Tonight, as I was making dinner, Aidan (3 1/2 year old) comes to me and says seriously, "Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be a Fire Hydrant." Okay...how cute is that?
Yesterday, since the older two boys are in drama camp this week (like we need more drama), Aidan and I are laying down for a nap. We are cuddled under the sheets, our noses touching like Eskimoes and giggling like school girls. He smiles at me and says, "Mommy, I like you." Did I mention he is cute?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Angels Among Us
I've never had trouble understanding the spirit world. Even as a young girl, I got it. Probably because I was exposed to it at such a young age. Thank you, Mom. Don't get me wrong, this statement is in no way boasting about my supernatural awareness, just my belief in the unseen realm, which to some seems foreign. Most of my adult life was spent trying to deny it's existence, but God, in His glorious patience, has a way of revealing the truth.
For instance, I love the fact that angels are among us. There is no doubt that good angels help protect (Daniel 6:20-23; 2 Kings 6:13-17), reveal information (Acts 7:52-53; Luke 1:11-20), guide (Matthew 1:20-21; Acts 8:26), provide for (Genesis 21:17-20; 1 Kings 19:5-7), and minister to believers in general (Hebrews 1:14). There are many more instances of these angelic activities in Scripture. In the Old Testament, the nation of Israel had the archangel (Michael) assigned to it (Daniel 10:21; 12:1).
I fully believe that I have had encounters with angels in my lifetime, and not all of them were good ones. I have seen and witnessed evil, and at the same time, witnessed random acts of pure goodness and love. Take 1992, Houston, TX, for example. My father was in intensive care again and I was asked to come and help take care of his 2 year old son. Without going into tremendous detail, the week did not go well. After a huge fight with Stepmother #4, on the way to the airport, she left me abandoned at a gas station 30 miles from the airport. My flight home was scheduled to depart in an hour or so, and after the week I endured, I wanted nothing more than to go home. As I sat on my suitcase by a busy intersection, I realized I had no money in my wallet and knew no one in Houston to rescue me. I started crying. Not tears of sadness but of anger. At 22, I was barely 100 pounds and probably looked more like 16 than a young woman. I picked up my suitcase and walked towards the busy gas station, not really knowing what I was going to do, but having nowhere else to go. A nice-looking, well-dressed white man with beautiful thick white hair was pumping gas and I noticed he kept looking at me. He came up to me and smiled and asked if I was in trouble. I told him my dilemma and without batting an eye said he would take me to the airport. I cried most of the 30-45 minute drive (mostly just a release of emotion over my horrendous week) and he never asked me a thing. We just sat next to each other in silence, and even though we were strangers, I felt a peaceful presence was with us. When we arrived at the gate, I turned to him and said, "I don't have any money to give you." He smiled and sweetly said, "That's okay, honey. Just be sure to do something nice for somebody else." I asked his name and he said it was Jake. That was it. We hugged and he drove off.
A random stranger or an angel sent from God? All I know is this: God cares more than we realize about our pain. For believers, He promises He will never leave us. Sometimes He even sends His messengers.
For instance, I love the fact that angels are among us. There is no doubt that good angels help protect (Daniel 6:20-23; 2 Kings 6:13-17), reveal information (Acts 7:52-53; Luke 1:11-20), guide (Matthew 1:20-21; Acts 8:26), provide for (Genesis 21:17-20; 1 Kings 19:5-7), and minister to believers in general (Hebrews 1:14). There are many more instances of these angelic activities in Scripture. In the Old Testament, the nation of Israel had the archangel (Michael) assigned to it (Daniel 10:21; 12:1).
