poured out

Here's the question of the day:

How poured out is too much?

Not that I've emptied myself. I run out of patience, time, energy, compassion, focus. But I've never run out of desire to do more. So there's always been some left at the end of the day.

And not that I've made any part of God's creation too salty, either. I do what I can to represent Him in care, love, discipline, and joy, but I'm pretty sure no one's avoided me because I might smother them with scripture or something. So I do what I can, but not all that I can.

When you pour water out of a pitcher, what happens to it? It depends, doesn't it? If you pour it onto the ground, it immediately disappears. But if you pour it into another container, it takes on that new shape.

I need to pour myself out into anonymity. What I do is not to be done for my own recognition. I like compliments. And I like getting results. But I hope that never drives what I do. That needs to be the sprinkles on the cupcake - not the cake itself.

And I need to pour myself into His mold - who He wants me to be. I am to become more like Christ daily, and how can that happen if I don't pour myself into it wholeheartedly? Move - translate - reformat - live as the "new creation" Paul talks about in 2 Cor. 5.

I guess my nagging fear is that I might pour too much and be the empty container trying to get out of bed each morning and living a hollow life. But God didn't make me a salt shaker. He made me the salt.

What good is salt if it never leaves the shaker? That last little granule might be just what's needed to make something as tasty as it was meant to be. I've got to be used up.

...but not exactly like this (although some parallels could be made, I'm sure):

A Tale of the Late Bugaboo and Kickapoo Campaignby Edgar Allan Poe (1850)

http://xroads.virginia.edu/~HYPER/POE/used_up.html

What if the whole Samaritan family had been traveling that road?

Wow. So many bad things happen. And not many have happened to me. I'm so blessed.

What should I do? How am I called to respond? More specifically, how do I mix my family's best interests and the interests of others?

My sweet brother just wrapped up a divorce. The kids and I have tried to help however we can, taking a trip down in February, and mostly just praying for him each night and repeating our offers to come down and help in any way he can think of.

My sweet friend's dad has been sick for a long, long time (7 years?), and now she's not only trying to wait patiently for God to give her her own heart's desires, but also she's taking care of her dad and aunt who's been near death and is 3 or so states away.

Our sweet violin teacher has had a very difficult summer, which is apparently culminating in a divorce from her husband of 28 years who will no longer speak to her and may have some psychological problems. Her mother is her only family and lives about 15 or so hours away.

All around us, people we know or know of die, are sick, lose jobs, lose time with their kids because of jobs, feel lonely, feel overwhelmed, feel lost, feel frustrated, feel unappreciated, are confused.

Pastor Bill talked today about true humility. It's considering others better than ourselves. That goes up against all the self-help advice of the day that tells us to be confident, self-assured, to hold our heads up, to believe in ourselves and our abilities. It flips it all around.

No, not like that.

Instead of thinking how important I am, how much I deserve a good life or my own free time or money or things, it's realizing that I am nothing without Christ. Nothing. All I'm entitled to is the punishment my sin rightly deserves.

Instead of looking down on others with a "bless her heart" attitude that, without the words, says that I'll never find myself in such a mess, like Paul, I need to see that I am no better than anyone, no matter how things appear, and I have the same desperate need for His saving grace.

God has made each of us, and no matter my personal situation, if I am to be more like Christ, I am to serve others - not myself. But only out of humility. All the kind words and selfless acts I can do add up to nothing if they're not rooted in Him - if they don't reflect my Creator - if they don't come from my love for others as His precious children, my brothers and sisters.

So how do I put it into action? I'm a doer. I'm Martha. Sitting at His feet to listen to Him doesn't come naturally to me. Maybe that's why I can't seem to hear what He's saying. I'm off in the kitchen chopping carrots for His dinner and can't hear His words of life over the sound of the knife hitting the counter. Hmm. Wonder if Martha served fried rice. It's a noisy meal to cook.

Back to the point. What do I do? How do I help? Because while I watch all these hurting people seem to crumble, I've got a family who needs me. Practically speaking, I've got a part-time job, a house to clean, 5 mouths to feed, naps to arrange, diapers to change, a husband to help, and, occasionally, a shower to take. But where's the line?

