to him. Lydia was in a different group, and I marvel at how seriously she took this little mission.  Instead of sidling up to a friend, talking and being silly, she really ran her 7 laps and told us she could have run another one if they hadn't blown the whistle.  Elijah's class was with the bigger kids and you would have thought we were at the Boston marathon by the way they lined up, stretched and took off in a pack.  Elijah was determined to beat his last year laps, and he did with 13 laps.  He could run a 5k with us. Who knew?
    But here's the part that cracks me up the most.  To count their laps, each child had to wear a paper wrist band and as they circled around, the volunteer marked it with a tally mark.  This event took place last Friday, and Elijah still hasn't taken his purple wrist band off.  Now, I shouldn't make fun.  I remember as a young kid wearing my amusement park entry wrist bands for days and even saving them (because I saved everything) so maybe he gets it honestly.  I don't know if he's just super proud of his 13 tally marks or secretly, maybe he wishes he had a purple bracelet.  Whatever the reason, it's just fun to watch it slowly deteriorate. 

A line of little ones with Mrs. Reynolds

The Tally Marker

Lydia about to start running -   notice yellow wrist band; it came off that afternoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of many water breaks -- notice green wrist band - it came off immediately after the run

  

The Dance Recital Racket

    When I was younger and danced 15 years with the Peggy Lanik Dance Studio, which I have great affection for, our recitals weren't cheap, but they certainly didn't drain the pocketbook (although I should ask my mom and dad about that for sure).  I recall my mom making many of my costumes - standing in the living room in front of our big, gold mirror while she measured me, jabbed pins into my side, or glued on sequins, me complaining all the while.  Our recitals also lasted 3 or 4 evenings and while this must have been torture on all those dads and brothers who had to sit through a couple of hours a night, we didn't have any problem finding seats or for that matter, pay for our seats.  Our bulletins were printed in black and white, no color ads included, and definitely did not cost. The one kid who had a great uncle who actually owned a video camera and a tripod recorded just the dances we wanted and dubbed them for us, again at no cost and there was definitely not a professional photographer walking around taking still shots to be sold later.
   I say all this only to compare what I'm facing with the girls' first dance recital.  We had a parent meeting this weekend and I was bowled over by the things that cost that I'd always taken for granted  and the directions I was given.  Unlike the "old" days, where you showed up with red lipstick, blue eye shadow, and dippity-doo in your hair, we were given specific rules - from the color of base to the 3-tone eye shadow.  I like that this studio is very organized, communicates well with their dancers, and wants their girls to look similar, but I'm not sure when it got so rigid.
   And since this is a bit of a tirade already, the most devastating part of the whole business is that each family receives 4 "free" tickets for recital night, but we need 7.  We have both sets of grandparents coming.  So, today, along with 40 or so other women, I waited in line for the few extra tickets they have to give.  And as it goes -- with only 3 people to go -- SOLD OUT! SOLD OUT!  Really. 4 tickets for 7 people?
   So, it's the waiting game.
Will more tickets become available?
Will we send Elijah and the grandpas out for the evening? (they might prefer that)
Or will the Ward/Buehring family pretend that rehearsal night (which is open for anyone to watch) is actually THE BIG RECITAL?
And will Lydia or Lanie ever remember their first dance recital and all the excitement that went along with it?
Well, yeah they will.  Since I have to spend $35 for a video.
What a racket!

"Disney on Ice" comes home

   A couple of weekends ago, my girls got to see "Disney on Ice" for the first time.   We were part of a birthday party group so there were several little girls in our row to squeal with or jump around with, but Lanie stayed on my lap most of the time and Lydia stood near me predicting what would be next. After a very long segment of The Princess and the Frog and Cinderella, Tangled finally showed up.  Lanie had been very impatient for her and was a bit confused as to why Rapunzel's long, blond, braided hair was so much shorter than in the movie.
                  She watched intently though as the princesses in the finale skated through, screaming above the crowd which one was her favorite.  By the end of her sentence, I'm pretty sure she named them all, except maybe Mulan - has anyone seen that one?  I think it's air date came at a time when I paid little attention to princesses.
    What has been so humorous as of late is her way of mimicking what she saw that day.  One morning, I was forced to sit down and watch her show.  What followed was a pj'ed girl in her brother's old skates pretending to ice skate like a princess to her sister's choir music, of all things. And I had to grab my camera, because how often does that happen? 
   Well, in our house. A lot, really.  But I took the pic anyway. 
  
