Good habits.

They’re a good thing.

They’re also a bit hard to come by around here, lately!

With a daddy who’s been mostly out of town for the past five months, leaving mama tired and a bit overworn, multiple family issues needing a lot of emotional attention, a cross-country move, and more secret pains than one can shake a stick at, it seems many good habits have fallen to the wayside around here! We have two more weeks of homeschooling to finish, and then summertime arrives and along with trips to the pool (some pool, somewhere yet to be determined!) this mama also plans to reinstate some of the habits that help our home run a bit more smoothly.

Think assigned laundry days, chore charts, nightly baths and setting out clothes (for *me!!!*), and one more thing: Bible memorization!

I’m missing our family reading times and they’re going to be one of the very first things set back into place. I wrote a bit about it at MomHeart today!

How can a young man keep his way pure?
            By keeping it according to Your word.

With all my heart I have sought You;
            Do not let me wander from Your commandments.

Your word I have treasured in my heart,
            That I may not sin against You.” ~Psalm 119:9-11

I’ve always loved the story of Mary, the mother of Jesus, who, when she visited her cousin Elisabeth who was also miraculously with child, couldn’t stem the tide of scripture and praise that came bubbling up from her young soul. What a picture of being full to overflowing with the Lord (in more ways than one!) and what an example to all of us of what we surely need to be filling our own hearts with.

You’ve probably listened in awe yourself to a child reciting scripture at some point–whether at some church awards ceremony, a homeschool event, or maybe at the end of your local VBS week. It’s pretty awe-inspiring to hear little lips quoting verses, passages, even chapters! And recently Ann Voskamp, Beth Moore and many others have spearheaded movements among many adults to follow the little one’s example–a wonderful reminder, to be sure. Why is it, I wonder, that we encourage our children to do so many things we ourselves don’t do? Ahhh, but that’s another post.  

You can read the rest by clicking through: Tips of Memorizing Scripture with Children, at MomHeart!

Click here for The Bad News About Raising Christian Kids {part one}!

We mamas, we love. Oh, how we love! And love means correcting and cuddling, training and teaching, reading pages of books and writing hundreds of notes and letters and cards. We decide to try to love the way God does. We read about Jesus’ example with His disciples and we pray and pray and repent when we mess up and miss another night’s sleep and try again.

And in all our effort, we miss something very important; something that’s there, embedded in the Story, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise …

Our sons are sons of Adam; our daughters, daughters of Eve, and rebel blood runs in their veins. We want them to miss it; want to have trained and loved and discipled it out of them. We are hoping they’ll miss the heartache and bad decisions we made, that surely our love will speak louder than the voices of culture around them and all our hours and days and years will have proven us as their best friends, the ones they should listen to and trust.

If only.

We forget how God walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the day, yet they turned their ears to the serpent.

We forget how He rescued them from Egypt with signs and wonders, feeding and clothing them along the way, yet they rebelled and rejected and lusted for leeks and onions.

We forget the cycles of rebellion and repentance the Israelites repeated over and over again for hundreds of years.

There are a lot of guilt-ridden, broken mamas out there. Your child has rebelled; turned her back on you, your values, your family, your home. They blame you, revile you, disparage you in private and public. And your heart shatters over and over and over as you weep before God and ask …

What did I do wrong?

I hear you, my friends, though your voices are muffled. We are a hidden sisterhood; the broken ones, hiding our hurt with a brave face, hoping no one will ask how the child is doing, fearful of opening emails and text messages and facebook. We are misunderstood and have the wounds deepened by well-intentioned people who have plenty of opinions and little information to base those opinions on.

We weep on bathroom floors and crumpled in chairs and hiding under covers. And we try to figure out how and where to find the strength to love well one more time, two more times, many more times. How, when all our effort seems to have been a waste?

Here’s what I’m hearing our Father remind us of, today …

He, God, is the perfect Father. Yet it’s obvious that many, many make the choice not to follow Him. Why? Why don’t all His children walk with Him? Has He not told enough stories? Not given enough gifts? Not shown enough love? I have surely made plenty of mistakes in my own efforts at mothering. But He? None. He has handled every situation perfectly, with grace and wisdom and care.

And yet He painted the picture of Himself as the Father of the Prodigal.

