Sprouting

A bit of green in February is such a cheerful sight. I got out the screw-on sprouting strainer and a wide mouth mason jar a few weeks ago. So far we have done three batches of alfalfa sprouts and devoured them just about as fast as they can pop out.

Olivia had a science experiment in this period of time, where she was supposed to check the germination of bean seeds. We found some dried kidney beans, put them in a moist environment, and then nearly gave up on them. It was about a week before there was even a noticeable crack in the beans’ seed coats. We peeled one open and saw the embryo starting to put out a shoot inside. So we kept them moist instead of throwing them out. Today we are eating the second round of sprouts since the kidney beans venture started, and they look just like the photo shows, greeny cotyledon and lots of rootlets coming out of the shoot. Olivia is so tickled that the experiment worked after all.

I have been thinking about this, trying to extract the lesson. You saw it coming, didn’t you?

There are just some things that are kidney beans and some that are alfalfa seeds. Many times I feel like chucking out hope for the hard, unchanging bean situations, saving my energy for the quick returns of the alfalfa sprouts. It takes a lot more faith when there are long waiting periods until harvest. I can put alfalfa on my salad in five days, give or take a few. I will have to plant and hoe and watch and pick carefully before the beans are ready to eat.

The most obvious lesson for me in this is my Five Little Sprouts. I remember the panicky moment when I realized that we would never be able to un-parent. This is a lifelong proposition, with varying amounts of investment, true, but it takes a lot of nurture for the seeds to grow into healthy, fruit bearing plants. A lot of patience. A lot of faith. A lot of moments of feeling like a total flop.

We are immersed in this right now. It seems like all I do every day is water and nourish, watch those little green shoots emerge, and pray the roots go deep. I am invested in this venture for the long haul.

Aside from the children, there are other situations that I sometimes wonder if I should just forget. Chuck them into the trash and let them dry out. Faith says, “Keep watering. Set it in the sunshine. You just watch; God is never late.”

Do you ever have those moments when faith speaks in threadbare phrases, but you know it’s true?

Go Light Your World (Without Apology)

I have seen people who seem to think the world is a flower garden in which they can bumble around and take indiscriminate sips of nectar wherever they please. This is rather common among those who were raised like I described yesterday, who felt stonewalled in a system and were not taught to be discerning. When they leave the “protection” of the system, they run willy-nilly, trying to make up for lost time. (source)

I think we all agree that the world is a sorry, broken place, not at all an innocent riot of pansies and sweet peas. The spirits that govern the world are not righteous. They are evil. Yet we are in it. We need a way to navigate some very murky waters, a way that does not involve joining a cloistered monastery. If we live mindlessly as though nothing matters, we are staking everything on that nonchalance.

(I personally have disdain for the “art” in pop culture. Here is just one line from the song “Dark Horse”. “She will eat your heart out, like Jeffrey Dahmer.” Seriously. How can anyone hear that and think, “Wow, what creativity!”? I pick on Katy Perry because of the internet storm over her recent half time show during the Super Bowl. Honestly, I didn’t know anything about her until I googled her lyrics and read them in utter disbelief. This. is art??? Actually, I don’t even know who played in the Super Bowl. Because I just don’t care. I credit that upbringing of mine, in which I was not taught to worship the idols of sports. 🙂 I wouldn’t feel wicked watching the Super Bowl, but it has never seemed important enough to get in a bother about. But I digress…)

My husband and I have had many discussions about how we want to raise our children. It looks different from how we were raised in some ways because the world is a very different place. For example, as a child I didn’t watch any movies at all. We did other things, like play games and read. Now we often supplement our homeschool with documentaries. We have no qualms about that or even the occasional comedy. Disney? Nope. Afraid not, kids. There is a lot of glitzy stuff… a lot of grey borderline… a lot of sweet poison. Instead of Rules That Never Change, we need values that are ageless, don’t we?

John, the Beloved Apostle said this, “Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world.” 1 John 4:1 Then we have it again in 1 Thessalonians 5:21 from Paul, “…test everything; hold fast what is good. Abstain from every form of evil. Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.”

They wouldn’t have instructed us to test things if it weren’t possible to know the difference between good and evil. Notice that they didn’t say, “Let the preachers test things and then do what they say.” In fact, there were prophets telling them false things. This call to thoughtful decision-making is a personal responsibility for every Christian.