   
    
   

The Vow

The title of this post is a bit misleading.  I have nothing to say about the movie The Vow, but instead a short segment on a vow I made to my daughter 7 days ago.

    When it comes to fixing hair and choosing clothes, Lydia and I are often at a stand-still.  Her choices are, shall we say, interesting and rarely what I would choose for her.  Now, I have friends who compliment their daughter's personal choices that actually come out looking modern, chic even.  But I just can't make the same boast.  I understand that patterns can be mixed, but pink and green polka-dots and maroon stripes will never make the circuit of fashion. And those are the things she likes.  Her come-back is often, "but there's pink in the skirt and the shirt", like having a similar color automatically means matching.  Also, if she had her druthers, she'd wear her sister's 3T clothes every day, because they are "cuter" than her clothes. And she often does - never caring that her skinny belly shows or that her shoulders are going to burst out of the elastic arms.
   But that's just clothing.  Luckily she wears a uniform everyday so the "don't wear that!" conversation comes only now and again.  It's the hair that has been our biggest battle.  I want her to feel confident and independent but the control freak in me has the hardest time staying silent when the pony-tail she did all by herself has left several strands on the neck and bumpies on the top (all you ladies know what I"m talking about).  So, I will casually mention that I could "re-do" it for her if she wants.  For some reason, my re-doing it always ends in tears because a) she doesn't like that I've messed up her creation and b) she doesn't want to hurt my feelings and tell me that and c) she knows I'll give the frustrated sigh, the disappointed look and rip out what I've done when she does tell me she doesn't want it that way.
   To write it down, I sound really mean.  And maybe I have been.  So, one week ago today - one of these morning battles occurred and feeling guilty as she was about to go out the door,  I got down on her level - hugged her and told her I was sorry I tried to change it all the time, that she does a great job fixing her hair, and I won't interfere (unless it's for pictures or something :-)).  Now, I've made this promise to myself before, but all week I've stuck to it.  I've been much more patient, have held my tongue, and today - 7 days later, she asked me to fix it "the way Lanie had it yesterday, in braids."  Cue choir.
   With pleasure, I got to help her this morning - of course following her directions, but still -- we may have come to a bargaining place.  I give her room to do her thing, and eventually, she'll see I may actually come in handy with the braids and the pony-tail, and let's be honest, I hope she seeks my advice in all the many choices she'll be making in years to come, not just hair-related.  I don't know if I dread it, or if I'm excited about it.  But if the hair battle is anything close to the future, it will be a learning experience for both of us.

First Friend

Jenny and Cathy - Dance Recital 1980

   I was driving home tonight from an event for Serenity Retreat that featured my dear friend Tina, who I talk a lot about on this blog, who gave a moving, very spirit-filled speech about how healing prayer turned her life around, ridding her of chronic fatigue.  I hope to visit Serenity Retreat soon so I will have more on that later.
   My thoughts were on friendship, and memories of great friends, when (as it always seems to happen)  I heard the radio announcer (probably Delilah) talking about all the ways we, as young kids found that first friend.  She speculated that maybe it was because she helped you with your locker the first day of school, or he lived in the same neighborhood as you, or that first friend came by way of alphabetical rows of school desks and it was proximity that brought her into your life.  It got me thinking about the friends that have passed through my life, past and present, all wonderful and different.
     I met my first best friend, Cathy, when I was 3-years-old on Halloween night. She came to my door dressed as Casper the friendly ghost.  I recall trying to peek behind her plastic mask to see who she was.  She lived right around the corner from me.  How lucky I was! My elementary years were filled with hours at her house.  It was there that I had Ramen noodles for the first time, saw the THRILLER video for the first time, learned how to play Heart on Soul on her piano, had my first sleep-over, listened to the Bee Gees for the first time, learned how to play double solitaire, and saw "Revenge of the Nerds" (sad to say) for the first time and thought nothing of how inappropriate it was, but how funny it was to laugh like a nerd.  I often wonder if Cathy has the same memories that I do.
    That's one thing about me, my memory sticks.  I can recall small details about old friendships that most people would have tossed out to make room for new information. It's a blessing and a curse.  A blessing because I could have sat here and listed 10 pages more about my first best friend,  a burden because having so many memories, often leaves me living in the past.  And it was such a lovely past.  I pine for my children to have the same past, the same experiences.  The freedom of running to a friend's house barefooted, of chasing an ice-cream truck on bikes, of walking into a friend's house unannounced and feeling totally at home, and the freedom of being little and naive.

