Learning About Myself through Others

Have you ever noticed that when you think you're in a position to teach someone, or comfort someone, or change someone's life, you end up being taught, comforted or changed in ways you didn't expect? I've had this happen several times in my life, so I don't know why it comes as such a surprise to me that it has happened again.

The first time that I can recall this happened was when a very dear friend and mentor of ours was diagnosed with Leukemia at the age of 60. When we found out that this amazing, robust, artistic man had received such grim news and had immediately been admitted the hospital for aggressive treatment, my first thought was, "What can I possibly offer him?" I hadn't experienced such illness in my life. As a matter of fact, I'd only really had to go through the death of one family member, my grandmother, and I'd been too young to fully understand what was happening.

But here was a man who had been like a father to my husband, had welcomed him into his home during a particularly rocky time in his life, and had offered himself as a spiritual guide. He had seen us through no small difficulties and witnessed some of the ugliest moments of our lives. He had given us so very much. What could we possibly offer? So for quite some time--a week? a month? I can't quite recall--I resisted visiting him in the hospital. I felt so guilty, and yet I couldn't bring myself to do any differently.

It was just before Easter, and my two young children had been busily decorating egg-shaped cupcakes. They turned out so beautifully that I had an idea. The children and I would brighten our friend's day with a plate of these festive Easter cupcakes. So, on a warm Spring day, I loaded the children into the car, my belly swollen with the second trimester of pregnancy, and we made the trek to the hospital to see our friend for the first time since his diagnosis.

Reed was so vibrant, even in the final stages of his cancer, but one thing he absolutely could not do was eat. He had lost quite a bit of weight, and just the idea of food made him queasy. As a result, our cupcakes were useless and I, likewise, felt useless, too.

But as I sat in my awkwardness, desperately searching for something to offer my friend, reminding a four- and five-year-old not to touch that, and not to climb there, Reed did something amazing. He comforted me. He shared his thoughts, and his peace, and his joy with me, and he let me know that he was content with what the Lord was doing in his life, and that I should be, too.

I walked away from the hospital room that day in such awe that this man, who I had sought to comfort, had ended up comforting me.

Three months later, on the due date of my third child, I stood with Reed's wife and other loved ones as Reed took his last breath on this earth and stepped into eternity with God. As I stood there on that Thursday afternoon, my stomach tensed and hardened with early contractions. A week later, Monet would be born, and would be given Reed's name as a middle name. He, too, would become a gifted artist.

Once again, I find myself in a place where I have been unsure about how well I would be able to serve and teach.

Once again, I'm being served. I'm being taught.

Two weeks ago, we welcomed a young man into our home from Swaziland for a six-month stay as part of a international voluntary exchange program. Our guest, who I will call Rejoice because that's what his name means, has been such a blessing to me and has already begun to teach me so much about who I am, what I believe, and how my life affects the world and those around me. His politeness, eagerness to learn and amazing dedication to Christ have been sources of much introspection for me.

Over the next six months, I'll be writing about Rejoice, about welcoming him into our family, and about the amazing lessons I'm learning along the way.

Please help me to welcome Rejoice into the Today's Lessons family!

Lurkers, delurk!

Bo has been dealing with some issues at work lately that leave him pretty frustrated when he gets home at the end of the day. I'm trying to get some input on how to handle these frustrations and wondering how much of the day other people lose by sounding off about their work day after they've come home.

So, I'd really like to hear from you. How much time do you spend grumbling about your work day? If you're a stay-at-home spouse, how much time does your spouse spend talking about work frustrations? How do you handle these frustrations?

If you're reading and lurking, I'd really love to hear your input.

Question...

Indulge me: how much time do you/does your spouse spend per day decompressing or blowing off steam about work once you're off the clock and at home?

Things I Am Thankful For Today

I do an awful lot of grumbling and complaining, so for these next five minutes, I'm going to list every thing I can think of that I'm thankful for.

