Song for Sunday: Singing words of new life

This is the song I sang in church this morning. I love the lyrics- new & old.

Just As I Am
Words by Charlotte Elliot & Music by William B. Bradbury
New Verses by Nicole Nordeman

I wondered how to come to You,
I did not dare believe it true,
that You regard the orphaned ones:
beloved daughters, worthy sons,
the broken and the barren too,
I heard I could find some rest in You.

What kind of love in injury's place,
would leave instead the stain of grace?
So I come in sorrow and I come in shame.
I come to the cross with my pain.

Just as I am, without one plea,
but that thy blood was shed for me
and that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

The pardon that I found from sin
spilled out from where the nails went in.
My heart will ever more proclaim
I had not lived until that day.
And I know there is a crown for me
beyond where mortal eyes can see
and I don't nod to any man,
but offer me just as I am.

So I come rejoicing with hands held high,
and I come singing words of new life.

Just as I am, without one plea,
but that thy blood was shed for me
and that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God,
O Lamb of God,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Inspiring...

... and humbling. How often do I make excuses when I feel a burden for hurting people or a longing to chase after my passion? Here is the story of someone who just went. To Uganda. To love on impoverished children and take in orphans. She didn't just send money- she went. She didn't wait until the timing seemed perfect- she first went at 16, and went back indefinitely after just one year in college. Now she is 20 and has 13 Ugandan orphans calling her Momma. And 400 kids are now able to go to school, eat two hot meals a day, and receive minor medical care. Because she saw the bigger picture. She saw the need. And she did something (huge) about it.

Someone posted a link to her blog on a discussion thread earlier today, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Click the button below to learn more about the ministry, based out of Brentwood, TN. I'm just finding out about it, so I'm not (yet) endorsing it or asking for people to support it. But check it out. I dare you. And try not to feel amazed. unsettled. inspired...

Five Question Friday

Since I've been having a rough time getting my creative juices flowing lately (sick kids, mountains of laundry, an exhausted hard-working hubby, and all those changes I talked about can sure take it out of me!) today I thought I'd try something new. I'm joining MamaM on her five question Friday. You can join too- just copy the questions, fill in your answers, and link up with the MckLinky. And check out MamaM's blog by clicking the button below.

1. What is your favorite Holiday and why?

I love holidays and seasons... I think because I love looking forward to things (even though I kind of hate change). With the change of the seasons, it's the best of both worlds: something new to anticipate, yet predictable at the same time- the seasons don't catch you off guard like an unexpected visitor, they return like an old friend. My favorite time of the year is probably the span from late September until Christmas. I love fall- hayrides, pumpkin patches, crisp cool air, sweaters, crockpot meals, football season (I can't believe I just wrote that, but it's true.) And of course, I adore Christmas. I love the way it sparkles, the way it smells, the way everyone has a little excitement bubbling under the surface. I also love the potential for the sacred- midnight mass, advent wreaths, candlelit carols, choral anthems (especially community productions of The Messiah) and other magical moments of anticipating our Savior. Ooh- now I'm ready for the holidays!

2. Who has been the most influential person in your life?

Um... Jesus. I mean, I could think of a lot of other people He has placed in my life, but it would take all day.

3. If you could give up one household chore forever, what would it be?
Easy. Anything pertaining to dishes. Possibly even cooking (as a chore, at least). Definitely washing them or (the worst) emptying the dishwasher.

4. What is the BEST practical joke you have ever been a part of, on the giving OR receiving end?
I'm having a hard time thinking of one. The WORST however was on a youth trip to Gatlinburg when I was in high school. Our leader and another guy pretended to be breaking into our chalet in the middle of nowhere. The girls locked ourselves in our room and grabbed anything we could use to call for help or beat the stuffing out of someone. One girl was banging the ironing board into the ceiling. I positioned someone with a comforter right inside the door so they could cover up anyone who managed to make it in while I beat them senseless with the iron... needless to say, when we found out it was a joke, we were MAD. I mean, it was scary! The ironing board girl peed her pants. Not funny. (That's probably why I can't think of any good ones- I HATE pranks).

