Lessons from a Four Year Old

Andrew's four, and a lot of things come with being four. There are occasional fits, smart alec remarks here and there (didn't realize that happens at four and not fourteen), stomping of feet, whining . . . but something else also comes with being four . . . childlike faith.

When Andrew asks "God and Jesus" . . . he always prays to "God and Jesus" . . . try explaining The Trinity to a four year old . . . anyway, when he prays, he believes that God is listening plain and simple, and he trusts that God is on the job.

He prays for rain without fail every single day. His prayers for rain are long and detailed. "Dear God and Jesus, Thank you for all the rain we've had, and please send more rain for the plants, and the dirt, and the trees, and the leaves on the trees, and the beautiful flowers, and the leaves on the flowers, and the roots, and the roses, and the animals, and the grass . . . " It last for quite a while, but when he's done, he firmly believes it's going to rain. And you know, since he's started praying for rain, we've had more rain than we've had in the whole previous year. Now, I'm not saying that it's Andrew in particular that's brought the rain and that he has some special connection to God that no one else has. My point is the childlike faith that accompanies the prayer . . . the belief and trust that cannot be changed.

The past couple of days Andrew's also been breaking out in hives. Through it all he's insisted that "Jesus will fix his bumps", and so while I'm running around frantically trying to find some Benadryl that hasn't expired and racking my brain trying to figure out what's causing the hives, my four year old son is not in the least bit concerned about the itchy bumps spreading over his body. I'm not saying that he doesn't need medicine or that a trip to the doctor isn't warranted (we're actually going in a little while), but I'm once again taken aback at the way that a four year old seems to have a better grasp on trusting God than the older and wiser adults in his life.

While rushing around looking for said Benadryl the other night, a thought (which I'm 100% sure was from God) flashed through my mind, "This is what childlike faith is." Maybe I'm dense. Maybe everyone else grasped this years ago, but again, God used my four year old to show me something so simple yet so profound. When I pray, do I really trust God? Not necessarily to do exactly what I want, but simply that He loves me and will certainly do what's best for me? Do I believe that He hears my prayers for rain, both literally and figuratively?

God calls us to come as little children with a childlike faith. He does not call to be childish, but somewhere along the way, I think we've confused the two. We come stomping our feet and insisting on our way regardless of the consequences of getting what we think we want or need at the moment. But Jesus wants us to come trusting and letting Him touch us with His love, His mercy, His peace, and His grace. He wants us to come as a little child.

Mark 10:13-15
¹³ Then they brought little children to Him, that He might touch them; but the disciples rebuked those who brought them. ¹⁴ But when Jesus saw it, He was greatly displeased and said to them, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of God. ¹⁵ Assuredly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.”

Picture Problems

If you're not able to see the pictures on some or all of my posts, I'm sorry. They were showing up. Then they weren't. Then they were. Now they're messing up again. Not sure if it's just me or a blogger problem. I'll try to get it fixed.

The Saga of My Hair

Yes, I know. You can hardly contain your excitement.

This was my hair last Spring. (Love it here.)

The problem with me having long hair is that it rarely looks like the picture above. Instead it usually looks like this. (Yes, that's a frizzy ponytail. I have no idea why I look so angry . . . I'm not.)

My sister (a.ka. the hairdresser woman) gripes about the fact that my hair is always in a ponytail. And given that it's incredibly thick, the closer we get to summer the more I pull it up. Which led me to chop it off in June.



And in July (I really like it here too).

And in August.

I'm sure you're seeing a trend at this point. And usually this is what I do. I grow it out for months, and then cut it off. But I can't leave well enough alone, so I cut it more . . . and more . . . and more. Now I'm back to this point.

Took this fabulous picture this morning (round face, glasses, overall awful picture). (You should know, the kids aren't here yet. Don't worry I'm not falling down on the job.)

Anyway, I'm once again growing it out. Why? I miss my frizzy ponytail. It's a vicious cycle this growing it out and chopping it off. But I can't stop myself. Maybe I need an intervention.

Note: I don't make a habit of taking tons of pictures of myself. The only reason I took these was to see what my hair looked like to other people. I'm completely normal that way.