Thank you, God, for:

My five beautiful children;
their good health;
my good health;
my husband's good health;
a beautiful home;
a great community;
a wonderful church full of people who are loving;
being able to stay home and orchestrate my own day;
great food;
this incredible computer that lets me do so much;
my iPod, with which I am learning so much;
the ability to communicate with friends and family;
my daughter's ability to go to college and not pay a thing;
cats who are fun to watch;
neighbors who let us live our lives;
my dad, who vacuums the house and loads the dishwasher every day;
a very comfortable bed and bedroom;
friends;
the ability to clean and declutter;
the views from my windows;
living in a place where we get to experience all four seasons in their fullest;
a vehicle that runs;
getting snowed in every once in a while;
great food stores nearby;
chocolate cake;
the freedom to home educate my children;
the freedom to learn every day;
Monet's artwork;
Sweetheart's great, helpful attitude;
clean, running water;
the organization that's part of our church that helps others have clean, running water;
extended family;
photography;
vitamins;
pizza;
blogging;
affirmation.

That's as far as I could get in five minutes, though there's much, much more to be thankful for.

What are *you* thankful for?

The World Around Me

70

This is one reason I love the internet. Fun, educational games like this always remind me of how much I still need to learn as an adult. ;-) I've been messing around with this little challenge for about a week now. I didn't do so well the first time. I think I got 37 on my maiden attempt. Bo, the amazing thing he is, got 78. My goal is 100, because I don't think I could type faster than that. You have to spell the countries correctly, but you needn't capitalize. I'd love to hear how you do!

::: i love this face :::

I absolutely love this face. Love it. Love it. Love it. I never would have thought in a million years that I'd have a daughter so fun, beautiful and intelligent, yet there she is, in all of her red-headed, brown-eyed glory.

And yesterday? She was a baby. Just toddling after me, thinking I was the greatest thing that ever lived. To see her all grown up, on the cusp of turning nineteen, living away from home and running her own life, making new friends and amazing new people is so surreal to me.

If you have a little girl, you'd better stop what you're doing right this minute and go wrap your arms around her. Give her the biggest hug and the sloppiest kiss you can muster. Tell her how beautiful and amazing and smart she is (no matter what the child psychologists and friends and grandparents and experts say you should do/say). Bake some cookies with her, or watch her favorite movie with her (even if it's High School Musical), and let her know how awesome it is that she's alive and that she's spending her time with you.

Before you know it, she'll be nineteen, and she'll be away at college, and you'll be looking at pictures of her and wondering how it all went by so fast.

I know it's so banal to say these things, but I think that's because they're really, really true.

And now, I need to go spend some time with the two daughters who are at home getting their jammies on and asking for a story. I love their faces, too.

::: oh, to be a cat :::

What's it like to be a cat for a living? To spend one's days figuring out how to squeeze one's self into places that one would not normally care to squeeze into? To be enamored by every moving thing, whether it's the ladybug on the window, or the cursor on the computer screen, or the laser beam controlled by a teenage boy, or one's own tail?

What must life be like when one's only worries are when the people will rise and fill the food bowl, or banish one from the counter, or spill some cream as they're filling their coffee mugs? What must it be like to fill one's days with searching for the warmest beam of sunshine or the freshest basket of clean laundry or the last sleeping child? No worries about exercise, or relationships, or beauty. One simply knows that one looks good, even in one's graceful act of bathing.

And when one has an issue with a fellow cat, one simply lets out a horrifying hiss or a terrific growl, maybe even bats a clawed paw, and the message is clear. Soon enough, one will be playing with one's enemy, or one's tail, and all will be right with the world again.

When one needs a change of scenery or a safe hiding place, one has only to climb a tree, or curl up on a warm refrigerator, or perch atop an open door, and then one can have a view of everything, can bat at the people as they pass by, just for fun, or can completely ignore them, also just for fun. One can turn one's gorgeous green eyes upon the people, or turn and lift one's tail with dignity; one can choose to pay attention, or to not, but one can not be ignored, whether one is lying on the keyboard or the newspaper or pawing at the yarn in the evening or at a person's face in the wee morning hours, hoping for a little nibble of something, or eager to leave a dead-mouse gift, or hoping to get the person's attention just long enough to ignore them.

