Category Archives: joy found

What’s that you say?

Posted in blogging, Eucharisteo, joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl, parenting (aint for sissies) by

Several friends have said they’d like to be a fly on the wall in our house, just to see what goes on around here. It’s mostly mundane life, kids playing then fighting then playing again, mom and dad having conversations about our jobs or future or parenting or what’s for dinner, Annalise making up songs about Jesus or Jacob or Izzy or anything else she can think of, etc etc etc. Nothing too exciting. But since some of you asked, I thought I’d deliver just a sneak peek by way of things overheard this week…

Jacob: “Mommy! You HAVE to come SEE dis! It is SOOOOO CUTE! It is (insert high-pitched squeaky voice) da teeniest-tiniest littliest poopoo I ever saw! (insert normal voice) Oh mom, it’s SO cute you won’t believe it!”

Annalise (after bumping into me): “Mom? Can you touch Jesus? … Because I thought I just did, but turns out it was just your bottom.”

Jacob: “MOMMY! You have GOT TO SEE DIS! It is da BIGGEST POOPOO EVER!” Seriously. This is all he talks about lately.

Annalise (after seeing naked brother bend over from behind): “MOMMY! OH NO! Jacob has a HUGE GROWTH on his bottom!”a

Jacob: “Mommy. Can you please leave the baf-room? I want some pwivacy.”

Annalise: “Mommy, can you please leave the bathroom? I want some privacy.”

(I only put those ones in there because of the irony. They don’t seem to know what privacy is when I’m in the bathroom.)

… And right now you’re wondering if any conversations go on around here that are not about “poopoo” or “bottoms” or other forms of bathroom-talk… Yes, I know. Some days I wonder that, too.

There are the random comments like these:

Annalise: “Mommy, the Weedas have 3 girls and 2 boys, but we just have 2 girls and 2 boys… (with excitement) What if YOU had another baby and it was a girl? Then we’d be just like the Weedas!… (with dread) What if you had another baby and it was a boy! Then we’d have three BOYS!… (with excitement again) What if you had another baby and it was a CHICKEN!”

Or the random happenings like these:

photo(37)Annalise stuck in a long narrow box. Because it’s fun. Until your brother starts to play with your toys and you can’t get out.

photo(36)He had the hiccups. ALL. DAY. I read somewhere that this was supposed to help. It didn’t. I pulled harder and held longer. Still didn’t.

And then there are the never-ending-actually-NOT-funny jokes:

Jacob to Leesie: “Sissy. I have a joke. Why wasn’t da clown hungwy?”

Leesie: “Because he ate his breakfast?”

Jacob: “No. Because he ate his lunch. I have another joke. Why wasn’t da clown hungwy?”

Leesie: “Because he ate his lunch?”

Jacob: “No. Because he was full. I have another joke. Why wasn’t the clown hungwy?”

Leesie: “Because he was full?”

Jacob: “No. Because he ate his bweakfast. I have another joke…”

And on and on and on and on…

And the constant “what ifs” from both kids:

Jacob: “Mommy, what if we took Izzy for a walk, and den it started to rain, and den we got all wet, and den da rain turned into juice and we got all wet wif juice, and den we came home all sticky and got da house all sticky wif juice too. What if, Mommy?”

Annalise: “Mommy, what if I growed taller than you, and then I growed taller than Daddy, and then I growed taller than the house, and then I growed taller than a tree, and then I growed all the way to the sky and I never stopped growing?”

Bathroom-talk, bad-jokes, what-ifs, and then this…

At the dinner table the other night, Annalise asked if brothers and sisters can get married. When we told her no, her reaction surprised us. She wasn’t happy, but wasn’t upset in the 5-year-old sense (no drama, tantrums, or mini-fit with crossed arms and a loud “HUMPH!”) No, her reaction was much more sincere. Much more mature. Her eyes filled with tears, her chin began to quiver, and she looked away, thinking about this news that was so obviously devastating to her. Her big, teary eyes looked back at me, and she swallowed hard then choked out in a whisper, “But Mommy. I just love my brother so much. I don’t want to marry anyone else!” I giggled, but my eyes filled with tears, too. How blessed we are that they are so close! And my heart hurt for hers, because the sadness she displayed was so deep. She just didn’t understand.

