No Greater Joy!

Four-year-old Mary, who rarely wakes at night, came out to the living room at 11:40 PM tonight. She occasionally has what appear to be night terrors, though they're mild ones. She cries softly and looks at me as though I'm a stranger--as though she's seeing right through me. She won't talk at all or acknowledge that I've spoken. I lead her back to bed and lie down with her.

Usually after fifteen minutes she looks at me appreciatively, as though she recognizes me finally, but she's surprised to see me in her bed. Still though, she doesn't speak. She just rolls over and goes back to sleep. At peace.

As I lay there tonight trying to comfort her without agitating her, gratitude overwhelmed me. It feels so wonderful, being a mom. Being a comforter. I'd just finished a letter to my precious penpal from India, and that too, filled me with the same gratitude.


I get to comfort children. To love them. To pray for their todays and tomorrows. I get to.

There's no greater joy!

Many Blessings

My Gratitude List

~ children's art coloring my walls happy

~ his head in a Tree House book

~ girls liking nothing better than a cuddle and book with Momma

~ a cuddly seven-year-old boy who loves picture books too 

~ We've been to our mechanic's house so much lately, it's like a second home. Ha ha. He's lived here over forty-five years, and still resides in the house he grew up in--running a business in a garage in the backyard. The house is smallish, but the property is extensive and rich with foliage. My children love going to Gary's house. As soon as we stop the van, they jump out and run around the bushes and woods, catching insects. Today it was big fat grasshoppers. They charm Gary, who never married or had any children.

As we watched the children--the mosquitoes threatening to run us down--I told him this was the worst summer weather we'd seen here in six years (extra hot, extra humid, extra buggy). He said it's the worst summer he's ever seen here. I'm grateful that a native legitimized my weather musings. I rarely go outside anymore, and the children, usually outside for hours in the summer, only venture out for twenty minutes at a time. But....one blessing? An extra lucrative squash crop. Is it the weather?  I don't know, but there's more than we can keep up with!

~ Girls getting a cooking lesson from Daddy, who loves his breaded squash! I like his yummy creation, but I'd rather steam the squash. That's wasting it, according to him, so every year, he's the squash cook. The children will forever associate summer with Daddy's squash. It warms my heart knowing that it's the simple things that make life so rich. Simple things, done together year after year, make the best childhood memories.

~ I think many parents would agree that pajama-time picture book reading is  the. best. thing. ever. This week we're thoroughly enjoying Paddington at the Beach, by Michael Bond. The story is told through the seagulls' perspective, who are intrigued by the bear invading their beach, and especially by the bun in his pocket. It's got an adorable surprise ending. My little girls just love it! And the seven-year-old gets giggles out of it as well.

~ a letter from India and my heart spilling over.

~ Peter and Daddy are getting up early to go birding. Peter set out his own clothes, Daddy's clothes, two binoculars, their hats, two bird books, a bug-catching container, and a Mt. Dew can for Daddy (so he'll stay awake that early).  All this, he reasoned, ensures they get out in the field as quickly as possible. Peter is the only morning person around here. Of course, he reminded me five times to print out the directions for Daddy before I went to bed.

So on that note....have a good weekend, friends!  Much love to you!

Grace Like Rain

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My toddler wakes up the same way every morning. Her sleepy eyes half open, she utters "Pea nur me?"

Shall I translate for you?  She doesn't form an s sound yet, so this is actually, "Please nurse me?"

I'm up late every night, so nursing her instead of getting up always appeals to me. In fact, I offer to nurse her over and over again, every morning. Sometimes it buys me another half hour of sleep. Sometimes not.

When she's ready to get up, she says, "All dun now", and slides off the end of the king bed. She beckons me, waving her sweet little curled fingers toward herself, saying "Cumon." (come on)

I never tire of this routine. She sleeps through the night most of the time now, so we'll put her in with her sister as soon as we have a chunk of rearranging time. I'll still nurse her as long as she wants and welcome her back when needed, knowing this is very unpopular in America. The world over, the average age to wean is four years old. In America on the other hand, if you don't want your baby off your breast and out of your bed by six months to a year, you're a granola-crunching weirdo with issues. Independence in young children is next to godliness.

