There are a lot of things going on in my little world. I don’t like to use the word “busy” because I feel that it implies stress and over-scheduling. No, the word busy does not do justice to this season of my life.
Instead, I like to say that my days are full. I don’t mind spending a season in this manner. I even enjoy it. I am blessed to be given opportunities to use my God-given abilities for His glory. I have even been asked to do a few things that are way outside of the boundaries of my comfort zone. Things that I would NOT list among my strengths. But I guess that's the point. I can't do any of this on my own.
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
John 10:10
Jesus tells us that he has come to give us life. But not just life… life to the full.
I pray that my activities at the school are not only for the benefit of the school itself but that, in some way, a child or parent or staff member will see God working through me. That the glory will fall on Him. And because He is the one I work for, I know that it will. I also know that the areas where I volunteer at church are great movements of God. His work will be done with or without little me. I am humbly blessed to play a part.
I am thankful that God has allowed me to have this life. It is a pleasure to receive, but the greater joy is to give it right back.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Home-Cooked Food = Food Cooked at Home
There is something deeply gratifying about preparing a delicious home-cooked dinner. And let me just say that home cooked for me does not necessarily mean that I made it all from scratch. Sunday, I made chicken enchilada soup using a Homemade Gourmet recipe and leftover Chicken Express. It’s like recycling a delicious dinner into yet another delicious but completely different dinner! Like I said, it’s not from scratch but I still made it.
Saturday night, my dad and brother joined us for a fabulous steak dinner. I had the pleasure of creating a meal, even though I did nothing more than throw salad in a bowl and bake a few potatoes. Andy is the grill master. I have absolutely no skills when it comes to charcoal, so I leave it all to the man.
Sidebar: I have this huge issue with being stereotypical. Ask Andy. I don’t like fitting in to general stereotypes. But I haven’t the slightest problem with the old 1950’s definitions of women’s work. I love being the lady of the house, taking care of my husband and our boys. I like stirring pots in the kitchen while the man stands at the grill, searing red meat with fire. It’s who I am. God made me for this.
So, anywhoo…
Wednesday, I decided to try a creamy pork tenderloin recipe from Melanie at Big Mama. Sort of. I knew I was going to make this recipe when I went to the store, but I didn’t even look at the list of ingredients until it was time to cook. So I had to improvise a few things. Still, it all worked out. I’m sure that the results of following the actual recipe would be even better, but the three people who bothered to eat this dinner really enjoyed it. (P doesn’t eat dinner most of the time. It’s a wonder that he survives.)
There’s just a special feeling that I get when I cook. Well, I guess the really good part is serving up what I have made, sitting down around the table, thanking God and enjoying the blessing of a home-cooked meal shared with loved ones.
Saturday night, my dad and brother joined us for a fabulous steak dinner. I had the pleasure of creating a meal, even though I did nothing more than throw salad in a bowl and bake a few potatoes. Andy is the grill master. I have absolutely no skills when it comes to charcoal, so I leave it all to the man.
Sidebar: I have this huge issue with being stereotypical. Ask Andy. I don’t like fitting in to general stereotypes. But I haven’t the slightest problem with the old 1950’s definitions of women’s work. I love being the lady of the house, taking care of my husband and our boys. I like stirring pots in the kitchen while the man stands at the grill, searing red meat with fire. It’s who I am. God made me for this.
So, anywhoo…
Wednesday, I decided to try a creamy pork tenderloin recipe from Melanie at Big Mama. Sort of. I knew I was going to make this recipe when I went to the store, but I didn’t even look at the list of ingredients until it was time to cook. So I had to improvise a few things. Still, it all worked out. I’m sure that the results of following the actual recipe would be even better, but the three people who bothered to eat this dinner really enjoyed it. (P doesn’t eat dinner most of the time. It’s a wonder that he survives.)
There’s just a special feeling that I get when I cook. Well, I guess the really good part is serving up what I have made, sitting down around the table, thanking God and enjoying the blessing of a home-cooked meal shared with loved ones.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Ironing takes my mind back in time.