5. Where (or how) did you meet your spouse?
After I graduated from college, I made plans to work a Fuge camp for some summer ministry (and income). These camps are held at conference centers and colleges all over the place, and the first team to which I was assigned was at Belmont University. Only trouble was, I was also going to spend May performing in a theater in education production, and I couldn't report on time. I started to take this as a sign- no camp for me; I didn't really want to go anyway. But then I got another call about a team that was traveling to St. Louis and Jacksonville, FL. I agreed to go, reluctantly...

Our videographer and rec director was this cute guy who made hilarious videos, made me laugh with Adam Sandler references, showed a passionate side about ministry and service, got really excited about a surprise staff trip to a Cardinal's game (or anything pertaining to sports), and drove (you guessed it) a truck with flames on it. As the summer went on, he ended up having lots of problems with his video equipment and worked late into the night nearly every night. Another guy & I went on food runs for him, and I helped make sure his laundry was taken care of. Turns out I set a bad precedent- now I have to feed him & do his laundry all the time.

Farewell, Flaming Truck!

Warning: This is a fairly sentimental post about a giant inanimate object with an engine, wheels, and well... flames. If this idea bothers you in the least, you may want to skip this one.


There have been a lot of things going on in our little world lately. A lot of changes- some good, some sad, some necessary. One such change: We bid adieu to the Flaming Truck. Most of you who know me are probably wondering what kind of giant celebration I had and why you weren't invited; I have been mortally embarrassed by that truck since the first time I drove it. But, do you know when that was? A night in Jacksonville, Florida, over 8 years ago. The night I got pulled over because I didn't know that I had only turned on the parking lights. The night I went out to get Taco Bell for this guy with whom I was sort of starting to fall in love.

See, that's the thing about the truck. As long as I've known my huaband, he's had it. Love it or hate it, it was his. I rode around Northern Virginia in it when I first met his family and saw where he grew up. I followed it (in my Cavalier, which is also no longer with us) down the dark, empty road from Knoxville to Jefferson City when I met his friends at Carson Newman's homecoming, the glowing MAZDA letters offering reassurance that I was still on the right course. We rode in the truck when he showed me around Birmingham and took me on my first trip to the Irondale (Whistle Stop) Cafe. There were a lot of memories made in that tacky truck.

I remember the first time (I think) I drove it in Birmingham. I pulled in to the Target on 280 and took a deep breath, determined not to let myself look as insecure as I felt. I had only walked about 10 feet from the car when I saw two guys in camo and trucker hats looking at me. One exclaimed, "That was a girl driving that thing!" I think he was impressed, but that didn't make me feel any better about it.

That truck was definitely not me. But it was him- and I knew immediately when he pulled in somewhere to pick me up, or whether he was in class or back at his apartment- no one else drove anything like it. A few years later, I remember following those same glowing MAZDA letters at 2:00 in the morning, our vehicles packed with the last of our belongings as we moved into this house.
Since the girls have come along, I've had to drive the truck more frequently. Since they both have to be in carseats, whoever has the girls drives the van. If I went to camp early in the morning, or left Community Kids after the girls needed to be picked up from preschool, I took the truck. I always made litle jokes about it- offering it to people when they said they needed a new truck, joking about getting the Troy Lee decals removed, never calling it anything except "the flaming truck." But I grew more comfortable driving it.

Once while driving it, I skidded off the road at the bottom of a hill in our subdivision. I was terrified, and resolved to try to avoid driving it in the rain. Another time (I think I blogged about it- if I find the post I'll link it here) hubby & I got it stuck in our backyard while trying to lay sod. Big Sister rode in it a few times, strapped into her carseat, holding her daddy's hand and listening to Snow Patrol sing "Shut Your Eyes."

It was a good truck. Gosh-awful ugly, but kind of like an old nightshirt you want to keep forever. (BTW, I'm trying to part with a terrible, holey Yale nightshirt I've had since 8th grade... I have no idea why it is so hard) It always brought a smile to my face to see my husband pull in the driveway and reach out to get the mail, or to see it in the church parking lot or pulled around behind the shed at the softball fields. But the transmission was slipping, and it was more than a little scratched up, and did I mention the flames?!?! In good condition, Kelly told us it was only worth around $2,000. So when our favorite uncle (Sam) started offering $4500 for it, we decided it was time.

