Words and Kidspeak with a Dash of Bushwa

Words are magnificent creators.  (Not creatures. That's different.)  I love words.  Words, words, words.  They mean something, every single one.  I wrote my college entrance essay on the power of words.  That's all it was about, words.  Not a joke.

One of the best things about words is how our kids mispronounce some of them.  I do my best not to correct them, because I don't want to nag and I just love it when they do it.  I merely continue to repeat the correct word in my own speech and know that they'll eventually--and all too soon--start using the correct one.

When Levi was very little, he used to call school buses "stookle buses."  I still call them that, even though he started saying it the right way several years ago (so, so sad, because "stookle bus" is obviously better).

I already mentioned in my post about his baptism that he thinks he got "bathtized," and so he did!  Washed clean.  At six, his verbal skills are great, so I relish these little mispronounced jewels of childhood.  He still says "gantar" (guitar), "ganputer" (computer), and "thake" (fake).  "Thake" always makes me want to squeeze him and kiss his face off.

Adelaide melts my heart with some typical three-year-old-isms like "lellow" (yellow) and "wackanoni" (macaroni).  My most favorite of hers, though, that will stick with us till the very end is "shmarpillow" (marshmallow), because--yes!--they are like little, delicious pillows.  And just today she had me laughing again.  At today's first class in ballet camp, she was introduced to her teacher Miss Chloe.  During lunch, she told us about all the things "Miss Cloudy" taught her.  Miss Cloudy sounds like the type of person who'd love to sit and eat shmarpillows.

(Please note: Roxie takes this decidedly downhill.)

If you're opposed to the explicit, you will want to skip Roxie's 18-month-old and unintentional faux pas.  (But if you do proceed, there is redemption at the end!)  She is constantly saying "What's THAT?" with emphasis on "that" and sort of slurring them together and not really saying the "wh" at the beginning.  It's more like "uhs-AT" and ends up sounding exactly like "asshat," which is inappropriate and therefore hilarious. 

Speaking of inappropriate, here's a Public Service Announcement for all you young lads and lassies from your dear Auntie Jen.  Seriously, be careful little minds what you think and ears what you hear and mouths what you speak.  I went through what I'll just call "a phase" in my college years and, to be blunt, cussed like a sailor.  (Sorry, all you sailors of high report, who cannot be justly categorized in such a way but are nevertheless constantly subjected to unrelenting prejudice.)  It was a hard habit to break, and by "was," I mean "has been" or rather "is."  It is crass and mostly unladylike (and ungentlemanly, to be fair to both sexes) and can send the wrong message. 

Because it became such a habitual part of my outer and therefore inner dialect (I was not so careful with my mind/ears/mouth), such language still punctuates my thoughts, albeit less than it used to do, even if it doesn't come out of my mouth.  And every so often, in unreserved moments, it might escape.  Some very few occasions seem to lack their full expressive potential unless such language is utilized; some punchlines just don't punch the way they ought without it.  For instance, I have struggled (and remained victorious!) against the urge to post something public on the Internet that has something to do with Obama and the refuse that a cow produces from its hind end.  But I don't want to go there.  I am personally not hugely offended by off-color language, most of the time--most likely desensitized to it by my past--but I know others are.  I happen to know that one such word of offense had its beginnings on ships (you sailors again!) when certain cargo was labelled Store High In Transit.  But they used the abbreviation.  Somehow it has evolved, and since our culture deems it unsavory, so it is. 

But I now have a remedy for my need to reference cow dung without "going there."  It came via gift left in my inbox by my Word of the Day e-mail from dictionary.com.  I am so excited about it, which reveals something, I know, but I have a new favorite word.  Ready?

Bushwa.

:)

It means rubbishy nonsense; baloney; bull.  And it's just perfect.

Now I have the crowning artillery in my arsenal to satisfactorily communicate what has long pounded with passion in my innermost being about a lot of things, but mostly:

OBAMA IS FULL OF BUSHWA.

Ah!  Sweet, sweet release!!!!!!  Thank you, dictionary.com. 

Maybe you love Obama (who actually has little to do with my point), but if that's the case, and if you're anything like myself, I know you will find some other way to put this little gem to use.  See how exciting the right word can be??

Words are the best.  :)

Baptizo {} My Little Pickle

We were excited to baptize a few people in Lake Champlain at our church picnic last weekend, and good thing baptism is about immersion in Christ rather than the body of water into which you're dunked.  'Cause the lake water that day was kinda naaaasty.  Lake Champlain is gorgeous, but it has its days.  I'm glad we got to bring it a little holiness.

Baptism is rich with symbolism, but one cool thing to me is what the original Greek word baptizo means.  It means to be pickled.  How funny!  And sobering.  And appropriate.  It's the perfect description of one thing going into a solution and coming out a new creation, flavored by (and one with) that solution.  Baptism symbolizes the spiritual change we undergo, the complete transformation from what we were to who we are, ones who've been given a second chance, a new start, totally immersed in the goodness of Christ.  Spiritually speaking, we look, smell, taste, behave, move, think, act...like Him.  But not just like Him.  A cucumber doesn't become like a pickle.  It becomes a pickle.  In fact, it can never be a cucumber again, so infused it is with that new solution.  We don't just become like Him.  We become one with Him, godly.  That's some heady stuff, to be pickled into Christ.

At last year's baptism, Levi was really intrigued by it and kept saying he wanted to do it, but would then forget about it and let it go.  He was 5 1/2, and we're not constricted by age boundaries.  As his parents, Jed and I just wanted to see real revelation about it all.  Last year, he seemed to have it, but we had a little check in our spirits that told us to hold off and let it become deeper revelation to him.

This summer, the church picnic and baptisms rolled around again, and Levi was excited again about wanting to get "bathtized."  (He is so verbally precocious that when he does one of these little mispronunciations, I don't want to correct him!)  We had conversations.  We asked questions.  He acknowledged Yahshua as His Lord and Savior, as he's been doing since the beginning.  We asked him if he wanted to willfully make that choice and take that stand on his own.  We asked him what he thought baptism meant.  We were trying to sort through if this was a real proclamation from his heart, or if he thought maybe it was just a cool thing to do.  But we believe children are born spiritually alive.  We have seen spiritual proclivity in our children and the children around us from very early on.  We have done our best to nourish that and not squash it out, to enrich it rather than make them believe they're too young for things of that nature and can't "get it" till later.

In the end, he was ready. 

:)  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)  *heartnearlyburstingsohappysoproudsomovedsochallenged*  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)

So we lead Levi down to lake's edge, and in those murky waters of New England, a light burst forth from our anointed young son who had a declaration for the world. 

