A Thanksgiving to God for His House by Robert Herrick

Lord, Thou hast given me a cell 
Wherein to dwell; 
An little house, whose humble roof 
Is weather-proof; 
Under the spars of which I lie 
Both soft and dry; 
Where Thou my chamber for to ward 
Hast set a guard 
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep 
Me, while I sleep. 
Low is my porch as is my fate, 
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door 
Is worn by'th' poor, 
Who thither come, and freely get 
Good words, or meat; 
Like as my parlour, so my hall 
And kitchen's small; 
A little butterie and therein 
A little bin, 
Which keeps my little loaf of bread 
Unchipp'd, unflay'd; 
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar 
Make me a fire, 
Close by whose living coal I sit, 
And glow like it. 
Lord, I confess too, when I dine, 
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits that be 
There plac'd by Thee; 
The worts, the purslain, and the mess 
Of water-cress, 
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent; 
And my content 
Makes those, and my beloved beet, 
To be more sweet. 
'Tis Thou that crown'st my glitt'ring hearth 
With guiltless mirth; 
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, 
Spic'd to the brink. 
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand 
That soils my land; 
And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, 
Twice ten for one; 
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay 
Her egg each day; 
Besides my healthful ewes to bear 
Me twins each year; 
The while the conduits of my kine 
Run cream (for wine.) 
All these, and better Thou dost send 
Me, to this end, 
That I should render, for my part, 
A thankful heart, 
Which, fir'd with incense, I resign 
As wholly Thine; 
But the acceptance, that must be, 
My Christ, by Thee.

P.S. 

C.'s favorite part of Thanksgiving was chewing on the bones.  Who knew cartilage could be so tasty???  And Sunflower started crawling two days ago.  We're overjoyed at her great accomplishment...and with how much more complicated life is now for us! :)

What am I most thankful for this year?

The opportunity to be a home maker.

I heard an NPR interview about Michelle Obama's decision to dedicate the first year in office to helping her daughters transition.  She put her profession on hold, and will join the ranks with the rest of us homemakers.  Four women were on the interview panel, and they all had very opposing opinions about this decision.  One woman went so far to say that her decision was a disgrace to her race.  "Black women work," she said.  "Staying at home with children is something that white women do."

That may be how it has been: minorities in the workplace and white women at home, but I don't believe it was by choice in the majority of the cases.  And given the opportunity, I'm sure many minority women would seize the opportunity to WORK at home.  Thankfully, our nation's socio-economic canvas is being painted with a variety of colors in the background and foreground now, and I don't think staying at home is a race issue; it's an economic one.

It's also a personality issue.  When I think of twenty of my closest friends, of a mix of races, who have higher ed. degrees, a career, and are in a position to not HAVE to work, I'm one of very few who have chosen to stay home.  Several tried it for an extended period after their children were born, but somewhere they lost part of themselves in it, didn't gain excessive purpose through it. 

They went back to their careers and took some heat for it by those who believe women should always stay home.  I stayed home and haven taken some heat for "not using my gifts and contributing them to the world."  In my view, and that's really the only one that matters here since it's my decision, I'd rather use my gifts to put these three out in top form so that their children have a better chance, and their children, and their children... What greater purpose is there than to directly affect the world for an eternity of generations???

That said, I'm not your typical home maker.  See? I even have a preferred term, and it is NOT House Wife or Stay at Home Mom.  I'm more than just a wife, more than just a mom.  My job here is to make a home.  That includes cleaning, cooking, child-rearing, repairing, and a plethora of other pleasantries to make this box of brick feel like a home for these five people-a place of refuge, comfort and security where needs are met and the heart is calmed.  That's not easy, especially when my bad mood leaves them running off to the bowling alley to get out of the tumultuous vibe of the "home"!  But hey-we all have bad days, right?