On Working Out

I'm one of those rare strange people who actually likes working out . . . or at least I used to. Since I had Andrew, my motivation has waned somewhat. For me the biggest downside to working out is that I tend to become . . . ummm . . . what's the word . . . oh yeah, obsessive about it. Which completely unlike me (insert sarcastic tone here).

I start out saying that I'm not going to push myself to the brink of death. I'm working out for my health not to break some kind of world record for the slowest time anyone's ever run a mile (I think I might possibly be the world's slowest runner . . . I can feel like I'm running like the wind when I'm practically standing still). But then some sort of switch flips, and I go into insane mode. I run. I lift five pound weights (my upper body strength is unmatched by that of any five year old out there). I do nine hundred fifty-seven crunches. I squat. I lunge. Remind me to tell y'all sometime about how my obsessive running (also known as ridiculously overdoing it) once led to horrible tendinitis in my knee . . . actually that's the whole story . . . you don't have to remind me. Just when I get into the shape I want to be in, I get tired and burnt out, and I quit (at least for a while). I've been in this cycle since Andrew was born. Before he came along, my time was really my own, so my whole exercise obsession was maintained consistently throughout college and the early years of my marriage.

So with spring looming and summer a few months away, I looked in the mirror this morning and thought, "I've got to get in shape." And of course I told myself I would walk a nice brisk two miles. Then I got on the treadmill. I thought to myself, "I'll run just a little bit. You know, just to get my heart rate up." I ran a mile without stopping. Now before you tell me how pathetic that is you should know that I haven't worked out at all in almost two months. Word to the wise, don't try to get back into shape by almost killing yourself. After I finished the first mile, I made myself walk a fast paced mile. Y'all my legs felt like they weighed 600 pounds, but I felt strong. I felt powerful. I am woman hear me roar. Okay, I'll stop now.

I'm determined to get back in shape and to keep the insano obsessive exercise freak at bay. Overall, when I work out, I feel happier and less stressed. So here's hoping that tomorrow I'm just as motivated. Either that or I need someone to get behind me with a horse whip.

Yes, Jesus Loves Me

³⁵ Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, of famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? ³⁶ As it is written:

“For Your sake we are killed all day long;
We are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.”

³⁷ Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. ³⁸ For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, ³⁹ nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

(Romans 8:35-39 NKJV)

If you were to ask most Christians if they believed God loves them, they'd most likely say, "Yes, without a doubt." That's what the Bible tells us, right? But in reality, I wonder if we really believe that, not only with our heads, but with our hearts.

If we were really honest, I think most of us would admit that we believe God loves in levels. He loves Billy Graham a lot. I mean, look at all the man has done for Him. He loves Beth Moore a lot too. She is, after all, a powerful woman of God. But us regular people? He loves us, but maybe not as much as Beth Moore or Billy Graham or our pastor at church.

We also think God doesn't really talk to us regular folk. Not the way He talks to the "powerful" men and women of God. Christians often follow evangelists and ministers as if they have some sort of special connection to God that no one else has. I'm not saying, that we shouldn't respect these men and women. We absolutely should, but we need to realize that while, yes, God does love them abundantly, He also loves each and everyone of us just as much. And not only does He love us, He wants to speak to our hearts. He wants to lead and guide us. He wants us to have a personal relationship with Him. He wants us to start believing that He hears our prayers . . . that we also have a special connection with Him.

I am convinced that if we really had a revelation of God's love for us, our lives couldn't help but be a witness to His goodness and His glory. If we started asking Him to speak to our hearts, and then listening for His still small voice, we would realize that He may have called us to different roles within the body of Christ. . . each of us have our own special place . . . but each of us, regardless of what He has called us to do, have been called to live a strong powerful life for Him.

I'm not fully there yet. I have plenty of struggles and plenty of doubts, but I've been asking God to reveal Himself to me more each day. I've been praying that He will open the eyes of my heart to who He is and to how deep His love runs for His children. And one of the greatest things about this whole process is I've finally realized that it isn't about anything I can do. Instead it's about resting in God and letting Him "do" what needs to be done. It's not about working. It is about trusting.

Yes, Jesus really does love me, and He loves you just as much.