I want my kids to see my faith in relationships and in how I help others. Do I make choices that may sometimes be second best for the kids in terms of our budget or our schedules or our convenience because it helps a hurting friend? Or do I pray for the friend and just do what's best for the kids? Which is true humility? Going against my gut to serve my family or going against it to serve a hurting neighbor? (Because, honestly, my gut says to stay home on the couch.) What would the good samaritan have done if his kids had been strapped to the back of that mule?

What do you think?

Maybe not such a good idea

We now have 3 kids, but before there were kids, there was Molly. All 50 pounds of her 4-legged, black-furried, long-tongued, slobbery doggness. She was our one and only.

When we moved to a new town and a small yard, Molly got a little rowdy. She barked a little too much. Okay, a lot too much. Okay, okay, we got a warning from the city that they’d fine us if she didn’t quit. So we got a bark collar.

J is such a great dad, and was then, too. He didn’t want to use the collar on Molly until he tested it to see if it worked and to decide if we should use it. Can I just stop the story here by saying it did and we didn’t?

Ouch.

a few funnies

She was eating lunch at the table. I was putting away the dishes.
"Can I have a gummy bear?"
No.
"Why?"
Because you're eating your lunch.
"But after that can I have one?"
No.
"Why?"
Because Uncle Ryan gave you plenty yesterday.
"But I really want one!"
No.
"Mom, you're making my whole life harder!"

In the bath with baby brother:

"Look, Dad! He's not even camfluxen!"

What?

"He's not camfluxen at all!"

Zoe, what word are you saying?

"Camfluxen! It means fussy. I just made it up!"

She's such a player.

Might want to lay down to watch this...on your right side...with the volume turned down looowww.

Baby Boys

You know why baby boys are a little easier?

1. I never wonder if I should try gluing some horrible something-or-other on his head.

2. I can put him in blue (which matches his eyes) and not worry that he'll be called a boy...because he IS a boy!

3. I don't have to wipe every time I change a diaper. (Daddy doesn't wipe when he pees, now does he?)

4. A little accidental roughin' up by his sisters is just helping him become "tough," like all good (half)Texan boys should be.

5. Audibles and RBIs (Rectal Blowout Incidents) aren't as embarassing - guys do that kind of thing all the time.

Why they're harder?

1. No dresses means BILLIONS and BILLIONS of snaps for every diaper/wardrobe change.

2.

Okay. So that's all I've got for now. I'm sure something will come up. Maybe when he starts peeing on the walls. Oh, wait!

2. If I'm too slow, he pees on the wall (and whatever else is semi-nearby) when I'm changing his diaper.

Naptime makes me laugh

Sometimes I wonder if it was the right thing to have the girls share a room. I never wonder long, because it's not like we really have a choice. There's just not room for a bed in the bathroom, and there's a table in the middle of the dining room, so....

Anyway, sometimes it seems a little cramped with both of them in the room together, and their closet is especially difficult to deal with. And then comes naptime, and it's one of those days when Addie dozed during the preschool quiet hours (and so did Mom!), so she's not very tired. And if she's not tired, Zoe's not tired. And if no one's tired, no one's sleeping and everyone's trying like crazy to have as much fun as possible without leaving their beds.

But just when the chatter from the other room was about to get me off my duff and in the mood for making short speeches and handing out reprimands, I heard the sweetest sound. Giggling. Then laughing. Then all out belly laughs. So I changed gears and tiptoed into the hallway to see what's up. I guess I'd make a bad spy, because I was caught by a toddler and a preschooler. But when I asked what they were doing, Zoe said, "We were just playing a game, Mommy. But we didn't get out of our beds, though."

"So what kind of game is it?"

"A funny one."

"But how do you play?"

"Well, um, I just go 'BLOOP!' [Addie laughs timidly in case she's about to get in trouble] on my bed like that and Addie laughs, and then I go 'BLOOP' [Addie laughs harder, since Mommy's smiling] on my bed again and she laughs some more, and then I go 'BLOOOP'...[Addie can't breath through her laughter] some more."

Just in case you didn't know, "BLOOP" means 'to begin in a kneeling position and suddenly slam your stiff upper body against a mattress and whatever other bed clutter might be immediately in front of you.'

"Oh, I see. That looks very funny. But I'd like you both to stay on your pillows now so you can get some rest, okay?"