It's more than the title though.  I can only sit and talk with other housewives about car seats, casseroles and HGTV for so long. I've ridden around in cabs, horsecarts, cyclos and tuk-tuks with babies in my lap in the far corners of the earth, so researching which American car seat is the safest is just beyond me.  This is as far as my interest there goes:  "Are you buckled?" "Good-let's go."  I can't remember the last time I watched HGTV; I buy whatever baby food is cheapest, organic or not; I have no idea where my kids fall on the height/weight percentile charts other than knowing one is really small, one is really big, and one is too young yet to tell; and I certainly don't know how many teeth they're supposed to have, let alone how many they do have.  Except Sunflower.  She has three, but that's easy.  I mean really-what are the odds that my kids would have five extra teeth?  Teeth come in; I don't see the need to stick my fingers in that death trap and count them.

What I do know is that I have a Literary Journal deadline in six days, so nap time is spent writing short fiction.  I know that I have a goal to get a Friends Speak ministry up and running at church by Valentine's Day, and much is left undone there.  I didn't flinch when C.'s preschool teacher told me he didn't know his colors yet, but spent ten minutes making sure that his behavior was kind and respectful.  Again-I know that EVENTUALLY, he'll know red from green. Though he may not always remember to say, "Yes, Ma'am", share and touch gently.  My laundry is never done, and the windows have dog paw prints all over them.  Oh well.  My dishes are done, it's vaccuumed, and more than sanitary.  Arguably too sanitary.  Afterall, this is America, and I have a an assortment of disinfectants under my sink preventing my children from building up immunities to anything.  And the one child that has been in my care since birth has severe allergies and asthma.  Did I do that with my obsessive 409-ing and floor mopping?  Who knows.  I definitely am not that homemaker who brings hand sanitizer to the playground, though!

In conclusion, I can't think of another job I would rather have right now than the non-traditional home maker that I am.  There is no greater purpose to me than to raise up these three children in the fear of the Lord to be His servants and productive global citizens.  I love having dinner for Tim when he gets home and knowing everything about my kids.  I know J. and C.'s inside jokes; I know C. hates mac and cheese; J. loves it.  I know the difference between Sunflower's hungry cry and her lonely cry.  I know that C. acts up when his day is unstructured, J. acts up when he needs attention.  I know every freckle on their bodies, and I wouldn't want it any other way.  

Other perks of the job: every other Tuesday, I don't have to get dressed...all day if I don't want to.  I can do adoption presentations at the preschool on Welcome Home Days.  I have an hour and a half or so each day (nap time) to pursue artistic interests, and I have time to stay well-read.  

There may come a time when I go back to work.  I'm looking at MA programs now actually to accompany that possibility.  But for now, there is no better job in the world, and the opportunity to do it is what I am MOST thankful for this year.  And you?  What are you most thankful for?

Very belated Halloween pics

This isn't a Sunflower pic from Halloweeen, but she didn't dress up or go trick-or-treating, and what's a post of the kids without all three kids, so... isn't she cute!?

Here's C. being knighted in our very hectic and messy living room before Trick-or-Treating.  He loved the idea of being a knight to take care of princesses like his little sister.

Arg!  J. would rather be a money stealing, treasure hiding, rogue of the open sea.
(By they way, Dollar Tree is my favorite store.  Both costumes: $6.)

But big castles, jousting, eye patches and talking parrots aside, all that really mattered was that they both got a sword.  Boys will be boys!

The duel you didn't read about in history books:

Holiday pictures...

There isn't much more to say than this, is there? She cracks us up!  And yes, there was a huge shout that came with that pose.  She is not a small personality! :)  It'll blow up if you click it and want the full effect.

We did get some great ones though-as if this one isn't great- but, you know, more...traditional ones, and they will be posted after Christmas cards are mailed out.  

And since Veteran's Day makes me think of my Timmy, who makes me think of weddings and love and whatnot, here's something old, new, borrowed and blue for the week:

Old:  The old standard "Jingle Bells" sounds best when played on the cello by J. pizzicato style and very, very legato.

New: A Ginger snap latte is the same thing as a Gingerbread Bread latte.  Why change the name and confuse people after all these years??? 

Borrowed: Kim Edwards' short story collection, "Secrets of the Fire King"-that I borrowed from the used book store-is fabulous!  

