My Grocery List

My grocery list is a work in progress. It lives on my counter and is updated often. I used the last scoop of coffee. Write it down. We're out of bread. Put it on the list. Mom, I need some batteries. Can you bring me the grocery list? I need... I want... I can't find any... Do we have some more... Just. Write. It. Down.

But when I get to the store, this list acts more as a guideline than a rule book. While my husband can walk into Wal Mart and buy ONLY the things that have made it to the list, I am incapable of such discipline. I need a bleach pen. But there's no bleach pen on your list. So? I need a bleach pen.

Maybe this is why Prince Charming is convinced that there is a $100 entry fee for me to even enter the door of our grocery store. But I digress.

I think that God would approve of my "off the list" shopping. I came to this conclusion because when I allow Him to develop the things on His list in my life, I get so much more! As He is teaching me love, I'm also learning graciousness. With joy, I'm also learning to appreciate the little things. Peace? I'm finding a calm home is a bonus. Patience (when it happens) also brings a greater understanding of His plan. And the rewards with kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness and self control are all good stuff. Really good stuff.

So today I'm thanking the Father for his "off the list" blessings in my life. And I'm treating a stain with my shiny new bleach pen.

So Much More Than Folding Laundry

Do you remember your first year of marriage? I mean...really remember it? It was such bliss being able to spend as much time as I wanted to with Mr. Wonderful. And taking trips. And sleeping late. And discovering so many things about my man that I didn't know before we said "I do."

But that first year was also a time of BIG adjustment. We each came into our marriage with preconceived ideas about how our household would work. And it is these ideas that have had me thinking lately. Remember??

We had to work out: How are we going to divide housework? Where will our holidays be celebrated? Who buys groceries? What about the checkbook? Arrrrgh, the checkbook. And dishes. And laundry. And toilets. And floors. Who goes to the dry cleaner? Who washes the car? Who mows the lawn? Or do we even care if the lawn gets mowed? Where will we worship? How will we fight? And make up?!?

And where did we even come up with our opinions on all of those things anyway?!?

Ahhh, our history. Dishes should be washed - and dried - in this way because that's how my mom did it. Our finances should be handled in a certain way because that's how my spouse's parents did it. From the division of chores to the way we raise our boys, my husband and I each drew from our experiences to determine how we should proceed. Our experiences. Our stories. Our history determined how our household would operate.

So here's my point - if my boys see our home as "the norm", then I want it to be the best it can be! I'm not just folding laundry, I'm raising boys! I'm not just balancing the checkbook, I'm making (their) history! I'm not just loving their daddy, I'm writing the story of their family!

And one day, when my boys are creating households of their own, I hope that the work that I'm doing now will contribute to their "happily ever after."

When You Can't See the Tree for the Forest

So there's this giant tree in my parent's backyard. In years gone by, its strong limbs held a swing where my boys and their cousins spent hours playing. It towers above the yard and has been there for who-knows-how-long.

But my Dad told me something about it recently that surprised me. "It's dead." "What? Really?" "Yep. See? It doesn't have any leaves at all. In fact, don't let the kids play under it. The limbs have started falling off. It could be dangerous."

I had looked at it many, many times throughout the winter and never noticed anything wrong. All of the trees were barren at that time of year. It blended right in. But now that the trees behind it are in full bloom, it sticks out like a sore thumb. Its lack of life is painfully apparent. It can't hide. I wonder if its uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable.

I'm pondering this tree-predicament because we are searching for a new church home. After moving recently, we are ready to find a fellowship of believers of like faith and share our lives with them. But the search is a little tiring.

It would be easy for us to choose one of the hundreds of churches in our new location and become back row pew sitters, showing up for service and going home. We could get dressed up, put our boys in their respective classes, smile, and check the box beside "attended church" for the week.

But my spirit rages against that type of existence! I don't want to become a dead tree, perfectly at home in a winter forest. I desire for my life to be vibrant, alive in Christ, and surrounded by believers who challenge and encourage me.

And I don't want my little "sprouts" to grow up thinking that Christianity is lifeless. So our search continues. That old, dead tree reminds me once again that "the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave Himself up for me." And I've never felt more alive.

A Sweet Smell

Has a scent ever taken you to another time, another place? It happened to me today as I was shopping for groceries. I was pushing my cart and a sweet elderly passed by me. And little did she know it, but the "White Shoulders" perfume that she was wearing transported me far away.

My Grandma wore that same fragrance and just the scent of her took me back to the farm where she and Grandpa lived. I was eating pastel-colored marshmallows from her cupboard and learning to recognize the song of the "Bob White" birds. I was watching cars go past on the dirt road while sitting in metal chairs on the front porch. I shelled peas. I gathered eggs. I fished with a cane pole and a bobber and rode on a board on the back of Grandpa's tractor. I patiently waited while Grandma turned the television antennae that was mounted on a pole outside so I could watch a fuzzy game show. I colored. I sang. I got told a million times not to put my fingers in the box fan. And I fell asleep tucked under cool, scratchy, line-dried sheets that smelled like sunshine.

And then...I pulled my cart into the checkout line. That dear lady had no idea that her scent would have such a great impact on me today. She was being who she was. She was going about her day, taking care of her business.

So what things fragrance my life? As I go about my day, do my actions remind people of Jesus? Does the aroma of my choices draw people to the Savior? Or does the stench of hypocrisy surround me? When my husband, my boys, and my friends catch my scent, will it bring memories of faithfulness and joy or of wasted potential or a critical spirit?

Here's the thing: my scent (both figuratively and literally) is my choice. And I choose to become a sweet fragrance to my Lord.