So brave...

Ready to go, with Dad nearby...

"Or don't you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death?  We were therefore buried with Him through baptism into death...

...in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. 

For if we have been united with Him in a death like His, we will certainly also be united with Him in a resurrection like His."  Romans 6:3-5

As soon as he emerged, he bobbed excitedly and looked back at Apostle to exclaim, "Did you know I just got pickled??!!"  Boy's been listening.  :)  He got a laugh from his daddy and apostle, who repeated it to the crowd and drew more laughs and cheers.

(And I snuggled Adelaide, watching my son from the shore where I couldn't coach him or hold his hand--for this was his very own personal deal--while trying to manage the giant balloon of emotion expanding to fill all my insides, plus the simultaneous laughing and crying, without spontaneously combusting.)

And Apostle placed his hand on Levi's head and prayed for him, prophesied over him, and blessed him. 

(More emotional mama.)

"If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation: the old things are passed away;

behold, all things are become new!"  II Corinthians 5:17

The immensity of emotion is so rich and deep that my verbosity could take over here, but it's also overwhelming enough to render me nearly speechless (whew, right?!).  I'll indulge my mom-ness and state simply that I'm so proud of my little pickle, as I've been calling him to his secret delight.  He is a joyful spark of light and insight in our family and God's kingdom, and...I'm really proud of him. 

We love you, Mr. Leviticus Maximus!

  

Abortion Undertones and Overtures: Open Letters to You, and You

Don't worry.  I'm not going to talk incessantly about abortion without reprieve.  I will focus on it a bit in the weeks to come, as I've already begun, but it won't take over completely.   

Honestly, the whole abortion debate can easily wear us out, can't it?  And that's too bad.  I hope I'm able to address it in an enlightening, refreshing, new, and yet galvanizing way that ignites our passion for change.  I already have rumblings in my rumbler about how to take a new approach, how to look forward with hope rather than standing down in the mire, combative, doing the same thing we've always been doing.  I think we can pull out of the mire.

In that spirit, then, before I post any more about it, I want my heart to be laid as bare before you as I possibly can.  As I said, the way the battle's been fought has been so. very. wearying and emotionally charged.  But we all have a responsibility to fully understand what's really going on, so I just can't look away.  And I refuse to hold strong opinions without having personally looked into it myself so as to get all the relevant facts, a process I started several years ago.  (It can be arduous, and I hope that what I unfold here is helpful to you.)

In short, here's what I'd like to say to those who disagree with me, and moreso what I'd like to say to anyone who has had an abortion or who has been closely involved in such a situation.

My heart is for you.  I know a lot of good people that I admire who have been in both camps.

The things that I will uncover here are upsetting, but they are not--may I repeat, NOT--a personal attack on human beings who are facing life the best they know how.  My research goes much deeper than that in an attempt to help us all.  I hope to unveil a new approach to this debate that says we are all capable of joining our compassion and fight to find and perpetuate a better way.  I think the majority of people on both sides of the debate are honestly trying to "fight the good fight."  I do not think that people who support abortion are also secret serial killers in the dark hours of the night.  I also believe that most women who get abortions do not do so without some sort of emotional revolt on some level, nor would they want to choose it if they felt they had any other viable option. 

So here goes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear You, You Who Fight with Passion for Abortion Rights,

I do not want to scream and claw at you.  I believe that your intentions are good.  From my experience, you on the grassroots level are compassionate for the plight of women in trouble.  I love that and think we all should fight for those who need help and support.  I also believe that some of you think that even if a woman isn't in trouble, she still just has the right, whatever her reasons, to an abortion--that she shouldn't have to answer for it or defend herself, that she should be secure in her right to determine what's best for her body.  You have a heart for people's rights, unmeddled with.  You're against any sort of restrictions that would tell us how we can and cannot manage our own most private affairs.  Regarding the last two statements, you and I are largely on the same page.  On this particular issue, though, a full picture causes my thoughts to deviate from yours, as there are two lives with inherent rights in the balance.  But I get it.  And I will not brush you off.  If I disagree with you, I do not hate you.  This is a bigger issue than just you and I or any individual, and I hope we all can transcend the chaos, unencumbered by preconceived notions and emotional alliances, for a glimpse of the truth.

(If you are a politician or medical practitioner/affiliate or a corporation, or anyone, who merely makes your decisions based on how it will profit you personally, this letter does not apply to you.  I feel very differently about you and your motives.)

Sincerely,
Jennifer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear You, You Who Has Had an Abortion,

My heart is for you.  I definitely do not hate you.  I might know you.  I am not pointing an angry finger at you.  My problem with abortion is not a problem with you.  Most of you I don't know, but some of you I do.  From my experience with those I do know, all I want to do is hold you and listen to you, or give you space and grace, or whatever you need.  I cannot imagine your circumstances, but I do know what it's like to be in a tight place that feels out of my control, or to be faced with something that was just the last thing I felt I could deal with.  I also know what it's like to feel caught-off-guard, defensive, scared, distrustful, grieved, annoyed, desperate, misunderstood, unheard, undervalued, disappointed, confused, exposed, indignant.  I know some of you could care less what I've ever felt and don't want my hug or listening ear.  I guess my deeply rooted feeling is that I think we all need support.  I don't know if you got, or get, support or not.  But as I unfold my findings and thoughts about abortion, I pretty constantly imagine what it must be like for someone who's had one to read my words, and I do not want to create pain.  I pray for the strength and bravery we all need to face such an issue.

My conclusions are not a judgment against you.  Heavens, no.  They are a judgment against a mindset that  has been dishonest with all of us.  Whatever any of us has done in the past, is truly in the past.  If it was right, wonderful.  If it was not right, we can be healed and forgiven and forgive ourselves and be thankful for second, third, fourth...chances.  My prayer is for tremendous grace to cover anyone who might have a hard time facing what I'll be writing here.  I need the grace to face it, too.  And I remove any incrimination from settling onto anyone who has every right to move on with her life in strength and dignity, by the grace of God, armed with the truth. 

Sincerely,
Jennifer

Looking Away Is Cowardice--Let's Face It Together

Ah, humanity.  We humans have proven ourselves capable of a whole spectrum of behavior from self-sacrificing love to horrific and gruesome hate.  From the first apostles to Nero, Mother Teresa to Hitler, we have just really run the gamut of behavior.