“And He said, “A man had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the estate that falls to me.’ So he divided his wealth between them. And not many days later, the younger son gathered everything together and went on a journey into a distant country, and there he squandered his estate with loose living.”~ Luke 15:11-13

The husband of a wandering wife.

“The Lord said to me, ‘Go again and love a woman who is beloved of a paramour and is an adulteress; even as the Lord loves the people of Israel, though they turn to other gods and love cakes of raisins.’” ~Hosea 2:1

The hen longing to gather her chicks … yet they would not.

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, the way a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were unwilling.” ~ Matt. 23:37

If God’s perfect parenting is rewarded this way, why on earth would we expect our imperfect parenting to turn out perfectly obedient, grateful children?

There’s teaching out there that says if we will parent well, if we will follow a certain formula, if we will love enough, we will skip the whole teenage angst and rebellion thing. And so we parent hopefully. Then the children hit their teen years, go through a period of trying to assert their independence and figure out what they believe–which for MOST includes a time of rejecting what we believe–and we are absolutely shocked and start fine-tooth-combing every interaction we’ve had with them for fifteen years, trying to find the mistakes.

We find plenty, surely. Eve’s daughters haven’t yet reached perfection. But overall, we’ve worked hard. Hard enough that a broken heart shouldn’t be the result. Hard enough that this loss can make it feel impossible to try again.

I think it’s time to change our expectations. If we are going to follow God’s example in the way we love our children, perhaps we ought to consider that their response might just mirror the response of millions of others throughout the ages to His love. Maybe we ought to acknowledge that our kids need more than a good–even wonderful–even well-intentioned, purposeful, God-filled childhood.

They need an encounter with the Living God. And their hearts need to bow to Him.

Because when all is said and done, the problem is this:

 Christian kids can’t be raised. They must be born (again).

Stay tuned for part three.

This blog has been on my mind for a long while. It’s a sensitive topic, and I do hope it’s received with the grace in which it’s written.

It starts the day the two lines appear.

The laying down of a life. The putting someone else before oneself. We forego soft cheese and too much coffee and soda with our pizza (at least the first time around.) We develop daily routines like, “Wake up. Make bed. Take shower. Eat breakfast. Throw up. Put makeup on. Go to work. Come home. Fall asleep. Repeat.” Those two lines are the death knell on the former life–the one that was all about us. We swallow vitamins the size of Volkswagens, put our size 2s away with a sigh, and replace the home decor tomes with how-to-raise-your-baby-books.

When a woman becomes a mama, it’s an amazing thing. The innocence, fragility, and just-plain-smallness of a newborn placed in one’s arms is really near shocking. Such a tiny bundle … such a giant weight. Responsibility, fear, love, exhaustion, hope, insufficiency … all come in like a flood.

I’ll never forget the day we took our firstborn back to the doctor for his 2-day checkup. The sweet nurse explained to me about how they needed to draw a “small amount” of blood to check for a zillion different things that could be wrong with him– from phenylketonuria to galactosemia (not sure, but I think this has something to do with Darth Vader). Somehow in all my reading I’d missed this information, but a “small amount” couldn’t be bad–I expected she’d get one of those little finger-prick type tools and we’d be done in a flash. And then she came toward my tiny, innocent, 48 hour old baby’s precious, tiny heel with a literal razor blade. (Where’s the deer-in-the-headlights emoticon when you need it?) She cut, he screamed, my husband went white, and I cried harder than the baby and fought an urge to knock the woman to the ground right there.

It was at that moment that I realized something: the world was after my baby, and I was the only one who cared. It made my stomach feel hollow, not feeling an adequate match to all the evil headed our way. And the battle had begun in earnest.

There weren’t enough books out there to make me feel equipped. I had to know … what does God want me to do with this child?

I’ll bet you felt the same way, mama.

And so we stack up the books and head to conferences and listen to audios and read blogs and ask for tons of advice and rock and sing and pray.

