Favorite Song?

Putting my youngest son to bed recently, I asked him a string of questions about his favorite things.
Me: What's your favorite color?
Him: Gold, purple, black, red. Purple mostly.
Me: What's your favorite day of the week?
Him: Saturday. Well, no. Friday night because I still have all Saturday and Sunday left.
Me: What's your favorite song?
Him: Song? I don't know if I have a favorite song. I guess I'll say the Song of Solomon.

Try On, Cry On

Being the ringbearer meant trying on a tux.

Getting measurements was the easy part.

In a large, open store on a cool February evening,

with an easygoing
tailor who joked in a Latvian accent, the mood was light.

The mother says to the boy in her best bass voice

like the man on the commercial,

"You're gonna like the way you look."

\

The dad stands nearby,

also getting fitted.

The occasion becomes a memory

of pre-wedding pleasantries.

Being the ringbearer meant trying on a tux

Again.

Three days before the Big Day.

To make sure everything fits.

It's early March in Maryland,

but feels nearly Bahama-ish.

Which is great

if you're outside.

Trying on a tux means putting on
layers of clothes.
And accessories.
Shirt.

Vest.

Tie.

Suspenders.

Jacket.

Pants.

Socks.

Shoes.

In a small dressing room,

already too warm,

he begins to panic.
Dramatic breathing.
Pulling at his collar.
The shirt sleeves are too long.
The lady rolls them up.
It looks tacky.

"Let me try a different one for you,"
says the lady.
"No, please not another one!"

His mother is helping him get the shirt off,
but she is also overheating
in more ways than one.
It's not drama, it's real.

"Mom, I have warmaphobia!"

The mother smiles, but the boy says it's not funny.
His brother in the next dressing room

trying on his own tux that fits beautifully.
He hears the commotion, embarrassed,

and when he comes over, says
to the sibling half his age,

"Man up. Don't be such a girl."

"I'm not being a girl! I'm dying of heat!

Get this off of me!"

The mother tells the older brother (the best man)

not to antagonize. It IS really hot.

The pants are too loose, but the new pair, says the

lady (who is not the Latvian comedienne, but a

serious Sally)--"the new pair might stay up better."

"What?? I have to try on another pair of pants???!!

The new pair is too tight.

You would think he had just been squeezed by a boa constrictor

the way he fought the black fabric on his legs.

Put the first pair back on with suspenders, I suggest.
"They're fine, Mom. They'll stay up, don't worry!"

I believe him. Let's just get out of here.

I share his warmaphobia.

I snap a couple of pictures of the suffering.

Photojournalism at its best.

Or worst, depending

on which side of the camera you're on.

The store lady is doing her best to hurry up and get us

"scanned out."

Thank you. Yes, we'll go across the street

to your other location for a shirt that fits right.

What's one more trying try-on session

if the promise is that

You're gonna like the way you look.

Three days later,

in a very-cool-on-purpose hotel room

the mom stood by with her camera

while her boy and his dad tried on

those tuxes for their March Down the Aisle.

The mother smiled yet again.

She knew

she was gonna like the way they looked.

Later.

Much later.

When the wedding day

was a cool 45 degrees outside,

he was feeling great in all those layers.

And he did, indeed, like the way he looked.

Hodgepodge? No. Humor? Yes.

I don't have time to consider answers to the great HP questions today. In fact, I really don't have time to be on the computer, but I have crossed off a goodly (is that a word, really? sounds old-fashioned) number of things from my to-do list. And I just have to write this while I'm thinking about it.

It's one of those conversations that I've had with my child in a disclipleship moment, or so I thought, when he was so quiet I figured he was absorbing truth. In other words, I thought he was hearing from beginning to end, not missing the point, but apparently he did. And the take-away point he got from it backfired and was declared my fault. Of course.

Let me explain. (Mothers of ten year old boys may understand and empathize.)

Last week our Youngest got in trouble for a comment about "walking behind the royal behind." (See last week's Hodgepodge random question for the full version.) He got his stamp taken away at school. Time in the principal's office and time out with the teacher to whom the comment was directed, plus time off video games and more time reading should have proven enough consequences to curb his penchant for trouble for awhile, right?