Then sweet Jacob. My sweet tender-hearted boy. Tilted his head and looked at his sister lovingly. And in his sweetest kindest voice, as if he were a wise grown-up giving a gentle explanation to a hurting young child, he said, “Oh Sissy. I love you, too. But I can not marry you, because I am going to play FOOTBALL!”

And there you have it, folks. The boy is not going to get married, because he is going to play football. No arguments from Mama. (Until I see him crashing out on the football field, of course.) And just a few weeks earlier, Annalise told her Daddy that she “would NEVER kiss a boy until she is married.” I’m pretty sure he got her signature on a legal document for that one.

I think I may have said it before, but can we please just freeze them? We are having too much fun. Bathroom-talk and all. And I’ll take all the what-ifs and lame jokes in the world if I can just keep getting the snuggles and hearing their perfect giggles that can’t help but bring a smile to your face. What joy fills my heart.

Alas, I know they will grow older. But we will enjoy the moments we have today, and we will be thankful for the blessings God has given us. And when they grow, we will love and enjoy the “older” versions of them. Thankful for these good and perfect gifts from the Father of Heavenly lights. And thankful that while they will change and grow, and while we continue to change, He does not change. And He has put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound. ~ Psalm 4:7

The apple doesn’t fall far…

Posted in blogging, Eucharisteo, joy found, laughter, my girl, my husband, the parents by

The Hubs won’t play games with me. He says I have too many rules. I say games come with rules. Otherwise, you wouldn’t know what to do. Duh. He says I make up too many of my own rules. I say… I say… I say whatever. He’s just a sore looser, I think.

Yesterday, Annalise and I set up an epic MLP playland. Don’t know what MLP is? Well, you were obviously not a child of the ’80’s.* Or at least not a female one. My Little Pony. I had a gazillion. And a stable with a bed for the ponies (as though they lay down in beds. Geesh.) And 2 baby cribs with mini ponies that had designs on their rears that matched their mommies’ rears. And lots of MLP clothes from the early 80’s (including one very hot pink workout headband… Rock On MLP!) And a giant pink castle with a pony’s throne and golden horseshoes. Not even kidding. Annalise inherited them all because apparently I’ve inherited my emotional attachment to things from my mother. She saved all my MLPs. And Cabbage Patch Dolls. And Strawberry Shortcake Dolls. And Little Golden Books. And I’m sure lots of other things I’ve yet to discover. Her garage is like a seriously organized treasure hunt. If you are my age and care to have a walk down memory lane via all the best toys from your childhood, come with me to visit her. I’m sure she’ll hook you up. Along with some seriously mean grub.** She feeds all people who walk into her home. Expected or unexpected.

*Does “a child of the 80’s” mean I was born in the 80’s? Or just that I was a child at some point during the ’80’s. Because if it mean’s I was born in the 80’s, then technically, I’m a child of the 70’s. But I won’t tell you which year. Except that it’s closer to the 80’s than the beginning of the 70’s.

**MOM! Just to be clear, “seriously mean grub” is a compliment. It means your food is delicious. NOT that your food is a bully. You probably knew that already, but just in case… I didn’t want to risk losing out on any of that deliciousness next time I’m down.

Anyway, while my girl and I were playing MLPs, I realized that we were actually NOT playing MLPs. We were setting up. We were organizing. We were planning. We were deciding what each little MLP accessory (i.e. goblets, awards, diaper, roller skates…) would be used for when we played and where it would go and who would hold it, and… Scratch that. WE were not deciding all these things. SHE was deciding all these things. I’d set up the castle. But in the wrong spot. It would get moved. I’d brush a pony’s mane. But with the wrong brush (there’s only 20 to choose from). I’d switch. And then again. I’d set up the horse jumps, but facing the wrong way. They’d get turned.