And this zoo trip makes 5

        

    Every year LSA's pre-k 3, pre-k 4, and Kinder class make the ZOO field trip.  Since 2008, I've tagged along with each kid.  With 3 kids only 1 grade apart, there is never a respite and this year, another overlap.  Both Lydia AND Lanie got to go so both Kenny and I decided to go with them.  Poor Elijah, he was the only Ward at school.  



Lydia got her daddy and Lanie got me.
         
     For Lydia, this was old hat, but how exciting for Lanie who got to go on her first school bus ever.  The wonder and curiosity is gone.  She now knows the joy of sitting in a high-backed plastic seat side-by-side with a friend squished beside her, WITHOUT a seat belt and little a/c.  It's funny, I remember 5 years ago, when Elijah was taking his first bus trip, a grandmother of one of the little girls in the class complained that she had spent hundreds of dollars on a car seat for her grand child, and she was NOT going to ride on a bus.  For the life of me, I can't remember if she did or didn't.  She has a point, a good, safe one, but not a big enough one to keep my littlest child from experiencing the BUS.  Not sure what that says about me.
      But everyone got there safely. The day started with the possibility of rain, but turned to a morning of cool temps and a beautiful afternoon.  Couldn't have picked a better day to tour the zoo with twelve 3 & 4-year-olds, their teachers, and a gob of parents and grandparents.  After five hours of walking, the usual complaints:  "I'm tiirred.  My feet hurt.  I'm still hungry.  Hold me!", a picnic lunch, a carousal ride, lots of animals, lots of hand-holding, 5 bathroom breaks, and some ice cream, I was ready to hang up my zoo shoes (that's running shoes, but it didn't sound as cute) until next year.  And for the 2013 annual zoo trip - that will make 6.

Lanie's favorite zoo animal:  "the baby elephant"

 

Lydia's favorite zoo animal: flamingos

Lanie and her friend Ella who finally had a day of "school" together

Discovery

    This Saturday morning was one of those rare ones where we were actually at home.  Baseball and birthday parties weren't until late afternoon, which meant - time to get things done. While K and the kids worked out in the front yard:
 


 Elijah discovered fungus

Lydia discovered worms










 Lanie discovered more roly-polies

Kenny discovered ridiculously long and tangled roots










& I discovered a quiet house - until all the dirty kids came in, Kenny included.

Easter weekend - story # 4

Landon and Zach Rathje

    I promise - very last Easter weekend recap.  After a wonderful, no-rush Easter church service, we had a late afternoon and dinner with our friends, the Rathjes and the Robbins.  The Rathjes are a family that took me in when I was at my lowest, and desperate for people to surround me and love me.  And they did. My year or two living with them opened my eyes to how faithful God can be as they showered me, someone they hardly knew, with acceptance and care.
    Now, twelve years later, they still treat me and now Kenny and the kids like family.  And we are grateful.
     While it seems my kids would be plum worn out of egg hunts, we had one more to go. Every year, we all bring a ton of eggs filled with whatever we haven't already eaten and whatever change we can find in our car at the time, and the big kids (which we've decided are the kids in double digits) hide the eggs in the Rathje's perfect egg hunting yard.  Each year, it seems a new baby joins the ranks and hunts with the big kids.    I think I spent most of my picture taking time, watching and snapping photos of these kids because they were just so darn cute and because they stay close to the house holding a grown-up's hand while my kids were off somewhere racing through the trees. 
   I did finally catch up with Lanie, who in true form, cared little for eggs, but instead found a roly-poly.  I wish I could have recorded the simple joy and delight given over to this little creature. You can't see it in the picture, but that's what she's holding.  And in the second picture -  that's not bubble gum she's shaking in her egg, that's her roly-poly in his new home.

  So much better
     than candy.

The Ward Easter stories are complete, and our bonnets and baskets can go back up in the attic.  But I hope the celebration of our risen Lord is part of your every minute, every day, all your days.