2 Corinthians 2:15-16

What I've Learned From My Boys - A Work in Progress

I've only been a mom for 6 years (6 and a half, as my oldest son would point out) but I've found the experience to be a perspective adjuster; life changing to say the least. Here are a few of the things my boys have taught me:

1. There is no such thing as a toy that is too loud, too messy or too obnoxious. When playing, the rule is, the louder the better. The messier the more fun. I tend to approach life cautiously, quietly. But sometimes reckless abandon is super fun.

2. Brothers are for wrestling. It is apparently impossible be near another young boy and not take him down. My husband assures me that this is normal little boy behavior. I'm hoping they outgrow this one.

3. Listening requires not just your ears, but your eyes as well. "Momma, momma, momma, momma, momma..." I can reply "yes, I hear you, uh huh, what do you want, yes son" but until I look up and WHOLE-FACE listen, they don't think I can hear them at all. Hmmm. Think there might be some wisdom there...

4. Bodily functions are funny. There's no deep application here, it's just part of being a little boy - or a big boy as it turns out.

5. There are adventures to be had every day, you just have to know where to look. A stick is a perfect sword. A pile of pine needles is a giant nest. And the possibilities with a box, blanket or flashlight are innumerable. I think I could take a cue from them on this one. Maybe the dust on my furniture came from fairy wings. Or the toilet, ummmm never mind.

6. Anything, and I mean ANYTHING can be turned into a competition. Brushing teeth: who's the fastest? Stacking blocks: whose tower is highest, or who can knock it down? Whose arms are longer? Who can jump higher? Who's got the most toe jam? And don't get me started (again) on bodily functions. I think this one closely relates to #2 above.

7. Low tech is still awesome. After unwrapping a pile of gifts at Christmas, they wanted to go outside and blow bubbles...the bubbles from their stockings that Santa purchased at the Dollar Tree. I really need to remember this one next Christmas.

8. Kissing a boo-boo really does make it feel better. The kiss, the snuggle, the sympathy, and the assurance that the scratch is not life threatening are all it takes to send my little warriors back into the fray. I know some grown-up warriors that would appreciate my sympathy and assurances too. (But the kisses are reserved for the daddy-warrior at our house!)

9. The best things in life truly are free. (Yes, I know it's not original to this list, but bear with me.) Lying on your back finding cloud shapes, picking flowers to give to mom, digging in the dirt, collecting sticks or bugs or leaves, riding your bike, laughing, eating ice cream, splashing in the bathtub, hearing a bedtime story and then praying to Jesus about the things that are on your heart - these are the makings of a perfect day for my boys. Sounds pretty good to me too.

10. And perhaps the biggest lesson that I have learned from parenting three little boys is to what extent I would go to protect them from any hurt. I would have a very hard time purposely allowing them to get a splinter or a paper cut for you, dear reader. To allow them to be tortured, mutilated, and nailed to a cross to die for someone else is unthinkable. My boys are teaching me of God's great love for me, His unthinkable sacrifice, His level of commitment to my salvation.

I am blessed to be their mommy and overwhelmed by the responsibility that comes with that title. So what little gems have your little (or big) ones taught you, oh parent? Silly, serious, thoughtful, frivolous - what lessons have you learned?

When I Was a Kid

When I was a kid, I was the remote control and the rabbit ears adjuster and the foil on the ends of the rabbit ears adjuster. If there was nothing fit to see on our five stations, we went outside to play, or to our rooms, or to the kitchen to see what mom was making.

When I was a kid, gaming involved a board, some dice, and play money...or little cars with plastic stick people, or cards. And the entire family.

When I was a kid, the phone was attached to the wall, with a cord, in the kitchen, where mom and dad could hear everything that was said.

When I was a kid, a computer was a luxury, a bulky slow luxury. My school had some. My bank had some. My home did not.

When I was a kid, my jambox sat on my desk in my room - and it took up half of the space on the desk. And yes, it had an antennae. My music was not a secret. My cassette tapes were approved (and usually purchased) by my parents.

When I was a kid, dinners were around the table, not in the drive-thru. Everyone was present. The phone was taken off the hook and tucked into the dish towel drawer for that hour.

When I was a kid if I wanted to talk to someone, I had to TALK to them - either in person, or on the phone in the kitchen where, yep, my parents were listening.

Now, in my flat screen, high definition, surround sound, instant messaging, satellite empowered, hands free, fast food, texting, online life, what will my boys have for their "when I was a kid" memories? I think I'll unplug and have a picnic, outside, with my boys. And just talk and play. And make a memory while they're still kids.

My most important job

My boys amaze me. No, really. They're amazing. Our oldest is six years old and has the heart of a lion. He wants to be in charge. He must be in charge. He knows the rules and wants to enforce them. Oh, and he follows them too...to the letter. He's not fond of change, but thrives in order. Getting information out of him is akin to pulling teeth - firmly imbedded teeth.

Our second son, on the other hand, is his own little man. While he's only four years old, he has his own personality, his own look, his own opinions. He can deliver a joke and incorporates Spanish into his speech on his own. (Thanks, Dora the Explorer.) He can also quote all of the books of the New Testamant. He paints exhuberantly, talks loudly, and runs at full speed. Where big brother is controlled, middle brother is enthusiastic.

And just as amazing is our littlest Golden boy. He's the "bonus round" blessing straight from the hand of God. At two years old, he's finding his voice. He's perfecting his fit-pitching wail and train whistle noise. He loves to imitate his big brothers and cousins. He also knows that he's the baby and uses it to his advantage at bedtime - "wanna rock...peeees?" (Who could say no to that??) He's a snuggler, loving and generous with hugs. And if I could bottle his giggle, I'd make a million.

The job of being their mom is far too important for me to fail.

Lord, please teach me to be the mom that these three very different boys need me to be. Help me to treasure each of them for the person that you created him to be. And help me to point them to You.