I finally asked if we could start playing. She said, “Not yet. We have to get it all set up first. Everything has to be in its spot. And then, when we play, we can’t (fill in the blank)... and we need to (fill in the blank)… and don’t forget (fill in the blank) …”

I suddenly found myself saying to her, “Annalise! You have so many rules! It’s not very fun to play with someone with so ma…” She looked at me, wondering if I’d finish my sentence. “Never mind. Your dad is in the next room.”

Have you ever had a moment where you realized that you are very much like your mother, and your daughter is very much like you and your mother? I did. Staring at those ponies my mom saved because she knew how much I loved them and might want to play with them with my own daughter one day. Then staring at my daughter, who is organizing the entire MLP collection – which takes up the entire living room – and making a “plan for playing” before actually playing. Yes, I am like my mother. And my daughter is like me. And I guess that is a good thing, because I love those two girls an awful lot. And if I turn out to be a bit like my mom, and if my daughter turns out to be a little bit like her, too, then I guess we’ve just made this world a little bit brighter. She is one amazing lady. LOVE YOU, MAMA!

P.S. Hubs just read this and wanted me to add that, and I quote, (ahem) “The reason I don’t play with you is because you have too many rules and are OCD… like when we were playing cars with Jacob and you had to re-line up the cars we’d lined up so they were with matching Cars. You ruined our fun.” I would like to add that if you are going to put all the Lightning McQueens together in order from smallest to largest, and you put the Fillmores together from smallest to largest, IT ONLY MAKES SENSE that you put the Maters and Finns and Hollys and other cars in order from smallest to largest. Otherwise they feel left out. And maybe also separation anxiety.

And yes, I’m probably slightly OCD. But I think I get that from my mom, too.

P.P.S. To all you faithful blog readers: WordPress tells me my blog has been going for almost a year. So I’m thinking it’s time for a blog makeover! I might change color (I’m thinking red and brown) and format a bit. Do you have any feedback? Is the font too small? Spacing weird? What do you think? Leave me a comment!

times they are a changin – Part 1

Posted in blogging, Eucharisteo, grace, joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl, my husband by

It seems that recently, each member of the Priestman household has gone through some sort of change. Some good. Some bad. Some just… um… interesting. But enough that the changes required a posting to update y’all.

First, the breaking news: POTTY TRAINING SUCCESS! That’s right, folks, we are potty training pros around here. In no time at all, he went from diapers-’round-the-clock to big-boy-undies-and-dry-during-sleep. But I should probably give credit where credit is actually due… to the little man himself. While I did suggest on Saturday morning that he try to go potty every 45 minutes and set the timer to remind myself to make him attempt at each beeping, it was only around lunch time when he told me with irritation as the beeper went off, “I do NOT have to go again! I will TELL you when I do!” Ok, then.

About 15 minutes later, he told me he had to go. And he’s been telling me every flipping 5 minutes since. Seriously, this whole pottying business is downright EXHAUSTING. Is there something about little boys that prevents them from emptying their entire bladder in one sitting??? Because I gotta tell ya, going through the effort of taking off shoes, pants, and undies (because he won’t try if they aren’t COMPLETELY OFF but just HAS to have them on in between time), pottying, washing hands, pulling ON undies, pants, and finally shoes, isn’t really worth it when it is followed immediately by, “I gotta go again…” There is just something about it that makes you want to say, “That’s what pull-ups are for, Dude. Have at it.” I’ll admit, I said it once. But his reply made me give in with a smile, “I twied, Mom. I weally did. But I dist (just) can’t weally go in my big boy undies.”

Other Jacob news… he’s sick. Again. The poor boy has a poor immune system, which is contributed to his poor eating. I mean really, it’s a miracle he’s survived this long with as little food he eats. Nonetheless, he has stolen my heart and brings me to tears about 27 times a day because of his sheer cuteness (overheard singing earlier today in a slightly-pathetic-but-adorable voice amidst sniffles and coughs, “Wudolph da wed-nosed weindeer-weindeer, had a vewy shiny nose… It’s a  LIGHT FULL!…. …den one FWOGGY Cwistmas Eve…” Picturing him picture all those frogs jumping around on Christmas Eve does bring a smile to my face.