Valentine's Day and Secret Agents

Hope everyone had a wonderful Valentine's Day. Ours was pretty low key. On Monday, I didn't work (our dryer got fixed . . . yay!), and since I had some time, I made one of Patrick's favorite dinners . . . fried shrimp, excessively cheesy and buttery potatoes, and corn on the cob. Any dinner that requires more than two pots/pans or a lot of prep and cooking time is reserved for weekends and days off, and I rarely fry anything. But Valentine's Day is a special occasion that calls for as much artery clogging food as possible.

Yesterday, Patrick showed up at the school during lunch with a gift certificate to this great little boutique that I love. Shopping beats flowers anyday . . . not that I don't love flowers . . . flowers are awesome, but clothes live so much longer than flowers. Please, don't read that sentence more than once. It's really stupid. And since I had cooked such a fabulous dinner the night before, we went out to eat Mexican last night.

As we were pulling into the driveway after dinner, Andrew asked, "Mommy when can I give you your Balentine's Day gift?" So I asked, "What did you get me for 'Balentine's' Day?" His response, "I don't know . . . what do you don't have?" I told him I didn't have a million dollars. He said, "Okay, we'll get you a million dollars, but we'll have to choke someone." Don't worry. He's not generally violent. I have know idea where he got that . . . I'll call a shrink asap.

After Andrew went to bed last night, we watched "The Double" on Netflix. Apparently, it came out last year, but I swear I have never heard of this movie. But then I generally don't see movies that are for people over the age of eight which might explain why I've never heard of it. Patrick watched it last week, and he wanted me to watch it. It stars Richard Gere, and it's about C.I.A. and F.B.I. agents that are secretly double agents (as opposed to openly being double agents). They work for both the U.S. and Russia. Of course, I couldn't just take the movie at face value. I'm still trying to figure out which country the agents were actually loyal to. I mean, were they Russian agents masquerading as agents for the U.S., or was it the other way around? I'm inclined to think that it was the first. Which really concerns me. How common are these double agents? This is causing me a lot of concern. Not to mention, I dreamed all night about secret agents and kidnappers, and people holding me at gunpoint. I woke up refreshed and ready for work.

So yeah, it was a really great Valentine's Day movie. Y'all should check it out sometime.

The State of the Adoption

One year ago today, Patrick and I made the decision to start the whole adoption process. It's hard to believe that a whole year has passed. But passed it has. Andrew is a whole year older (sniff, sniff . . . I'm having issues with this whole "I'm four yeaws owd" thing). I'm a whole year older (as in I'm no longer in my 20s . . . whatever). Most importantly, we are a year closer to having our little girl home with us.

To be quite honest, I'm pretty sure we have at least a year and a half of waiting left. It's probably more like two years, but maybe just maybe things will pick up. When I tell people that they look at me like I'm nuts. They can't believe that we'd actually wait that long for a child, and I know in a lot of ways it doesn't really make sense. Yes, there are countries that are quicker (including our own). Yes, there are other options, but this is what we've committed too. We didn't go into it without some knowledge of what was ahead. At this point, the only thing that could change our minds is God himself, and I don't really foresee that happening. So we will continue to wait until it is our turn and our time.

The best news we've had lately is that we don't have to redo our FBI checks. Which means we don't have to do ink fingerprints again. Yay! At least with electronic fingerprints you can see immediately if they need to be redone.

So there you have it. That is the current state of the adoption.

Hope everyone is having a wonderful Monday.

Confessions of a Germaphobe

Last Friday night, I went out to dinner with my boys (that would be my husband and son . . . in case your confused). On the way home, we had to swing by Walgreen's to get a couple things, and so I figured I'd check out what was new in the Redbox. I have a Redbox app on my phone. How sad and pathetic is that?

Anyway, I noticed that Contagion had just come out. You know, the movie about a worldwide epidemic where thousands of people die, and it's not really that unbelievable. You know, the type of movie that I should never, in a thousand years and then some, be allowed to watch. Yep that's the one. So I talked Patrick into renting it. I've finally come to the point where I think I can talk about it. Although, I may now need therapy.