It was starting to die. It was ugly and impractical, and got bad gas mileage. But it was ours for our whole life together- and the hubs' for the last two years of his time in college. I still don't like to call it a clunker. Or think about it being crushed & recycled. My blue smurfmobile is still being driven around town- we see it once or twice a month because the guy (!) who drives it never took off the phi mu decal. But we'll never get to follow the flaming truck until I can take a picture of it with my cell phone. We left it in the parking lot of the Nissan dealer, and drove away with a Sentra.

And a lump in our throats.

And a big piece of flamage that I tore off before we left. What? They were just going to crush it up, anyway!

So, farewell, Flaming Truck. Thanks for the memories.

Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!

I was prepared enough to buy a card a few weeks back, but not organized enough to get it in the mail on time- so until it arrives:

Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad!

I hope you had a wonderful day together.
Thanks for being an example of love and commitment.
We love you and hope to see you soon!

Song for Sunday: Two for one special

This first one is just for fun, and because, well, I've not blogged in a bit and feel...

Lyrics | Dixie Chicks lyrics

Hopefully, my blogginess is coming back. But I DO love me some Dixie Chicks.

Then I started thinking about how Song for Sunday probably ought to be inspirational. So I'll throw in another one. It's one I sang in church a few times, it's not really "new" but it is always great when I need a reminder about perspective.

Jesus, Lover of my Soul
Words & Music by Paul Oakley

It's all about You, Jesus,
And all this is for You, for Your glory & Your fame.
It's not about me
As if You should do things my way.
You alone are God, and I surrender
to Your way.

Jesus, Lover of my soul,
All consuming fire is in your gaze.
Jesus, I want you to know
I will worship You for all my days.
For no one else in history is like You,
and history itself belongs to You.
Alpha and Omega, You have loved me,
and I will spend eternity with You.

It's all about You...

If you don't know this song, I've added it to my playlist, so you can scroll down on the right side & listen to it, if you'd like. Also, let me know what you think about embedding the scrolling lyrics into my post? Fun? Hard to read? Less attractive? Lazy? Let me have it (nicely, please!)

At least the equipment all matches...

Here are some pictures of Big Sister's first adventures in using her "new" (second-hand) scooter.


Maybe it was because we were suddenly talking about how she needed all sorts of protective equipment, but she was very nervous about getting hurt. At ToysRUs, while trying on helmets, she said, "Maybe I don't need a bike or a scooter... why do I need knee pads?...um... Do they make face pads?"


When she actually climbed on the scooter (after I gave her a terrible demonstration of how it is supposed to work) she looked more like a little old woman with a walker. She moved about as quickly, too.

Oh well. She didn't fall down and break her face, so maybe she'll try again and in time she'll improve. And in the meantime, at least her helmet and knee pads are oh-so-nicely coordinated with her scooter. Which explains why she would rather be inside, doing this to her sister...

Walking away...

Over the past couple of months, I’ve become involved in an on online community through BlogFrog. I participated in numerous discussion threads with topics as wide in range as dealing with milk and soy protein intolerance to listing prayer requests and even what kind of vacuum cleaner best picks up pet hair. The two most notable threads, however, have been much more controversial.

One was started after a well-meaning individual started another thread entitled “Praying for the unsaved.” Simply put, a person began the new thread to say, “I’m ‘unsaved’ and offended.” I was intrigued and watched for a few days as Christian after Christian tried to explain to this (and several other) non-believers the “imminent perils of an eternity in hell” before I stepped in and shared my own heart. I wanted so badly for the Christians on the thread to see what I have come to see- that people are not rejecting Christ for lack of knowledge about hell or sin, or because they haven’t heard enough Bible verses. Instead, they don’t believe what they have heard, due in part to some of the horrible inconsistencies in the way we choose to portray Christ in the world. I chose to walk a very fine line as a person who loves Christ (but, truthfully, not always His people) and who loves those who’ve been disenfranchised in His name.