In addition to his cuteness, I cry an additional 63 times because of his awesomeness, his sensitiveness, and his growing-up-too-fast-ness. Yes, he’s just getting out of diapers, and yes, he hasn’t even seen enough birthdays to fill half of a hand, but just the other day I bawled like a baby thinking about the day he will graduate and eventually drive-off to college. Not enough things to cry about in the present, apparently, so I thought I’d devote some of my emotional energy to 16+ years into the future.

But really, the tears just flow because I’d like to just please FREEZE this:photo(30)Serious cuteness, people. SERIOUS  cuteness.

Which was taken just moments after this:

photo(31)Little boy, Big bed. Crawled himself right in (along with a box of tissues, his blankie, Mickey Mouse, and “Clippord”) and put himself down for a nap!

And then there’s this:

photo(35)Praying one MASSIVE prayer at lunch time. Sick boy, praying for the needs of others. UGH. MORE. TEARS. Not the same reaction from his sister, though, who looks to be feeling a little less like “he’s SO sweet” and a little more like “good GRIEF, is he EVER going to finish? I’m HUNGRY!”

And while all those are cute and awfully freezable moments, I’d even like to freeze THIS:

photo(34)“Look, Mom! Da tissue dist (just) sticks to my face all by itself! It’s because of all da slimy booger stuff comin’ out!”

Yes please! I want to freeze especially this! Because what happens when he doesn’t want to show me his proud moments… even if it is just getting his tissue stuck to his face all by himself? Or when he’s too proud and grown up to tell me about his slimy booger stuff? What happens then??? I cannot bear the thought. More tears…

Another reason for tears: Annalise’s big change… her first loose tooth. Buckets, people. Crying buckets over this one. Because not only is it loose which makes her WAY too grown up WAY too quickly, but while it loosens very slowly, the permanent tooth is growing in behind it fast. Its quicker rate of growth means it will be mostly in place BEFORE the baby tooth is out, which means no adorable toothless girl that still has a teeny-tiny moment of “baby girlness” to her. Nope, we’re transitioning right from baby(tooth)hood to adult(tooth)hood in one instant. And this, friends, is DOWNRIGHT UNFAIR. For me, I mean. It’s hard enough on Mama to see the baby transition to big girl, but now I have to lose out on those precious days, maybe even a week or two, of squeezing out just a little more little girl. Coupled with the fact that she has grown taller at a quicker rate than most kids, talked early, and was BORN with more hair than many 2-year-olds, I’d say I’ve had a serious disadvantage in the baby-stage, and I’d like to call it what it is: LAMESAUCE. That’s right, I want a DO-OVER. NOT a do-over with Annalise, mind you, because I absolutely love her nearly every minute of every day and wouldn’t change her one iota. But I call “do-over” with babies. Maybe another go-around is in order? Yes, I’d say so. At least one.

Besides… even with her mouth wide open trying to show all of you her loose tooth and the one growing in (neither of which you can see in a pic), how gorgeous is she???

photo(32)Yep. Big Brown Eyes = Totally suckered parents. Every. Time.

Lots more Annalise-changing-(aka-growing-up)-news. But first, a side-note question. How come no one ever told me that FIVE is the beginning of the AWKWARD stage? I thought it was wayyyyy later… like 12, or maybe even 13. But I gotta say, I’ve seen some serious AWKWARD lately.  It doesn’t last all the way ’till 12, does it?? Maybe we just experienced random awkward. Maybe they’re just glimpses of future awkward and not the full-blown awkward we’re in for. But if the full-blown awkward is just lots more of the awkward we’ve seen already, Heaven help us. Because My. Oh. My. Awwwk-WARD! 

Just the same, I DO love that girl, and her spunk, and her neverendingdancingself. I did not realize it was a “thing” she had, this inability to not dance. But it is. It’s a thing. She can’t not dance when there is a beat or music of any kind…including Daddy singing, Jacob humming, or a car horn beeping. The dancing just. happens. She doesn’t even realize it, either. Yesterday, she needed to hold still for something. She wanted to hold still for it. Far off in the distance, there was a slight hum in the air. Suddenly, the girl was wiggling all over the place. “AnnaLISE! HOLD. STILL!” I hollered.