While a reactionary “If it is excruciating, God probably wants me to do it,” is a flawed premise upon which to base our decisions, we cannot argue with Jesus, who said this:

“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” Matthew 7:13,14

“If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.” John 15:18-20

Right there we have it. We aren’t supposed to be apologetic when our choices look different from the normal in mainstream society. It isn’t something to be embarrassed about. When I read stories of hostages, I am astounded at how the human spirit can survive while living in hostile circumstances. Infuse that spirit with the spirit of God, surround it with darkness in an alien kingdom, and watch it shine!

(I feel a little bewildered as to how I got here from there. I will switch gears now. 🙂 )

Five Reasons to Adopt Pop Culture

You can let someone else think for you. It will be very easy to choose your music/movies/books. Just check out the top ten lists and you will be in.
You will not have to exert yourself, swimming against the current and all that. No more feeling different. Your clothing options will skyrocket when you switch the criteria from “Is it decent?” to “Is it sexy?”.
You can say and do whatever you feel like and chalk it up to free speech, the in-thing, whatever. Stop worrying about what other people think. If they don’t affirm your lifestyle, they don’t belong in your life.
You can relax your parenting. Let the government decide what your children should learn. Give them unlimited screen time. Don’t be so concerned about their innocence. They will figure things out.
You will now be accepted as normal by the general population. Did I mention that you will no longer have to think? Someone else will do that for you and you can just imitate them.

I was raised in a culture that was deeply suspicious of any other culture. Many decisions about the rightness/wrongness of things seemed to be made by knee-jerk reactions. If someone “kosher” said it’s okay, it was okay, but we were not taught the “why” of things. It was a very insulated way to live and did not necessarily give us good tools for being discerning outside of our world.

Why do we live the way we do? What actually matters? I don’t want to mindlessly follow a way that seems right to me just because it is normal to me. Sometimes I find it very tiresome, being different in my core values. I am not afraid to examine them, to see whether they are really truth. (I am speaking in first person here, but my husband and I do these examinings together. Just so you know. 🙂 )

A teacher from my youthful days told us, “When faced with a choice, the person who loves God usually has to take the harder route. The easier way is rarely the right way.”

I keep thinking about this. Is it true? Does God want us to make choices that way?

Tomorrow: Believe it or not, there is more… just one more post, I think.

Going in Deeper

“Normal” is a subjective idea, based on my feelings, opinions, and surroundings.

For some, it is totally ordinary to drive a horse and buggy to get to the store, while others hop into their personal jet to go to the conference. Yet others pile the whole family on a motor scooter, but I am more of the Suburban full of kids variety.

On a farm you are considered a slacker if you don’t get up at the crack of dawn to go milk the cows, while many would think that hauling out of bed at 7 AM to buy milk for breakfast is bad enough. I have a farmer friend who supplies us with raw milk that I haul home, 5 gallons at a time.

Those who attend Mennonite churches are quite used to the idea of a church service ordered by invisible cues of cultural norm, while Lutherans carefully follow their liturgy and Quakers, I am told, have no set order in their service.

Some people decide to vaccinate their children while others insist that they will not allow any of those poisons to be injected into their babies. Personally, I think the worst best thing is slugging it out on the internet. 😉

In Europe, mothers think babies need lots of fresh air to stay healthy so they give them daily jaunts in the stroller, even in the grip of winter. Many women I know keep their little babies inside and out of drafts as much as possible.

So. Big deal. People live different lives.

Yes, it is a big deal. Many of our norms are completely harmless, neither here nor there. And yet.

The construction worker who doesn’t curse on the job in likely the odd man out on the crew. There are lots of people who cannot say a sentence without polluting it with obscenities.

Teens today have been conditioned to think it is their right to have an eye-rolling, mouthing-off rebellion to any authority. The respectful, considerate young adult stands out as refreshingly odd. Ever hear of the Rebelution?

In colleges, it is much more normal to sleep with a series of partners than it is to stay sexually abstinent until marriage. That is despite the fact that studies have shown greater happiness in the marriages of those who did abstain.

Some parents decide that yelling and meanness in their home is an acceptable way to live and let live. Many don’t talk to each other at all. Others do not stoop to arguing with their spouse nor do they allow their children to act ugly to their siblings.

You see, you get to choose your normal. If you think at all, you know where you draw the lines. Your beliefs lead the way to where you settle in and feel comfortable.

Tomorrow: Five Reasons to Embrace Pop Culture.