Wrong.

Every morning on the ride to school, he and I alternate praying for him for his day. His prayer typically has gone something like this:

Dear Jesus, thank you for this day and help me to use self-control and the other fruit of the Spirit. Help me not to get in trouble and help me be a good student. Amen.

I began pondering the prayer a few days ago because something just didn't sit right about it. Then the Holy Spirit reminded me about the blessing of sin being brought to light, not hidden, so that it can be confessed, forgiven, and repented of. So yesterday I began what I thought was a dialogue about this point. It became more of a maternal monologue as he sat quietly listening (I assumed from my position at the steering wheel, with him in the back seat).

"Joel, you know what? I think a better prayer would not be "help me not get in trouble," but "help me use self-control and honor You, Lord, but if I don't, if I sin, help me TO get in trouble, to have my sin found out, not hidden, and give me courage to confess it and ask forgiveness and repent." I went on to explain that , even though it's uncomfortable and embarrassing and humbling to get in trouble, it's God's grace. Hidden sin eats away at us and our relationship with God and others. So it's better to get in trouble than not when you sin.

So...fast forward to 10 pm last night, after I picked him up from my folks' house, after a viewing for a friend's mom. He was tired. I was tired. But he was unusally quiet (which means he's got something on his mind of importance). I asked him what was wrong.

"I got in trouble in school today. I lost my stamp."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I threw the ball right after Mrs. G said "May I have your attention,please?" Well, I wouldn't have lost my stamp just for that, if it was out of my hand before she said 'attention' . Really I threw it right after she said "attention."

"So you lied."

"Yeah."

"What happened next?"

"I got in trouble and had to miss recess and sit writing in her office about what I did wrong."

"What did we just talk about yesterday, Joel?"

He started to cry. "It's your fault, Mom!"

"Excuse me? What's my fault? How is your sin my fault?"

"Because you told me it's better to get in trouble."

Ai, yai, yai! "Is that what you heard yesterday?"

"Yes, you said it, remember? It's better to ask God to help me get in trouble than not get in trouble?"

Oh, boy. I had to straighten that one out on a fried brain, but I have to say, it tickled me.

Hodgepodge: One Giant Leap for the Year

Can you believe it's already the last day of the second month of the year Two Thousand Twelve? I think the date February 29 is so cool . I have friends who celebrated 52 years of marriage on their 13th anniversary because they got married on this date .

Let's leap onto the next lilypad of Hodgepodge questions From This Side of the Pond, shall we? Get your cup of coffee, your spot of tea, or your Bud. Weis. Er, whatever you want to sip on to toast this special day as you read my answers and then hop around the worldwide pond of Hodgepodgers today.

1. The Hodgepodge falls on the last day of February this year, a leap year. How will you spend that extra day?

If you must know, I have a to-do list that is packed solid:

-Drop boy off at school

-Deliver crockpot of soup to church

-Get eyebrows waxed

-Buy a shaper (My hubby says, "You mean a girdle?" and I say, "They don't call them that anymore. A girdle is for old ladies, which I'm not. I'm middle aged and need my shape shaped up a bit under my dress for the wedding."

-Buy a strand of pearls (which, looking in the mirror, reminds me of the phrase "casting your pearls before swine.")

-Pick boy up from school

-Rest

-Paint my nails

-Attend ladies' meeting

-Pack up my art lesson and stuff for Thursday's class

2. What has recently required a leap of faith on your part?

My brother-in-law's cancer diagnosis and the ensuing tests, surgeries, and what-ifs that accompany such a trial.

3. We're one week into the season of Lent...are you marking these 40 days in some way? Giving something up or adding something extra to normal life? How's it going so far?

No, I've never really observed Lent. I grew up Baptist/Methodist/sometimes Jewish/Episcopalian, you name it, so my traditions flexed. But if you count a wedding as adding something extra to normal life, then yes, but it has nothing to do with Lent. Except that we're giving up a lot of money .

How's it going so far? Okay. I'm just really, really, REALLY glad I'm not the mother of the bride. The stress this week about what we're responsible for as the groom's parents has been getting to me, as well as the stress of knowing I can't forget to pack anything because the wedding is two hours from home and we're going up there the day before. Plus I'm not wild about the haircut I just got. Grrr.