“But I ca-aaaannt!” she replied. “It MAKES me every time. I try to stop, but the music won’t let me!” I just love that dancin’ girl. It’s in her soul. And how can you argue with that?

You also can’t argue with this: after her Bible Class lesson today, she excitedly told me the story they learned about Jesus in a boat with the disciples while there was a big storm, only he was sound asleep. “Mom, then the disciples woke Jesus up because they were afraid. And know what Jesus did?  (Now raising her eyebrows and stretching her arms out as far as they could go in both directions.. then whispering…) He just told the wind and the waves to be still. And MOM, they DID! They were STILL! Know what he told them? He just said… ‘COMB.'” Arms still stretched out for added dramatic affect as she awaits my reaction.

“Comb? Really? Are you sure he didn’t say something else?”… like, say, CALM?

“NOPE! He said, (arms out and eyebrows raised again), “COMB!”

Hmmm. I’m still not getting it. “Why do you think he said that?”

Without hesitation, she tells me…”Because, the waves were all wild and all over the place and stuff. Just like my hair sometimes. So he said, “COMB.”

Yep, makes sense to me. And good… Not too grown up just yet.

No, not too grown up, but certainly getting older and wiser. How I love her heart. How full it makes mine. This Christmas season, she and I shared many special moments, thinking of others, praying for others, making things for others. My little girl showed me how big she really is. I am so proud of her. So blessed. And once, with her big heart and big eyes, she looked at me and said so sweetly, “Mama? If alls I got for Christmas was a big bag of rocks, know what I’d do?”

“What, Baby?”

“I’d paint them all different colors and have the most beautiful rock collection.”  That’s my girl!

Because when life gives you lemons… or rocks… it’s not what you hold, but
what you do with what you hold that matters, right?

I’m learning from that girl all the time.

But back to the changes. Even Izzy is in on it. She’s currently at the vet getting a few changes of her own. We kept it a secret, because I was afraid she wouldn’t have gone if she’d known what she was headed in for. But we were not about to go through another heat cycle with that mutt. Or at least, Matt wasn’t. If you haven’t heard the story, I’ll spare you the details. Just know that no amount of money would be too much for him to spend if he could just erase the images that are now burned into his brain forever. Oh, and as a side-note, while Izzy is “under” today, they will be pulling a baby canine that never fell out when her adult canine grew in next to it. It might cause problems later, so we’re saving a potential future surgery. And I’d just like to know, what is it about the teeth growing in this family? Don’t they know there is a process to this? First – tooth comes out. Next – new tooth grows in. There is an order, people. Let’s stick to the order.

As for Matt, his changes are all about photography. Business is booming. Growing pains are good. He is handling it all well, and I am so very proud of him.

My changes are a little more… well… heart changes. Too serious for this post. Maybe later. For now, I think I shall retire the computer and go hug my little bugs before they grow up and drive off.

The story.

Posted in grace, grief and loss, holidays, joy found by

What to say? Words whirling around, no where to land. Emotions swirling, not one sticking for very long. Crying one minute, laughing the next.

What do we do with grief so great? When it is not even grief of our own, but of a place we’ve never even been? Only it feels like we have been there. Every teacher I know feels they know that place and wondered “what if” on Friday, as they hugged each student good-bye. Every Mama and Daddy, we hurt so deeply, eyes filling each time we glance at the little hands we still get to hold. Grandmas and grandpas, relatives of all sort. It feels like it’s not far from home, doesn’t it?

Some try to argue it out. Blame someone. Our laws, politicians. It’s their fault, right? Or God. He could have stopped this.

It’s what we do. We try to figure out what went wrong, try to make sense of it all. The truth is, we just can’t. Not like that. Blaming politicians or gun laws isn’t going to get us anywhere. Blaming God sometimes feels productive, like you have finally found the source of the problem, at least that’s what it was like for me. I spent plenty of days months and even years blaming God for a tragedy I’ve experienced. While the anger felt correctly placed at the time, it only served to stir up more anger, more frustration, more hate. I’ve learned from my own tragedy – while very different and of a much smaller scale than what we all heard of on Friday – that blaming God gets you nowhere, because it is anger placed in the exact wrong spot. Hate directed at a source that only gives Love. I’ve learned that no matter how much hate is poured out, His Love pours out infinitely more.