If I were a cat for a living, I would rule the world, I'm sure. Mice would fear me, children adore me, trees cradle me. And no matter what I was doing, whether sleeping or bathing or eating or playing, I would always be gorgeous.

Midwinter

Ms. Booshay over at Quiet Life issued a photo challenge. Post the sixth photo in your sixth folder. Donna's is stunning. Mine is eh. Though shalt not covet they blog neighbor's camera and photographic eye. ;-)

It's now day five of some illness that has me feeling less-than-healthy. I've been spending this week in bed with a pounding head, fever and chills, throbbing eyeballs and wracking cough. Yesterday, I finally went to the doc because I was fairly sure I had the beginnings of sinusitis and bronchitis. The doc agreed. While we were in there, Bo had his nostrils swabbed for a flu test, which was very unpleasant (so he says. I closed my eyes and could only hear the procedure) and came back negative. Negative! Today, he's feeling the effects of a bad cold, he says, but not the flu. Could I just have a very bad cold that carries with it the classic symptoms of influenza?

But, as I often say, things like this are God's way of slowing us down, and I have been slowed w-a-y down, what with this unfriendly visitor and this amazing Midwestern weather. We're actually having a winter this year, and it has everyone in a tizzy! School called off day after day (ours continues on, of course), meetings canceled, practices postponed. People are bustin' out the sleds and skis. My neighbor has been so kind as to plow my long, country drive, sometimes multiple times a day. But now that I'm a mini-van mom, I'm still stuck here until the man with the snow tires gets home. So I've settled in, have just about worn out my iPod and wireless keyboard, and have drunk more licorice tea in the past week than most people drink in a lifetime.

Believe it or not, I've actually enjoyed this winter, even with the illness. I've awoken to so many beautiful sunrises, and, as I type, I'm blessed with the view of a gorgeous white dusting of snow on the huge silver maples. I love the clean whiteness. If I could have my way, it would stay like this until April, when the crocuses start popping up from the earth. I know that we won't have Spring in January or February, so it's just fine with me if the land lies dormant under the blanket of white. It's when it all melts and we have two or three months of ugly, brown, litter-strewn mud to contend with that my sadness kicks in, that I feel the effects of that terrible bleak midwinter.

I do have compassion for those who have to navigate the roads and sidewalks in this weather. I wish there were some way we could all do the sensible thing and just hibernate for these months, but I know that it's not realistic (though I've never been accused of being a realist!). But even in my compassion, I can't hide my excitement when I see these incredibly big, fluffy snowflakes that are even now dancing outside my window.

While I certainly look forward to spring, I know that it's quite a ways away. So, for now, I embrace winter!

Atta Girl!

The amazing Bard was named to her university's Dean's List for the Fall 2008 semester!

She's enjoying school, taking voice and guitar lessons, is one of the producers for a weekly live soap-opera type performance, landed a role in God's Favorite--this term's theater production, sings with the Women's Choir, is enrolled in several Honors classes, tutors part time, and is double majoring in English and Communications.

Not too shabby, eh?

Happy Birthday, Baby!

While it's technically not The Baby's birthday yet, we celebrated on Saturday while her older sister was home from college (and continue to celebrate this week).

It's strange for me celebrating this birthday with my littlest little. After all, this is the first time in my life that my youngest child is older than four. With all other children, by that time, there was another baby here. So now, I have a six year old, and no babies. And this will likely be the last six-year-old birthday I'll celebrate with one of my own children. It's strange and sad and sweet and surreal. I'll miss having littles of my own around, especially since this age, five and six, are my very favorite ages.

A friend updated her twitter with a status about reading picture books to her youngest little, and how she'll miss reading them when her kids get older. It sent my heart racing, sent me into a minor panic. I hadn't thought of that! My youngest little is wandering right out of that picture book stage, and I'm not ready for that!

So today, we'll read a few picture books for The Baby (who will be given a new blogger name when she actually turns six), and Swallowdale for the middles, and I'll be assigning The Last Lecture of Houdin, my eldest boy.

Today's mantra: Embrace the Littles!