4. When was the last time you sat beside a fire?

It was a Tuesday in early January. I got as close as I could to the fireplace at Panera when I met my hubby for a dinner date. I think it might have been the one and only night of such wannabe winter weather in January, so maybe we were just there to celebrate White Precipitation Day??? The wet powder fell from heaven and dissolved on the sidewalk like communion wafers in the mouth as we sat near the fire "mmming" and "ahhing" our "You Pick Two" of tomato soup and a portabello sandwich." The fire was just for ambience: more like an extra on a Hollywood set than a leading role.

5. Surf and Turf is on the menu. Do you order as is or do you ask for just the surf (lobster), just the turf (steak), or a menu so you can select another option?

I order by my mood, but Surf and Turf is often very fitting to my mood, for sure. If lobster were the only "surf" choice, I'd take it, although I much prefer jumbo lump Maryland Blue Crab. The steak would be cooked medium.

6. If you could have any television program back, not in reruns but in new episodes, what program would you choose?

Hmm, that's a toughie to answer. Leave it to Beaver, Lost in Space, or the Andy Griffith Show. I think I'd go with the Beave, since our youngest likes the show, too. And he sort of reminds me of Beaver when he is sorry for getting in trouble with his teacher. Last week he was telling me after school that he lost his stamp for inappropriate talk. I asked him what he said. "Well, Mrs. K is always telling us she's the Queen, that her chair is her throne and stuff like that. We were walking out for recess and I was first in line behind her, and I said, 'I'm walking behind the royal behind.' "

She reprimanded him, made him miss some of recess, and took his stamp away for the day. (A stamp is what they get on their calendar for good behavior.) He was really sorry for saying what he did because he loves and adores his teacher. He just didn't think before he spoke and wanted a laugh from the class. It was all we could do not to laugh as he explained and confessed.

7. They say an elephant never forgets. These days would you say your memory is more like an elephant or a gnat?

I had to read the question twice because I forgot the first part of it before I got to the end.

8. Insert your own random thought here.

Speaking of leaps, I heard about a program called FROGS that I want to get involved in. FROGS is a clever acronym for Friends and Relatives of Great Students, and is a mentoring opportunity at the school across from our church. Volunteers go in and read and study with the elementary aged kids. I can so picture myself enjoying that since I love schools. I do. They rev my engine. And I love helping kids succeed academically. And I have time on my hands. So it seems a perfect fit for me in this stage of "what to do that's meaningful in life now that I'm not a young mommy or a homeschooler or staying up late nights with teens whose day starts at 11 pm with a need to talk or college kids who need me to edit their papers or cut out 16 Easter bunnies for a seasonal preschool learning game?". Now I have time in between helping grade 32 math papers as a "favor" for my daughter-turned-first grade-teacher, fixing dinner, teaching art, folding laundry, blogging, running carpool, scrubbing toilets, and zoning out on Facebook. I think I can leap like a frog in my schedule right now--after the wedding, that is. After a certain Handsome Prince marries his beautiful Princess and begin their "Happily Ever After" story.

50th Anniversary Party, Part 3: Before the Big Moment

A close-up of the floral arrangement we put at my parents' table. I could hardly take my eyes off it. (Note to self: it was made by Dee's Florist in Aberdeen.)











My parents met while at KU, and have been avid Jayhawks fans ever since. Mama set up this vignette next to the Welcome table. Love it! (I think I've mentioned a time or two that my dad tutored the late great basketball star, Wilt Chamberlain, at KU. (Wilt wasn't as good at algebra as he was at hoops.)
I always loved when my daddy tutored me in algebra, too. No one was too great or too small for his attention and brains, least of all his non-mathematically inclined second daughter.


Waiting for guests to arrive, my youngest was a bit on the bored side.
My oldest is standing there looking
suave and his fiancee' debonair.
Andrea is busy hauling water. Paul, AKA my Silver-haired Sweetie, well...I never get tired of looking at him from
any angle. Even (or especially?) at 50 he makes a suit look mighty fine.