We map out a plan. This is good for a baby, that’s bad. This is good for a toddler, that’s bad. This is good for a child, that’s bad. This is good for a teenager, that’s bad. We keep them close when they’re little … because the nature of littles is to be kept close. And we pray. We snuggle and discipline. We make chore charts and teach them to do their own laundry. And we pray. We make thousands of breakfasts and lunches and dinners and we light candles sometimes and play beautiful music and we eat together around the table–and try to keep the TV off. We throw birthday parties and speak Scripture over them and tell them we believe in them. And we pray. We teach them to drive and open our arms to their friends in need of help. We forgive and ask forgiveness. And we pray. If we’re wise, we expand their horizons little by little as they grow. We want to be their introduction to other religions, to different cultures, to camping and fishing and airplane rides; so we give them a million great books and we take them as many places as we can. We tell them, over and over, that we know they have to make their own decisions and draw their own conclusions about what’s true. We surround them with people who believe in them and will help us steer them the right direction, keeping one thing prominent–the thing that matters above all …

One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”

~Matthew 22:35-37

We do all He shows us to do–not perfectly, no!–but we do it all because somewhere along the line, we’ve heard/read/come to believe that if we do everything right, our children will grow up to appreciate our family, to embrace our values, and above all to love our God with all their heart, soul, and mind.

But there’s one little problem …

Click here for The Bad News About Raising Christian Kids {part two}

Oh the happiest Christmas, is a homecoming Christmas

With the snow flithering down, til the world seems new … 

~Michael W. Smith, The Happiest Christmas

Oh, how I love snow.

This morning (May 1st, I might add!) the snowflakes here in Denver are the perfect kind; the big, fat, feathery ones that float lazily to the ground and stick to everything in big fluffy globs. These are the kind that make my heart go pitter-pat; the ones I love to watch and catch and twirl in … even 43 years later.

Everyone in Colorado, by now, is certainly done with the snow. They kept brave faces last month, smiling with me as I exulted over yet another snow day since we were enjoying our first of the year, trying to convince themselves. Oh, yes! The moisture will be good–we’ve had a drought–hopefully will help keep the fires away.

Now the faces have become a bit jaded. Nope, we don’t have anymore firewood. Yup, it’s gonna snow again.

I wake up early, throwing open the blinds, take in the white and clap to myself in my room, find my robe and thank the Lord we’re on eight acres and no one will see the crazy lady playing in the snow. Dig through the closet for snow boots, tromp through the fluff (best sound *ever!*) snap pictures and kick giddy.

Because who wants to miss *this* snow?

I’ve loved it since I was little. Magic from the sky, where Jesus was. Every Christmas Eve especially when I prayed for snow and so many years the forecasters shook their heads, wondering where the surprise had come from–I knew; I’d asked for it. It was like a secret between God and I.

So what’s with the snow?

When you’re little it’s snow days; a break from school, snowmen and hot chocolate. I love all those things just as much today, quite honestly. But there’s more to it, I think. More than fun and play, more than even Christmas. I’ve been asking myself why it’s such a big deal to me; why I love it so. And I think I finally know the answer.

It’s the covering.

The way I look out and the trees are frosted and roofs glisten like so many cupcakes. The truck becomes a giant white hulking thing in the driveway, blades of glass iced, all the sky a turned-over bowl of powdered sugar. And the dirt in the backyard? On the front porch? The toys scattered in the drive, dead grass, bushes shorn for the season?

Covered in glistening white.

No matter how messy we left everything, how desolate the landscape, the glittering white laughs at it all, not caring where it lands, just covering, covering, covering …

… ’til the world seems new.

And I’m reminded once again how He covers.

Covers the dead places, the messes, the unfinished business. Covers with His grace the flaws and mistakes and general blech I see in my life.

Makes it all beautiful by covering it with Him.

“Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” ~Psalm 51:7

“Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow, though they be red as crimson, they shall be as wool.” ~Isaiah 1:18

It’s a miracle; a reminder of the whitest of white; nothing we can do to make it happen; nothing we can do to hold it back. He covers, and none can stop Him. Covers with Himself.

And it reminds me of what He looks like, too …

“I beheld till the thrones were cast down, and the Ancient of days did sit, whose garment was white as snow,
and the hair of his head like the pure wool: his throne was like the fiery flame, and his wheels as burning fire.” ~Daniel 7:9

“His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow.” ~Matthew 28:3

“His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire.” ~Revelation 1:14

Today, I wonder …

“Hast thou entered the treasuries of the snow?” ~Job 38:22

I know we’re nowhere near Christmas. But perhaps it’s not so far away after all. There’s snow outside at my house, and from the looks of the Rockies (plus what I learned in grade school), there’s nearly always snow somewhere. Always a new day, Jesus coming to bring covering, to change the look of everything.