I like my issues.....but no thanks on the granola. Chocolate for me.

This morning as she led me around the house, I wanted to crawl back in bed and hibernate. I'd worked about eight hours over two days on the boys' portfolios. Around here, when Momma works on a project the house quickly deteriorates, resembling a tornado sight in no time.

In addition to the runaway clutter, it badly needed a vacuuming, moping, and dusting. Three people were officially out of clean underwear, three loads needed folding, and the dining room was full of clean clothes on hangers, ready for closets.

There's plenty a reason to hibernate. Something goes wrong with one of the vehicles about every five days lately. The van needs smog work done or we have to ground it. We obtained a 30-day temporary registration renewal, but the clock ticks.

Things keep breaking around the house. The weather is the worst I've seen in six summers here.

Peter said the other day, "Mommy, why are so many things going wrong?"


"I don't know Honey, but trust God. He has a story to tell. There's always a story......and we'll always appreciate the ending. We have to hang on for the hard parts and wait on His graces."


Every day, as stress boils under the surface, it's hard not to worry about the kids. But always, God speaks. "I'm bigger than your problems.  Your kids are under My care."

One day they'll whine for a little bit, feel sorry for themselves, and then suddenly, they're thrilled with their GeoTrak train for two hours, excited about sorting their blocks by color and using them for cargo. They all have a role and work together at the quarry--even incorporating their two-year-old sister.

This kind of thing happens all the time. Yesterday they taped two diaper boxes together and using paint, made a large Thomas the Train, adding accents like whistles and ladders using paper and more tape.

Today, however, as I plowed through the domestic disaster, it looked as though we were in for a rough day. Being asked to clean the playroom (also a cyclone sight) sent them into a whiny tailspin. Thirty minutes into the job, it only got uglier.

Suddenly.....grace rained down. Just in time for Momma's nerves.

They gathered together some musical instruments and made a marching band. All giggles again. Fifteen minutes later, the boys became song writers, spending thirty minutes composing a simple praise song, giving each sibling a solo.

FYI: The funny spelling is courtesy of my Peter, age nine. The teacher who reviewed the portfolios yesterday has a son just like him. Her opinion is that you'll never make a non-speller a speller. But by the teenage years, they'll hopefully spell well enough to get hints from spell check. Her son is a sophomore in college and he now routinely writes paragraphs with only two or so misspellings. Spell check has his back. Every learner is unique, but certainly it's true that some people always struggle with spelling. Peter's focus is on content only. He can't be bothered with the parts....only the whole.

Mary's Part:

Trifek God (terrific)
O Lord, O Lord
We love you.
So gasfol you are. (graceful)
So mighty, so strong you are.
You love us and we love you.
You are merrsefol. (merciful)

Paul's Part

O Lord, O Lord
We love you.
So gasfol God you are.
So mighty so strong you are.
You love us and we love you.
You are merrsefol.

Peter's Part

The lord watches over us
So don't be afraid of anything!
Don't be afraid.
The Lord watches over us
So don't be afraid of anything!

Mary's & Beth's Part


O the Lord, O the Lord
You are mighty
Unlike us
O the Lord, O the Lord
You are mighty
Unlike us
The only God
The Lord


I don't need to tell you that after reading and hearing these lyrics, all arranged on separate pieces of paper, my joy and peace went through the roof.

Grace falls like rain on a scorching hot day. Watch for it.

Go out without an umbrella. Dance in it.

Psalm 28:7
The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song.

End-of-School Gratitude

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My Gratitude List 

End-of-School Addition

~ Despite OCD-related setbacks, Peter managed to read 100 chapter books this year. He can read anything I put in front of him now, with help on the heftiest vocabulary words.

~ Starting the year a reluctant but advanced reader, Paul now loves chapter books and reads more than I assign, with the Magic Tree House series still captivating him.

~ Paul developed a deeper love of art, inspired me to invest in art books, and changed our family forever. I have art-lovin' kids now who never tire of creating. 