There he is, beaming with his one and only daughter. They made a sweet greeting team. I made the floral arrangements in those vases. Love me some lilies. The basket contained little mints wrapped in gold "50" wrappers from Party City. The scrapbook paper in the front was for autographs as people entered. The gift bag held cards for the happy couple. My mom provided the gorgeous lace tablecloth,
a sentimental objet d'art if ever there was one.

Here's a close-up of one of our centerpieces.

In case you missed the how-to, it's a scooped-out pumpkin with a potted mum set down in it, some baby's breath, and silk florals poked in for added color. These were door prizes and thank-you gifts to people who helped us. Cost: approx $15 each.

We used two sheets of Faith paper from Hobby Lobby on each table, as well as silk leaves and two tealights for ambience.

Pro Rege and the World's Oldest Profession

Last night I was putting my nine year old to bed. Soon he will find he feels too old to snuggle, but for the time I have left, I enjoy the ritual of reading aloud, exchanging back-scratches, talking about anything and everything, and sometimes helping him master a memory verse.

What's been especially sweet about his attendance at this new Christian school is that he has begun to sing again. And not just commercials. From the time he was about five until last month, he didn't think it was cool to sing. That broke my heart. He wouldn't sing in church. He wouldn't sing when I tried to teach him some hymns at home, and only once in a while he'd sing in the shower. At his old school he felt uncomfortable singing on stage in the musical.

Imagine my joy at the resurrection of his singing! All the kids, even the boys , at school not only have to sing, but enjoy it. I love it!

So far he has learned a US history song that recounts major players and events from the 15th century to the French-Indian War. He was signing it for me as I lay there in the stillness. His voice is precious and nearly pitch-perfect. Then he asked if I'd help him with his Bible verse which he'll be tested on today. His dad had written it on a card and helped him remember the first letter of each of the four lines: BBTW. I told him there were 25 words and the lines have 6,6,7,6 words each, respectively. Then I got to explain to him what the verse means, because, let's face it, words like "reconciled" and "blemish" need some 'splaining to a fourth grader.

I suggested we put the verse to the tune of "Amazing Grace," and it worked! (We messed around with the meter, of course, but doing so only bolstered the memory.)

But now He has reconciled you
By Christ's physical body through death
To present you holy in his sight
Without blemish and free from accusation.
Colossians 1:22

Joel then asked if we could sing the real song. So we did, in the dark, cozied up under blankets; we sang "Amazing Grace."

Pro rege. (For the king.)

I asked Joel if he knew what "Pro Rege" means. He said no.
I explained, "Pro means for. Rege means King, like regal. Like pro-life is for life."
He asked, "Professional is for fessional?"
I snickered. And then he said, "How about pro-stitution?"

I snorted and gathered my wits.

"Do you know what that means?" I asked.
"No. What?"
"Never mind. I'll tell you when you're older. Good night, son. I love you."

Oh, boy. How did we get from "Amazing Grace" to pro-stitution in a matter of seconds?

Ready

I'm ready to see my little boy after a week at camp.
It's too quiet here. What was good for a day or two
--uninterrupted hours to myself, to write, to work, to clean--
no longer appeals. I long for his voice asking me
questions, giggling, singing when he thinks I'm not listening.
I can't wait to hear about his experiences. Intriguing
and amusing he is, in his story telling. The words he
uses seem, at times, too big for a nine-year-old.
Like when I asked him if he'd be taking his
everyday Bible, he said, "Nah, it's too cumbersome."


I'm ready to see my big boy again, too.
My young man who turns 20 on Monday.
(Really, Lord? Will I really have three children
at least 20 years old?)
I'm ready to hear how God spoke to him, and
through him, into the young lives of hurting,
hungry kids in a remote log cabin atop a
wooded hill in a state we call "P-A." I'm ready
to hear him jam out on the drums again in
the basement, to hear him sing praises in
the shower.

I'm ready to see his girlfriend again. These
ladies my sons hold dear , I hold dear. It's
a rather unexpected thing for me. Always
wondered if I would understand what it means
to love like family someone my child falls
in love with. But I get it now.

I'm ready to witness the moment they behold
each other again after eight long weeks. If I
feel like a balloon about to burst with joy and
relief, how must they be feeling?
She was in Zambia for five of those weeks,
without no telecommunication.

