31 Days of Praying God's Heart for my Children. Day 1.
Monday, September 30, 2013
6:44 PM
(Welcome to post 1 of the 31 day series.... if you are looking for the next posts, go to the top tab on my home page labeled 31 days. All links will be in there.)
So if you know me... or have read any of my Facebook or blog posts, you may have noticed I like to quote a good country song every now and then. Thanks to my dad, who I believe is in Heaven right now listening to Willie on 8 track and smoking a cigar. (And also thanks to my dad, I can drive down the road listening to the country oldies station and belt out the entire Charlie Rich repertoire,... and break out into a good Waylon Jennings when the mood strikes.) And speaking of Waylon... here's one perfectly fitting for what I'm about to tell you....
"Ive always been crazy. But it's kept me from going insane." The man spoke wisdom. Volumes upon volumes of wisdom.
Starting
October 1, for 31 days, I am joining lots of other bloggers in a writing challenge - to write on any topic of my choice. For 31 days. 31
gigantically long days. 31 being the magic number here. It's the
number that will drive me right past Waylon Jennings's crazy and
straight into the arms of insanity. I'll wave to him as I pass by. It's the number of additional wrinkles it will put on my face. And it's
the number that will leave my kids hungry and my home a wreck. But
probably only a smidge more than usual.
And I'm kinda scared. Because I can talk... ask anyone,..... but about the same subject for 31 days? Totally don't know what to expect here. In fact I am so scared that I'm sitting here eating chocolate chips straight from the bag for moral support and strength. Because chocolate chips are the ultimate power food. But it all comes down to this... this is a writing CHALLENGE. To remind myself that I like to write. Not just doing it because I have to. Like my kids complain about EVERY SINGLE DAY in school. And it's okay to be scared, in a challenging way, not a haunted house way... and to walk thru that fire. So I'm doing it.
And I'm kinda scared. Because I can talk... ask anyone,..... but about the same subject for 31 days? Totally don't know what to expect here. In fact I am so scared that I'm sitting here eating chocolate chips straight from the bag for moral support and strength. Because chocolate chips are the ultimate power food. But it all comes down to this... this is a writing CHALLENGE. To remind myself that I like to write. Not just doing it because I have to. Like my kids complain about EVERY SINGLE DAY in school. And it's okay to be scared, in a challenging way, not a haunted house way... and to walk thru that fire. So I'm doing it.
And
my topic? I was totally gonna choose something easy like 31 days of
fitness. Because I can write that in my sleep. But in the last few
days I had the opportunity to change my plan. And it all came about
because of a missed opportunity with my kids. And in looking for the
beauty in a failure of any kind, I choose to see an opportunity to do
better with the next. An opportunity to learn and improve and focus. So for
31 days I will be writing about praying for my children. Yours, mine
and ours. But ultimately, HIS. The children of God that I have been,
somehow, found worthy of raising and teaching and loving.
I'm calling it "31 days of praying God's heart for my children." A super
lofty title. Because I'm not an expert in mothering or praying or
anything, really. But I have a heart willing to try and fail. Again
and again till it turns out the way that just may make God proud. So I
hope that you will join me in the month of October. As we baby step our way around this topic. Let's talk about prayer in general, how
to pray with our kids, and why.
I treasure your support and input throughout these days. On this page, in the comments section, or on Facebook.... see the little button over to the right? Like it - and you can get the daily posts the easy way. And we can Facebook chat which is awesomeness.
Day 2..... my missed opportunity that led to this topic.
http://angelspiratesthieves.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-missed-opportunity-31-days-of-praying.html
I treasure your support and input throughout these days. On this page, in the comments section, or on Facebook.... see the little button over to the right? Like it - and you can get the daily posts the easy way. And we can Facebook chat which is awesomeness.
Day 2..... my missed opportunity that led to this topic.
http://angelspiratesthieves.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-missed-opportunity-31-days-of-praying.html
Kristi
May you allow yourself to be found.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
7:05 PM
Embarrassed the you
know what out of my oldest today. Shoe shopping for little brother, Sam.
Because little guy would have to go barefoot to school tomorrow if we didn't.
And I had a coupon for 15% off that expires today.... so we decided to
make it a family trip. Forced as it was.
And
true to form for Sam, as in every store, every time... we lose him. He
runs away, hides, gets lost or kidnapped by something far more
interesting than us. And after a while when we notice he hasn't made an
appearance, we all spread out to look. But my shameless technique
always, always finds him. And embarrasses my other two. Maybe my
husband,too. But he doesn't dare say it.
Anyway, Sam knows the search and scream. So does everyone else in the store. The mom voice yelling SAAAAAAAAAMMMMMM!!!! And he comes running. From wherever. It's always good to be found.