Did you know that most Germans had no idea what Hitler was doing during the time of the Holocaust?  After the fact, when they were taken to tour concentration camps and witness the carnage, they were devastated and bewildered.  I mean, of course they were!  All of us recall that part of history with the same reaction (or we should).  It's awful to be faced with such truth.  It was inhumane.  He chose specific populations and decided that those lives were not as valuable as the rest, not based on crimes committed, but rather on general prejudice in the assumption that those races or groups of people (e.g. the disabled) were fighting for space that more appropriately belonged to superior races (like the Germans, naturally).  Keeping those other guys around was inconvenient and not good for "the rest of us," so said the Nazis.

(We can all think of a handful of people that make our lives inconvenient, but we don't round 'em up and off 'em.  That's insane.  Hitler was a mad man.)

We saw similar confusion about the intrinsic value of all human life when we waded through the whole horrible era of slavery.  Of course, it's been going on throughout time and still haunts our modern world in the form of the booming business of sex trafficking.  And oh my, to devalue those lives in such a way makes us indignant, as it should until it's brought buckling down to its knees. 

Then I see the purity of goodness in so many around me from all walks of life and backgrounds and political affiliations.  I see more of that than I do the bad, to tell the truth.  These bad incidents are so yucky and often so horrifying in scope that they seem huge, but I see goodness everywhere!  I have friends who would go out of their way to not step on an ant, so great is their respect and compassion for life. 

Imagine, then, how horrified I was just earlier today to find out that in our civilized society, we still participate in what is very similar to the torture and execution method of human quartering--that is, forgive me, the tearing apart of living people limb by limb. 

But we do it to babies while they're still alive.  I honestly had NO IDEA that was the primary method of performing an abortion.

Did you? 

I bet a lot of people don't know it, those for and against.  And we all ought to know.  We ALL MUST become educated about it.  Because we hide from what we don't want to acknowledge, but hiding doesn't make it not real. 

I have a lot more to say, particularly regarding common methods of aborting (What the WHAT??!!), what the medical handbooks actually say to guide the abortionists, and the church's role in this issue.  Oh, and then we have the statistics of how many abortions occur because of life-and-death situations compared to the ones that are a matter of convenience.  Because we can rally cry all we want about the life of the mother, but the VAST majority of these mothers are healthy and actually pose an added health risk to themselves to undergo the procedure.

And finally, it doesn't matter what we call a baby while it's in utero.  It's really fine if we call it a fetus--or a blob or a mass or a horse or a river--but it's a little human who's alive, and for all intents and purposes, the smallest, developing humans are, in fact, humans, human babies.  We call the smallest, developing anything babies.  So I have more to say.

Hey!  I'm 8 weeks old!

But not tonight. 

Tonight, we should ponder the idea of tearing apart the body of a living human, limb by limb.

...And all the tremendous goodness of heart out there on every side of the issue that could make it stop.

Other answers abound.  We can do better.

Come on, humans, let's rise above.

On God Talking

If you know God, you're graced with several assurances that give a peace others find unfathomable. 
(If you don't know Him, go ahead and jump in!)

Two granddaddies of all these assurances are inextricably linked:

1.  God talks.  To you.
2.  You win.  Because Yahshua won.  So you can start living that way right now.

Well, that's a relief!

Hearing God is something we are created to do.  It is possibly the most natural and inherent aspect of our nature.  The fact that we're having to re-learn, first, that it's even possible and, second, how to do it merely points to a robbery along the way.  We were robbed!  But don't worry, Yahshua came to restore that which was lost, stolen, and given away.  And He did.  And we can hear God talk.  And we win.  Yesssss.

I try not to talk much about my six-year-old son Levi's diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes, because it's one of those things that matters a lot but also doesn't matter at all.  It does matter because it's a battle we fight daily in our personal lives and that we'll continue to fight for others.  We fight spiritually and naturally, and I fully expect him to walk right out of it by the word of the LORD.  Don't freak out about that.  I'm not a pie-in-the-sky, name-it-and-claim it Christian with no grounding.  My relationship with God is pretty firmly grounded, and that grounding is solid enough to elevate my expectations beyond the boundaries of others' experiences and expectations.  So Levi's diagnosis does matter.

However, it doesn't matter in that it doesn't rule our lives, and we don't operate out of the fear that tries to link itself up with the disease.  Because we know God, and He talks, and we win. 

I'm really, really, really, really, reeeeeeeee-heee-heeeeaaallly excited right now, because Yahweh has been talking to me (in itself a thrill, as He's the Creator of the cosmos) about Levi and this sniveling intruder we call diabetes.  I am not foaming-at-the-mouth, obsessively consumed with curing Levi, though he is always on my radar.  We have a lot of important purpose to fulfill and will not be distracted from that.  BUT, when Yahweh talks, I listen.  And I obey.  And because I adore my son and could very easily start foaming at the mouth and becoming obsessed, I'm relieved and blessed that my Father wants to talk to me about it, that it's in His heart too.  Of course it is. 

From the beginning, all the fabulous medical staff told us that Type 1 has nothing to do with what you eat. Type 2 is created by poor diet (and other things) and can often be fought and cured by a better diet, but Type 1, what Levi has, is just a genetic thing that may or may not be triggered by any minor infection that in turn causes the immune system to go into overdrive and attack the pancreas (in a nutshell, making it an autoimmune disease).  So Levi could continue eating whatever he wanted.  We're pretty healthy eaters, so we knew that wasn't an issue.  And I've been explaining to people who ask that this is not a food thing; it can't be changed by eating better.  That's what the experts told us.  That's the boundary of their experience and expectations.

But then Yahweh started talking to me.  He started talking to me about diet, especially regarding Levi, and I was curious and excited.  Because I am forever blessed by our advances in medicine, but it can only go so far.  Western medicine, especially, is incomplete in its focus.

It's not uncommon for me simply to hear His voice, like when he told me I wouldn't be returning to the worship leadership position after Roxie was born.  But here's how hearing God unfolded in this situation for me, and it's continuing to do so.  In short, it's been one of those "coincidental," "that-was-random" situations in repeat. 