His grace, in all this glory flithering down.

May you be covered today, friend.

Once in awhile, you read something great. A book gives you insight you’d never had before into a time period, a people group, or some current situation. A Scripture passage speaks to your heart and you know the Lord has planted something new with it. Once in a great while, a blogger says something you’d never thought of and your day takes a new turn.

Sometimes, the “revelation” is a complete surprise, and comes from somewhere you’d never expect.

This morning I woke to this in my Facebook feed. It was posted by a sweet friend who’s a military wife, and I’m sure all the brave ladies in those shoes laughed and nodded in recognition.

But it did something different for me.

For many years I’ve longed to live overseas. I heard a calling to be a missionary when I was very young, and ever since, God and I have fed that desire. Reading all of Amy Carmichael’s books was followed by two years of  listening to Elisabeth Elliot’s daily radio programs (and reading her books, as well) buying nearly every missionary biography in YWAM Press’ catalog, and of course studying the lives of heroic men and women in Sonlight curriculum with my kids. When people asked where I wanted to go, I’d often say “Everywhere.” And I mean it; I truly want to place my foot on every continent at some point. I keep hearing the passage in my head where God was talking to Abraham, calling him on his journey, and He said …

“Every place on which the sole of your foot treads shall be yours; your border will be from the wilderness to Lebanon, and from the river, the river Euphrates, as far as the western sea …”  Deuteronomy 11:24

I’ve always wanted my children to feel like the whole earth belongs to them. After all, it’s all their Father’s. I want to see the knowledge of God cover the earth, like the waters cover the sea. I want His glory to spread; I want people to be set free and children to know they are loved by their Creator. We moved here to Denver in part because we believe it’s a stepping stone to what’s next, and see it as part of our “training” for the mission field.

This past weekend, I spent a lot of time praying and asking the Lord, “Where exactly is it that you want us to go–first?” Seems like a logical question, right? Where are we aiming? What’s the goal? Unfortunately, clear answers weren’t forthcoming. It felt a bit frustrating, to be quite honest. When all was said and done, what I really heard was basically “Wait. There are pieces you can’t see, and I’m not ready to tell you yet.”

And this morning, this little “cartoon.” It sounded like my life–

“Instead of moving overseas, we’ve decided to try living everywhere for a few years at a time.” 

Hmmmmm. There are a lot of us who can relate to this idea. We live in a very mobile society; few of us stay in the same town or state for long. I used to think that was a really bad thing. It has certainly left us with a lot of weak spots–little sense of “home” or security; few or no relatives around to help with children and houses and such; a lack of *true* social networks. But there were Jesus’ words in my reading this morning …

“Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation.” Mark 16:15

What if part of the reason we live in such a mobile society is because God intends for us to actually follow this command–whether we want to do it intentionally, or not?

Part of the reason traditional missions is so powerful is the fact that leaving our comfort zone–our own “normal”–encourages us to DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT. When we’re in a new place, a different culture, with unfamiliar people, it’s not difficult to recognize both our need of and appreciation for God. It’s easier to behave differently–to speak to that stranger on the street, to reach out to the child at the feeding center–when that’s what you’ve specifically gone somewhere to do.

Here in my comfort zone, acting the same as I’ve always acted is what comes naturally.

But, what if we really embraced the idea that we are *all* called to share the good news–the gospel of Jesus’ coming to earth to redeem us and to reunite us with our Father–with everyone around us–regardless of where we are? What if God’s plan–just for now, or forever– was to move us from one place to another within our own country–whether it’s to the other side of the same neighborhood, across town, or half way across the continent–in order to stir us up, get us out of our comfort zones, and give us another chance to be His ambassadors?

If He’s been moving me from place to place in order to do just that, how well has it worked?

What’s my legacy in the places I’ve lived?

• Have I encouraged anyone to draw closer to Jesus?
• Lightened someone’s load?
• Helped them be a better mom?
• Discipled them?
• Brought light to darkness in some way?

What will I do with this new opportunity He’s given me? What impact will my time here, long or short, make on the people around me?

The answer has yet to be seen.

Grant Wood, American Gothic

I have to admit … I looked a little like that lady by the time we made it here from Florida.