For your week... may you hear the voice of God calling you by name. Telling you that you belong.
May you allow yourself to be found.
Anyway, Sam knows the search and scream. So does everyone else in the store. The mom voice yelling SAAAAAAAAAMMMMMM!!!! And he comes running. From wherever. It's always good to be found.
For your week... may you hear the voice of God calling you by name. Telling you that you belong.
May you allow yourself to be found.
I've always been crazy, but it's helped me from going insane.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
3:59 PM
So if you know me... or have read
any of my Facebook or blog posts, you may have noticed I like to quote a
good country song every now and then. Thanks to my dad, who I believe is
in Heaven right now listening to Willie on 8 track and smoking a
cigar. (And also thanks to my dad, I can drive down the road listening to the
oldies station and belt out the entire Charlie Rich repertoire, and break
out into a good Waylon Jennings when the mood strikes.) And speaking of
Waylon... here's one perfectly fitting for what I'm about to tell
you....
"Ive always been crazy. But it's kept me from going insane." The man spoke wisdom. Volumes upon volumes of wisdom.
Starting
October 1, for 31 days, I have accepted a writing challenge from
a fellow blogger. To write on any topic of my choice. For 31 days. 31
gigantically long days. 31 being the magic number here. It's the
number that will drive me right past Waylon Jennings's crazy and straight into the arms of insanity. I'll wave to him as I pass by. It is the number of additional wrinkles it will put on my face. And it is the number that will leave my kids hungry and my home a wreck. But
probably only a smidge more than usual.
And
my topic? I was totally gonna choose something easy like 31 days of
fitness. Because I can write that in my sleep. But in the last few
days I had the opportunity to change my plan. And it all came about
because of a missed opportunity with my kids. And in looking for the
beauty in a failure of any kind, I choose to see an opportunity to do
better with the next. An opportunity to learn and improve and focus. So for
31 days I will be writing about praying for my children. Yours, mine
and ours. But ultimately, HIS. The children of God that I have been,
somehow, found worthy of raising and teaching and loving.
I
am calling it "31 days of praying God's heart for my children." A super
lofty title. Because I'm not an expert in mothering or praying or
anything, really. But I have a heart willing to try and fail. Again
and again till it turns out the way that just may make God proud. So I
hope that you will join me in the month of October. As we discuss how
to pray with our kids, and why to pray for our kids.
See you here next week.
Kristi
For your week.....
Thank you for sharing your time with me. I am honored and blessed.
Kristi
I take pictures and my kids complain.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
4:07 PM
This weekend we had a
picnic. I like to call it the " It dropped below 1000 degrees so let's have a picnic" picnic.
And yesterday we ate breakfast on the patio. See gorgeous picture of muffins in a basket. Totally Pinterest worthy pic, minus the plastic cups, I think. But I am who I am, ... plastic cups and all.
And I took a picture of this tree in our backyard.
And I took a picture of Ethan practicing guitar in
the backyard. This is his "stop taking my picture or I'll break your camera with my guitar" look.
And we accidentally dropped Sam off for scouts at the wrong house. But didn't drive off and leave him there.
And
we went to the batting cages. Where I spent about a million dollars to
have Sam complain that something was wrong with the ball machine
because he couldn't get any hits. That is exactly why I never take them
to the batting cages.... it's a man's job. I just sat there writing my
grocery list and let the despair pass me by.
Then
we went to see daddy at the fire station where I sat beside the meat smoker all
loaded up with a meat medley for dinner. And left smelling like pork.
And the boys played fire station football and had the best time ever.
And of course their regular trip to the fire station roof. They love it up there. Took a picture of that. Again.
And
the theme of this post is... I take pictures. And my kids complain.
And they either pose for each pic, .. or they hide.... or
make a threatening I'm going to kill you in your sleep face. Never fear, they're very sweet actually. Just camera shy. And
preteen and teen awkward that way.
But
when Ethan complained about me taking pictures of trees and muffins and
HIM...
I tried once again in my sweetest mom way to explain that these are moments I never want to forget. And I don't want them to forget either. These are pictures
that go in our family albums... our history book. Pictures that will
remind them of their basketball goal in the driveway, and the patio
table where we eat so many meals, and of the bits and pieces of their
childhood. And to me those are giant bits and pieces.
Dreams of baseball greatness.
Friday, September 20, 2013
4:19 PM
(Linking up with lots of other bloggers with this one. For 5 minute Friday. A weekly writing prompt - just for the beauty of the written word. Five minutes to see what the heart has to say and how fast the fingers can type. Today's prompt is the word, SHE.)