First, I became obsessed with healthy soil as I planned our garden this year; I had no catalyst for it beyond just knowing it to be hugely important.  Second, a godly, mighty friend said she knew Type 1 isn't affected by diet but couldn't shake Levi from her spirit as she came upon a couple books about healing through diet and wondered if I'd like to borrow one.  This was especially unexpected: "Yahweh, what's going on with this? You trying to tell me something?"  Third, I clicked on a random FB article posted by someone I hardly know and read it with my hair on end as it talked about all this crazy stuff about healthy soil; it addressed exactly what's been brewing in my spirit.  My jaw dropped when I reached the end that tied all these healthy soil facts and studies to...wait for it...Type 1 diabetes.  The title had not prepared me for that:  "OK, Yahweh, you've definitely got my attention!  Where we headed?"  A few days later, I received the aforementioned book from my friend.  Chapter 1:  Crazy, Mind-Blowing Stuff Including...Healthy Soil, Type 1 Diabetes Reversal, and the Astronomical Importance of Your Gut (Digestive System)/Immune System/What You Feed Them.  A wave of significance washed over me and over me and over me as I devoured every word.  "Thank you, Yahweh; I'm listening and ready."  Last, another godly, mighty friend who had no idea of any of this other stuff approached me and said she knew Type 1 isn't affected by diet but couldn't shake Levi from her spirit as she learned some new stuff about healing the body through diet.  She showed me a video that talked about the incredible healing significance of...the gut and what we feed it.  By the way, guys, the gut...huge.  HUGE.  It directs so much traffic.

I sought none of this out beyond my faithful prayer and warring in the spirit for my son and trying to make food changes that have been in my own spirit for my family.

I guess I'm giving this rundown to show one of the ways God talks.  Sometimes we wait for Him to send a letter in the mail, to spell it out in the clouds, to overwhelm us with a thundering voice.  However, it's often subtler than that.  You get to the place where you start acting in faith on what you've heard.  Some of it will turn out to have just been your own emotions or vain imagination, and that's OK!  You'll learn to differentiate along the way if you keep pursuing Him with pure motives and an open spirit.  He has already accounted for our learning curve and directed our paths accordingly.  It's fool-proof!

So I'll return to where I started:  we, all of us, were created to hear and to know God.  There is none excluded from that possibility.  I'm treading some supernatural ground right now, and it's what differentiates my experience as one who acknowledges my Creator from the experience of another who's just buying the current expectations and information at face value.  But we don't have to settle for status quo in our lives or in our kids' lives or in the world around us.

Because God is talking. 

(to you.)

Because God Himself Identifies with You, Loves You...

Been remembering this since it first popped up on my little daily verse thingie on April 10:

"At the supreme moment of His dying, Jesus so identified Himself with men and the depths of their predicament and agony that no man can now sink so low that God has not gone lower."  -Os Guinness

How encouraging!...even moreso that upon His resurrection and revolutionary defeat of those depths, we can take His hand and by the Spirit walk up, up and out, till we're soaring far above it all by His grace and love and Truth and might. 

I hate cliche religious talk, so I apologize if this all sounds like mere religious banter.  I know it to be so real and earth-shattering that my heart skips a beat to ponder His goodness and BIGNESS, and intimate relatability.

Whether you've always believed, never believed, or did once but got jaded along the way, don't ever let your or someone else's religious activity/expectation/habit drive you away from, or stand in replacement of, the totally explosive, radiant, life-altering, mind-blowing, heart-swelling LIFE that is a relationship with the One who loves you.

"If" by Rudyard Kipling

 

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And don't look too good, nor talk to wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

Clearing Out the Cobwebs

I always tell the kids that it's OK to feel negative emotions, to be disappointed or angry or sad.  Such emotions are natural.  But I always tell them to never let those things grow big in their hearts and take over.  They can acknowledge those things and mourn or cry or talk or ask questions, and then through all that, they can find a way to get beyond the issue.  I tell them to guard their hearts, to guard their emotions, to guard their thoughts, to ask their heavenly Father and their brother/Savior/King Yahshua to help them stand guard.  I tell them that to harbor those negative things is to give them power, and that power can eventually grow so big as to take over inside them and make them feel worse; they can lead to bitterness, offense, unforgiveness, and an overall yucky feeling inside.  If someone hurts them, shame on that person.  But if they let it grow big inside them, shame on them.  That's no one else's fault but their own, which is the same for all of us.  All the sudden, perspective is gone, God's true reality is lost in the mess, and they could find themselves beholden to a lie.

It's all about perspective and walking that fine line between what's real and what's...real. 

Because we have before us what's real:  our experiences, good, bad, neutral.

We also have before us what's real:  the word and purpose and identity of Yahweh, Truth, always good, sometimes uncomfortable, never neutral.  He calls us higher, to come up here where our view is above the storm.

Yahweh's word, written in the Bible and spoken to you, is what's really real.  The spirit realm is real.  And if we get to know Him and His great love for us, His heart and purpose for us, we begin to understand something that often transcends our experience.  We then have the glory of walking out our life in a way that makes our experiences match His Truth.  For example, if your parents told you that you were never good enough, you might have that ingrained in your identity and might respond to a lot in life out of that feeling of lack.  But Yahweh sees worth in you.  Which is more real?  Your experience or His word?  Even though you feel your experience, it's a lie.  His word is all that matters.  Sometimes our experience is a lie, even though it's the one thing right in front of our faces. 

I have to laugh, because in my recent post about life's challenges, I got some replies that made me think I may have come off as pretty down.  I didn't mean to do that!  But it's OK.  I've read it a few more times and realize that some cobwebs did, in fact, creep in and muck up my perspective.  For instance, I am not often shell-shocked by the experience of being a mommy, even though I said that.  I am sometimes shell-shocked.  For sure.  It seems more often to me, because I'm used to having everything perfectly arranged and under control, and life is blissfully messy and spontaneous.  Truth is, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I could go on and on about personal stuff that is a-brewin' right now, but that's not important.  What's important is that life is always a-brewin', thank the Lord.  It's got mountains with glorious vistas, valleys with quicksand and desperation, oceans full of life and light over here but murky shadows over there.  That's all part of the adventure.  It's that way for us all.  The big question as you hike along your way is, who is your guide?

What voice do you trust to help you navigate your path, to tell you what's worthy of your attention?

[Insert a joke here about Justin Bieber that I decided to remove.  ;)]

So many voices want to crowd the others out and become big in your head, spreading out like cobwebs, causing confusion and distraction.  For prophetic people who are somewhat like radios with giant antennae and access to every station all at once, things can get really loud and full of static, and fast.  Someone said one of my sentences in the "challenge" post had 66 "and"s in it.  That's a lot of noise. 

Or, to sound cliche, merely being a part of our wonderful generation brings its noise from all the access to information and entertainment that we have.  Oh, we must guard our minds and our hearts.  So many voices.

To be proactive rather than reactive is a steady, willful choice.  To reach up and swipe away all the cobwebs is an act of liberty.  Maybe every one of them represents something on your radar that's even good or worthwhile, but if it's distracting and not for now, let it go.   

The cobwebs come down, the grating noises slowly die away, and the weight that tried to aggrandize itself is lifted like the inconsequential vapor it really is.  "My yoke is easy; My burden is light," He smiles.  Therein we are free to relax and smile back, "I love you!  I've come to do Your will!"  It all boils down to a relationship with the God of the mountains, the valleys, the oceans, the galaxies, the atoms, you.  To know Him, to know His voice, makes everything else so very small.