The furrowed brow … the worried eyes … and can’t you just tell she’s biting her tongue trying *not* to say something? It’s the face of a woman who has been facing too much difficulty for a bit too long.

Maybe a lot too long.

I’m hoping having finally arrived in Colorado, the altitude will smooth out some of those wrinkles. Already I can sense a settling, breath expelled, shoulders dropping from their militant posture.

My mother in law is famous for enjoying only movies “where nothing happens.” Driving Miss Daisy is a perfect example. Lots of character development … little, if any, plot. Recently I took a recommendation from sweet Sarah Clarkson (if you ever hear her mention a book was worth reading, do yourself a favor and go get it!) and picked up a book by Wendell Berry called, Andy Catlett: Early Travels. It was wonderful; a slowed-down-to-the-sunbeams-speed story of a few days in the life of a young boy–just the sort of book my mother in law would like to see made into a movie, though I’m not sure it would sell many tickets. It was a quote from there that made me realize it–the sheer speed we’ve all been traveling over these past few months, and what we’re missing because of it.

I wrote a bit about it today and you can read it here if you click: The Better Mom … Why We All Might Need to Slow Down. Join me??

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Rest

I am strong …

I am invincible …

I am tired.

Whoops, I think that was supposed to be “I am woman.” But “tired” fits better, today!

My husband is traveling this week for work, my little guys are *not* completely convinced there’s not a boogeyman in one of their new closets, and so I have “company” each night. Which, since I’m an extremely light sleeper, means I am NOT actually sleeping, per se. It’s more like … intermittent resting. And each morning at 6 am when the sun is blazing through my as-yet-naked-and-did-I-mention LARGE bedroom window, I slooowwwllly roll over and sneak out of bed for a much-needed cup of coffee, my Bible, and hopefully an hour of quiet!

It’s exhausting, sometimes, this mama-ing thing we do.

I’m talking a little about it today at MomHeart Online: He Gently Leads Those With Young. Won’t you join me? And say hello there, would you?

I’d forgotten how much I love the sky.

Perhaps its been all the months of eyes-to-the-ground plodding; the necessity of one foot after another, one moment at a time, just make it through one more day-type living that’s been making up my days for far too long.

Funny how you can feel like you’re doing all the walking, even though the Lord is quite obviously the One doing all the work.

We knew that three months was our outside limit on how long we could go without daddy. Actually, we did think it was two months … until it became three. And so, with no way to buy him a ticket home, we began to hopefully plan an Easter weekend move. Then I got a phone call. Sweet friends we’ve known for years but don’t see very often offered a free plane ticket–which could be purchased just a few hours in advance, whenever we were ready!!! Amazing. (And thank you, Livesays! What a blessing you are!) He’d planned to come home Monday morning, enabling us to arrive in Denver in time for birthday parties, worship services and Easter Sunday at church … but that didn’t work out. Disappointed, we moved our plans to the weekend.

Rob got home on a Friday afternoon. Saturday we started final packing in earnest as sweet friends and family popped in, brought meals, hugged our necks and helped wrap boxes and rearrange the truck. At the very end of the loading, it was discovered that all our cash for the trip had been left in the top right drawer of the very first furniture item that had been loaded onto the truck … now buried 24 feet behind boxes, tables, couches, and miscellaneous items. What to do? Well, find a way to tunnel through and get it out, of course! And an hour later, one very skinny, very sweaty, very proud of himself friend emerged with a fat pile of cash in hand, having wormed his way through a maze of items in the dark and poking a hole through the blanket wrapped around the dresser in order to unearth it.

It was getting late and there was still work to be done, so Rob insisted we go ahead and head out, so we weren’t arriving in Chattanooga too late. So we hugged and waved goodbye …

The 29 hour trip included such challenges as a dying alternator plus no charging ability in the truck for my iphone/navigation device, which meant I got to spend the last half of every seven hour driving day stopping every hour to charge it up at some restaurant. But there were highlights, too …  a stop in Chattanooga to take a walk around Lookout Mountain …

AND our final stop was in Lincoln at my sister’s house! We hadn’t seen them in soooo long! She made tons of food for us, found a practically brand new coat one of her boys had outgrown for Levi, and put up with having her house overrun overnight. And my mom and dad came down for a visit, too! How fun is that?