Navel Gazing About Being Real

It’s a funny thing that sometimes stuff I write that I feel is distinctly un-stellar ends up encouraging someone else. My sister in law told me that the post wrapping up January is one of the best I have written, yet I nearly scrapped it. Twice. It didn’t seem sparkly or even very interesting. But it was honest. I suppose that may have helped. (Also she has been sitting in her little house with two tots and a newborn, all of whom have been sick.)

This got me to thinking this morning about the ways we portray ourselves to others. I don’t think it is a conscious thing, but more of “let’s not peel under the layers too much.” Yet when we dare to be quite transparent with each other, it becomes safer and safer to be transparent. The relief of finding our human struggles to be, indeed, quite common to man, is nearly palpable. “You mean you actually have days like that too?”

(I love those Pinterest Versus Real Life photos. If you need to feel normal, go there. I admit to scrolling through until I have tears rolling.)

Sisters are like this, and friends are supposed to be like this. You don’t have to bleed on a blog to be real, but you cannot have healthy relationships with others if you refuse to let them into your life. This is a no-brainer for married couples, but it applies to friends as well. I know this doesn’t feel safe to many people, and I have had very little experience with betrayal of trust, yet I know this to be true. When I started blogging, I made a pact with myself and God that I would not try to pretty up things to make myself look better. I want to make Him look good by finding the path that appears from walking day after day after day in the same mundane things.

And yet. There is such a thing as Too Much Information. I read some of my archives last night and started to squirm. Man, I am just always messing up and writing about it. This is the world wide web, for crying out loud. I would like to be an effortless PollyAnna, but I bet that would get on your nerves sometimes. So I will do what I know… I will continue to be a realist and bring you honest humor. All bets are off when I am processing a nugly (nasty/ugly) day. Thanks, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, THANKS for being my friends!

The Things That Remain

It isn’t that I am not going to write this year. I have had things on my mind, places to go, laundry to do, all jumbled and busy. Then, as so often happens, something came up that put the important things in life into sharp perspective. One of those people who is always there, who is always dependable, who is unfailingly kind and wise, stepped into heaven while he was sleeping.

The Summy family moved to this area the same summer we did, 29 years ago. Their children were close to my age and we went to school together. Now they are walking through the painfully dark valley of the shadow of losing a husband/father/grandfather. I have always believed that the verse in Psalm 23 is especially for those who go on living. I pray, “Hold them, Jesus. Be with them.” It comforts me to know that in our human failing to be able to make things better, He is there for them.

We have talked a lot about sadness with the children. About death and new bodies and eternal life. Olivia, who is very tenderhearted, said that she kept thinking maybe just any time there will be a miracle and Freddy and Alannah’s grandpa would come alive again. The little girls declared that Leroy did not die. They saw him sleeping. I was reminded of Jesus’ compassionate words to Jairus when his little daughter had died, “Don’t cry. She is sleeping.” He said the same about Lazarus, his friend who was ill and died before he got to his house, “Our friend has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him.” Even though Jesus knew Lazarus would rise from the dead, he wept for the grief of the family, and this is His heart of tenderness to those who are bowed with sorrow.

I keep thinking about the Things That Matter. Why do we forget so quickly? This moment of spilled grape juice does not matter. What matters is the little face crumpled in remorse. It was just an accident and we will wipe it up.

The rip in the coat from sliding down the hill on the ice has no eternal significance, but the child who was wearing it does. I apologize for a scolding that forgot about the heart, and now we will try to mend it.

My limping washer with its fits and starts is of small consequence, but my husband’s weary efforts to understand the repair manual and outsmart it do matter. He deserves the specially blended cup of coffee and the happy wife serving it.

I ask again, why do I forget so easily and become wrinkled in my spirit when it is just cares of this life anyway? When my spirit returns to the One who made it, I want to have lived for eternal values.

I bought myself this little goodie with some Christmas money. It’s a tiny journal with wise quotes at the top of every page and space for 5 years. It is fun discipline to condense a day into just a few lines.

When the boys were little, Gabe would laugh at my stories at the end of the day and say, “You lead a charmed life.” At the time I didn’t really think that was the right adjective, but now I do. Recently I went back through my Facebook statuses and wrote down all the funny moments that I posted about the children. When the boys read them, they said, “No way! I never asked to google ‘How can I be six again’.” They laugh at the Gregisms: “I bet George Washington was named after Curious George.” They love it, going all the way back to when they were little boys, just a few blinks ago.

(I would not remember any of this stuff if I didn’t write it down. You won’t either. Even if you don’t like to write, just go to Amazon and spend 10 dollars for a pretty little diary and make yourself write a sentence every day.)