She texted me from DC
when her first of two remaining flights
landed back
"home". She would've called him first,
of course, but Steve gets almost no cell
service where he is. She had not talked
to him yet. She said she's dying to see him
Saturday night. She was about to board the
next flight to Texas
for a mission team debriefing
so our texts were of the hyper-
informational type and then "See you soon!"

But I twisted her message in a very cruel
tease that only a son's mother can pull off.
During a Facebook chat a couple hours later,
I said to Steve, "I have some news from her.
"She decided to stay in Africa another month."
There was a pregnant pause. Then he wrote,
"Really? Why?"
And I said, "She fell in love with someone else.
A black drummer."

"Ha ha," he replied.

"'I had you going, didn't I?"

"um, well, I could see her staying another
month in Africa, but was trying to
figure out how that'd
work with school. The whole black drummer
thing, though? No. LOL."

We both know she is
way too smitten with my son to march to
the beat of a different drummer. Sometimes
I think her heart beats in time with his.

I am ready to go on vacation. We're heading
to the beach as a family next week. All of us,
including the white drummer boy and his girl,
minus our oldest and his bride-to-be. I am
sorry we can't all be together. Sunbathing
on southern sand. Soaking up views of the
grey-green Atlantic from
our balcony.

Ahh, summertime on the East Coast.

Camp Prep Cuteness

Last year we took our youngest child to the camp where his older brother and sister were counselors. I held back my tears pretty well until we were almost off campus. And then the greatest thing happened that week: he made a profession of faith in Jesus Christ and became a child of God.

This year Joel wanted to return, and we agreed, since his brother Steve is a counselor at the camp once again. Our 22-year-old Sarah, who couldn't work there again because of a summer college class, wanted to visit the staff this weekend. She could drive him out there.

I enjoyed assisting Joel with packing. It's not something I do by myself. I'm a firm believer in helping kids mature in personal responsibility, so my kids have always been heavily involved in getting their own things ready for trips. He gathered his own clothes for the week and washed them. I procured the bedding and washed it up fresh. He put outfits together--shorts and underwear wrapped in each shirt he chose--and declared them "care packages." He made nine care packages.

I wish I'd taken pictures of his organization. For being a nine-year-old boy, he really puts a lot of thought behind his actions. (Usually.) I took him to Goodwill for the things he'd probably destroy on the waterslide this week: old jeans and watershoes. Five bucks total. Yes!!!

In the midst of his excitement, I saw his trademark bravado. He wasn't going to miss me much in a week, he said. "It'll actually be good to get away," he said. Did I the same relief in his voice as his young-adult siblings speak??? Regardless of his bravado, however, I know he has some anxieties. He doesn't always feel comfortable around people he knows well, let alone completely new people. So I was planning to put a few little notes of encouragement in his suitcase. I expected him to find out I was writing them and give me the the mini-speech: "Mom, please. I'm a guy. I don't need a bunch of notes from my MOMmy!"

But that didn't happen. This morning he saw me take out pen, paper, and envelopes.

"Mom, are you going to write me seven notes--one for each day at camp?" His tone was hopeful. Musical, in fact.

"Seven?" I asked, surprised and touched.

"Yeah. Sunday through Saturday is seven." I asked my husband, who is his son's hero, to please write three of them. He lovingly consented.

Then Joel added, "And I'd like you stick a dollar in each one for the snack shop!"

I had to laugh. There was method to his mushiness. "A dollar?" I asked, as I began the first note.

He was petting the dog and talking to him in a baby-talk voice. "A dollar with each note, right, Reilly? Yeah, boy. Yeee-ahhh. Otherwise what's the point of reading? You need a reward!"


We finished packing with toiletries and sleeping bag, and birthday goodies for his brother. I put the notes in and made sure he had kept the extra underwear packed. I think we got it all. I hugged him in the car and we all prayed with him, and then they pulled out of the driveway. No one cried. Not even me.

Then, when they were 30 miles from home, I remembered something. I think he forgot to take something important to Bible camp.

His Bible.

So much for personal responsibility!