After we wrestled Andrew into bed, and then made him get back in bed 26 times . . .he's pretty small . . . I'm thinking about reinstating the crib . . . four year olds can still sleep in a crib . . . right? That's a joke . . . sort of. Okay, so we finally made him stay in bed, and we started the movie. Y'all I'm not kidding when I say that I came very close to hyperventilating in the first fifteen minutes. My twitter followers (all 20 of them) and facebook friends may have noticed that I was posting comments in rapid succession. That's because I was trying to distract myself from the very realistic and disturbing scenes of death.

I watched the movie in its entirety. Patrick fell asleep. Apparently, people like him think movies about worldwide death and destruction are boring. Needless to say, the movie did not leave me feeling any sense of security. Nope instead I'm planning on stocking up on bottled water and buying hazmat suits in various sizes. You know, just in case . . .

Knowing God Vs. Knowing About God

This is long. Really long. I'm sorry for that, and if you don't want to read it, I completely understand. For me it is a way to work (write?) out what I feel God is doing in my life at the moment.

So y'all know (or at least I think you know) that I decided to start this year off seeking God more and working to move forward in complete freedom in Him. Did that sentence make any sense? Anyway, I've spent a lot of time reading, studying, and praying.

I read, and loved, "Think Differently, Live Differently" by Bob Hamp. That was an accomplishment in and of itself, because as much as I love reading, I don't really love reading nonfiction. But it was a great book. One of the key ideas that I came away from the book with was the concept that we often see freedom as getting free from something whether it be anger, fear, an addiction, a bad relationship, etc., but in reality "to be free is to be able to act and react fully out of who you were designed and created to be, regardless of the circumstances of your life or the behavior of the people around you" (From "Think Differently, Live Differently" listed as location 603 on my Kindle). I mean think about that for a minute. Being free isn't about not doing something or thinking something. Being free is about being everything God created you to be.

So anyway, I've been trying to figure out who exactly it is that God created me to be. Not in an identity crisis sort of way. Although, I do think that without Christ in our lives, we have a major identity problem, but I want to fully understand who I am to God. Like I said, I've been praying and reading and talking to God about this. But if you want to know the truth, sometimes I feel like God doesn't talk back. I don't mean literally, but you know there are some people who say, "God showed me this" or "God showed me that". First off, I know some people throw that around way too much and use the whole "God showed me" line to get people to do what they want. But there are people who God really does "talk" to, and I guess I had always just assumed I wasn't one of those people.

But then I started to realize that God will talk to everyone and anyone if they will just listen. The problem is I'm not a listener. I'm a talker, and I tend to hijack conversations. So I may be praying a lot, but I'm not listening much. And what a concept to think that prayer is actually a two-way conversation.

Okay so I've said all that to say this, early this morning, I was kind of drifting in and out of sleep, when I had the thought, "You know a lot about Me, but have you ever taken the time to really get to know Me." Okay, first of all, I know without a doubt that "Me" is God. And second of all I realized that since that is about the only time of the day or night that I'm both mentally and physically quiet, it's about the only time for Him to "speak" to me. I use the word "speak" loosely, because I did not hear an audible voice. Like I said, it was more of a thought, but I know it wasn't really my thought.

I started to think about what God was saying to me. Yes, I'm a Christian and yes, I do know Him to an extent. But a lot of times my Christianity is very one-sided. I tell God my problems, and I expect Him to solve them. I talk to Him a lot, but I don't communicate with Him like I should. Communication is a two way street not a one-sided conversation. 

I've been in church as long as I can remember. My team always wins at Bible Trivia. I know all the answers to all the Sunday School questions. I know a lot about God, but now it's time to grow up. It's time to get to know God not just as a problem-solver or a rescuer but to get to know Him just for the sheer pleasure of knowing Him. So I'm going to start listening more and talking less. I'm going to read my Bible not only to find scriptures that inspire, lead, and guide me, but also to really get to know God and His character. I know that on this side of Heaven, none of us will know Him in all His fullness, but that doesn't mean that each day we can't know Him just a little bit better.

Am I Alone Here?