Last week Rita took upon herself the job of shining the glass door where the puppy paws to get inside. She did a great job, but only a few hours later I noticed muddy prints again. I was working, distracted, when I heard her gasp dramatically, “Ohhh! Look at the window!”

I commiserated without looking up, “I know. It’s all dirty again.”

“No! It’s snowing!!!” she corrected me. I looked out, and sure enough, it was snowing. God had granted her longings for snow. The mud on the glass couldn’t diminish that joy.

Life. How I live it really matters. Let’s cheer the space we share with others. Today.

Don’t Pity Me…

…because a story without a struggle isn’t a very good story. II Corinthians 4 says we can be outwardly wasting away, yet inwardly renewed every day while our “light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” We need to learn how to encourage one another in bracing ways, not in pitying ways that cause us to wallow in our problems.

It felt like life was uphill both ways, every day, when Gabe was in school. I know there have been many people who have scraped through much worse patches, but for us, it was pioneer work.

Remember that we were trying to be brave and uncomplaining. When we heard pity in someone’s remarks, it was a bit like knocking a stick against the back of knees already buckling. “I cannot imagine how you live under all that stress. I could never do it.” Already feeling sapped by circumstances, this only makes one feel worse. “What if they are right and we don’t make it? What if I have a nervous breakdown? What if the children are scarred for life?” Pity undermines the foundation of faith in the person who is being called to endure like a good soldier. I learned to flee from pitying conversations before they sucked me into a vortex of self-pity, seeing as I was already battling that tendency.

Everybody knows it isn’t helpful to claim that we know just how someone feels when we actually are only imagining to the best of our abilities how they must feel. So if you can’t truly empathize, and you shouldn’t just pity someone, what can you do for your friends in trouble?

What about that friend who is sick, or the one who lost his job, or the lady on bed rest in a difficult pregnancy? Sometimes there are financial difficulties or family troubles. Chances are, your friend is feeling swamped, and what she really needs is a sympathetic someone to toss a life-preserver. Life preservers are tangible, practical things. Your friend needs you to not just feel sorry for her, but to do something that assures her that you are with her, no matter how awful things may be.

Sympathy. It says, “I can tell that this is a rough time for you. I am praying for you to hang on by the grace of God. You will make it through this. And by the way, here is an Olive Garden gift card. We will watch the babies so you can get a relaxing evening.”

Sympathetic people bring a stash of good books or DVD’s when they visit an invalid. They say kindly things like, “I am sorry that you are feeling so crummy. How can we help you with your medical expenses?”

Sympathetic people clean houses and cook meals and do laundry that isn’t their problem. They cheer up children with a change of scenery so that the parents can catch their breath. They fix gift baskets of special goodies and mugs with messages of faith: “Relax. God is in charge.” They send texts of promises to cling to from God’s Word.

They organize grocery showers. Sometimes they just know that there is no meat in the freezer and they tell you that they have a lot more venison than they can eat, “Could you use some of it?”

What I described to you is what we experienced from our friends and family. Over and over someone came along to lift up the hands that hung down and strengthened our feeble knees. We wouldn’t have made it without them. Community is a beautiful, wonderful thing that infuses us with hope.

Above all, people in distress need faith. “It is really dark right now, and it doesn’t seem like God is hearing you, but the light still shines. I can see it and I will stand with you until you can see it too. I won’t leave you alone; you are never alone!”

(image source)

Shortcut to Misery, Part 2

There is another shortcut to misery that I know very well because I have employed it pretty often. The thought process goes something like this: My assignments/responsibilities are too big for me. I am doomed to failure because I don’t know what I am doing. I don’t like this adult world and the carrying of all these burdens.

This is a tricky one because there is a genuine condition of over-work, of one person taking on much more than their share. In Dutch we say they are “shafich”, which implies a person who stays very busy because they really enjoy it. It is possible also, to be too busy out of a sense of misplaced obligation. I am sure we all know people who consistently pick up more than their share of the work, like my friend who put herself on the school hot lunch list three times because she couldn’t think of anyone else who should do it more than once to fill in the empty blanks.

For clarity, I am not talking about “shafich” people who should be given a break. I am talking about my attitudes concerning things that are clearly my responsibility.

Since I know about momming, let’s go there. Recently Gabe and I were discussing what was probably the worst year of our lives. During that time I found my assignments so overwhelming that I just wanted to run away from them. It was a time of two boys in school, two needy tots, a nursling, a chronically ill husband who was in school and working part time whenever he could to support us. This was not a time to knuckle under, but I surely wanted to.