Blue: A little bittersweet, actually.  When C. was an infant, and I was worried he'd fall prey to SIDS because of his high risk for it, I slept each night with my hand on his back. As long as his back softly rose and fell in tempo we both slept well.  Well, his asthma has been so bad lately that I've taken to doing the same thing again.  This time though, his coughing is so intense we're both up, but when he does fall asleep with a nebulizer mask attached to his face, my hand is on him to make sure his breathing is normal.  This wasn't a memory I really wanted to repeat, but I'm fully aware that his disabilities could be far worse, so I'm treasuring the time when my youngest son wants his mommy to take care of him.

Beyond politics

How precious it is to be able to say to you, sweet boy, "You can be ANYTHING God made you to be," and really, really, stare into your soul and pinch your cheeks, really, REALLY... mean it. Yes, you can.

Revelations over Caramel Apples on a Cool Autumn Night

These things are harder to stab than they appear!

One is never enough.  Bobbing for caramels seems like a much better idea!

A very good Cambodian friend of mine, Sokha, was killed this week in a traffic accident.  She was a spiritual powerhouse, teaching other women, mothering 22 orphan children, raising her three children in the Lord, teaching Sunday school classes, a spiritual light in a very dark community. Her death left a huge void, not just in my heart, but in the lives of so many.  I've struggled for more than twenty four hours now with "What good can come of this?  How could God allow this to happen?"  I don't usually have that struggle in the wake of death.  I've experience a lot of death too, seen a lot of horrible things in the world: babies that starved to death, landmine victims, held women whose husbands washed away in a cyclone, moms dying of AIDS searching for homes for their children, and on and on and on. Even if it's the death of a child, or a long bout with cancer, I always quickly see God's goodness shining through the tragedy.  Not that God causes the tragedy, necessarily, but that he can make good bloom out of anything.  But with this?  Twice orphaned orphans? Motherless children?  One of the lone spiritual lights in a Buddhist village snuffed out?  For the first time, I thought surely evil would triumph over good in this case, and how could God let that happen?  

Then a good mutual friend of mine and Sokha's emailed me and said, "Who are we but children of God?" That set me back exactly to where I needed to be.  Thanks Marie-Claire.  You see, when I lived in Cambodia with Marie-Claire, before children, I spent hours a day in the Word and in prayer. HOURS a DAY. Somedays all night too.  12-20 HOURS a DAY weeping, praying and meditating over the Word. The spiritual plane that put me on is indescribable-think nuns in secluded monasteries, but also serving the lost and least of these everyday, putting the Word into action with every other breath of the day.  Things are clearer up there, to say the least. That's not the case for all missionaries, I know, but it was for me.

Then I move back to suburban America, have three children, do laundry, go to speech therapy, preschool, Dr. appointments, etc...and I steal a  few MINUTES a day with God.  I didn't realize what this had done to my spiritual health until Marie-Claire emailed me with her perspective, the perspective of one blessed to still be living a life with hours a day in the Word.  

Yes, I know raising children is a mission field, and no I'm not complaining about my life.  I am saying that to get the time with God that I need in this life however takes a carving knife.  It doesn't come easily, but it must be done lest my mind transform further in the wrong direction.  

So, I spent nap time today reading 1 Peter.  The dishes aren't done, the laundry needs to be switched, and J. didn't get his cello lesson, but oh well.  First things first, right? 

 It said [emphasis mine], 

6Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time,

 7casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.

 9But resist him [the devil], firm in your faith, knowing that the same experiences of suffering are being accomplished by your brethren who are in the world.

 10After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen and establish you.

I repented of my pride, and saw the great HOPE available to Sokha's husband and children through this tragedy. They will be brought up from their humble state by a God who cares for them.  They will then be made perfect, strong, and established. And Sokha gets to live in Heaven in the meantime? Huh. The paralyzing grief is subsiding and hope of a new day is shining through. To be a perfected, strong and established Christian only leads to better things in the spiritual realms than anything I could have imagined yesterday.

Pride is a horrible thing.  