The Great Cupcake Adventure: Day Three!

Well, we're half-way done! Today, we made Pistachio Raspberry Cupcakes, and while they were really more like sweet muffins. they were certainly delicious (but the Ginger Molasses ones are still my favorite so far!). These cupcakes were unique from the others in that they were mixed entirely in the food processor. I used salted pistachios, since I couldn't find unsalted ones, and I omitted the added salt. Also, I used frozen raspberries because the fresh ones are out of season and quite expensive.

I can't remember what tomorrow's cupcakes are! I'll have to check with Sweetheart. Of course, I'll know soon enough, since tomorrow will come quickly!

The Great Cupcake Adventure: Day Two!

Today was a busy day, filled with doctor appointments, haircuts, fiddle lessons, a lunch outing and various errands. But we wanted to make sure we got our cupcakes in today, so we made them first thing this morning. What a wonderfully decadent breakfast!

Today's recipe was Ginger Molasses Cupcakes with Whipped Cream Topping. They were definitely a hit! I added four tablespoons of powdered sugar to the whipped topping. Just the right amount of sweetness. When we made the cupcakes, they really puffed up over the top, so I'd recommend only filling the tins half full. They also flopped when they were taken from the oven, which didn't affect the flavor one bit, but made them difficult to remove from the pan. I wonder if the "melted" butter was a typo? Not sure.

Anyway, they were very delicious!I venture to say they might end up being my favorite of all of them. Four more days and four more cupcake recipes to go! Tomorrow, Pistachio Cupcakes with Raspberries.

The Great Cupcake Adventure: Day One!

The Baby is going to be six years old soon. To celebrate, we decided to dive into the latest Martha Stewart Living Magazine and make a different batch of cupcakes every day for six days. Today was Chocolate Chip with Chocolate Chip Buttercream Frosting. The verdict? Very, very sweet! If you make these, add a dash of salt to the icing to cut down on the sweetness!

Tomorrow, it's Ginger Molasses with Whipped Cream frosting.

::: the best prayer ever :::

"Dear God, I hope you had a good Christmas and I hope you went to Jesus' house for His birthday."
~The Baby, Age 5

::: come on, baby, light my tree :::

It's not really something I want to do, but I've begun anyway. If it were up to me, I'd probably have twinkling lights dotting my home all-year-round. But I'm not sure I like the connotations that come to mind when I think about Christmas lights on my house in July, so I've begun the process of de-holidazing my home.

After a trip to the local Stuff*Mart for a heap of plastic boxes (how much money do they make selling these things, doyathink?), it was time to start disassembling the decorations I'd assembled just a couple of weeks ago. Well, okay, maybe it was a couple of months ago. But it sure doesn't seem like it's been long since Monet was bugging me about going out to cut down our tree, which was finally put up and decorated on Christmas eve. I actually think we got the last tree they sold, as we were on the lot as the place was shutting down the day before Christmas eve.

And today, while Monet was disposing of said tree, now brittle and prickly with lack of life, he stuffed it into the burn barrel, lit it aflame, and then watched in panic as it tumbled out of the barrel and rolled, constantly combusting, toward the big red barn just west, and downhill, from the burn barrel. Flames, he says, were as high as the first floor of the treehouse, which is twenty feet off the ground, and he panicked as he envisioned the barn erupting into flames. He made haste toward the house, not quite knowing what to say, and stammered, "Can someone help me with this?" gesturing toward the flaming tree in the barnyard. Bo, not knowing what Monet could possibly need help with, looked at him with mild confusion/frustration/condescension, and then noticed the twenty-foot flaming mass of snapping, popping holiday spirit through the kitchen window. General panic ensued.

It's a very good thing that Christmas trees are quickly consumed by fire. It was all over in a matter of minutes and the barn was largely unharmed, thanks partly to Houdin, who grabbed flaming, smoldering pine branches with his bare hands. He says he has blisters to prove it. I wasn't here when the whole thing took place; I was out buying large plastic boxes to stash away our Christmas joy, so I have to take his word for it.