Just two years earlier, as we looked at what it would mean for our family with Gabe going back to school, I had said calmly, “I am not afraid.” Now I found myself every morning praying for the strength to get out of bed. Jesus said, “Just one leg at a time.” I am not kidding, and if you think Jesus can’t dumb down His instructions for our most childlike moments, you haven’t been listening. Anyway, that is what I did, and that was how I made it through the days, from the spilled milk at breakfast to the solo tucking in of tired children at bedtime, all the while bouncing a hungry baby who had to wait to eat until the drama settled down. It wasn’t a lot of profound thinking and pretty praying. This was survival, a lifeline. I prayed one sentence at a time. Sometimes I wailed and complained. Mostly I begged.”Your wisdom, Jesus. The children are fighting again… Your kindness, please!” and a few minutes later, “Your strength, Jesus. My husband is too sick to do this, so just give me Your courage.”

During this time I had a friend who was battling post-partem depression and when she told me that she implored God for the stamina just to wash the dishes, I felt oddly encouraged. It is always a relief to know that my condition is the human condition, and not just due to my own faltering inadequacies. I say these things because everybody hits an overwhelmed day/season, even if the causes look very different from what others experience. I say these things to assure you that by the grace of Jesus, you can make it!

Admittedly, there were days I felt like faking being sick, just for a change. Oh dear. I fantasized about sleeping for entire days, with room service to provide meals; about idyllic summertime walks alone for hours, just carrying a backpack with books and water; of hitting a jackpot and going shopping for hours, buying whatever I wanted. Those were the miserable times, the snifflings of a soul scorning the assigned trail, wishing for a path with a grander view, fewer boulders to scale. Yet this was clearly my assignment, this training and feeding of children, this running of a household on an extremely limited income, this supporting role to a man who was also being stretched beyond reason.

Depending entirely on a Strength not our own, Gabe and I found that impossible things were possible. It became a time of asking many times a day, and receiving more than we even expected. I remember daily singing with the children, “God will make a way when there seems to be no way,” swallowing down the tears and choosing to believe like they did, sight unseen. We look back at that time now with fondness. Gabe says we were kind of like Benjamin Bunny, “cheerful and improvident” and we feel like Somebody must have paid the bills because it doesn’t seem possible that we did it.

When we feel like God has unfairly given us too big a job, it is usually because we can’t be independent in it. That is a miserable place, feeling like we cannot possibly do well, because we know this is bigger than our abilities. Sadly, we often don’t learn to roll our burdens on Jesus until we buckle under them. People say, “You know God won’t give you more than you can handle,” but I think He does it all the time because He wants us to learn to depend on His strength instead of our own. He isn’t going to let us off the hook without doing our share of the work, but He will give us the abilities to fulfill our responsibilities. It is possible to live with a rested soul in the worst of times, and that actually makes it the best of times. In retrospect, of course. 🙂

(We were so blessed to have support all around us in our difficulties. Next post: How to help your friend in crisis.)

Shortcut to Misery

One of the quickest ways I know to become thoroughly miserable is to start thinking about the unfairness of life. It is like a game of Chutes and Ladders, where I am tooling along just fine when zoop, zoop! There I am at the bottom of a slide in a mud puddle of self-pity. Whoa! This was not supposed to happen to me!

(This illustration is totally gratuitous: it’s just that I find it endlessly amusing to see the difference between the early version where the chutes were snakes and the politically correct versions of today. Check out numbers 17 and 47.)

The problem with marinating in misery about life’s unfairness is that I always compare myself with those who have more than I do. If my house were bigger, I could stay organized like other women. If my grocery budget included shrimp, I could wow guests too. If I could buy all my children’s clothes at Gymboree, we would also look amazing in family portraits.

One day my little girl was feeling discouraged about a routine lab draw. “I don’t know why Jesus doesn’t heal me if He loves me,” she said. Yet, as we discussed the diabetic children who have to check their blood sugar levels multiple times a day and have shots too, her outlook changed completely. She suddenly felt that she has it easy, with blood-work only four times a year and her adrenals compensated by a small pill, not shots. I tried to explain that Jesus’ love is never in question, no matter what, but my heart ached in sympathy, because haven’t we all felt variations of this? Why doesn’t Jesus give me what I want? I need this! Why do other people seem to skim along so effortlessly and here I am, struggling at the bottom of the chute?