I fully believe that I have had encounters with angels in my lifetime, and not all of them were good ones. I have seen and witnessed evil, and at the same time, witnessed random acts of pure goodness and love. Take 1992, Houston, TX, for example. My father was in intensive care again and I was asked to come and help take care of his 2 year old son. Without going into tremendous detail, the week did not go well. After a huge fight with Stepmother #4, on the way to the airport, she left me abandoned at a gas station 30 miles from the airport. My flight home was scheduled to depart in an hour or so, and after the week I endured, I wanted nothing more than to go home. As I sat on my suitcase by a busy intersection, I realized I had no money in my wallet and knew no one in Houston to rescue me. I started crying. Not tears of sadness but of anger. At 22, I was barely 100 pounds and probably looked more like 16 than a young woman. I picked up my suitcase and walked towards the busy gas station, not really knowing what I was going to do, but having nowhere else to go. A nice-looking, well-dressed white man with beautiful thick white hair was pumping gas and I noticed he kept looking at me. He came up to me and smiled and asked if I was in trouble. I told him my dilemma and without batting an eye said he would take me to the airport. I cried most of the 30-45 minute drive (mostly just a release of emotion over my horrendous week) and he never asked me a thing. We just sat next to each other in silence, and even though we were strangers, I felt a peaceful presence was with us. When we arrived at the gate, I turned to him and said, "I don't have any money to give you." He smiled and sweetly said, "That's okay, honey. Just be sure to do something nice for somebody else." I asked his name and he said it was Jake. That was it. We hugged and he drove off.
A random stranger or an angel sent from God? All I know is this: God cares more than we realize about our pain. For believers, He promises He will never leave us. Sometimes He even sends His messengers.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Reflections of a Mad Housewife
I've got the summertime blues. The newness of sleeping in, swimming, water parks, camp and bbq's has worn off. I'm tired of the heat. The boys and I are soooo done with each other that even breathing the same air has become a chore! The word Mommy, especially screamed in high-pitched stereo, has began to give me a nervous twitch. I've become a sweaty, twitching, mad housewife...something I never aspired to be. It's left me feeling quite sorry for myself and terribly cranky. I'm not sure this is what I signed up for.
I know what you're thinking..."Count your blessings. It could be worse! Life is what you make of it! At least you have your health." Blah, blah, blah. Whomever thought up these sayings must not have stayed home with 3 boys in 106 degree weather for three months. I could come up with some new sayings, but I'm not sure that would be the Christian thing to do.
But, alas, hope is on the horizon...school starts in 2 weeks! It will all be perfect and peaceful and new...until it's not and reality sets in...but it's fun to dream! Happy freakin summer....
I know what you're thinking..."Count your blessings. It could be worse! Life is what you make of it! At least you have your health." Blah, blah, blah. Whomever thought up these sayings must not have stayed home with 3 boys in 106 degree weather for three months. I could come up with some new sayings, but I'm not sure that would be the Christian thing to do.
But, alas, hope is on the horizon...school starts in 2 weeks! It will all be perfect and peaceful and new...until it's not and reality sets in...but it's fun to dream! Happy freakin summer....
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
For a Loved-One
God hears your cries, beloved
Protection surrounds you now
Suffering is only for a season
God promises: pain can turn to good
Cling to God's Word, Dear One
For in it there is truth
Life's mysteries can be found
In the pages of that book
I can only offer you prayers
Even though you don't know it
I'm thanking God for your salvation
For your pain to be used for good
You are just a kid in a grown up world
Your childhood was not your fault
We live in a fallen world, you see
Even those we love can destroy us
Jesus was with you during those times
Close your eyes and search for Him
He's with you now in a crowded cell
Draw near to Him and bask in love
Lean not on your own understanding
Wisdom is yours for the asking
Guard yourself with the armour of righteousness
Draw your sword of salvation
God says: This is the way to be free...
Protection surrounds you now
Suffering is only for a season
God promises: pain can turn to good
Cling to God's Word, Dear One
For in it there is truth
Life's mysteries can be found
In the pages of that book
I can only offer you prayers
Even though you don't know it
I'm thanking God for your salvation
For your pain to be used for good
You are just a kid in a grown up world
Your childhood was not your fault
We live in a fallen world, you see
Even those we love can destroy us
Jesus was with you during those times
Close your eyes and search for Him
He's with you now in a crowded cell
Draw near to Him and bask in love
Lean not on your own understanding
Wisdom is yours for the asking
Guard yourself with the armour of righteousness
Draw your sword of salvation
God says: This is the way to be free...