Here is what else I’ve learned…

I’ve learned that tragedy, tremendous tragedy and evil exist. But so does God. And He is Love. He will never abandon nor forsake us. He loves deeply. He knows our hurt, and He weeps with us.

I’ve learned that on a day like today, when the grief bubbles over and runs down your face at a moment’s notice, there isn’t much to do except pray. And that is no small thing.

I’ve learned that on any day, on every day, we need to soak up the moments. Not let them slip past. Not take them for granted.

I’ve also learned that on any day, when the frustrations of being a Mama are great and the bedtimes are later than they should be and the kids say words they shouldn’t in tones they shouldn’t and I do the same, that it is ok. That I don’t need to feel guilty for letting a moment slip by and not loving every second, because day-to-day life is just hard sometimes. And frustration from the day and longing for the kids to be asleep doesn’t mean I love them less or that I don’t know how incredibly blessed I am. When I wish for no more diapers or for a moment alone, it does not mean I’m taking my moments for granted.

I’ve learned that in our hardest moments, when we have no words to say, when hurt runs so deep that it grips the heart and soul and stills the tongue, that Jesus, the son of God, prays for us. Jesus, the Son of God intercedes on our behalf. On behalf of those mommies, daddies, and all that are hurting. When our words run out or won’t come, or when they whirl around with no place to land, the King of Kings, sitting at the right hand of the Father, prays for us. And when Jesus, God the son, prays to God the Father, he can only pray the perfect prayer, exactly what needs to be said and exactly what needs to be done.

Most importantly, I’ve learned that Jesus is our only hope. He is the joy of more than just this Christmas season. He is the Hope of my heart. The hope of Oregon. The hope of Newtown, CT. The Hope of the nations, and of this world. He is the only hope. When the pain of life seems greater than we can bear, Jesus comforts. Jesus heals. When we think we can not go on, He sustains. When all around seems to crumble, He is steadfast, a solid rock.

Some blame Him for the heinous acts that have occurred in our country, yet His Love is limitless for even them. I wonder, do we also praise Him when we see blessings poured out? Or does He get ignored until the next tragedy, where we can dump further blame on Him? 

Do you know this Hope? This Hope that is Limitless Love? This Joy, that is found not in the packages under a tree, but that was nailed to a tree? This Joy to the world, that He has come to bring a Hope of life eternal?

Do you still wonder, why didn’t God stop it? Why didn’t He stop the evil that is beyond our comprehension? And while we’re on the subject, why didn’t He prevent every other pain in this world – big and small – if He really truly loves so much? That’s okay to wonder. He understands that, too. It doesn’t all make sense to us, but we must know the whole story.

I can not summarize it better than a friend did already, so I will post her answer. It may not satisfy the answer to the question, why did this happen? Because really, there may not be a satisfying answer for us. There is no answer on this earth that is great enough to make any of it feel ok. I know this, because even in my smaller-scale tragedy, nothing that would come out of it, nothing I could ever imagine, would be wonderful enough to make the pain in my Mama’s heart seem worthwhile.  So while our “Why, God?” may not magically disappear, this story answers some very important questions. Of why life can hurt so much when God loves so much, why evil and pain exist, and why Jesus is our only Hope. I encourage you to read it all. We need to know the whole story…

From Carissa Krause, in response to a Facebook question about God’s plan:

With the very words that He spoke, God created everything. By His very breath, Adam’s heart not only began to beat, but his mind began to think and his soul was connected to God. “And God saw everything that He had made and it was very good.” Adam and Eve enjoyed an astounding relationship with God. Fully secure. Fully accepted. Fully significant. Wow. To sit down and try to wrap our heads around this is mind blowing.