I think the reason comparing ourselves with others isn’t wise is because it starts us on a trail of questioning God’s goodness. “But if He loves me, why me???” We become focussed on all the things that others have that we deserve and then we whine, “Why not me?” The thing about self-pity is that it is so endlessly… selfish.

Sometimes it seems we really do need to compare ourselves to others, others who have much less, that is. When we children complained about the food, my mom’s homily on the starving children in Africa was right on point. Stop pouting about silly things and be thankful!

Maybe I don’t like my body and I think it is so unfair that the other woman got the perfect hair/figure/personality. I wouldn’t choose the grief she endures because of childlessness, of course, but I would like all the best things for myself.

Maybe my husband was too obtuse to notice that I spent hours cleaning out the family vehicle, but what about the neighbor who is suspicious that her husband is seeing another woman on his business trips?

Maybe I am tired of all my clothes. I have had this sweater for 14 years, after all. And yet. I have options. I have three coats for this winter. “If God loves me” sounds pretty pathetic when I consider the Iraqi Christians who fled their homes in terror of their lives and now live only with what they were able to carry along.

When I whimper an entitled “Life just isn’t fair,” I show myself up as an ingrate who is willing to stay a victim of circumstances.

When I recognize the generosity of my blessings, because I know that life really isn’t fair and I don’t deserve anything, I show the world the goodness of God.

If You’re Not Happy and You Know It

Last week the children and I made turkeys and wrote things we are thankful for on their tail feathers, that perennial craft for this time of year. They did all the family, home, friends, food, stuff. My list is a bit more off the wall, but sincere.

I have been pep talking myself for a few days, over the persistent blue-ish awareness that life is much too complicated and full of trouble, that I am likely past my prime and still haven’t learned so many elementary things, etc. You know, blah blah, and here I am raking leaves two days before Thanksgiving because I hadn’t gotten them done yet, and why does the soup taste funny, and will I live with this headache the rest of my life?

I don’t know what you do when this happens but usually I read something inspirational and listen to the wisdom of ages when it comes to life and praise and prosperity. Yesterday I read Psalm 104, 105, and when I got to 106 I told God that I am sorry for not feeling thankful, but I will just move on out of my self absorbed funk and make French toast for my family.

This morning between the hours of 3:50 when Addy needed help to find the bathroom and 4:50 when Gabe’s alarm buzzed, I lay sleepless and felt the cares pulling me under again, including the nagging headache. This time I decided to listen to Genesis on audio, because I needed continuity, to see a bigger picture unroll with a Plan and a Wise Provider behind the affairs of man.

As I listened from “and God said it was very good” all the way through the blight of sin and the time when man wanted only evil continually, I saw the thread of patience, of persistent, outrageous, redeeming love. What really got me was the genealogies. Centuries and centuries of people and who am I but one little teeny mention in time. It cheered me up immensely to step away from my assignments and look up to the Faithfulness that goes on forever.

I got permission to stop taking myself so seriously, if that makes any sense. I am not shucking off my responsibilities, but neither am I responsible for the outcome of my faithfulness. He is the One who starts and finishes our faith, our life, our work. Today I start with that on the top of my list of thankfulness.

Next to that is gratefulness for Advil for Migraine. Who knew that taking it on an empty stomach would produce such a pleasant sort of buzzy feeling?

We are getting our first snow and the children are tickled beyond delight. I over- provided snow pants in my thrift store shopping this summer, so they each have at least one pair without holes and an extra when that one gets wet. In my entire childhood, I didn’t have a single pair of proper snow pants. Maybe that is why I buy them whenever I see them cheap.

I have Southern Pecan flavored coffee to drink this morning. With real cream.

We don’t have to go anywhere today and there is boxed mac n cheese with corn dogs on the menu for the beginning cook to prep on his own. And broccoli, just in case you were feeling sorry about our vitamin-less state.

I will be cooking up salted caramel for sauce on the Thanksgiving dessert. Or for in coffee. Or even just to sneak by the surreptitious spoonful.

My oldest son no longer asks for complicated birthday cakes. Just so they taste good. Yay for 12! I am going to see what he thinks about carrot cake with fresh ginger.

Dredging down real deep, I find that I am even thankful for the 28 hours of overtime my husband had in a two week pay period. He has steady work, and he hasn’t had to wear the ebola suit that they spent so much time practicing to put on properly.

Last but not least, I do not have to live 969 years, like Methuselah. Hallelujah! (and a shout-out to Max McLean for reading genealogies without a single stumble over all those odd names.)