It was a wonderful experience, most of the time. I met some amazing women. I learned a lot about them and what they believed, and I also found new words and reasons for my own beliefs. But it became increasingly difficult to stay on my line. To the outspoken Christians, my lack of focus on God’s wrath or eternal punishment was watering down the truth or only sharing the “happy stuff.” Time and again, people would say when I or others had a different approach than they did, ours were not “Biblical.” (Nevermind that people have been interpreting the Bible differently since, well since before they even tried to decide which books to include. Ever wondered why we have so many different denominations?!) The thread is still open, but died down twice: once, because we all gently agreed to learn from each other and respectfully disagree, and another time because it reopened (in my opinion) only to undo some of that respect and common ground.

The other “hot button issue” thread in which I participated dealt with homosexuality. A person asked an admittedly ignorant question of another, who was homosexual. She was immediately ridiculed and everyone wanted to strangle her. And I get that. But I had to climb on my tightrope once again, this time more reluctantly. I just wanted people to see that ignorance has no choice but to stay ignorance if we don’t let people ask questions. That maybe if we could look past the way a question is worded and see if there is something that can genuinely be learned from the discussion, why not have it? I know too many Christians that say horrible things about homosexuals simply because they 1) don’t realize that they know any 2) don’t understand much about GLBT people and 3) have never heard a Christian (or anyone) explain to them why they shouldn’t say such things, why they are hurtful or untrue or just, to quote my friends, “unbiblical.” I simply tried to express that sometimes, if we can look through the awkward (and even painful) things in our way, we can find teachable moments. Horizon-expanding, life-changing teachable moments.

And it worked… horribly. I left the thread with a few people accusing me of defending the original poster’s ignorance. This was new to me- usually I’m the liberal one. Now I was shocked to find I had to prove that I was not a homophobe. (Those of you who know me well know that this is completely… well… I’d like to say ridiculous, but it would really be more along the lines of devastating.) I cried as I typed & submitted my last post. Then I vowed to process all of this, blog about it, and walk away.

Walking away isn’t easy for me. For one, belonging to a community, especially one with a mix of crunchy and Christian mothers, was nice. And it was also a little addictive- an escape during naptime or after putting the girls to bed. In fact, that is one of the reasons I realized I needed to leave the community. I was getting too involved (especially lately, as I’ve been in a funk and reading about other people’s crockpot recipes is a lot easier to do than praying, introspection or making needed changes...) and spending too much precious time there.

But the other reason walking away will be so hard is because I actually found a piece of who I am while typing those responses. I discovered something for which I believe God has given me a passion. I’ve read about it, even taught about it before, but I’ve never understood it quite so fully. In II Corinthians, Paul writes about the ministry of reconciliation. About being reconciled to each other, so that we can then reconcile others to God. I believe that this is what I felt called to do each time I stepped into a discussion and straddled my line. I want to help people to see what it’s like on the other side of the divider, to gain some understanding, to show a greater respect, even to appreciate their own side more. I want them to see the view I see. From the line.

But, as scenic as it may be, it’s quite a lonely place to be. Not many people can fit on a tiny tightrope. It’s hard, though not impossible, to find people like me. We are people who choose to be a part of the church even though we’ve seen it through the eyes of those most hurt and least enchanted by it. We are people who know how much hatred still exists in some small corners of the world, and celebrate rather than scoff when even tiny steps are made in the right direction. We cry when people don’t get it and dance when someone finally does. We want to shake those who refuse to even try. But most of the time, those people actually end up shaking us.

Because the problem with standing in the middle is that you’re standing in the crossfire, and you’re an easy target. When people get defensive or angry, it’s easy to confuse the troublemakers and the peacemakers. And when people start aiming at the latter, it feels… well… devastating.

So, even though I’ve found myself to be passionate about this business of reconciliation, I’ve also found that strangers on some web forum can have too much power over my emotions. And that means they can then hold too much power over how I feel about myself and my ability to mother and a whole slew of other things. I choose NOT to allow them this power. It is not worth it. So, I will walk away. I've tried to be true to myself, I've learned a lot, and I've made some great new friends. But it's time to move on. There are, after all, plenty of other lines...

We're gonna party like it's your birthday...

As I mentioned before, this weekend was Big Sister's birthday party. It was a great day, even though it just about nothing went according to plan.