While I won’t get into the specifics of what we Christians call “The Fall”, I’ll just plainly state that Adam and Eve sinned. They did what God told them not to do and when they did that, the connection that they had with God was broken. They died. Not physically…yet. But they were spiritually dead. Any every person born from them and after them would be spiritually dead too.

Now, let’s just be real for a minute. If it wasn’t Adam and Eve, it would have been you and me. Let’s not forget that their sin did not catch God off guard. It’s not like He had to come up with His plan in the middle of the night while Adam and Eve were huddled behind a palm tree sewing their fig leaves together because they were ashamed in their nakedness. God is omniscient. He knows everything. If He knew “before the foundations of the earth” that I would be His little girl, then He knew before He ever began to stir up the dust to make Adam that I would need to be redeemed. Therefore, God had His plan set from the beginning. Because He loves me. Because He loves you. Because He is Love.

His plan unfolds in every page of Scripture and is so clearly stated in Genesis 3. We had a problem. God loves us. God wants us. God is Holy, He is not stained by sin nor will He accept any stain into His Kingdom. We were all born stained. We are all born spiritually disconnected. We cannot do anything about it. We have a problem.
God has a plan.

The Good News or “Gospel” as we call it, was first proclaimed by God Himself in Genesis 3:15. “I will put enmity between you and the woman and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head and you shall bruise his heel.” God said that One would come who would deal a crushing, disarming and deadly blow to satan.

Jesus is the plan.

All of the Old Testament points to the death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ. The plan is to give us back what we lost. To give us back our LIFE. Not physical life, spiritual life. The plan is to reconnect us to God. In order to do that, God had to remove our stains, our sin had to be paid for. So He took His Son Jesus, wrapped Him up in human flesh and sent Him to earth…because He loved the world.

And Jesus was born.

And Jesus loved.

And Jesus was perfect.

And Jesus died.

And God brought Jesus back to life.

And Jesus pointed everyone to God…

Because Jesus is God.

And whoever receives Jesus…

…is clean and connected to God.

This is the plan.

There is not another one.

This is Christmas.

This is Easter.

This is the Beginning and the End of the World.

Now, in light of yesterday’s tragedy, people ask where God was…or maybe the question is better put, “what is God’s plan in that?” We are upset because God, who could have stopped this…didn’t.
Perhaps we are not all that different then, from those awaiting a Savior in the New Testament times. He was rejected by some perhaps because He did not come the way they thought He should. Perhaps they thought the Savior would come and disarm the Roman rule and set Israel free from its oppressors. Wouldn’t a Savior stop the shooter?

Friends, He did.

We get so caught up in what we can see with our eyes, what we feel with our emotions, but God told us that it is by grace through faith that we are made alive. Our oppressors include the world, our own human nature and the devil…and on the cross, Jesus disarmed them all.
The plan WAS fulfilled, IS BEING fulfilled and WILL BE fulfilled.

My heart aches at the thought that these mothers will not hold their babies again. I am angered at the fact that the lives of these people were stolen from the ones who love them. While I hurt with those who hurt…I have not forgotten the plan. I have not forgotten that Jesus did not set Israel free from Roman rule, nor did He stop the Holocaust, or the stock market from crashing, or my father-in-law from dying, or bring my brother’s baby or my cousin’s baby healthy and into the world…

He paid for my sin and set me free.

This life I live, I live by faith in Jesus Christ.

He is the plan.

Catching Up

Posted in blogging, Eucharisteo, family outings, holidays, joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl, the relatives by

According to my calculations, today is supposed to be day 34 of my “40 days of Faith, Family, and Funnies.” I’m just a wee-bit behind. But c’mon. Did any of you think I’d actually complete 40 consecutive days of blogging? 7 days was a stretch, and frankly, it wasn’t even fun at that point. Life gets busy and time is always short. I did manage to squeeze in an 8th post about Jacob and his “boy tights,” making my goal 1/5 of a success. And I’d say 1/5 success is better than no success at all. (Like that positive spin?) I was only short a mere 32 posts, and really, now that I’m almost… well, let’s just say I’m older than 32…, 32 seems like such a small number.