(Here are almost all the kids posing in front of the moving truck, haha–Nicholas was hiding!)

… finally, the kids declared it the “best road trip EVER” (?????) and we very gratefully arrived home around 9:30 Tuesday night!

We are finally here. Wonder of wonders! Settled, really; boxes unpacked, though books line up like soldiers along walls until I can manage to hunt down new bookshelves, carpets beg to be torn up and replaced, and cabinets and the huge stone fireplace are going to need copious amounts of elbow grease and many coats of paint before I feel it’s really “done.” Making a house into a home doesn’t happen overnight. And yet we already feel at home, with precious friends who welcomed us with hugs and food and ready muscles–unloading our moving van in just an hour and a half–in the rain, no less!–as well as taking our children on playdates and showing us around their favorite haunts. We’ve come here off and on so many times in the past few years that it’s all familiar, which is such a grace in a move it’s really almost unfair.

I haven’t told the story about our house yet! We thought all along that it would be impossible to move before our Florida house sold. After all, a move requires a vehicle (which we didn’t have back in January) and also, first- and last-months rent plus a security deposit. Housing in Denver tends to be more than the usual in Florida, and we REALLY needed more room than our current 1650 square feet! I always felt the Lord was holding something for us, but we had no idea what it could be. And the house STILL hasn’t sold.

About a month and a half ago, my sweet friend called to say they’d just turned down a house that might be great for us. 3,200 square feet (double what we had!) … 8 and a half acres … and the owner plans to tear it down in a year and a half, so no worries having many children here–plus we can redecorate/remodel however we like! The rent is *way* less than typical because there’s quite a bit of work needed, but who’s afraid of a little work at this point? And so here we are.

This is the sunset from my back deck …

And here’s a climbing spot we found last weekend on Sugarloaf mountain (Levi and Josiah are wayyyyyyyy up there–can you see?)

I found plenty of snowcoats and pants at the HUGE local thrift stores …

And the kids built their first snowman ever this week!

This move has felt such a long time coming, it’s almost like it’s an accomplishment just to be here. We are looking forward to our second snowstorm on its way for the next few days, and most of us are nursing bad colds so we’ll miss church today which no one’s happy about. But we are here, we are here, we are here!

Friday morning I was able to make the drive to Monument to have tea with my dear friend and mentor, Sally Clarkson. She asked (as she always does), “How are you? What do you need? How can I pray for you?”

Oh my. I told her the truth, of course … Honestly? I’m feeling thrilled to be here; grateful, and looking forward to what’s next.

At the same time? I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve just finished a marathon … maybe more like a triathlon. I’ve been running on pure … I don’t even know what; effort plus prayer I suppose, and it sortof feels I’ve been run over by a truck. (I’m sure my cold isn’t helping, but it hadn’t kicked in yet on Friday when we were having the conversation!)

How many of us are here, unseen companions in exhaustion? I know it’s not just me; I have talked to enough friends to know these seasons strike us all. So this morning, the Lord gave me words of peace; an invitation I daren’t resist …

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” ~ Matthew 11:28-30

Weary and heavy-laden … check. In need of rest … oh yeah.

His yoke. That’s what I need; His, not mine, not anyone else’s. To know what He has for me in this season, which as far as I can determine right now is REST, and lots of it.

If you’re in need, too, join me? The invitation is open to all. His yoke is easy; His burden, light. We will find rest for our souls.

And it doesn’t get much better than that.

I’m taking a breather from the packing frenzy to write this story, because I’m quite certain that if I don’t start telling one miraculous God-provision story at a time, they will pile so high I won’t ever get to them all!

So you may remember that my wonderful, fabulous, everyone-in-the-family-fits red chariot bit the dust about 7 months ago.

I’m still trying to get over it.

Anyway, she was old … over 220,000 miles … and the engine just gave up the ghost one day, leaving us vehicle-less.

Thankfully, my dear friend Kirstyn had her own red chariot which had been replaced and relegated to the garage since they acquired a new vehicle, and so from Monday-Friday most weeks since then we’ve been able to borrow hers. Woohoo and bless the Lord for gracious friends! Not exactly sure how I would have been able to do much of ANYTHING in the past six months without it!