First, we took forever decided on where to have the party in the first place, so the invitations were late. We usually just hand deliver them at church, but since school is about to start, no one was at church to get their invitations. This was a sign of things to come- over half of the kids we invited were unable to come because they were traveling on this last weekend before the start of school.

Then, on Friday we found a huge split in the van's front tire. So DaddyClay spent all Saturday morning waiting to get it fixed (and discovering it was not covered by the comprehensive tire warranty. Blargh.) Since we were planning on taking sprinklers & pools & slip'n'slides to the fields at church, my party preparation plans included him. They had to be changed. Fortunately, my mom & dad were here & helped tremendously with hauling & setting up everything.


Second, I had several issues in my baking for the party, from not having cake mix (I always have at least two boxes in my pantry) to crazy runny icing. If I had received any money for making the cake, I would have reported myself to Cake Wrecks.


Other little things came up too, and in the end we were still setting up the water stuff when the guests arrived. The breeze felt great, but it kept gusting the table cloth up into the cake, or knocking over the party favors, or blowing out the candle as soon as we got it lit.

This is a re-enactment. There were so many hands keeping the wind off of that candle,
I didn't even see Big Sister blow it out.

In previous parties, I've had stations set up with activities relating to the theme- from books or art projects to bubbles or balloon animals. This year, there was no real structure. The teacher in me was not really comfortable with that. I'm still not really sure what gifts Big Sister got because there was just a blur of four-year-olds, wrapping paper, and cards.



But the kids had fun. Big Sister didn't even notice the smaller group of kids or the lack of things to paint or glue. She wouldn't have even noticed the drooping cake, if I (or Shep) hadn't pointed it out.

She was too busy having a great time with her friends and family.

Aside from the mistakes from which I most definitely have learned more than a few lessons, I gained some other pearls of wisdom, too. For one, I could have forgone at least one of the crazy water toys and simply had a "puddle party."

For another, I learned that even babies fall victim to pointing out the speck in another's eye icing on another kid's face while neglecting to notice the plank in frosting on their own.


I learned that I am not okay with the idea of having a daughter old enough to play with Barbies.

I learned that packing extra towels or baby wipes is always a good idea. And that my kids are super cute (okay, I didn't just learn that one...)

And I learned that sometimes, even when things don't go according to plan or I am less than prepared, we can all have a great time. Happy Birthday (again) Precious Big Sister!

Song for Sunday: scattered

I've had a very scattered weekend. I had way too many things on my plate, but I just couldn't seem to stop myself from taking more & more helpings when people offered them to me. I only wish the repercussions to this (figurative) heaping platter were as simple as a tummy-ache or a few extra pounds. In truth, I did manage to take care of everything, but I do not feel that I did any of them well. Instead, I felt that I just kicked into survival mode and did what had to be done. I do not like functioning this way.

I've been reflecting on why I let myself feel (or get) so overwhelmed. I've been busier, had more responsibilities, more stress, less time- I can't just blame my circumstances. But for whatever reason, I've just been unfocused. It's not that I didn't care about the things that I had to take care of this week (parties for my daughter's birthday, getting ready for my parents to visit, Children's worship, a bridal shower, and so on); it's more like I just didn't realize how far behind I was until it was too late to catch up well. Or even more likely: I just didn't grasp the time constraints I was facing- I thought I could do it all. I did, but just barely- not (repeat after me) well- and only by the grace of God. If you were someone who was there to see me doing less than my best, I am sorry.

I'm trying to manage my time a little more wisely, to clear the fog & get motivated, and to remember Who is really the Boss of me, my efforts and my time...

In the Middle of Me
by Todd Agnew

I need a little more sunshine in the middle of rain
Need a little more joy in the middle of pain
Need a little more color in the middle of this plain jane

I’ve looked as deep as I can see
And I think I need a little more You in the middle of me

I need a little more patience in the middle of stress
I need a little more beauty in the middle of this mess
Need a little more substance in the middle of this emptiness

I’ve looked as deep as I can see
And I think I need a little more You in the middle of me

Need more of You and less of me
More of You and little less insanity
More of You and little less complexity

I’ve looked as deep as I can see
It seems more of You is better for me

I need a little more rhythm in the middle of this lazy rhyme
Need a little more spontaneity in the middle of this daily grind
Need a little more truth not music in this world of lies

I’ve looked as deep as I can see
And I think I need a little more You in the middle of me

[ In The Middle Of Me Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]

Happy Birthday Big Sister!