"Okay. I'll just go 'BLOOP' on my pillow like that [Addie's bouncing, squealing, and laughing now]. Is that okay?"

How can I say no? I've certainly never managed to make Addie that happy. Can I deny her that joy and Zoe the pleasure of making her sister so happy? Really?

"I suppose it's okay, but just four more times."

"Okay. Is this four?" she asks, holding up three fingers.

"Close enough. Goodnight."

After about 15 more minutes of giggles and chatter, I heard a strange sound. Absolute silence. This time when I snuck, I wasn't caught. So I caught them on camera:

In case you can't see them, Zoe's the red and gray blob, and Addie's the socks, diaper and brown. And, being the opportunist he is,

Beau had a nice nap, too.

You know you need to vacuum when...

Our house has been happily busy these days. Even happilier busier than before Sammy's arrival. I guess you could say some of my routine chores have slipped through the cracks. Just before Christmas, Zoe (3 1/2) looked at me very sincerely and said, “Momma, I want you go vacuum.”

“Why, sweetie?” I replied, thinking instantly of hundreds of other things I could do with that particular 10 minute segment of daytime, like e-mail, watch TV, read junk mail, stare at the blank wall....

“Because you just need to. I need you to vacuum.”

You know what I'd like to say to that?

Football for Dummies

I don't really like football all that much. But I was in the band in high school, so I watched every game for 4 years. And so in college, I decided not to do band. Too much football and too much time. But then God, being the funny God that he is, sent a really cute football player into my world in September of my sophomore year. So I went to every game for the next 5 years. And what do you suppose he chose as his profession? Yup. He's a coach. So I've learned to watch games.
I could be wrong, but I'm figuring that there are women out there (to be p.c. I'll say 'people') who may benefit from my self-taught expertise on how to watch a game. So here's what's going through my head during the last part (I can't really remember when I started watching - I started and stopped a lot of times) of the BCS Ohio/UT game.
Score's close. UT's winning. Everyone's still excited, so the game must not be over just yet. Hmm. And the weather must be nice. Lots of people in short sleeves. I'm a little jealous.
Why do the Ohio State players have [illegal substance] stickers all over their helmets? Aha. Did you know that a "buckeye" is the state tree of Ohio and that its leaves are comprised of five leaflets each? Now you do. If it weren't for wikipedia, I might have been persuaded to believe that the university was using the Tostitos Bowl to push a "medicinal purposes" campaign on unsuspecting viewers. Wait. Maybe it's a grasshopper. What the heck IS that on their helmets?!?
Why is that guy wearing a Mr. Potato Head mustache? Does he think he looks cool? Because he doesn't. How did he get it there? Superglue? I'll bet tomorrow he has a Mr. Potato Head-shaped red spot right below his nose. Dumb choice.
Anyone else hungry for some tortilla chips and queso? Too bad I'm already in pjs and live in a town where the local market closed an hour and a half ago.
Maybe it's a green molecule or atom or something. Wonder if the players put them on the helmet themselves. I'll bet their backpacks and sock drawers aren't so neatly organized. Maybe the trainers did it for them.
How did they pick blue to show the line of scrimmage? Why not read? Or orange? And the other line - the yellow one. And how do they do that? It covers everything on the ground and nothing above it. Not even shoelaces. Amazing.
Wow. Her glasses are HORRIBLE. Burnt orange vertical rectangle lenses and burnt orange glittery cardboard horns across the top. Dedicated fan.
That guy's going to lose his arm if he doesn't take the rubber band off. Too tight.
Man, oh, man. Who has to try to get out all those horrible grass stains? SOOOOOOO glad it's not me. I don't even try anymore. I've decided that a perk of getting all my kids' clothes on the clearance racks at Target is that I can feel free to let the stains stay until there are so many that I can just call the clothes "junky clothes," which at our house means you can wear them to do art, wash cars, or help Daddy with any of his projects. Wonder what kind of Stain Stick UT uses.
Wow - great catch, Quan! I know I couldn't do that, or what all those other fellas were doing, either. I've never understood how people get the courage to just fling their bodies at the ground like that, and then get back up and do it again, over and over, just because.
Whew. Game over. I'm exhausted. Good game. Good game.
And that, my friends, is how you watch a football game. You're welcome.