A Dog and His Boy

Not a Word-less Wednesday

There are some moments in life a mother wants to freeze-frame. This image shows one of them. I wish could hold it in my mind forever. This is the best part of my day--hearing him read scripture to me.

My last-born child.

I study him from crown to sole.
The skin .
The lashes.
The hair.
The arms folded, chin resting on them.
His voice, not yet changed (thank you, God. Please don't rush that.)


I wish he wanted to be kissed as much as I want to kiss him. Sometimes I just sneak up to him and plant one. He wipes it off and says, "Mom, aren't I kind of old for you to be kissing me? What do you think I am, a baby?"

You'll always be my baby. Even when you're full-grown and on your own.


"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be. " ---Love You Forever

V is for Very Funny

Normally I make my third grade son write his missed spelling words 10 times each, but on one particular day (like many) he needed consequences for some infraction. So I had him write the words 25 times each and then leave his paper on the table for me to check.

He did, but added a drawing before
getting up.

The boy makes me laugh.

Joel's 9th Birthday

Could it get any more exciting ?






































Me, the mother. AKA Creature of torture. Fill in your own captions.


How to blow out 9 candles in as many minutes.
He didn't want me taking pictures of him, so he acted bored.
Someday we'll look back and laugh, right?




The exciting part had to wait till the next day...his birthday party with friends, and then a ride to get our new dog.

Squirrel Drawing

by Joel, age 8.

Sex and Geography: Hmmm?

This morning's geography assignment for my third grade son was to fill out a (fake) passport application. I told him to do that while I graded his math work.

Sitting beside me, he took out a pen and began filling out the form. He dutifully wrote his name, address, birthplace, birthdate, and then saw...

"SEX: M or F"

He gasped and covered his eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked, a bit startled. He had buried his face in his left hand and pointed with his right index finger to the word "Sex".

"That!" he exclaimed with muffled mouth. "I've never been one of those!"

Please Pray. Sounds Serious to Me

Joel's shoulder was injured during football practice tonight. We were not there, we were in care group, so did not see it happen. He says it happened during a tackle, but doesn't recall details. He cannot lift it up to the side.

Please pray. This really has me concerned.

Joel's Note-taking Initiative

Joel and I are reading a missionary biography called William Carey: Obliged to Go. We're mostly reading aloud, taking turns. But today he was on his own, I said, because I had read ahead at football practice, and now was too sleepy to listen.

I gave him 30 minutes (and he watches the clock, believe me) and said I would ask him questions about what he read, so as to be sure he was paying attention.

Before I dozed off for my nap, I smiled to see that he had grabbed a small notebook and pencil. Of his own volition! He was sprawled out on the family room floor, taking notes!

I awoke to find this scene, boy gone, precisely 31 minutes later.

Be still, my teaching heart.

Almost Halfway

Dear Time,

Please slow down.

I'm eating blueberries from a Star Wars cereal bowl.

I reached for it because it was blue,
but then realized
it wasn't really for the blue that
I chose it,
but for the Star Wars.
Clone Troopers, to be exact.
That's important to know,
he says.

This bowl represents the things of childhood
that will all too quickly be replaced
by things of adolescence.
And then things of manhood.

Just yesterday my boy told me
that one of his slightly older friends
is "halfway to being a man."

"How old is someone who's halfway to being a man?"
I inquired, curious as to his thinking
on the matter of maturity.

"Ten," he said.
"Cuz when you're twenty,
you're a full-grown man."

I remember waiting ten years for this child,
ten long years
of praying, losing, surrendering,
praying harder, longing...

And then he came like an early jonquil
in February.
Eight years ago.

Do you mean that in less than two years,
this child will be
halfway to being a man?

No! Please say it isn't so.
Say it!
Say it, and just let me eat my blueberries!
One at a time.
Slowly.
From his Star Wars bowl.

And let me savor every bite,
every morsel of sweetness
called childhood.

As I do, as I pick up one after
another, examine it, and watch
it disappear after enjoying the
sublime taste,
I notice something.

Not just the bowl
and not just the fingers
are
blue.

Joel is a New Babe in Christ!

I've been wanting to share this great news on my blog for weeks! But my heart
was so full I just didn't know where to begin.