To close, here's an incredible and simple song that perfectly expresses my heart for this post, and it's been bubbling out of me all week.  My friend at church wrote it, and it is anointed and full of revelation. 

Your Word
(c) Misty Angelini 2010

In the quiet time, I am listening

I hear Your voice, calling me to go on

It's a refreshing wind, touching everything

Removing all that is not of You

And I lay down my dreams

I set aside all Your promises

I lay them at Your feet

And I listen for Your word

For You alone are my strength

You alone can lead me deeper

My passion lies in You

I live and die by Your word

And here's an ultra high-tech, squished-to-fit video if you want to take a listen:  :)

Have a happy day of lucid vision and peace in Him, and as always, thanks for stopping by.  :) 



The Goofiest Love

If in the last post we talked about the reality of life's challenges--and the greater reality that we've totally got this even when we don't have all the answers--well today we ought to relish some gushy stuff.  Hallmark wants us to, and I don't need much arm-twisting this Mother's Day to kiss the fool outta my babies.

I am totally gaga in love with them.

Mother's Day is usually all about what we do for them, but I can't help but be moved today by the profound impact they have on me, effervescent and curious and hilarious as they are. 

(Yahweh's kind of a sneaky one that way.) 

They also have an especially profound impact on my appearance...

And despite this hair, she's still smiling.  Who wouldn't be moved?

Happy Every Day to all you mothers!

I Have No Idea What I'm Doing

What on earth is going on??!!

From where I sit, a noticeable portion of me and my crowd are wading through what appears to be a constant deluge of challenge.  Complaining's of no use, so I'll avoid it at all cost, but something mighty fishy is going on!

Adelaide is almost three, and I keep putting off potty training her.  Levi was about three when he officially got it, and I don't put a lot of pressure on the process.  Obviously.  But now I know she's ready, and I am determined not to buy another package of diapers!  No pressure, right?  Today, I decided to put Adelaide in regular underwear so she'd feel when she went and then complain about it and start putting things together in her mind.  She peed about 4 times in the first hour and didn't say a word to me; I just discovered the puddle or her saggy, wet underwear.  The girl doesn't care.  Next approach.

Roxie is a mama's girl.  Levi and Adelaide were used to being passed off at church services to other people while Jed and I lead worship when they were only a few months old.  But with Roxie, I stepped down from that activity at Yahweh's leading.  So I held her constantly.  I nursed her for a year.  She. Loves. Her Mom.  They say that during this age, they have their favorite adult, and that adult is also the one on which they are the hardest, on which they unleash their greatest disdain and displeasure and need.  If I'm out of the room, Roxie will play contentedly and have fun.  If I walk through the room to get something, the little peach will start screaming at me relentlessly to pick her up.  Then she'll fuss about the other things that aren't right, whatever those are, because she doesn't speak English yet.  She just started walking, and she loves to climb, so when I'm not holding her, I pretty much follow her around anxiously.  She is the sweetest thing, but this bit she's practicing on me is nothing short of emotional terrorism, and I'm a blubbering mess.  Well, I was.  Now, after a conversation this afternoon with another grown-up, I'm realizing I've been totally played by the most classic of wee manipulations.  Roxie, I'm on to you, little peanut dollface.

Levi is magnificent.  He is curious, inventive, smart, and sensitive.  He is so sensitive.  Because he is older, and so capable that I often find myself treating him as older than he is, and because the girls require so much of my, well, everything--attention, mental focus, patience, deep breathing, creative magic-working, emotional energy, physical presence--when the girls go down for a nap, I either want to space out or I have grown-up work that needs my attention.  And my son, who craves quality attention, sometimes doesn't get it because it's all going to the girls.  And my heart breaks.  And he does get one-on-one attention, especially with homeschooling, and it's good for kids to grow up realizing they have to share with others and incorporate their identities and expectations into the family, but there are those moments when it transcends all that, and I'm beat, and he is gracious, and I love him.

My heart cries out to be the very best mommy, to represent Yahweh accurately, to expose them to all kinds of greatness in the world and in the spirit.  But here's a little secret. 

I have no idea what I'm doing. 

This is especially difficult, because I'm good at everything. *cough*  It's no indication of my character or worth as a human being; it's just one of the strengths/weaknesses/flaws/quirks/facts about me and my personality.  It's just a phrase, too, because there's plenty I'm not good at.  <--Like reworking every sentence that ends in a preposition.  But because my experience has been a proclivity to understand situations and patterns and information and therefore to "get" stuff, I am really in a jam.  Because in what I consider to be my most important job, rearing these sweetlings that are a treasure from God, I am pretty shell-shocked most of the time. 

I am also not a great homemaker.  It's true.  So true.  I mean, we have a home.  It is homey and ecclectic, and it is ours, and we are cozy here.  But it is not spotless, and my battle with clutter is ongoing.  I need someone to lay hands on me and impart some kinda mystery ability, 'cause I ain't got it.  It has never been Priority 1, but I'm getting better.  I ask Yahweh to please help me care about it more, because sometimes I just don't care about all that stuff the way I feel I should.  I care so much about other things, just not that as much.  Anyway, I climb uphill on that one as well.  

Then there's the rest of life: the people we love, our purpose on the grander scale, our relationship with God, making ends meet financially, demonstrating to our kids the principles that matter in the everyday, getting outside, raging against the machine, and other such stuff.

Then there's the other other stuff: mail, dirty floors, grocery trips, selling stuff, getting to the post office, leftovers, spills, pee puddles, kids crying, crying, crying, be it of the screeching kind or the deeper, hurt sobs, and this little list of the mundane could fill pages if I kept going. 

At freshman orientation at Boston University, my welcoming faculty counselor read my essay and looked up with raised eyebrows.  "Are you sure you don't want to be a philosophy major?" he inquired.  There was no way I was letting staff at Boston University teach me philosophy; this much I knew.  No, I was Poli. Sci. all the way.  But he said it, because I philosophize.  I have a lot of stuff going on in my head.  Always. 