~ Though the multiplication facts are still not memorized, Peter is stronger in all other areas of math, thanks to Teaching Textbooks.

~ Peter has made great strides in spelling sight words conventionally.

~ Starting the year with atrocious handwriting, Peter can now print nicely, though his lettering is still larger than average.

~ Paul taught himself to write in cursive, saving me a load of work.

~ Peter knows a vast amount about nature and could easily write a nature book for grade-schoolers. He doesn't know it yet, but that will be one of his fourth-grade projects.

~ Both boys, thanks to heftier Christmas-pageant roles, can speak well in public.

~ Thanks to Compassion International and our correspondence, my boys know how third-world living standards compare to the first, and what the Bible says about our responsibility to the poor.

~ The boys know how to plant and care for a vegetable garden without adult assistance.

~ Both boys have learned to organize themselves well, thanks to simple charts.

~ Though the year started with some jealousy between the boys, it's ending with them accepting each other's struggles and triumphs. 

~ Despite my chasing a two-year-old out of cupboards and drawers all year, the boys made more than a year's progress, by the grace of God. It's all by the grace of God!

~ Both boys know that an education is only a library, and a computer, away. Our county spends $9200 per pupil. I spent less than $100 per pupil, plus $70 for tomorrow's portfolio review appointment.

What He Requires

Some time ago, I made a silent commitment to write nearly every day. It was as though God said to me, "This is your part for now. Practice. Then wait on me for clearer direction."

I love to write, so following His lead hasn't been a burden. Not too concerned about topic, I just wrote from the heart.

But now that I'm forty-something, hormones steal my voice for three or four days a month. Words won't come. Darkness sets in....darker than anything I remember feeling in my twenties or thirties. It's not my circumstances, unfavorable though they are with husband still underemployed (working lots of hours for low wages).

I ruined another whole chicken the other day. I thought I turned the crockpot on low in the morning, as is my custom. But the knob got caught just before the low slot; it never actually engaged. A couple of the kids were sick that day, so I spent more time cuddling and less time in my kitchen.

Can you believe I never noticed Mr.Chicken sitting there, cold and uncooked, until six hours later...at which time he probably contained too much bacteria to be salvaged? My husband really looks forward to chicken, and the kids as well, so I felt horribly inadequate.....though Husband's a dear and never complains.

Can I say the same about my holy, righteous kids? Um...no. They speak their minds.....without any tact, I'm afraid.

Although usually a positive person, on these dark days, I can't think a sunny or organized thought, or do anything right. And the hormone-induced ache in my head won't quit throbbing, no matter how much OTC medicine I swallow (following the label, of course)

It's as though I'm in prison. Trapped and worthless. No fun to be around. A downer for my family.

"Why, Lord?  Why must women be so afflicted? Why give me so much responsibility, and then render me useless?"


2 Corinthians 12:10
That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Dare I say it, but are we women more prone to living in our own strength, rather than relying on our Heavenly Father, who requires our submission?

Do you see it in yourself? Or in your own girls? My girls are so different...so stubborn compared to my boys. They set their jaws, those girls, and it isn't pretty. They're full of sweetness and blessing....don't get me wrong, but it has to be their way, so often.

Looking at pictures of my sweet blessings, and listening to praise music, are two coping mechanisms that help. They allow me to do the next thing.

Make dinner. Smile at a child. Kiss a boo boo. Utter a kind word.

There is always grace. We must wait for the flood of grace. Ride it like a wave. Let it overtake us.

Mary, tired from church the night before, was a teary mess around 2:00 PM today. She told me in her nastiest voice, "No! I'm not taking a nap!"

I scooped her up.....my head aching, I needed a rest anyway.

Lying on the bed with me, she writhed in my arms at first. But I was patient. I planted kisses on her forehead, her hair, her cheeks.

Her contrary body relaxed. Giving in, she pulled me closer, squeezing me. Soon, her eyelids gave in. Her breathing steadied.

I took in her beautiful sleeping face. A picture of peace. Of submission.

This is what God wants from me.

My monthly affliction is my reminder. Surrender. That's what the Christian life requires.

And. it's. so. hard.