OPENING WEEKEND

MC 1 & HH's matching "head lamps".

THE SHALLOW END OF THE KIDDIE POOL...

My toddler is not in a hospital in Boston fighting for his very life like MckMama, while the rest of my family is miles away. I tucked them in and prayed with them last night - both of them. My husband is not fighting for his life or lost over the ocean. He was safe in our bed last night, pulling covers and stealing pillows. I have not been battling cancer for years like my sweet friend Nikita or months like Bev. My husband does not leave for weeks on end, except for the occasional hunting trip. We have not had to file bankruptcy and we don't battle mental illness in our marriage.
Yet last night and this morning I am sad. Hormones? Possibly. Maybe a crack that I have let the enemy see because I am tired....

of being fat

of being on a budget and going over

of constantly fighting something (real or imagined) in my life.

I don't know what for sure.
Could I use a good cry - yes I could.
Am I entitled to it as these people are- probably not.
Does it mean it won't happen - doubtful.
But here is what I do know.
In the shallowness of my kiddie pool of sadness (and it is very shallow I know) or the depths of their oceans of despair these words are true...

For the Lord is good;

His mercy is everlasting,

And His truth endures to all generations.

Pslam 100:5 (NKJV)

Praise be His holy name!

HUT!HUT!

The men children and I have started a semi-nightly ritual of playing a game of football each night. MC 1 has an Aggie helmet and uniform he suits up in. MC 2 has nothing. We play catch, we tackle and tickle, we punt and kick and work on diving catches. MC 2 (my goodness I accidentally typed MC 3 -prophetic? HH hopes not!) gets so excited when we go out to play. He desperately wants to be a part of the game. He coaches us on our three-point stance. He pleads for us to give him the ball and then does his best hut hut.
HOWEVER,
when he sees MC 1 or myself running toward him to tackle him, he throws the ball away and falls down in a fetal position on the ground screaming NO! NO!
I really don't know why he does this other than the obvious -he doesn't want to get hit (For the record we don't hit. We gently pull to the ground). He has no problems jumping on one of us, but no contact sport for this little stinker.
Go with me now. Remember this is my blog so I am gonna talk about what applies to me, and hope it makes sense. There are things in life I want to do and be a part of. I bet you do to. Whether it is working in ministry, or a job you think you are called to and would love, or going back to school, or being a stay-at-home mom, or all of that, I want to play in the game. Things where I desperately plead with God to throw me the ball - let me get involved. I am excited and nervous and ready to play all at the same time, just like MC 2.
The Lord graciously throws me the ball, I take off running, and then the potential for some contact shows up. The enemy tries to tackle me. More times than I would like to count, and more recent that I want to admit, I have also done like MC 2. I have chunked the ball as far from me as possible, curled up in a fetal position and cried NO!NO!
I want to play the game, I just don't want to get hit. Now granted I don't think many people want to get hit. I know I don't, but the risk and reality of it comes with the territory. If I am going to play the game, I am going to be under the threat of getting hit often, and will get hit a few times. It's not like I am not equipped to get hit, I have, after all, a very powerful armor and a sword to defend myself. Honestly, though, the mere thought of taking a hit can cause me to chunk what God has placed in my hands. Just the thought.
I don't want to be like that. I want to be a "grid iron" warrior. I want to take on the opponent. Take the hits as they come. Get up and do it again. I don't want to curl up in the fetal position anymore. As scared as I am, and that is pretty scared for some of this, I want tuck the ball Christ has given me and run for the end zone! Some things may be a sprint and a touchdown. Some may be a war on the line, inch by inch, yard by yard. Some will be a three and out, because God just wanted to see if I had the courage to play the game.
See, I, we, have to play in the game. That is the only way we will see victory. You don't win if you don't play. Lying in a fetal position crying NO! NO! brings no glory to Christ Jesus. Makes me no stronger, just paralyzed with fear. Like a player on the field who does not block or run or move period. I want to suit up, get the play call from the sidelines, and PLAY BALL! I want to see the following:

We will shout for joy when you are victorious and will lift up banners of in the name of our God.

(portion of Psalm 20:5 NIV)

I want to see the same for you. If you have been lying in the fetal position, it is time to get up. Time to dust off the dirt, re-adjust that mouth guard, get the next play, grab that ball and run. You have an entire crowd of encouragers. A entire stadium of witnesses waiting to raise banners in the name of our God. Today hit those knees in your three-point stance and get ready.
The snap is coming and the hand-off is to you.
HUT! HUT!

THIS IS WHY I DON'T COOK

First, just put up a new post on Deliberately Delivered. Click on the shackles to jump on over.
Second, my lack of cooking knowledge shown through this morning. I was making some scrambled egg whites for my breakfast burrito I had been dreaming about. MC 2 wanted to help, so I gave him a whisk-y type utensil. Anyone want to guess what you get when you whisk egg whites?
You are half way to meringue.
So my burrito was a little fluffy today.
This is why I don't cook.
Which is not completely true because I do, just not very well.
After reading this is there any wonder why?

I'M A REAL BOY

Last night the boys were grounded from TV until after supper. As a result they ate dinner at the kitchen table. The following dialogue occurred after we sat at the table:
MC 1 : This is like a real family.
Me: That is because we are a real family.
MC 1 : No. Like a real, real , REAL family, with manners.
We try.

AWAKE

So I have been reading Jennifer Rothschild Self-Talk, Soul Talk. Last night was the chapter on the phrase "awake , oh my soul, awake." My soul has been awake since 3:30 am. Totally NOT what I think she meant. However, my soul has some thinking and tending too that needs to occur. Got some relationships that I am not sure what to do with. Got some relationships that are frustrating the heck outta me right now. Got some that I just want to scream at them and say "HOW DO YOU NOT GET THIS? SERIOUSLY? H-O-W?!!" . Yes, I would like to scream in all caps. Trying to figure out how to make the mula last longer than it appears to want to. How to minimize my trip to the store today. Lots of worry knocking on my thought closet door. Plus I have been avoiding Bob for about 4 days now, so that does not make me feel any better.
However, as I have said so many times, and many of you have been quick to remind me, I get to choose what comes in that thought closet and what gets checked at the door. As BM said in Esther, God knows the how. Oh how He knows the how.
So, to change the subject in a blog full of links, here is another one. Boo Mama wrote a great post about Steven Curtis Chapman and his new CD. Plus, Mr. Chapman is having a chat on Facebook tonight and Boo has the link for that.
Hope you guys have a great Tuesday!
And the mouse lives to fight another day.

OF MICE AND MEN

We have a mouse in our house. You will recall here my last run in with them. I hate mice. HATE them. They are dirty and sneaky and dirty, and I can not stand them. I told HH about him a couple of weeks ago. He said set some traps, blah blah blah. It is clear now that he did not believe me. Even last week when I saw the mouse run across the floor, he still did not believe me.
Much like our own lives, the truth always comes out. SOOOOO when the mouse skirted across the floor LAST night and HH SAW him, he sprang into action. Suddenly there was a battle plan...more traps..more peanut butter and cheese.... basically MORE.
He even rearranged my traps (which I had asked him to set out) last night.
The mouse is still free today but his days are numbered.
To just 1 I hope.