I think about feeding my family real food and what I must do to learn more about that and how to do it economically and how to find the time to research it all and uplifting the vision of Yahweh and my apostle for New England and even the world and keeping my kids safe from harm when we're walking the park in our small town where creepy little groups come out right after dinnertime and they're probably fine but I am on red alert that whole stroll because I'm ready to mangle anyone who does anything to my kids and about type1 diabetes and how it's very different from type 2 and people say, "Is that the scary one?" and I have to put my hand around Levi's shoulder as I say, "Not to us," and how we can beat this thing that can be beaten even though a bunch of thugs say it's incurable and how I fight every day, every meal for his life, and go on like it's not happening inside me and how media is a great big crock of mularkey and needs Kingdom people to work hard and qualify themselves and get in that place of authority and also in education and health and politics and every high place that influences the lives of the masses so that rightness can flow freely and how I want to adopt every child in need on the whole face of the planet and how I want Jed to have his own, fully equipped studio because his heart beats for it and he is passionate about it and he is anointed for it and masterful at it and called to it and how I have song lyrics and melodies bouncing around inside me looking for a piece of paper upon which they can rest so that they can then soar out into the atmosphere and how I wish I had time to write them and how it's the exact same with my book that plugs along in fits and spurts but I cannot let it die because it wants to live and how the fire of Yahweh and His truth burn in me and how I see my friends go through struggles of their own and I pray my face off for their victory because sometimes I see the behind the scenes spiritual aspects and I fight, fight, fight, because I am a fighter and I will go to bat for the Body and I intercede and direct traffic in the spirit realm and how I want my kids' homeschool education to be stellar and I want all my kids' hearts to beat for Yahweh and to love truth, justice, life, kindness, while also being violent for those things and how I can hardly stand to see or read anything relating to abortion and how I want my kids to have good, rich memories of a warm, thoughtful, smart mom who guided and loved them and always had her face set to Yahweh and His word and who fought for them and lived for them and also showed them they were not the center of all things so that they could be grounded and refreshed and off-the-hook on that count and how I want to lift Jed's arms and show him how desperately I admire him and to keep little toys and random articles of clothing off the floor and how I know in 2 or 3 years I'll look back on these days that seemed just moments ago and reflect fondly on all the sweetness and loveliness and hilariousness of having ones so small and so demanding and so loving and how right this second when I just need to catch my breath I have to fight the wrong thought that wants to make me feel guilty.  For I don't remember what.

I've never considered myself high-strung.  But right now, I'm seeing challenge all around me (and in my own life that's not just related to child-rearing), exacerbated by the sweet challenge of the everyday, especially with kids so little.  To the degree that it's a push from the enemy; that is, the dark side, Satan's minions, what have you; it's been what we've called a war of attrition.  A constant, incessant pushing, pushing, pushing.  Sometimes you're having some hard days, and you can't pinpoint just exactly why it's so crunchy, but man, is it ever crunchy.  You know something's up.  Some people say something's in the air or there must be a full moon.  Maybe.  But sometimes you're under a little attack.  And when you've set yourself for the ultimate purpose of establishing the Kingdom of God and eradicating the holds of sin and death and, there they are, those minions again, well, they get scared of you and try to stop you in one form or another.  It's usually in your thoughts.  So guard those.  With your life.  'Cuz those little buggers are weaklings, but they can spin a yarn.

So I've never considered myself high-strung, but I've had to address stress in my life lately.  And with aaaaaaaaall that and more going on in my head and heart, I begin to feel like that proverbial rubberband that's streeeeeeeeeeeetched to its eeevvveeeerrrr-lloooooovvvvviiinnnnnnng limit, so close to snapping. 

If I have seemed at any point to any of you to be someone who has it all together, I do not.  I am strong.  And my faith in Yahweh is rock solid.  But that is my cornerstone.  I know who has the answers, and I'm eternally grateful.  And I believe what He says about me and allow it to make me stronger and better because of His presence in me.  But it is only because of His presence in me.  Otherwise, I'd surely have been found in some ditch years ago.  But sometimes I lose my temper and realize I'll have to spend the rest of the day saying however many true and gloriously uplifting things to the kids to undo whatever damage I surely caused them when I did snap.  No, I'm not a shrink.  Yes, I believe our words matter.  So yes, I'm serious; I go out of my way to encourage them to high heaven and back, above and beyond my normal affectations, when I have spoken to them in a way that I know in my spirit is wrong. 

But it's not lost on me that a significant number of people are fighting significant battles, some deeply personal.  I am too.  And it's no coincidence, and guess what?  We've already won, come what may.  This is how you're used to me talking--about rising up.  I felt down in my gut that since so many are going through things, maybe it might be nice to see another layer of my life that shows that we all go through storms.  Most of the time you hear from me about crossing and staying the course and reaching the other side, with little mention of the storm.  But, dude, trust me.  I know enough of storms.  And sometimes they're crazy, and I have no idea what's going on.  But that's OK.  I don't have to know; sometimes it's when we're really out there on a limb and beyond our understanding that we really break through into the good stuff that only comes from Him.  And sometimes I feel the weight of little eyes on me to see how we'll come through.  And I turn my eyes to Yahweh, and say, "Come on, babies, let's worship."  I cry to Yahweh for help, for guidance, and He most certainly gives it.  And I decide to keep sailing.  I decide to keep standing.  I decide to keep pushing. 

I decide to lean into the storm and speak words of fire, words of my God from the direction only He could give, for I am His daughter, and I give the charge, "PEACE!  BE STILL!"  And I manage my craft and steer until we've lighted safely ashore by the grace of God.  Heart, hope, passion, yearnings; they are all unto Him. 

And there it is!  Aaahhh... Sweet rest in Him.  May that be your experience and anchor no matter how your storm is raging.  Light and goodness triumph.  They must.  :)

When Demons Crave Attention, and We Keep Our Gaze on Yahweh, and They Run Crying Back to Hell

We were in church, and the man was just writhing all over the floor.  Every wiry muscle was tensed and stringy under his taut skin, and his face grimaced in rage and pain.  He was baring his teeth, growling and screeching.  Did I mention we were in church?

I was standing in front of a microphone up front with the rest of the band, pouring out my heart, helping to lead our time of praise and edification. 

It was really weird.  I know the demonic is real and am not surprised by how weird they are, but it's so seldom that they raise such a ridiculous ruckus in our services that it sort of surprised me.

But here's one thing I love about my apostle.  Just listen to how he handled it.

Sometimes with spirit-filled believers where there tends to be a degree of revelation about and familiarity with spiritual warfare, there can be a tendency for everyone to hone in on that thing and go after it ferociously till it's gone.  It's an opportunity for us to demonstrate our God's might and victory and how He abides in us.  It's an opportunity for us to test out what we believe.  But it's also an opportunity for the demonic to create a scene and be a giant, dramatic distraction:  "Pay attention to ME!!"

But in this case, instead of allowing it to create that giant, dramatic distraction, my apostle very calmly, and with kingly resolve, summoned a couple of pastors and leaders in the church and instructed them to remove the man to a church office just a few yards away and handle the demon privately. 