Monday, July 21, 2008
For His Glory
Something has been eating at me for awhile. You see, giving your life to the Lord means dying of one's self; being in this world but not of this world. Everything that the world has taught me is the opposite of what God says...ex: To be strong, you must be weak. To receive, you must give. To win, you must lose. To be rich (in spirit), you must be poor (in spirit). To find joy, you must suffer/sacrifice. The world says: "It's all about ME." God says: "No, it's actually all about ME." When He said, "My ways are not your ways and My thoughts are not your thoughts." boy, did He really mean it!
I must admit, I have been feeling like an alien lately. After studying the book of Daniel I realized how poorly prepared I was to face all these contradictions. I read this scripture early this morning in 2 Cor. 12:9 - "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." I find this to be so true because I desperately need His strength to persevere!
So what has been eating at me? Myself. I want it to be easy. I don't want to suffer/sacrifice. I don't want to be persecuted for His namesake. It's a misconception that being a Christian is easy, but then, nothing of worth ever is, right? Jesus didn't come to bring peace, but to bring a sword (of the spirit) so that believers can fight the enemy. It's a battle, and I feel like a lowly soldier. What's amazing is that's where I find Him the most: in my weakness.
I love that God is so deep! His Word is so powerful that one scripture, one single sentence, can give sustenance to a thirsty soul. Although I have nothing to offer, He wants me anyway. That makes me smile; it makes the battle worth fighting.
I must admit, I have been feeling like an alien lately. After studying the book of Daniel I realized how poorly prepared I was to face all these contradictions. I read this scripture early this morning in 2 Cor. 12:9 - "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." I find this to be so true because I desperately need His strength to persevere!
So what has been eating at me? Myself. I want it to be easy. I don't want to suffer/sacrifice. I don't want to be persecuted for His namesake. It's a misconception that being a Christian is easy, but then, nothing of worth ever is, right? Jesus didn't come to bring peace, but to bring a sword (of the spirit) so that believers can fight the enemy. It's a battle, and I feel like a lowly soldier. What's amazing is that's where I find Him the most: in my weakness.
I love that God is so deep! His Word is so powerful that one scripture, one single sentence, can give sustenance to a thirsty soul. Although I have nothing to offer, He wants me anyway. That makes me smile; it makes the battle worth fighting.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Reflection
Is blogging considered narcissism? I mean, it is ALL about ME and MY life and MY thoughts. I have stopped telling people that I have a blog... it sounds embarrassing to me like I'm trying to brag about my wonderful life and my wonderful kids and ME, ME, ME. It's like those annoying Christmas Letters that people send once a year to people they haven't seen in ages to brag about themselves. It would be refreshing to read about lives full of struggles, joy, sorrow, peace, anger, compassion, envy and triumph. A letter that tells people, "We aren't perfect, we mess up, sometimes big, we have hateful thoughts and we don't always eat healthy but sometimes we have amazing triumphs, unexplainable joy and times of pure bliss...but mostly, we are humble humans just trying to find our way." This is what I want my blog and my life story to be about.
Whether or not anyone is reading it (and it's okay if no one is), I want to look back on each entry and be reminded of my not so perfect life. Mostly, I just want to to be grateful for the little things. To not take life so seriously. To stop being so disappointed with myself when I mess up. To stop being so disappointed with others when they mess up! To just bask in His glory and remember that (quoting Beth Moore) I'm here for ten minutes...there's no time for stinkin thinkin!
Whether or not anyone is reading it (and it's okay if no one is), I want to look back on each entry and be reminded of my not so perfect life. Mostly, I just want to to be grateful for the little things. To not take life so seriously. To stop being so disappointed with myself when I mess up. To stop being so disappointed with others when they mess up! To just bask in His glory and remember that (quoting Beth Moore) I'm here for ten minutes...there's no time for stinkin thinkin!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Memory Lane
Having recently been back from our family's summer vacation had me traveling down memory lane, recalling my own childhood summers. Even though coming from a broken home and being raised primarily by a single mom, I loved being a kid. I never wanted to grow up. I still struggle with the Peter-Pan syndrome! From 6-12 years of age, my mom and I lived in a 2 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath studio apartment in Hurst, Texas. For an apartment it was really spacious and cute with harvest gold shag carpeting and appliances (gotta love the 70's). I still dream about this apartment sometimes; always feeling happy and secure there.