He is Risen, Indeed!
    Alleluia, Amen.
 

Easter weekend - story # 3

     This isn't so much a story, but an observation about egg hunting styles.  This is my second to last Easter entry, I promise.  We are very tired of eggs around here. But here's what I witnessed on Easter Sunday.  After waking up, soo early and so excited to see their Easter baskets, all three kids wanted to hunt for eggs - they noticed they were in the back and front yard this year - that was new. But Kenny had gone to the sunrise service at 6am so we were waiting out in the front yard for him.  Once he got home, totally suited up and such a contrast to all of us in our pajamas, we let them run - wet feet in grass, and everything.  Oh, it's Easter, I let it go.
    But here's the observation -- all 3 kids hunt eggs in ways that match their personality.  And it's not a big surprise, not really, but just interesting.

Elijah:  oldest, competitive child - hunts eggs with gusto; so afraid he'll miss one; will take eggs away from others if he can get away with it.

Lydia:  middle, sensitive child - she's quick so she keeps pace with big brother finding eggs, but gets feelings hurt when big brother (whose basket was overfull) starts helping little sis find eggs and not her.

Lanie:  youngest, carefree child and always in her own world - could care less about how many eggs she gets; opens each one and stops to talk about it; Oh, and complains about her wet feet.

I love how different they are and can't wait to see where these personalities take them.  I could throw out some suggestions, but I'd hate to get muddled up with the self-fulfilling prophesy.  I'll just have to let them figure it out. (With very intense parental coaching, of course :-) )

Easter weekend - story # 2

    This weekend, after the Egg Dive was over, we stuck around so the kids could swim. And actually dive.  Our neighborhood pool has a little diving board but they've never been off a BIG diving board.  And while Lydia was still too scared and stuck with the short one, Elijah tackled it and we can chalk up another "first." I was a bit nervous for him, not because I thought it was unsafe, but because I didn't want him to get all the way up, chicken out, and then be angry at himself.  But, no fear from him. His response when he came up: "Awesome!" And now I know.
 

    After about 10 times more on the high dive, he decided he wanted to be like the "real" lap swimmers, and try to swim down the 25 feet long lane.  That may not sound like a lot, and to some kids, it isn't.  But to my kids who have only taken the obligatory swim lessons and learned basic strokes only to totally not practice it during the summer,  it WAS a big deal.  But after, "Mom, can I? Can I? Can I?" He jumped in, and those swim lessons came back. And while I thought he'd freak out not being able to touch bottom, he didn't.  He got to the other side, and to my surprise, came back.  The lifeguard (past life) in me was pleased as punch.  

      But, what totally blew me away, really, really blew me away is when Lydia told me she wanted to try it.  My 5-year-old who was just learning the crawl stroke, wanted to swim 25 feet.  That's half an Olympic size pool, you know? I can't accurately describe what I felt - anxiety, apprehension.  What if she couldn't make it all the way?  What if she got scared?  What if the lifeguard didn't see her and I would have to jump in, fully clothed, to save her? But, she begged. And I relented.  As Elijah is on his way back, Lydia jumps in and makes her way across. 

 

Oh, it was brutal.  All I could see was her little head and her little arms poking out of the water as she tried to swim hand-over-hand all the way down, totally vertical because she couldn't get her legs to the surface.  I know for sure that I was a wreck, I video-taped it.  All you can hear is me yelling:  "Turn on your back if you get tired, Lydia.  You can just come back this way, Lydia.  Just float if you need to, Lydia."  And she just kept on. It took f o r e v e r.  You can hear my relief as she gets to the end.  I keep repeating:  "She did it!"

     And this swimming excursion has taught me a little lesson.  A lesson that I'm sure will become more glaringly obvious in the years to come.  But, is it possible that sometimes, my kids know more than me what they are capable of doing? Is it possible that letting them take chances isn't always a bad thing? Is it possible that I'll survive letting go of some control? Anyone? Do you think?

Easter weekend - story #1

If you can call two years a tradition, then the Egg Dive through the parks and rec dept. is one of our new favorites.  It's just what is sounds like - kids dive for eggs.  Well, "dive" is poorly named, it's more like an egg wade, but so much fun nonetheless. Kids are divided into age groups, eggs are tossed, the whistle is blown, and the race is on.  Nets swoop up eggs and it's over in 15.2 seconds. But, totally worth the trip.  I mean, everyone has a regular egg hunt, but how many get to wear their fanciest Easter swim suit?  (kidding on the fancy swim suit.  Pretty sure Lydia had this same suit on in last year's pic.)  So to all the parents who try sooo hard to get that perfect Easter egg hunting picture, just give up like we did, and go the water route. So much easier. 