Last February, just a few days post Valentine's Day, I came down with the flu (and I had a flu shot). I started running fever on a Wednesday night. I headed to the doctor on Thursday morning, and by lunchtime I was in bed with an official diagnosis of the flu. I had a wicked sore throat, a horrible cough, a pounding headache, and a fever that spiked to 104 more than once. I didn't leave the bed for four days except to take a bath and grab a cup of hot tea. Andrew and Patrick would stand at the door and wave and drop off food and drinks at the door and then run far far away.

Now, before you feel sorry for me, I have a confession to make. Those weren't exactly the worst four days of my life. Sad? Yes. True? Even more so. I mean, I don't particularly enjoy being sick, and I'm not making light of my good health. But not only did I have an excuse to lay around for four days, but I had no choice. Since I couldn't stand up for more than two minutes without feeling like I was going to pass out, I was forced to be the laziest human being on Earth. I read the entire Hunger Games series. I watched movies. I surfed the web. Yes, I did all of that . . . with the flu, and I can't say that I hated every moment. Actually, it was kind of nice. I'm not saying I want the flu again . . . I don't. I'm just making the point that I'm always busy. It's part of life. It's part of being a full time wife, mom, and teacher. And most days it's great, but every so often we are forced to take a break, and sometimes a forced break is what we need.

Hopefully, I'm not the only crazy person that looks back on a short four day illness with some sense of fondness?!?

Today Is Monday . . .

I know. That's not news to anyone. Everyone in the free world knows it's Monday. The most dreaded day of the week. The day that no one looks forward to. "Monday, Monday, can't trust that day . . ." I'll stop now.

It's not really that bad. It's just another Monday. And this one happens to be cold, damp, and dreary. Which is why I came home and put on my ugly sweats, fuzzy socks, and slippers. The heaters at school are sort of hit or miss. When they hit, you can guarantee that it's going to be 95 degrees in your classroom, and you'll wish you had worn your flip-flops and shorts (totally against dress code but go with it). When they miss, you better have your parka and gloves ready, because you're going to be able to see your breath in the classroom. Today they were miss. We all wore our coats all day long.

So now I'm home, in 26 layers of clothes, with the heater on 73. Is that energy efficient? Nope. Do I care? Nope. I'm warm, and at the moment that's really all that matters. I'll probably change my mind when the electric bill comes.

Tomorrow and Wednesday, we have to once again torture test our kids. We like our tests, us Texans. Is there a state that isn't standardized testing happy? I'd like to know. I'd like to teach there. I'd better shut up now. I need my job.

Members of the jury, please strike the above paragraph from the record.

Today is Monday . . . which is why this post is so random.

Tomorrow is Tuesday, one day closer to the weekend. ;)

"Monday, Monday, so good to me" (if you don't who sang that song it was the Mamas and the Papas and your parents didn't raise you right . . . I'm just kidding . . . sort of).

I Lied and I'm Not Too Big To Admit It

The kids are at music right now, and I'm swamped with individualized education plans, data analysis, reports and action plans. But I decided to take a quick break, in what is shaping up to be another insanely busy day and update y'all on the latest and greatest drama in my life.

Remember how a few posts back I said I should've been born a hundred years ago, and I longed for simpler times? I lied. That all sounds fine and dandy until your dryer decides to stop heating at 8:00 p.m. when you have a full load of wet clothes. Yippee! I have no clothesline, and even if I did, it's been very humid and rainy here which is great, but it doesn't lend itself well to line drying clothes (major run-on sentence). So Patrick and I ran around hanging clothes in bathrooms and in the garage hoping that they'll be dry by the end of 2012 (or at least before the world ends). If you don't get the whole world ending comment then just ignore it. I'm a dork.

Anyway, I realized last night, that I was not created for simpler times. At least not when it comes to technology. Maybe if I'd never had it, I wouldn't miss it, but y'all I need my dryer. Like now! I'm a little frustrated because it wasn't a cheap dryer, and it's just over two years old. It shouldn't stop heating, but it did. Hopefully we'll get this taken care of this weekend. Otherwise my family better not get anymore clothes dirty.

Now I'm off to finish reports. On the computer. Thank goodness for computers. Otherwise I'd being writing everything out by hand. ;)