But since my goal was 40, and since the reason I started this challenge in the first place was to focus on the things I am most thankful for (Faith, Family, Funnies… and Friends), I decided I’d catch up in one random blog post. So, below you’ll find a list of 32 randoms… mostly within those categories. Some other topics may have snuck their way in, too.

1.  First, a boy-tights update. For those of you that were so very concerned about my poor son and his undergarments, I saw boxes of long-johns at Costco. While I admit I quickly became that annoying shopper (according to my husband) who looks through all 6 bins (moving each one out of the way) to find the right size, I did so in a less-crowded Costco (Burlington) and without blocking the entire aisle or neighboring products. I also completed the hunt with incessant grumbling from the Husband. But here’s the deal: you don’t get to grumble about your son having to wear boy-tights and also grumble about your wife taking the time to look for long-john replacements of the correct size. It’s one or the other, Buddy.

Alas, there was not even one box left in all 6 bins that would fit, so boy-tights it is. Jacob doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he asked to wear boy tights just the other day.

2. The kids got to spend a day Christmas-crafting with my aunt, uncle, and my cousins’ kids. They were SUPER excited about it and had a total blast. Later that night when we were back home, Annalise said to me, “I had so much fun today! I wish I could stay at Auntie Jill’s for 100 years…  I would do it, except you would be dead when I got back. So I guess I won’t.” Nice to know she loves me enough to want to see me at least once before I’m dead.

3. While having a little fun with Jacob, I may have given him the impression he has magic powers that can cause doors to open and close at his command. The van door opens with the push of a button on the key fob, so when he was frustrated at not being able to pull it open I playfully told him, “Just tell the door to open.” He did. I pushed the button. The door opened. I really didn’t intend on it going much further, except that now he enjoys telling the van door to open and close often, and it works every time. Or at least when I’m in earshot and have the fob in my hand.

There have even been a few times where he’s headed out to the car first and I hear him yelling at the door to open while I’m still inside locking up. He stops yelling commands to the door, pauses, and changes his tone to his sweetest voice, “Door, could you please open for me?” I quick grab the fob and push the button. You know, just to reinforce the whole good-manners thing.

Well…. It’s all fun and games until you find yourself standing outside of Rite Aid trying to get your 2-year-old to the car, only to discover he is standing in front of the automatic doors, totally hollering at them in complete frustration to CLOSE! CLOSE, DOORS, WIGHT NOW! Only they won’t close… because, as I already said, he is standing in front of them. Ah well. At least his sister got a kick out of it. And we entertained a few customers in the process.

4. Today, Annalise spent some time being grumpy with a capital G. I had totally lost patience and was at my wits end trying to think of what to do with her besides lock her in her room forever when Jacob suddenly ran over to her, pulled at her sleeve as though he had just grabbed a loose hair off it, and ran towards the kitchen. I had no idea what he was doing until I heard the cupboard door under the sink slam shut as he hollers toward the living room, “Don’t worry, Sissy! I just took all your grumpies from you. And I FREW dem wight in da garbage! NO more grumpies!” Matt and I looked at each other in amazement and started to laugh hysterically. We had no idea where that came from. His own idea, I guess. He took those grumpies right off her sleeve and ran straight towards the garbage with ’em! I guess he’d had enough, too.

As though that wasn’t funny enough, just minutes later, Annalise (still very grumpy) was frustrated about something. Suddenly she let out a loud sigh, “UGH. Jay-cuh-ub!” (The 3-syllable Jacob always means the same thing, she is super frustrated with something he did or is doing.) “I think you actually threw away my happies! UGH.”

And there you have it, folks. The (already) grumpy girl found a way to blame her brother on her grumpies. It is his fault, of course, because he threw away the wrong thing. If you’re missing your own happies, you might want to check the garbage can.

 

Well, that’s it for “Catching up.” Yes, it’s only 4 stories. Did I say 32? That may have been over-estimating my time to sit and write (not to mention everyone else’s interest level.) So I think I’ll stick with four and call it good.

May you have a merry Christmas season full of kids who love you enough to want to see you (at least once), magic doors, and grumpies in the garbage.

Loves.