My summers growing up usually consisted of me visiting either my cousins in West Texas, my aunt and her family in Arlington, my grandparents in Cross Plains or my dad (wherever he was at the time). I remember when I was 9 my father lived in Miami, Fl and I went to see him. He was staying in a high-rise apartment/condo building that was owned by his wealthy El Salvadorian girlfriend (soon to be wife #2) whom was out of the country at that time. It was pretty close to the beach and the building had it's own pool and tennis courts. The apartment was on the 7th floor. I remember this because I spent most of my days, unless at the pool, in the elevator riding up and down the different floors. I guess my father went to work during the day and left me to my own devices??? I remember getting to know the staff in the lobby and the maids pretty well. Being in Miami, there were a lot of Spanish-speaking or elderly Jewish residents, but not very many kids. Perhaps my father asked the elderly Jewish lady next door to keep an eye out for me, or perhaps we ran into each other in the elevator, but I remember her inviting me over to have lunches and sometimes dinners with she and her husband. Their apartment was very clean but smelled stuffy and musty...like moth balls. Our meals mostly consisted of "pickled" something or an olive loaf or some other concoction that my Texas pallet wasn't accustomed to. I remember not liking the food, but the sweet woman would always give me a chocolate bar or other treat to take home. I remember talking with the Puerto Rican maintenance man who commented on how well I spoke English. I just thanked him and smiled, secretly glad that he assumed I was something other than what I was. I loved making up new identities for myself (different names and accents) when meeting strangers. I was always in my own little fantasy world.
Recalling this childhood memory, I should be appalled, but yet, I smile. I like the little independent girl I remember. I can't even imagine leaving my 9 year old alone all day to wonder around a huge apartment building, but yet, it was like an amazing adventure for me. I didn't feel lonely or sad, but grown up and worldly. I always felt God was watching out for me and boy, was I right!
Why is it that I could write a book (a rather comical one) of all my childhood memories but find it difficult to sometimes recall yesterday? Hmmm....perhaps the Peter Pan in me is still alive and well...
My summers growing up usually consisted of me visiting either my cousins in West Texas, my aunt and her family in Arlington, my grandparents in Cross Plains or my dad (wherever he was at the time). I remember when I was 9 my father lived in Miami, Fl and I went to see him. He was staying in a high-rise apartment/condo building that was owned by his wealthy El Salvadorian girlfriend (soon to be wife #2) whom was out of the country at that time. It was pretty close to the beach and the building had it's own pool and tennis courts. The apartment was on the 7th floor. I remember this because I spent most of my days, unless at the pool, in the elevator riding up and down the different floors. I guess my father went to work during the day and left me to my own devices??? I remember getting to know the staff in the lobby and the maids pretty well. Being in Miami, there were a lot of Spanish-speaking or elderly Jewish residents, but not very many kids. Perhaps my father asked the elderly Jewish lady next door to keep an eye out for me, or perhaps we ran into each other in the elevator, but I remember her inviting me over to have lunches and sometimes dinners with she and her husband. Their apartment was very clean but smelled stuffy and musty...like moth balls. Our meals mostly consisted of "pickled" something or an olive loaf or some other concoction that my Texas pallet wasn't accustomed to. I remember not liking the food, but the sweet woman would always give me a chocolate bar or other treat to take home. I remember talking with the Puerto Rican maintenance man who commented on how well I spoke English. I just thanked him and smiled, secretly glad that he assumed I was something other than what I was. I loved making up new identities for myself (different names and accents) when meeting strangers. I was always in my own little fantasy world.
Recalling this childhood memory, I should be appalled, but yet, I smile. I like the little independent girl I remember. I can't even imagine leaving my 9 year old alone all day to wonder around a huge apartment building, but yet, it was like an amazing adventure for me. I didn't feel lonely or sad, but grown up and worldly. I always felt God was watching out for me and boy, was I right!
Why is it that I could write a book (a rather comical one) of all my childhood memories but find it difficult to sometimes recall yesterday? Hmmm....perhaps the Peter Pan in me is still alive and well...
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