Lanie taking her sweet, sweet time 

Lydia & Kenny (a good sport, and mandatory parent with kids 5 and under)

Elijah, after fighting off everyone around him for eggs like he'd win a million dollars for it, instead of a bag of candy.

 

                                                                                                                    

Happy Easter!

He is Risen. 

He is Risen, indeed. 

Alleluia!

A tender Good Friday moment

    I hadn't intended to write twice in one day, but I had to capture, before I forgot, something Elijah said during Good Friday services. After a rough start of antsy kids, they settled down and 1/3 were listening and following along.  The passage of Matthew was read when Jesus said, "It is Finished." Anticipating the slamming of the Bible, the sanctuary turned black, and the bell choir began playing "Were You There." I was pleasantly surprised because I love this song and I've never heard the them play at this service before.  I was taking it all in, and Elijah leaned into me and quietly said, "Wouldn't it be cool if Jesus came back right now?"
   So cool. 



  

Pottery, Friends, and Memories

    One summer day in 2009, my friend and I thought it was a fantastic idea to take our 6 kids to paint pottery.  We had a 5 1/2 year-old, an almost 5 year-old, a just turned 3 year-old, two just turned 2 year-olds, and a 10 month old.  Looking at it now, I don't know why we thought it would be an enriching experience, because it was an absolutely crazy idea.  We still laugh about that terrible decision-making day.  There's just something about little bodies who can hardly walk straight without falling down or into something and then taking them into an enclosed area full of breakable pottery.  Pottery in the shape of dogs and cats and cars and unicorns that OF COURSE they want to touch.   Not to mention lots of paint, and small attention spans.  But we had a job to do - a Father's Day gift to make, and we powered through.
   The reason I bring that day up is because it is the reason I have yet to take my kids back.  But, I succumbed and today, on this beautiful Good Friday and day off of school, we met Lydia and Lanie's dear little friend Ella for her 4th birthday at the Painted Potter.  I have to tell you - it was a very enjoyable experience.  I even got to paint my own Easter Egg.  Sure, they finished quickly and Lanie mixed all her colors together, but there were no break downs, and more importantly no broken pottery.  We finished up with Ella's birthday cookie, some messy hands, good memories and giggly girls.
  I am so glad that I had the earlier experience, along with so many other random places we tried taking our kids, all in the name of adventure. (Some day I'll share the metro-rail to downtown with 4 kids and two stroller story.)  Because now that the kids are older, and yes, I think my almost 4-year-old is growing older too fast, I am happy to tell them, we did that, or we've been there, or "don't you remember?"  Which of course they don't.  There are so many unique experiences to be had in Houston, we just need more time on our hands, and of course that adventurous spirit.

Happy Birthday Ella!

TEXAS HAIL?

      I've managed a Texas summer drought, a Texas hurricane, a Texas tropical storm, and even a couple of Texas winter snowfalls, but in my time living down south, I've never seen hail.  I'm sure it's dropped from the sky before,  I just never witnessed it, until today.  While spending a quiet day home alone with Lanie, we hear what sounds like bullets hitting our back windows.  It actually took awhile for it to register, but when I noticed white particles in the grass, I ran for my camera.  They weren't golf ball-size, like I always hear about, but big as a quarter, at least. This quick video is too funny to me.  There I am, ever the teacher, scanning the backyard, explaining to Lanie what hail is and how damaging it can be when my "holy cow" (I  love parent curse-words) is interrupted by a huge burst of thunder bringing her to tears.  Just so glad I got it on video.

Big E, Little e

     If you are a Seuss fan, then you may have thought the subject line was regarding his ABC book, which would go:  "Big E, little e, what begins with E? Ear, egg, elephant, E, E. E." But, it's not.  Instead, this short blog is about my biggest and my littlest.  Since Elaine was born, on all my calendars, I have scribbled "E" for Elijah events and "e"for Elaine events.  I even called her "little e" for awhile, until her nickname Lanie stuck, though not the spelling.  It's jumped from Laney to Lainey to Lanie.  But that's a different story.  But in school, they call her Elaine.  Just Elaine.  Certainly the kids look around for their great aunt to walk in the door, but no, it's my little girl with an old-soul name.