Four years ago today, we welcomed our firstborn into the world.

It was a Saturday, the day after our official due date. We were scheduled to induce the following Monday, because I was extremely swollen. But while the hubs was about to start mowing the yard, my water broke. I'm pretty sure I told him he could probably go ahead and at least cut the front yard, that first babies usually take a while, and that I wanted to take a shower before we headed to the hospital. The contractions were starting, but I didn't want to be gross in the hospital (if only I had any idea what was coming!)

I called my midwife, and we headed to the hospital. On the way, we heard Daughters by Jon Mayer. We called my parents, who were already on their way down to help us get ready for Monday. Of course, our girl had other plans. She always does.

It only took 7 hours, from the time labor began until I was holding that scrunched-face perfection in my arms. I gave in and had the epidural; I'm pretty sure now that I've read more about it that I was having terrible back labor, and I just didn't want to be completely miserable when I met her. Of course, I couldn't have been, no matter how hard or painful the labor might have been. She was amazing.

She still is. Four years later, she still has her own agenda. She has the most vivid imagination and astonishing intelligence I have ever seen- and I'm not just saying that because I'm biased! Though she can be quite silly, she can also be very serious. She has the most tender heart. She has the most stubborn head. She can make me laugh, cry, and count to ten to try to salvage patience, all within a few minutes time. I can not wait to see who she becomes.

Seven hours of (rewarding) labor to meet her. Four years of (equally rewarding) laboring to guide & love her to the best of my abilities.

I am blessed.

Happy birthday to my huge-hearted, hilarious daughter.

My daughter, the mob boss...

Yesterday when we picked Big Sister up from school, Hubby & I were so tickled by something she told us that we actually fought over who could share it first. Since she actually said it to him, he won. This is the note my hubby posted on facebook last night. Maybe if he ever updates his blog, it will appear there as well. Also, he had no intentions of editing out Big Sister's name when he originally wrote it, and I wanted to try to leave his writing style as in tact as possible, so bear with me:

My Daughter is Going to Be On Real Housewives of New Jersey Someday...

So, today I went to pick up [Big Sister] from school. I was asking her how her day was and, knowing that she threw a couple of fits this morning, if she chose to make good decisions at school today. She assured me that she did by telling me the following story (Note: there are two particularly "bad" kids in [her] class that sometimes pick on her, Blake and Stephen. [She] can qualify for "bad kid #3" on any given day):

[Big Sister], excited to be through with the day and the chance to spend the evening with Mommy and Daddy, joyfully yelled out, "Hey, dad! Guess what?!?"

"What?"

"Today, Stephen punched me and I didn't punch him back. Instead, I went and told my teacher, and he got in trouble!"

My chest swelled with pride. "[Big Sister]! That's great! I am so proud of you!" I said as I scooped her up in my arms and gave her a big hug. "But, why in the world would Stephen want to punch you?" I asked.

"Because he was mad. And so he punched me, right here in my left boob."

I expressed concern. "[], that's horrible. Why was he mad?" I continued.

"Because another kid punched him. And so he came over and punched me," she said, still full of joy and unaffected by where the story was headed.

"[], that is not good. What in the world is going on in your class that would make another kid go over and punch Stephen?"

[Big Sister], still beaming with pride, look at me and with a straight face said, "Because I sent the kid over to punch Stephen. And then Stephen punched me, and I didn't hit him back! I went and told my teacher and Stephen got in trouble! Aren't you proud of me!?!?"

And honestly, in my inner Michael Corleone/Tony Soprano, I WAS...

Well said, Honey. Thanks for putting it into words for me. Of course, you kind of "made me an offer I couldn't refuse." ha!

The kind of man I'd like to be...

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my husband was attending an Upward training conference in Birmingham this past weekend. We were without kids for the first time since our trip to New York over a year-and-a-half ago. So, in between sessions, we squeezed in as much time together as we could. We had a lot of "old haunts" to visit in Birmingham, so our schedule was jam packed.