I know that quite a few people don't enjoy ironing. A friend of mine once labeled it as his "lot in life," and not in a good way. I like ironing, because it reminds me of my old apartment. Not my first apartment ever, because I’m pretty sure that I didn’t even own an iron back then, but my first apartment here in Texas. It was my first home with Andy. Back then he was a vet tech, and I always ironed his scrubs. He also liked starched shirts tucked in with a belt. Oh, how times change!
Courtney was still just a puppy when we moved in. She could fly up the stairs in a few great bounds. I used to walk her three or four times a day, along the main driveway in the grass where the tall pine trees cast great pools of shade. I found a lot of fallen bird nests for my collection there.
Both my boys were born during the time that we lived in that apartment. I hauled them up and down the stairs. I spent countless hours with them on the floor, and rocking them in the night. We read books and made block towers.
We walked to nearby parks and strolled among the houses in the surrounding neighborhoods, dreaming of the day when we would buy a house of our own.
We painted the living room and the second bedroom. The cheap, flat, beige paint that was standard in most apartments has never appealed to me. It shows every smudge and speck of dirt, which is not the best when you have a big dog and small children. So I painted it with two gallons of returned Martha Stuart paint that I bought at Sears for $2 a can. And I loved it.
At Christmas, I found the perfect artificial tree. It was 7 ½ feet tall and skinny, probably only around 3 feet in diameter at it widest part. I made a skirt out of a plaid table cloth, and bought an angel and some new plastic ornaments to accompany my collection of old sentimental ones.
Now My Love likes some of his shirts ironed, but not all of them, and almost never starched. No more scrubs. My sweet Courtney is an old lady dog. She just had a birthday last week, putting her in the neighborhood of 100 in dog years. I don’t think she could take those stairs if she tried. My baby boys are so big, and I’m quite sure that they have no recollection of our beloved apartment.
I’m thankful for the home that we now share. Our neighborhood is far beyond all of our expectations, and it is so clear that we were meant to live here. I hope that we spend many more years in this place, watching the children and the oak trees grow. When it is time for us to move on, I know that we and our boys will have many fond memories of this house and all that God has done for us here.
And every time I iron, no matter where I am, I will think of that old apartment and smile.
Courtney was still just a puppy when we moved in. She could fly up the stairs in a few great bounds. I used to walk her three or four times a day, along the main driveway in the grass where the tall pine trees cast great pools of shade. I found a lot of fallen bird nests for my collection there.
Both my boys were born during the time that we lived in that apartment. I hauled them up and down the stairs. I spent countless hours with them on the floor, and rocking them in the night. We read books and made block towers.
We walked to nearby parks and strolled among the houses in the surrounding neighborhoods, dreaming of the day when we would buy a house of our own.
We painted the living room and the second bedroom. The cheap, flat, beige paint that was standard in most apartments has never appealed to me. It shows every smudge and speck of dirt, which is not the best when you have a big dog and small children. So I painted it with two gallons of returned Martha Stuart paint that I bought at Sears for $2 a can. And I loved it.
At Christmas, I found the perfect artificial tree. It was 7 ½ feet tall and skinny, probably only around 3 feet in diameter at it widest part. I made a skirt out of a plaid table cloth, and bought an angel and some new plastic ornaments to accompany my collection of old sentimental ones.
Now My Love likes some of his shirts ironed, but not all of them, and almost never starched. No more scrubs. My sweet Courtney is an old lady dog. She just had a birthday last week, putting her in the neighborhood of 100 in dog years. I don’t think she could take those stairs if she tried. My baby boys are so big, and I’m quite sure that they have no recollection of our beloved apartment.
I’m thankful for the home that we now share. Our neighborhood is far beyond all of our expectations, and it is so clear that we were meant to live here. I hope that we spend many more years in this place, watching the children and the oak trees grow. When it is time for us to move on, I know that we and our boys will have many fond memories of this house and all that God has done for us here.