The Calm Voice of Authority

He could have gone right down into the fray and commanded that thing then and there.  He's certainly dealt with the demonic plenty of times.  But what he did and said instead have spoken to me all these years later.

First, he trusted the job to some of the other men.  He didn't treat the demon like a formidable enemy that needed him to drop everything and go after it, because it isn't.  But he did see those men as mighty, capable sons of God, because they are.  He knew he could just say the word and move on.

Second, here's what he said:  "I have a specific word to deliver today and specific instructions of what's on Yahweh's heart and what He wants ministered here.  I will not allow some ridiculous demon to come in and get us off course.  We'll handle it privately so we can get on with Kingdom business out here."

So the men hauled the demonized man to the office and worked on his behalf.  I say "hauled" not because they were callous about it, but with all his protestations and flailing, it was quite the ordeal.  Once back there, they told the demon to get lost, and it did.  They set out to free that man of the onslaught of oppression, and they did.

Meanwhile, we moved on with church and gained ground and rejoiced. 

Holy Spirit asked,

"Why are you singing to them?"

Apostle sometimes tells us a story about his days under his own apostle in Panama City, FL, where he was the youth and children's pastor.  One day during a powerful youth service, they were singing passionately a song, telling demons and dark spirits that they were pushing them back.  Everyone was all fired up and really into it when Apostle heard Holy Spirit say, "Why are you singing to them?"

And he thought for a second and realized that was a very good question.  So now he is very careful to teach us not to get our gaze so far off on what the devil is doing when all we need to do is keep our gaze steadily fixed on the very real work our God is doing.  Beating darkness is only accomplished through shining a light.

I will probably be writing more about my apostle and the apostolic in days to come, because I love him and it's really important.  Even in spiritual warfare, which is odd and exciting and just like stories in the Bible, he is steady and listening for Yahweh's direction in that moment, rather than behaving defensively as a reaction.  Some of us can get so giddy with our authority in God that we then get giddy to wield it, which is not totally wrong, but then we might lose focus and become enamored with the demonic, always trying to discern what they're doing so we can head them off.

But who really cares what they're doing?  They're lawless, clueless, and scared.  If Yahweh wants to tell you what's going on with them so that you have direction or discernment, then listen.  But one thing I love about my apostle is demonstrated in this little post of mine. 

He cares what Yahweh's doing.  That's always been and always will be all that counts for anything, and it has given me life-sustaining perspective and strength in the highs and lows and strangeness and normalcy of this wondrous, crazy privilege of life.

Firing Fake Food and Loving Living Off the Land

The living, breathing earth we inhabit is magnificent.

We marvel at its splendor,
richness,
fiery bursts, and
ocean depths. 

Words fail us.

Within its orb we find everything we need to live. 

So full of wealth,
created for our sustenance
and enjoyment,
it invites us not merely to survive here...

We can flourish,
respect the earth,
toil in the earth,
learn the earth,
utilize the earth,
enjoy the earth,
feed from the earth,
and prosper
abundantly. 

It was created to be so, and it is good.

The various outcries for cleaner, purer food are refreshing and right.  They indicate an awareness that, at some point, we began to adulterate what was already right for us.  As part of the ever increasing kingdom of God and knowledge of mankind, we have made discoveries and birthed ideas and inventions that have radically improved our human condition.  All improvements, however, must stand to be tested and proven.  In some cases, we've sought and bought convenience and free time, yet all the while our lives have become more frenetic and complicated.  The statement itself is so cliche we want to roll our eyes at it.  We're so civilized.

It would appear, in the end, that we've created a world in which we are no longer required to be tied to the earth for our livelihood.  We tread on concrete.  We have a chemical to make it better.  We have a factory.  We have a loophole where we can cram as many living creatures into such tight quarters that they grow diseased.  But we have an antibiotic for that.  We'll disease them, treat them, make them bigger faster, slaughter them, sell the unnatural abnormality to the masses, and call it "meat."  It would appear to be meat.  Maybe it started out that way.  One thing our culture must conquer is the lie of appearances.

We've moved from land to cities where we remain mostly singular and anonymous in our existence.  Our communities are not likely to be familial, and our lives are much less likely to be rooted to the land in any capacity (at least that we are aware, though we must recall that our food, however bastardized it is, still started there).  Agriculture has taken on a somewhat banal, old-fashioned reputation.  It's sweet and cute, like little white church steeples that remind us of our grannies and, more importantly, how far we've come.  We've learned how to make babies in test tubes and turn our corn into a body builder.  We have chemicals to make our food make us a higher profit margin.  We individuals mustn't mess about any longer with heirloom seeds and soil and sunshine and waiting for the first sprig of life to poke through the ground.  We mustn't mess about with tending the sprig, nurturing it, relentlessly pulling the weeds to see the once-seed transformed and resurrected into a life-giving plant full of fruit, fruit full of hundreds more seeds.  At least, it would appear that way.  We mustn't even mess about with paying the just price to a true farmer who wants to take the time, spend the energy getting hands dirty, to do it the original way, removing his hat, wiping sweat from his forehead, surveying his land with pride. But perhaps this last bit is changing.

The problem at the heart of it is money.  We might add habit and convenience as worthy of blame, but they are residuals.  It appears that somewhere along the line, greed and self-service, coupled with a desire for more gain with less pain, might have weasled into our decision making, or that of industry leaders. 

We can argue around it, because it makes us feel squirmy to look it in the face.  The truth remains, however.  We must permit it to change our thinking so that we can tackle the face value issue blinking red in front of us, our health and that of our land. 

We must consider.  Is it really too costly or inconvenient to buy organic?  To buy from the local farmer?  To tend our own small garden?  We can do any or all of these options, or take another approach.  Our generation can see an inescapable connection between two things:  the distance our food has been altered from its original form, and the rampant diseases plaguing our civilized culture.  Of course, this glosses over the other significant issue of the negative impact--diseases, death, impotence--that our decisions are hammering into the natural order of creation that is meant to sustain us, thereby effectively making it much harder for us, and our children, to make it right again.  The natural world, including humans, is meant to be gloriously interdependent and interconnected.  From such a vantage point, the cost of real food (as opposed to the appearance of food we are usually sold) seems like a steal when we consider what all is truly at stake.

As doom, gloom, and fear saturate our media and should not be our primary motivators, however, let's not settle in that mess.  Let's move on.  We can remove ourselves from that which is wrong and move forward with hope toward that which is right.