As a result of her death, the whole Cambodian village may hate and mock Jesus even more now than they did before her death. Sokha's daughter's faith may be delayed (she's only 8).  Evangelically, this may appear to be a loss for the good guys, but as long as none of us in the Lord lose our faith over this, we will be brought up stronger than before.  My vision wasn't where God's was, so I was calling Him foolish.  "Don't you see what this will to do the lost?" I asked God. "It'll push them further away from you!  This is BAD strategy!" I told Him as if the strategy is mine to know, or as if I can even see the whole field from where I'm sitting... I spent so much time focused on the likely hampered evangelism to those in darkness now who are effected by her death that I lost sight of discipling those who are in Christ now who are struggling over her death, and it's to them that there is a great promise written in this tragedy.   

We often don't struggle enough here in our custom kitchens with our healthy children making caramel apples.  A great missionary I grew up with, Stanley Shipp, once said that he wished a great calamity would fall upon America so that more people would seek Christ.  Well that's a theological quagmire I don't want to muck around in right now, but certainly when troubles do come, if we hold to God's unchanging Hand, we are stronger in the end.  We're reminded to hold our kids a little tighter, and make one or two more caramel apples, and know that for those suffering here and overseas, there is a greater Hand, an immeasurable Hope of perfection, and an everlasting, sustaining Love that will meet them and establish them on higher ground when bad things sometimes just happen to very, very, very good people.

I love you, Sokha, and I will miss you so much!  Thank you for the lessons you've taught me in life and death.

When did this happen?

This is what happens when you blink.  I love the boy he's become, but I miss my baby boys!

Fun at the park!

Here in the land of the pines...

...the wonders of Autumn aren't displayed in the ocher, saffron, rust, and mustard of leaves, but in fields of white.  True, it isn't a rice paddy on the margin of a floating Thai market abloom with white lotus, but it is beautiful in a iconic American South sort of way, don't you think?  It's so beautiful I almost swerved off the road looking at this nearly ripe field yesterday!

There are fields of green pods with hesitant white puffs peeking out, and fields breathing soft white clovers.  In "Birches", Frost compares ice-cycles on the trees to "the inner dome of Heaven" having fallen.  Cotton is similar in its heavenly glisten in the morning dew, but to me, the cotton field next door to our house more resembles lazy clouds that dropped to earth and whose little bits wanted to be by themselves for awhile.

In this part of the American South, Autumn is symbolized with ripe cotton, and it is everywhere right now.

The boys love to pick the puffs that fall out of the ball before the tractor scoops them up.  We talk about how soft it is, to be careful of the sharp seeds inside, and how cotton makes our clothes, blankets, and favorite teddy bears.

Sunflower loved it at first touch too!  And no, I haven't missed the allusion and irony of gently lifting a child out of tragedy in Africa, and bringing her to fields of cotton in the American South.  But how HOPEFUL, how representative it is of human progress, how tear-jerkingly promising it is that this African baby girl can grow to walk into an American cotton field, savor its beauty and soft grace, walk out of that field, and live free to dance and thrive and be herself in this amazing country.  All she knows, and all she will know for many years, is that cotton is soft and beautiful, so let's hold on to it for awhile.  It holds no ugly shadows of the past for her; it isn't a symbol to her of oppression, slavery, hate and segregation, so I let her joyfully have those moments with her something soft and beautiful that God made, and thank God that she has the opportunity to live them. 

Happy Autumn!

Our angel who refuses to smile in front of a camera...

Her refusal to smile makes me smile.  She's the only baby I know who's stoicism is comical! She is really is a ham away from the camera, though: big smiles, belly laughs...  Cameras just are not her friends!

The Responsibilities that Come with Shoes

When Sunflower and I landed in America, I said aloud, "Welcome to America.  You have a Daddy here, and a house."

A man across the aisle added, "And clean drinking water."

His friend said, "And medical care," no doubt because he had witnessed with eyes and nose Robyn and I change no less than a dozen diarrhea diapers and were clearly transporting a sick child.  Thank you, unknown plane companion, for being compassionate and not complaining!  

A woman waiting to exit the plane chimed in, "We have education here."

Another woman, "And hamburgers.  We have meat that you can eat here."  