In fact, one day he was a little late to his training. But while he was late (just a few minutes, really) to a session to offer him some tips to further his Upward ministry, he was learning a lot about some other important ministry areas. We both were.

One of the places we visit whenever we end up in Birmingham is Roly Poly, a shop that sells all kinds of creative sandwich wrap combinations. There are Roly Poly franchises all over the country, but just not near us. Side note: my personal favorite is #30- Basil Cashew Chicken, which in addition to the obvious also has a spicy thai sauce, avocado and sprouts. Yum. I now feel the need to head back down there and get another one. This time, I'll probably have to take the kids, for reasons I will explain in a post forthcoming...

Anyway, back to the story: We went to Roly Poly for dinner, in part because we love it, but also because it was close to the hotel. We knew we were short on time, so we just planned to take it with us and eat it on the way. Only one problem: it. took. for. ever.

We were the only people in the restaurant except for a tiny blonde girl, about five years old, sitting at the back table coloring. When we sat down to wait for our order, she changed locations and picked a table right by ours.The hubs and I rarely get time together without our kids, so we weren't overly excited about hanging out with someone else's, but we figured she belonged to one of the workers and was probably bored. I grabbed a few of the free city scene magazines and we looked through them together, playing a game in which we guess the age of every child we found on the pages.

There were admittedly a few times we tried to look completely enthralled in our own magazines, hoping the little chatterbox to our left would take the hint and read silently as well. She did not. We talked to her about a friend's birthday party (at Pump It Up) and her school. We told her a little about our little girls. We looked at our cell phones, silently willing the time to pass so that we could get our food and go (it had been about 25 minutes at this point). Hubby got up to use the restroom, and when he came back, I did the same- if for no other reason than just to break the monotony of the wait!

As I came back to the table, I heard hubs talking with the man who had just come from the kitchen and was now behind the counter. He was smiling, watching the little girl, and warning us that she would "talk your ears off" (too late!). He apologized for the wait and explained the combination of circumstances that had caused the delay. When he asked us if we had a punch card, we told him that we were from out of town, though I had once lived just around the corner.

He then began to tell us about the crazy mass murder that occurred at my old apartment complex last year, though not before taking us outside so his daughter couldn't hear. We talked with him more, and found out that he was a marine, but he had been injured and was no longer active. His wife left him and he had gotten full custody of his daughter. He now was going to school, working numerous short shifts (the manager lets him work shorter hours at a time so that he can bring his daughter when she isn't in school) and raising a little girl by himself. He confided in us that although he had learned to braid hair, he knew very little about helping her to grow into a woman, and worried that he didn't have time to date to find the right person to help him.

I looked in the window of the restaurant at the chatty little blonde still perusing magazines and told him he seemed to be doing a fine job. His smile shone. Soon she too came outside (we were the only customers, and it was a beautiful afternoon) to visit with us for a few more minutes before we walked to our car and hurried back to the hotel.

As we drove off, my hubby and I had the same mix of emotions. There was stress at the idea of running behind, sure. But there was also guilt that we had almost rushed through that situation without getting to know the people around us, hearing their stories, and offering encouragement. And relief, mixed with a bit of satisfaction, at the knowledge that we did stick around.

As we rode the elevator up to our room (he had to grab his notebook before heading on) my wonderful husband turned to me and said, "That is the kind of man I want to be." He went on to say that he has wondered and worried about what would happen if something were to happen to me, if he were left trying to take care of his girls by himself. The idea that our new friend was dealing with that, as well as working and going to school and coming back from serving our country... well, as my husband said, "You never know what some people are going through." Or how strong they are.

I wonder how many strong or struggling souls we have the chance to meet every day, if we would just slow down and truly see them. And yet we almost hurried away from them so that we could make it to something to support our "official" ministry. What a sad irony.

When I think about it that way, I'd guess that Jesus wasn't one for schedules and hurrying past those He came to love. I'm sure He knew what was most important, and that it wasn't always being on time or going to the right meetings. Maybe that is just another one of the reasons He rubbed the religious people the wrong way.

To me, it's just another one of the reasons He is the kind of person I want to be...

Song for Sunday: Clicking my ruby slippers...