After all of the fun and fire had died down, Monet came up with this little piece of wisdom. "You know, when these things happen, no one thinks to stop and take a picture of it, because if they're taking a picture, they're not putting out the fire."

Yeah.

Kinda makes a girl appreciate her vintage-seventies fake, white tree with its retro-rotating base. Less chance of it catching the barn on fire.

Hope your post-holiday happenings are flame-free.

New Look, New Problems

I've wanted to overhaul my blog for a while, so I decided to do it today. I've saved my old template html, just in case I totally hate this, but in the meantime, I'm going to try this out. The problem is that it's been so long since I did this thing, I can't remember my haloscan username, and blogrolling is defunct, so if you were on my blogroll before and you're still active, drop me a line and I'll add you to my new one. If you've made comments within the last few days, I've read them but now they're lost in haloscan land. I've enabled comments for blogger but they don't seem to be showing up in old posts, so I'm still trying to figure that out. Anyway, here's to a new year and a new look.

Sunrise

If I had a spell of magic
I would make this enchantment for you
A burgundy heart-shaped medallion
With a window that you could look through
So that when all the mirrors are angry
With your faults and all you must do
You could peek through that heart-shaped medallion
And see you from my point of view
~David Wilcox

::: wintery thoughts on a wintery day :::

It's a child's dream, a snow like this. We didn't get it for Christmas, but we're welcoming it all the same. It's the time of year when we discover that we don't have enough matching gloves and mittens, or someone is missing their snowboots, or that a pair of pants doesn't fit under the snowsuit anymore. The snow bikes, snowboards and sleds are dug out from the barn, ramps are made, shovels are re-purposed from digging holes to making ramps, and I, the mother, venture out long enough to make an appearance, take a few trips on the sled, and get laughed at for my lack of snow savvy.
And then I head back inside to make a batch of homemade hot chocolate with real whipped cream, a dash of grated dark chocolate and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Everyone claims their favorite mug while I revel in a job well done, listening to the "oooohhhh!"s and "yum!"s as they drink it up.

It's great fun to look out onto the hillside from the warmth of my house and feel like I'm lazing around inside a giant snow globe.

I wish I were independently wealthy. I'd love to take my children downhill skiing. It was the only "sport" that I loved as a teen, aside from fishing. Every Monday after school, all season long, a group of us would climb aboard the bus with our ski club advisers and make the long drive to the closest slopes (Ohio isn't exactly known for its skiing spots) where we would suit up, pull on those giant ski boots, and do that awkward, clomping ski-boot-walk out to the lift. For hours, we'd ride up, ski down, ride up, ski down, the time passing so quickly that it was always a surprise when it was time to leave. I could ski anything on the slopes, from cruising the bunny hops to carving the moguls, and never sustained any injury, aside from maybe my pride every time I backed onto the lift chair, which I never really could get the hang of, or the few times I fell getting off the chair, which were probably the two hardest parts of skiing for me.

Still, I don't remember being intensely fearful of the process, except for the time that one of my club mates broke her leg. I don't think it had occurred to me up until then that one could actually get hurt having this much fun. I may have had a bit more respect for the slopes after that, but never fear.

When I was a young mother with two toddlers at home, Bo and I took an evening to hit the slopes. I was so excited about getting out there, after having been off of skis for about five years. I suited up, pulled on those big ski boots, wiggled my fingers into my gloves, donned a warm winter hat, wrapped a warm scarf around my neck, and clomped awkwardly to the lift, preparing to race my way down the hills for the first time with my hubby in true ski bunny fashion.

But when I got to the top of the first slope, something happened to me. Something inside of me clicked, snapped, and locked up, and I found myself perched at the peak of a very modest hill, eyes wide, experiencing an unfamiliar feeling.

I was afraid of the slope.

Suddenly, the stupidity of this sport zoomed into view for me. A mortal being attaches long, narrow boards to her feet, perhaps even waxes them, puts her fists around two sticks that end in sharp points, rides high in the sky to the top of an snow-covered hill and, along with hundreds of other people she doesn't know and can't fully trust, races down an icy path. I began to realize how brittle bones are, and how vulnerable the back and neck can be, and how irresponsible it would be for a grown woman to leave her two babies motherless just because she wanted to get a little thrill by speeding down a snowy slope.