A hundred thoughts went through my mind then as myself and my flying companions were about to step foot back into America.  What Sunflower was losing by leaving Africa certainly was at the forefront, but also all of the things she would gain-in her case, likely life itself-by moving to America.

I was struck last night listening to our Presidential candidates debate whether health care was a responsibility or a right.  Huh.  I thought the UN decided that sixty years ago with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, article 25:

"Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family, including food, housing, and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age, or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his control.   Motherhood and childhood are entitled to special care and assistance.  All children, whether born in or out of wedlock, shall enjoy the same protection."

Health care is a basic human right.

Teaching your children the Golden Rule is a responsibility.

Meat on the table is a privilege.

Unfortunately, these basic rights, as outlined in the UN Declaration aren't exercised around the world.  There are many obstacles: lack of resources, lack of knowledge, apathy...  If they were all met, Sunflower would never have to have left Ethiopia.  

My travels have developed a unique perspective within me.  For example, patent leather shoes on an 8 month old baby is not a core human right.  It is an abundant privilege of growing up in America.  In fact, I didn't see shoes of any kind on any child's feet while in Africa (in the villages outside of Addis, anyway).  Here's my perspective: foot covering of some sort=right.  Patent leather baby shoes with bows= privilege.

Sunflower got her first pair of shoes yesterday.  I openly chastised myself in the store about how ridiculous it was to buy a baby a pair of shoes.  What's she going to do, walk outside and check the mail?  But I wanted her to have them.  I want her to have all of her human rights: medical care, sufficient food, potable water, shelter; fulfill all of her responsibilities: try her best in school, use good manners, tell people about Jesus' love, and be a compassionate person; and so many privileges as well: a room to herself, McDonald's french fries, indoor plumbing, a washing machine, her own Bible in her own language, music, dance, and patent leather shoes.

They may not take her very far today, but as she grows and little black church shoes are replaced with tennis shoes for track, sandals for the beach, heels for prom, and cute Mary Janes for nights out with girlfriends, I pray her "feet are shod with the readiness of the Gospel of Peace", that she learns to walk in her Father's footsteps, and that she becomes a bearer of human rights to the least of these all around the world.

Big Tent Revival...not quite

Isn't it every Christian woman's dream to raise her sons into the ministry?  Doctors and lawyers are nice, but ideally, if the future were paved with the dust of my dreams, J. and C. would choose ministry, even if it paid nothing and took them to far-off corners of the planet.  There is no greater "job."  But, before we get to that point, C. needs to not be so excited shouting about Jesus that he forgets the words to "I'm gonna sing, sing, sing" altogether and just starts shoutin'.  That might work if we were Pentacostal.  But we're not.

And at some point, J. will need to learn how to pronounce Nebuchadnezzar.  But, I write, and I had to look up how to spell that word, so maybe it isn't really all that necessary afterall!  He's our shy one, as you can tell from the first video when he covered his face as not to be recorded correctly singing, "I'm gonna sing, sing, sing," so you might need to turn up your sound.  May everyone use the gifts God gave them to make the world a more joyful place. Blessings,

Timmy, this one's for you:

I "Simpsonized" myself!  I know, it just doesn't get any hotter than that: Simpson Tiffany, in the kitchen, with pearls.  Happy Tuesday, Timmy! :)
P.S. You too can Simpsonize yourself at http://simpsonizeme.com/  (Thanks, Jim, for the idea for tonight's entertainment!)

The Greatest Gift

Our bestest friends, yes, our "commune" friends who aren't really a part of an actual commune, of course, though we've talked about how nice it would be to at least all live in the same town again... sent Sunflower the SWEETEST gift this week! 

Each of the eight families chose fabric that "spoke Africa" to them, had the children of the family decorate it, and wrote an Ethiopian proverb on it.  They were then all sown together in a quilt, and it's gorgeous!  By the way, THANK YOU, QUEEN!  Your sewing skills have made the commune a much more beautiful place over the years!