Home Sweet Home

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home! Home! sweet Home!
There's no place like Home, there's no place like Home!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gaily, that came at my call
Give me them and the peace of mind, dearer than all!
Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home!
There's no place like Home! there's no place like Home!

How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,
And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile!
Let others delight mid new pleasures to roam,
But give me, of give me, the pleasures of home!
Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home!
There's no place like Home! there's no place like Home!

To thee I'll return, overburdened with care;
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there;
No more from the cottage again will I roam;
Be it ever so humble there's no place like home.
Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home!

There's no place like Home! there's no place like Home!

These lyrics came from this cute site!

Set my heart at ease...

Remember that last long post? The one about nostalgia? Well, put on your rose-colored glasses cause this post is full of it. (nostalgia. not full of it... oh never mind.)

We were in Birmingham this weekend. The husband came for Upward training, and I just came to tag along. To keep him company. To have a much needed escape. To "renew fond memories." This was most definitely a Sentimental Journey. We met the summer before he moved to Birmingham to begin seminary. Then I moved down to attend school.

We lived there while we were engaged and scrambling to simultaneously plan a wedding and write long, boring papers (or in my case, long boring units about addition or Eric Carle).

We lived there for the first 2 1/2 years of our marriage.

We were a part of some of our favorite (and least favorite) church families there.

I endured those torturous first years of teaching there (my school was wonderful- I was just, you know, green. And not in a compost & bamboo flip flops good kind of way...) and he got his feet wet in real ministry.

We adopted Al Dog there- when we just went in the pet store to get fish food. (We're not at all the impulse buy types... ha!) A little less than a year later, someone brought a litter of Siamese kittens to school, and we added Keaton to our family too.

The first seven months of my pregnancy with Big Sister were there- those precious, wonder-filled experiences of meeting our first child.

We spent a little time, when he was not in session, catching up with this town we once called home. A lot has changed. And not just the restaurants that have closed or the new Whole Foods or the completely rerouted interchange where we used to get on I-459.

For one, many of our friends have moved on. John likened this trip to revisiting your college campus. Some of the buildings look the same, but there are small changes to be noticed everywhere, and very few familiar faces.

But looking around at all that has changed around us since our last visit caused me to notice what is perhaps the biggest change of all: us.

It has been a little more than 7 years since I moved down to Birmingham. I was living alone for the first time in my life (at a place we just found out is now known in the area for a giant Mexican drug cartel murder, no less!). John and I were students- we had crazy schedules including school, part-time church jobs, and lots of adventures. We were young & in young love. It really was a magical time.

It is easy for an idealist like me to get caught up in the idea of how life used to be there. To remember when we found the house we rented when we got married, the one within walking distance of the library and post office and Whistle Stop Cafe. To sigh when remembering strolling with a much younger Al Dog around Samford's campus or one of the lakes near my apartment. To think about how much time John and I spent together, even with those crazy student schedules...

Of course, there are realities that I remember too, if I allow myself to think hard enough. Some just a little less magical, some mundane, and some are downright harsh. There were days (and sometimes several of them in a row!) when we couldn't leave fast enough. But in some ways it's even nice to remember those. It's a reminder that we survived, even thrived, and came out better on the other side.

When I sat down to type this, I was ready to say that I loved our life together in Birmingham. I'm not sure that's the best way to say it anymore. I loved our life together, and I still love our life together. To use a trite stage analogy, Birmingham wasn't a player; it was only the backdrop.

The scenery has changed, some key characters have been added, and there has been some aging depth-adding for the leads, but the story continues. There are new plot twists and lots of adventure and even a few musical numbers, but it is our show. With an All-powerful Producer/Director, of course.

So yes, it has been fun to take this trip down memory lane. But when I think about Doris Day singing about her Sentimental Journey, I think she got part of it wrong (which is hard for me to say because I love me some Doris. Who doesn't?) My Sentimental Journey didn't lead me home. It reminded me with whom (and Whom) I've built a home. And how blessed I am to have them, no matter where I end up or what lies ahead.


I mean, it's just like Doris said, "Que sera, sera..." (You can't not reference this song in a post about Doris Day. It wouldn't be right...)