Joel went away to New Life Bible Camp the week of June 21st, and during that time
God drew him to Himself and redeemed him through Christ. A counselor named Tian (very tall Jamaican dude) who co-counseled the 2nd-3rd grade boys with Stephen, simply asked him at one point during one-on-one devotions if Joel wanted to ask Jesus into His heart . Joel said "yes!"

Funny thing the way I found out in this day and age: Sarah texted me.

My first reaction was pure joy, bubbling up. The answer to 8 years of prayer! Then my second reaction was clearly from the Enemy to make me doubt. Words like, "probably one of those campy, peer-pressure, feel-bad-about-sin, "pray the sinner's prayer" with a grown-up, and then return just like he was." I can't tell you how I battled to fight the attacks. My oldest son, Ben, felt demonic oppression, too, and I had to say it is no coincidence. Satan no longer had my littlest arrow, God did! And he battles to get arrows back out of God's hands, doesn't he? But God prevailed. He always does! "No weapon formed against you will prosper." Satan wanted to use my last arrow in his kingdom . He'd already lost the first three to God. And yet in our quiver, God had graciously put four that He decided before the foundation of the world would be plucked and straightened and readied for straight flight in HIS kingdom!

Oh, what a happy mom I am!

To say "Booyah!" to Satan, I have already seen Joel bear fruit of repentance:
1. He's more obedient the first time, and with cheer (usually). "Joel, will you please put away the silverware now?" And he gets up and says, "Sure!" (Is this MY kid?)
2. He's ready to read the Bible. We are reading through Matthew together each morning, a portion of a chapter. (It's cute to see his interjections; the other day we came across the part of seed yielding fruit "thirty, sixty, a hundred fold." Well, my little mathematician said, "Shouldn't that be 30,60, 90?")
3. He woke up one morning and immediately started singing a worship song in bed. I stood outside the door and just listened, eavesdropping, resisting the urge to run in and hug him while he was worshiping. I nearly wept.
4. His whole countenance is different. His eyes sparkle and his skin seems to glow. I mean, he's always had beautiful eyes and skin, but his face (to me, anyway) has a "touched by God" appearance now that I can't explain .
5. He is more gentle, less critical, more encouraging, and has greater self-control. The greatest evidence came the very Sunday he returned from camp and was sitting in assembly during Children's Church. Normally he either starts or joins in on the talking with his buddies, not keeping hands to himself, not really caring what the adult up front had to say. But that very first Sunday after his salvation, his eyes were glued up front and he was called on to participate.(To note, the lesson seemed to be for me about putting on the whole armor of God.) He gently resisted his classmates' attempts to distract him and he's been getting good reports from his teachers. (Selfishly this feels really good because, at our church ,if parents ask how their kids were during class, they get honest answers.) I am not naive enough to think that he will always get good reports, but I am confident that "He who began a good work in [Joel] will continue it to the day of Jesus Christ"!

So, rejoice with me in the God of our salvation! For saving Joel from the enemy and redeeming him for Himself!

Good Thing I Love Him

I'll try to upload pictures from our vacation (which started yesterday). Having a good time and just stopped home for an overnight this evening and one day at home tomorrow before heading to the beach.

Yesterday, on the way up to central Pennsylvania to take my baby boy to camp, I enjoyed the conversations I could carry on with my only two travel companions--him and Paul, while I was awake. Sometimes I would get melancholy thinking of the week ahead without my youngest. But he has a way of snapping me out of it when I least expect it. Good thing I love him. Otherwise, I might have turned around and pinched him for saying this. (And, yes, it did crack me up ,and yes, I was able-- after cracking up with Paul--to tell him it's not polite to say such things, even if they're true.) Probably because we had just passed a runaway truck ramp and I had just explained about steep grades. If he'd wanted to, Joel could have remarked with one of his spot-on analogies. Sure glad he stopped while he wasn't too far behind.

It happened at a fork in the road in the old industrial town of Cumberland, Maryland.

Here's what he said.

Truthful? Yes. Accurate? Not Quite.

You just have to laugh sometimes when kids screw up your exact words. A dose of humble pie
made me feel almost as good as the DayQuil had. Here's what happened yesterday.