And every time I iron, no matter where I am, I will think of that old apartment and smile.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Learning From My Garage
There’s a freezer in my garage where I like to store good things. Meats, veggies, chicken nuggets, frozen pizza, ice cream… Good Things! Some are necessities, some are clearly not. They’re treats and back-up supplies for days when I need to make my dinner life easier. I love that freezer, and I love filling it up and emptying it out.
But sometimes things get piled up in front of the freezer because, after all, it is in my garage. I can’t get near it, let alone open the door. This frustrates me. The pile-up is usually a neat little arrangement, thoughtfully stacked in this particular space so that we can still park both cars in there. And I’m sure that the stuff stacker thought, “I’ll just put these things here, and I’ll move them when I’m ready… before anyone even notices.” But I, the keeper of the freezer, always notice. I am in contact with that freezer almost daily, putting things in or taking things out. Sometimes, however, there is SO much stuff stacked that I turn away and put my things in the kitchen freezer instead.
This was the case on Tuesday when I returned from the grocery. I parked and gathered an armful of gifts for my lovely freezer. That’s when I saw the stuff stack, impossible to move with only my one free pinky finger, and took the culinary treasures to the other freezer.
That’s when I realized the correlation between my garage and my life. God wants to fill me up, and He wants me to be available to Him so the gifts that He has given me can be used. But sometimes I block the way with a pile of superfluous stuff. Sometimes my stuff is attitude, sometimes it’s a busy schedule, and sometimes the stuff is just stuff. Sometimes, my stack is made of good things that were simply put in the wrong place… out of priority. The problem is that I am putting things in the way of my relationship with God. And like my darling stuff stacker, I do this without intending harm. I think, “I’ll just set these things down right here. It’s not a big deal.” But I’m sure that God is frustrated with me at times, when He comes to me with armloads of blessing and finds that I have a stack of stuff blocking the way.
How many things have I missed out on because of poor judgment regarding my stuff stack? Sigh. I need to do a better job on this. Thankfully, God is full of love and grace. He doesn’t give up on me, even though I forget His lessons and have to be reminded. He even speaks to me through garage freezer stuff stacks. Now THAT’s love.
I want to rearrange my garage, to protect my freezer from being blocked by a stack of stuff. I want to rearrange my life, too. It’s going to be a dirty job. There are things that I have been holding tightly that I know I have to let go. But I’m ready. I’m ready and I’m glad to do it.
But sometimes things get piled up in front of the freezer because, after all, it is in my garage. I can’t get near it, let alone open the door. This frustrates me. The pile-up is usually a neat little arrangement, thoughtfully stacked in this particular space so that we can still park both cars in there. And I’m sure that the stuff stacker thought, “I’ll just put these things here, and I’ll move them when I’m ready… before anyone even notices.” But I, the keeper of the freezer, always notice. I am in contact with that freezer almost daily, putting things in or taking things out. Sometimes, however, there is SO much stuff stacked that I turn away and put my things in the kitchen freezer instead.
This was the case on Tuesday when I returned from the grocery. I parked and gathered an armful of gifts for my lovely freezer. That’s when I saw the stuff stack, impossible to move with only my one free pinky finger, and took the culinary treasures to the other freezer.
That’s when I realized the correlation between my garage and my life. God wants to fill me up, and He wants me to be available to Him so the gifts that He has given me can be used. But sometimes I block the way with a pile of superfluous stuff. Sometimes my stuff is attitude, sometimes it’s a busy schedule, and sometimes the stuff is just stuff. Sometimes, my stack is made of good things that were simply put in the wrong place… out of priority. The problem is that I am putting things in the way of my relationship with God. And like my darling stuff stacker, I do this without intending harm. I think, “I’ll just set these things down right here. It’s not a big deal.” But I’m sure that God is frustrated with me at times, when He comes to me with armloads of blessing and finds that I have a stack of stuff blocking the way.
How many things have I missed out on because of poor judgment regarding my stuff stack? Sigh. I need to do a better job on this. Thankfully, God is full of love and grace. He doesn’t give up on me, even though I forget His lessons and have to be reminded. He even speaks to me through garage freezer stuff stacks. Now THAT’s love.