But she was not up for us taking it to Denver (I’ve no idea why. ) And since we were not interested in a car payment and didn’t have a random pile of unneeded money lying around, I wasn’t exactly sure what on earth I was going to do about, oh, say, HOW TO GET US ALL 1800 MILES WEST.

Ahem.

Well, apparently Someone else was thinking about it, too. Let me back up and mention that for the past two years, I’ve told my husband that I thought our next vehicle would be a blue Suburban. It will matter later, I promise.

Three years ago I attended the first MomHeart Intensive at Sally Clarkson’s home in Colorado. It was a wonderful time of connecting with ladies from around the country, and one of my favorites was Jodie Hartfield. She and her family were at the time looking toward becoming workers in a country in Africa, and so we had that desire as an additional common bond. Over the past few years we’ve kept in touch through Facebook and I’ve been so excited to watch as the Lord really opened doors for them to pack up and head out on their adventure.

So a few weeks ago I’m at home getting ready to return my sweet friend’s van for another weekend when my phone rang, and it was Jodie. We caught up on the latest news (both of us having piles!) and then she said, “Hey, do you need a vehicle?”

“Ummmm, do I? Yes, yes, yes!” I said, laughing. “I’m desperate for a truck. But it has to be huge, and I don’t have any money.”

“Well, we’ve been praying about it, and we believe God wants us to give you our Suburban.”

I’m not sure the next few minutes were actually intelligible. Oh my gracious, seriously? God has done this for us before–three times! How crazy is that? But it’s been many, many years since such an enormous blessing dropped out of the sky. I was giddy.

Then she sent me this picture …

Yup. That’s the one I’ve been waiting for.

Have you ever been so overwhelmed with what God does for you that you just can’t even put it into words???

That was me.

And so, I now have a Suburban with Colorado tags … and it was dropped off to me, here in Jacksonville, by her sweet parents because their darling family is on their way to Africa. Woot!

What a wonderful gift; I’m so grateful to Jodie’s family for listening to our Daddy say, “Give it away!”

It would be wonderful if you would add them to your prayer list as their family is in the middle of such a huge adjustment settling into African village life. You can read a bit more and even donate to their support here: Team Hartfield!  

That was the first of the wonderful gifts God’s been sending our way. I’ll try to be a little more timely, because we are pulling out from the old homestead driveway next Tuesday and I’ll be away for quite awhile! I know there are many of you praying for us and we appreciate it soooo much. I absolutely believe the blessings we are receiving are in response to prayer, so please keep it up! Right now a housing miracle is in the works, and then there are the plane tickets for Rob to come home … again, stories forthcoming soon!

One fun thing about being a blogger? Getting to pass along presents to you!

Last week we were quite thrilled to add a new DVD to our collection. Veggie Tales’ newest production, The Little House That Stood, is a fun, veggie-typical mashup of The Three Little Pigs and the story Jesus told of the two builders–one who built on sand, and the other on rock. Of course, when there are pigs and cucumbers involved, there’s bound to be more than one adventure!

I will admit … I have a love/hate relationship with singing vegetables. There, I said it. I have a sinking feeling that our tendency to make everything cute (been to a baby furnishings store recently? Seen the pastel baby bedding of Noah’s Ark??? I rest my case) is probably not doing loads for the spiritual health of our kids. Trusting our children’s spiritual growth to brightly colored comic books and personified food isn’t really wise. A bit, perhaps, like thinking one could live on a diet of just, say, Trix Cereal.

Of course, no one really thinks they can do that. Right?

So … let’s face it: Bob and Larry aren’t classical. The animation in these videos isn’t what I’d term “beautiful.” Your children aren’t going to develop a high sense of art or family by watching them repeatedly. I doubt if anyone turns from the TV and pleads, “Tell me more! I want this Jesus the tomato is singing of!” But let’s face this fact too, while we’re at it: sometimes, we just want to have fun. And there are certainly plenty of fun options out there, right? All sorts of choices we can make regarding what we spend time doing. And while 30 minutes would probably be better spent reading a book or playing with playdough, in light of the evil in the world, I’m thinking a few “spiritual” vegetables probably aren’t going to hurt anything.

My children loved this video and it was certainly a fun way to spend an hour!

If you’d like to win your own copy of The Little House That Stood, you can enter here. Giveaway ends Wednesday at midnight!

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