From a practical perspective, when families live on a budget in a world that has shaped their lives to be dependent on a system that has deviated from the original products of the land, how do such families (real people, real children, real concerns, you and I) shift the balance and pursue the more costly, but overwhelmingly healthier, options?  First, it absolutely can be done.  It will take the obvious: retraining.  We people are extraordinarily adaptable.  We mustn't be fooled into believing that we're all so set in our ways that making changes is so very difficult.  It can, and ought to, be a challenge and an adventure, but it need not always be an uphill struggle.

The best approach is always action:

• Decide now that we will not become overwhelmed.  We are the boss of this process.
• Turn our wrists and read the label.  If it's a can of beans with a long list of ingredients with which we are not familiar, it should at some point go on the chopping block.  Start a running list of the weird, extra ingredients and research what they are.  Some of them are fine. Most of them are not. 
• Go where the good stuff is; this often just means the Organic/Health Food aisle at our favorite supermarkets.  Find out that many of the prices are not so frightening after all.  Do some research and mark up our grocery lists with prices. Start incorporating what is immediately affordable, even if it's only one thing.
• Keep it simple.  Simplify some of our meals.  Simplify our expectations.  Our culture in general honestly believes that our food must be an event; it must entertain and stuff us and make us feel better about our day.  It must not be dirty from the ground; it must be beautiful and big and bold.  This is not true.  Feasting has its place, oh yes.  Everyday is not that place. 
• Go slow and steady.  Take the pressure off, and as we are able, make one change, two changes at a time.  Start with those items we use most often that have the most additives and preservatives and other harmful substances.  Replace those with a brand that keeps it pure.  Or cut back on those items and replace them with something new and unadulterated.  Realize that every change we implement becomes a part of life for our children who will not have to fight this battle.  Thank God.

As with any new venture, it seems foreign, so foreign, just so very scary and foreign, until we take the first step, at which point we realize maybe it was never all that mysteriously overwhelming after all.  Once we get the hang of it, some of us might decide to start a little patio garden and grow a few tomatoes.

A couple months later, that fortunate soul might discover the exquisite taste and ease of homemade tomato sauce coupled with the gratifying peace that comes from putting into our mouths that which was meant to go into our mouths. 

And as one tends the soil that nurtures those tomatoes and witnesses the miracle of their growth, providing nourishment for our lives, one also might find that the time and the wait are worth the final product.  One might discover the satisfying camaraderie with the earth that all those "old-fashioned" farmers have relished in quiet from the dawn of time. 

Author's Note:
I am pro-business and believe that profits are good.  I do not affiliate with a political party, but anyone who knows me would say correctly that I tend to lean to the right on most issues.  Business ought to be free to grow and succeed, but not at any cost.  Where ethics are compromised and consumer health and welfare are jeopardized, knowingly, a change must occur.  I wholeheartedly believe that the food industry as a whole, and the politicians they have purchased, have entered unethical territory.  I also believe that they have punctuated what we all know: money talks.  Ideally, and I believe and prophesy that this is happening, clever business people and leaders and politicians with brains and a steady moral compass will realize that there's a stirring in our culture for real food again, and will follow our money as they make decisions.  But in the end, we must realize one thing:  the big guns should not, and really can not, rule our lives or what we put in our mouths.  We are joined to the earth.  No matter where we are, or what options are available to us, there are indeed options available to us, and the choice is ours.  And if we want them to follow our money, we have to start spreading that scent where we want them to go.

Roxie Evelyn: Our Little Slice of Heaven

Easing in like a gentle snowfall, with the commanding weight of a blizzard, Miss Roxie has been a true gift from Yahweh beyond anything we could ever ask or think.  Sometimes we're knocked off our feet, sometimes we're swept off our feet, and sometimes we're both.  Yahweh, You do all things well!

Our little paradox, sweet and spicy, first made herself known as a minor yucky feeling in her mama.  I (the mama) had an 11-month-old and her big brother, and no one has ever been more clueless than this lady who was pregnant and totally unaware of it.  I had been feeling yucky for a good month before I mentioned it to a friend. 

"Uh, you're pregnant," she said without hesitation.

"Ridicu..." I started to think before a sudden knowing ignited, and I glanced at the calendar.

"I'll call you back!" I hung up the phone and ran upstairs.

I already knew it was true.  Five minutes later, an inanimate stick wielded a strange degree of authority in its confirmation.  Calling Jed, I was giddy with surprise, delight, awe, shock...  Jed says he was in a gas station and proceeded to walk around the aisles in surprise, delight, awe, shock until he forced himself to remember what he was doing before racing up to the cashier exclaiming, "I'm gonna have a BABY!" 

Our first two bundles of joy were announced to us before they were conceived, a gracious anticipation surrounding it all.  But being blindsided is a whole other excitement: "Who is this one?  Is it a he or a she?" For the first time, we didn't know!

Well now we know.  She is a delight in every way.  From her mild nature to her unabashed requests for assistance in no uncertain terms, Roxie doesn't overbear yet also doesn't shrink to the background. 

She looks you right in the eye to read your soul, just before she leans in to nuzzle her forehead against yours.  An old soul in a spritely little package, you know you can trust her to keep your secrets and have a goofy good time.

She's the blondie, Miss Blue Eyes, the curly-haired, left-handed one.  She knew we needed a little shaking up!  She loves a good joke, a good story, bobbing to music, being chased, and especially being caught.  She loves her mama, owns her daddy, and thinks her siblings are great fun. 

Sometimes you get flowers on your anniversary or your birthday.  They are celebratory, extravagant, lovely, and never diminished by the expectation that they'll arrive.  They make your heart flutter and draw out the sigh or the laugh or even the tear of joy. 

And sometimes, you get flowers on a random Friday.  Blindsided by beauty.  Overwhelmed by the thoughtful, delightful, unexpected gift.  Usually a more playful, less formal bouquet of brightness, they make your heart flutter and draw out the sigh and the laugh.  Maybe even a tear of joy.

So my dear Miss Roxie Evelyn Finley, my bright star, my hazelnut, my dawn, my beautiful bird, my breath of life, my unexpected bouquet:  Happy 1st Birthday!

Through you, we've seen heaven and earth collide, and this first year of easy fun, bright eyes, giggles, and sweetness has without a doubt been one more slice of His Kingdom come to earth as it is in heaven. 

I bless you to follow the path Your Creator has laid out for you.  To see beyond what others see, to choose the higher path, to always have your feet rooted in Him, and your spirit soaring with His.  Others will rely on you and find you trustworthy and steady, but it will never be a burden as you dance before your King, feet barely touching the ground.

We thank and praise Yahweh for you every day and love you so much, sweet doll!

Happy Birthday!