     This past weekend, Lydia was invited to two birthday parties - just her, no siblings.  And one of them was a sleepover, so we were without our joyful little buffer of a middle child all day and night.  And it was strange, yet remarkable.  My oldest and youngest, 5 years apart, but who look awfully alike and have similar personality traits, spent their day playing together.  Which is highly unusual.  Without big sister there to play with, Lanie had to either play alone, or reach out to her big brother.  And she did, and he bent, and they did wonderfully.

Of course, a trampoline full of water balloons helped out with the fun.  Getting soaking wet always brings kids together, big or little.

A blessing

I had planned on writing about kid things today, but this seemed much more important.  I am going to unload a bit here, which may be a bit too much information and much too heavy for this light-hearted blog, but it seems important to explain my little spiritual saga, so that God's way can shine forth.

And with that introduction, let me tell you a little bit about myself if you don't already know.  I"m a bit of a downer, and when I say that, I don't mean a Debbie downer who rains on people's parades, but instead, I tend to be down on myself.  Why?  Who knows.  Nothing in my past life would point to that.  It's almost as if I have a little bit of Martin Luther, the early years, in me.  In his youth, he felt so much law, such a need to do good works, that he ran into the ground punishing himself for not being good enough, UNTIL --- the gospel.  The gospel happened, and he was freed.  And then (and I hate to say yada, yada, yada about such an important man and event, but) and then came the reformation.

So, back to 2012.  I am certain we all, or at least most of the women I know, all have a little of this in them.  Call it self-loathing, call it not-living-up-to-expectations, call it lack of confidence, call it worry, call it guilt, call it fear.  I call it ridiculous.  Ridiculous that my cup would be nothing but filled to full with God's grace each and every day when I see the wonder of His works and ways. We all fall short of the glory of God, that's why we need Christ.  I know that.  I sometimes think that I just fall short more than others.

I attend a wonderful women's Bible study and I am awed and amazed each week by the insight these women have and how vividly they are able to describe their relationship with the Lord.  My flaws during these sessions are my words, my impromptu words.  Not a week goes by that I don't walk out feeling both blessed at what I've learned and at the same time negatively self-focused in what I said wrong. Why did I say that?  That's not what I meant. How did that come across? And on and on.

Do you hear it?  Me. Me. Me.
And therein lies the problem.  And Beth Moore taught me this in her study of JAMES, which is really just scripture -- as long as it's about ME, I will not grow in my faith.  As long as it's about ME, I will miss friendship with the Lord and an abundant life.  As long as it's about ME, I will miss blessing others as we are called to do, as we are created to do.

Don't you love when your own self-wallowing is followed by just the right spiritual words.  My dear, dear friend Tina, just finished a 10 week, online Bible study called Blessed-Blessing. (Please read it if you haven't already.)  It has been an amazing journey to read along with her and the many other women each week who read her devotion, and learn about several women of the Bible who were a blessing.  She challenged us to take that plunge and bless others.  Today's lesson was on the Proverbs 31 woman.  I've studied her before and have always felt so overwhelmed by how imperfect I was compared to her.  (Again, that self-loathing I've identified in my personality). But the way Tina planted her on the page today, just spoke volumes to me, and my ME issue.  While I did not get permission (sorry Tina), I would like to quote one of her lines:

"This woman lives and works for others. This noble wife has learned the lesson that Life if Not About Me. Instead, she’s a servant. She trusts that God will provide, and, in turn, she gives."

Isn't that succinctly put.  My self-pity will not draw me closer, but my trust in God's love, compassion, and forgiveness will.  My lack of confidence does not make me humble, but knees bending in prayer will. My fear will not make me noble, but my service to others will.  And if I start to rattle on that my service isn't "Proverbs 31 woman" enough, is not perfect, is not needed, is not worthy - would you please remind me again that it's not about me. 

I have so much to learn. I just thank God that I have such wonderful Christian counsel and friendships along the way that point me to the Gospel and the message of salvation, forgiveness and love.  I really just want to breathe that in. All.. of.. the.. time.