Nope.

I don't recall how I made it down that hill, though I'm sure I skied it. Did I enjoy myself, or did I pray for my safety the entire way?

Somehow, I got to the bottom, snapped off my skis, and nestled myself into a comfy chair next to the fireplace in the lodge with a cup of hot chocolate.

Every once in a while, the ski bug bites me, especially when I see Houdin and Monet out there trying to make jumps on our little hillside, and I want to give it another try, but now it's the cost of the thing that prohibits me. I should just put the trip on the credit card and go for it. After all, I can't take it with me. Of course, if I follow that plan, I might be leaving it behind a bit earlier than I had planned.

What did you leave behind when you crossed the threshold of parenthood? What did you pick up? What would you love to see your children do that you did as a child, but you just haven't done it yet? What do they do that you never would have dreamed of doing at their age?

Snow day!

All is quiet here, save the sound of the freezing rain tip, tap, tipping on my skylight. We're snowed in. Remember that feeling? Glorious imprisonment. We can't go anywhere, and no one can really venture down our long, hilly, frozen lane. Everyone is home, safe, and there's nothing on the calendar today, which is more the trend than not lately, thank goodness. I know that Bo would have appreciated another day off and would have welcomed this weather on a Friday or a Monday, but here it is, and we'll enjoy it. There's a chicken stewing on the stove for some homemade potpie and homemade pizza for breakfast, left over from last night's family night, which kept everyone up so late that they're still sleeping at ten in the morning. I sense some homemade hot chocolate in the plans, too.

What do you do with your snow days, if you have any? If you live in a warm climate, what is your equivalent of a snow day?

Stream of Consciousness Whilst Avoiding Cleaning My Room

I have a stack of papers on my floor that need to be gone through.
Most of them are probably trash, but I can't just throw them away.
I have to filter through them.
And then I have to burn the ones I don't want.
Identity theft is so stupid.
"Jesus in New Orleans" is playing on iTunes.
Some days, I want to clean.
Some days, I want to stay in bed.
Some days, I want to go away.
Some days, I want to stay inside.
What kind of day is this?
Bard is home for three more days.
Today, she's getting her hair cut and colored.
I have a grocery list the size of someone's arm.
Remember Ed Grimley?
That was funny stuff.
But I think it jumped the shark with the cartoon, don't you?
I mean, watching Martin Short himself was 98% of the fun.
Why animate that?
Who's your favorite comedy actor right now?
I think mine's either Jack Black or Steve Carell.
The Office is my current obsession.
HTML is amazing.
I need to dust.
"Stella's Tarantella" is playing now.
The Baby loves this song.
She's not much of a baby anymore.
Actually, she's a pretty amazing little girl who is almost six years old.
I love birthdays.
What will we do for this birthday?
When she turned four, my friend Kim painted her a picture.
It was a pink and purple birthday.
There were balloons, and windows, and buildings and guitars and a cake with four candles.
It's one of my favorite things.
It's hanging downstairs.
Are we still friends?
I miss our walks.
My running has stopped.
I want to run again.
Monet and I are hoping to train for a 5K, but we've not been doing very well.
I bought him a pair of running shoes.
I think we'll do it.
But when?
"Spark" by Over the Rhine is playing now.
It's one of my favorite songs.
Especially this line:
"Obsessions with self-preservation
faded when I threw my fear away.
It's not a thing you can imagine.
You either lose your fear or spend your life
with one foot in the grave."
That line was an epiphany for me.
Lose my fear.
What's the worst thing that could happen to me?
No one can steal my soul.
The next life is so glorious.
Eternal bliss.
Oneness with Christ.
Knowledge. Happiness. Freedom from pain.
Wake up dreaming.
Only love can turn this around.
Jesus was an incredible man.
I wish more people could see him and not what his followers do to him.
It's time to wrap this up.
It's time to love life.
Blessings on this amazing day.