I want to rearrange my garage, to protect my freezer from being blocked by a stack of stuff. I want to rearrange my life, too. It’s going to be a dirty job. There are things that I have been holding tightly that I know I have to let go. But I’m ready. I’m ready and I’m glad to do it.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Lunch at School
Ah, the school cafeteria… When I was a kid, we sat at long tables, sharing the attached bench seats. I loved the opportunity to have a guest join me for lunch at school. I loved it when anyone at my table had a guest. My favorite thing about it was that the guests would sit among the children and entertain us all. Grandparents’ Day provided a wide variety of personalities upon which to rest my attention. It was simply glorious.
Now as a parent, I find lunch with my children at school to be a completely different experience. The children still sit at long rectangular tables, but children with guests don’t usually get to sit with their friends and share this good fortune. Instead, the children and their guests are banished to the back of the cafeteria to sit at their choice of three round tables. I call these the “Prison Visitation” tables. The only way that you can avoid sitting at the PV tables is if they are already full of other prisoners and their visitors, which seems to be a rare occurrence. This is my fourth year to visit my little inmates at school, and not once have I been allowed to sit at a regular table with the kids. Not even once.
So today, I sat with Parker at the PV tables, looking out at the room full of kindergarten lunchers. For the first time, I noticed a special dynamic surrounding one kindergarten table in particular. Apparently, there is something really great about sitting in this specific location. Some kids, who are clearly the cool crowd, sit at this same table every day. The chairs may as well have their names engraved on the back. Classmates vie for the remaining seats, and it is apparently quite sad for a person to be turned away. What is this magical table of coolness and lunchtime joy? The peanut allergy table. But you don’t have to have a peanut allergy in order to sit there. You’re eligible if you bought your lunch from the school cafeteria because, as a rule, school provided lunches are peanut free. Today, two girls were forced to move from the allergy table so there would be enough room for the kids with actual allergies. They wore their saddest expressions as they picked up their lunch trays and relocated to the boring, regular, non-allergic table. You’d think someone just told them their chicken strips used to be cute, fluffy little baby chicks. Heartbreaking, isn’t it?
I never thought that having an allergy would be hailed as a status symbol, but I guess it kind of is. Well, in kindergarten anyway. While my children will never know the glory of having their own special seat at the peanut allergy table, I can rejoice in the fact that we always have the option of slapping together a pb&j and calling it a meal. Amen!
Now as a parent, I find lunch with my children at school to be a completely different experience. The children still sit at long rectangular tables, but children with guests don’t usually get to sit with their friends and share this good fortune. Instead, the children and their guests are banished to the back of the cafeteria to sit at their choice of three round tables. I call these the “Prison Visitation” tables. The only way that you can avoid sitting at the PV tables is if they are already full of other prisoners and their visitors, which seems to be a rare occurrence. This is my fourth year to visit my little inmates at school, and not once have I been allowed to sit at a regular table with the kids. Not even once.
So today, I sat with Parker at the PV tables, looking out at the room full of kindergarten lunchers. For the first time, I noticed a special dynamic surrounding one kindergarten table in particular. Apparently, there is something really great about sitting in this specific location. Some kids, who are clearly the cool crowd, sit at this same table every day. The chairs may as well have their names engraved on the back. Classmates vie for the remaining seats, and it is apparently quite sad for a person to be turned away. What is this magical table of coolness and lunchtime joy? The peanut allergy table. But you don’t have to have a peanut allergy in order to sit there. You’re eligible if you bought your lunch from the school cafeteria because, as a rule, school provided lunches are peanut free. Today, two girls were forced to move from the allergy table so there would be enough room for the kids with actual allergies. They wore their saddest expressions as they picked up their lunch trays and relocated to the boring, regular, non-allergic table. You’d think someone just told them their chicken strips used to be cute, fluffy little baby chicks. Heartbreaking, isn’t it?
I never thought that having an allergy would be hailed as a status symbol, but I guess it kind of is. Well, in kindergarten anyway. While my children will never know the glory of having their own special seat at the peanut allergy table, I can rejoice in the fact that we always have the option of slapping together a pb&j and calling it a meal. Amen!
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