From the hand-drawn cross that matches the Ethiopian one in Sunflower's nursery (quite an impressive feat you know if you've ever worked with fabric marker as a medium!), to the Amharic that was written on it, the sweet child drawings, the funny, sentimental, and wise proverbs, and a certain old spiritual hymn's lyrics that are stitched around the edges, it's the perfect gift.  She'll treasure it always!

Me and My Brothers

There is only one person that can light up this baby girl's face like this.  Sure, she squeals and kicks her legs for Mommy; she cries for Daddy to hold her when he gets home; she treasures J.'s tender gifts of blankets and pacifiers, but she doesn't get that, "Here comes my best friend! I'm about to uproariously burst into laughter!" glee on her face for anyone but C.  

How sweet, you're thinking, but this has come as quite a shock to us and has raised some significant concern about the future.  After all, C. is our Great Dane puppy.  He's our "It can't be loud enough, big enough or wild enough for me!" child.  C. is the one who will clap and dance his way through church and shout, "Amen!", not care that he has peanut butter all over his face, and charm his way out of trouble with a smile that bares perfect teeth and a sloppy kiss on the face.  In short, he's our "He could be trouble," kid, or our, "He's SO full of energetic life!" kid, depending on what he's done and what mood we're in.

We thought our daughter would be a delicate daisy in a field.  Enjoy the quiet moments in life. Walk gingerly, like a princess in a meadow.  Whisper to butterflies and shyly turn away from boisterous behavior.  You know, we thought she and J. would be best buds.

God, however, in His infinite wisdom, made Sunflower to delight in the midst of boisterous behavior.  

She will laugh out loud, hysterically, for several minutes, literally have tears flowing down her face, cracking up, and begging for more when C. gets in her face and makes loud annoying dinosaur noises.  She can't get enough of him.

What this means for us: We're in soooooooo much trouble!  

But not necessarily.  If they're guided right, they could use their outgoing personalities together for positive.   It could be louder praise, more fellowship, and bigger celebrations of life's joyous moments.  It could be taking the world by storm for positive change together; leading people to their fullest potential and to Christ, together.  It may not mean years of breaking curfew, turning the music down, and mumbled, "Did they really do that?"'s as Tim and I try to fall asleep after interrogating the two of them with, "Do you REALLY do that?" every other weekend.  It could.  We're still hopeful!

Really though, I'm so glad that God put them together.  And isn't it Divine plan how when they're both tired, both wanting to simply rest and read a book, or lazily lie down and have a calming "conversation", they both know exactly to whom to turn...J.   He's the rock of the three.  Seriously, everyday we're amazed at how well God puts families together.

Enjoy the videos.  I couldn't capture uproarious laughter on camera (why is it always that way), but they're cute nonetheless!  Oh yes, and one more thing: She sits! (As of last week.)

Little Men

The boys aren't babies anymore, to my despair, though it is wonderful to see them become little men, cooking, picking out their own clothes, asserting their opinion at every turn, and manipulating situations to their advantage.  They are as different as night and day, but at their core, they are both sweet hearted, compassionate, and fun people.  C. is rougher, more easily distracted, quicker in mind and body, and much more easy going.  J. is contemplative, innocent, immensely kind and nurturing, and hard headed.  He has a contagious, outrageous laugh that melts me.

When I was in high school, an adult mentor of mine was dying of breast cancer.  I will always remember when she invited myself and the other Senior girls out to the ball field at Camp Ne-O-Tez in the middle of the night to "talk about God."  The image most grafted into my memory from that night is of her weeping in THANKSGIVING to God, on her knees, with her arms stretched upward, fireflies all around her so that we could clearly see her, and her yelling to the Heavens, "Thank you, God, for letting me live long enough to see my son turn five, so I know what kind of man he will be."  She died not long after.

I look at J. now, who just turned five, and I agree. There's a lot of growing up to do beyond the age of five, but by five, many things are clear: His strengths, weaknesses, strongest characteristics, adaptability, and deep rooted nature...  I'm so thankful that God has allowed me the privilege of being able to stay home with him, to mold him and guide him, and to see what kind of man he will be.  Some of those traits I love, some I wish he didn't have because they're too much like me.  But overall, he's an amazing little man, and I thank God for every day I have with him.