Last
night he cried after his baseball game. Discouraged, tired, and just
wanting something good to happen in the game. And something good for him. Something that
matches his imagination. But that's always the way with
this guy. He dreams big. And then he sees the reality, and .... it just
doesn't match up with his mind's pictures. He's 10. And the world in
his mind is full of big opportunity and promise. And dreams of baseball
greatness.
She
got a note from his teacher last week that made her cry. Because she
was afraid to read it. Years of discouraging school experiences brought
out her fears of the simplest things. Like teacher notes, and picking
him up after school - waiting for what the daily report may be. And
every day, she tells them that she knows. She knows that he struggles.
She knows that he wants to do better. And she knows that after months
of educational tests and doctor visits, there is finally a diagnosis. A
name to put on all the doubts and worries and frustrations. And in
naming it, they joined countless other families who deal with learning
differences.
And
the note from the teacher did make her cry... but mom tears. Tears of
joy. Because it was encouraging and surprising and so very needed. And
with that thoughtful note, she made the mom's day. And she gave the mom encouragement
to keep hoping that this year might be different.
And
the mom loved the little boy just the same. Maybe even more. And she
told him that he is beautifully and wonderfully made. Made to dream of
greatness. And made for the beauty of the every day promises that God
has placed in his heart. And she told him that his wonderful
imagination is a gift and a talent. That his loving heart is more
beautiful than anything the eye can see. That his giving nature is a
blessing to others and his thoughtfulness is a picture of his soul.
open my eyes to the things that matter.
Monday, September 16, 2013
4:19 PM
Mondays
in middle school are always current events homework for my kids. So
they search the news for something interesting... and most of the time I
hate for them to do that. Because I don't even watch the news. Except
for the weather. Because I'm of the thought that there's enough bad
just waiting to happen without me searching it out on my TV or
computer.
But
I know the current events homework for my 2 oldest will today focus on
the tragedy in DC. And my thoughts keep going back to the idea that we
were just there a few weeks ago on vacation - at the Navy yard - as
guests at a Marine Corps function. As odd as this sounds to some... like
my husband... I've always had a time and space issue - confusion,
really.... kind of like I missed one of the key childhood developmental steps
required to be fully functional. I have great trouble picturing and
feeling the reality of things that are out of my view. Like tragedies in other
places. But maybe that comes down to my natural selfishness. Cue
my post from yesterday about mercy and grace - and really, I just can't
get enough.
I've
spent a lifetime trying to keep my kids from bad news. And bad in
general,... but
it still comes. It seeps, it crawls, it finds. And sometimes seeing the bad
is easier than trying
to manipulate and dig and find something good. So we take it all in.
Like with the middle school current events social studies homework.
And I don't know all the
facts of the DC situation today. And I'm not saying there's even one
good thing to be found. Bad is bad. And we need to feel that - on occasion - just as
much as we need to feel the good - so the good actually means something
to us.
Yesterday
Sam was given 2 stuffed bears at the estate sale next door. He offered
to pay, but the lady gave them to him. I guess because he had been
such a regular and loyal customer over the last 3 days. But when she
gave him the bears, I wanted to say.... lady, you have no idea what my
boys are gonna do to those things. (And there was at least one game of
bear exterminator going on that I overheard.) But I walked in the boys
room this morning
and sweet mother of Jesus, Sam had made up his bed. And tucked in his
new friends for the day. And I fell in love with that little boy all
over again.
I
fussed at David today for too often pointing out the negatives about
our kids... for example, how our kids don't eat vegetables on their
hamburgers - and other kids do. Other kids also curse, and disrespect
their elders. So I think we actually got lucky with ours up to this
point. If
anti-vegetable is the worse they ever do... I can live with no lettuce,
onion and tomato.
So
for the current events of today.... my heart hurts for another terrible
loss that
can't be explained or excused. My heart hurts that every time something
like this happens, we either get more afraid and add another level of
anger to what we already naturally have. Or we become more and more
used to it. And it becomes our new normal. And my heart hurts for the
ones who are today dealing with a tremendous hurt that I can't even
imagine. And no one
should have to.
Mercy and grace. I can't get enough.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
6:06 PM
I dreamed that I had a new baby. A girl. But I don't think she was really mine. She just showed up and was mine. Get it? And I have no idea who her real parents were or how I got her... and why I was on a train with her. But that didn't occur to me till after I woke up. The real theme of the dream was that I was unprepared. And frantic. And in the dream I cried because we got rid of the stroller and the baby bed long ago. And the thought of diaper costs made me panic. Then in the dream I lost baby girl on the train. And I don't even ride trains. Much like poor Nippy the hamster, my dream baby girl didn't stand a chance with us.
This weekend was our garage sale. Held in our front yard in between 2 houses holding estate sales. So we didn't even have to put up a single sign which was the very best thing EVER. And the boys did well with their lemonade and bake sale stand. The world loves a good brownie so they totally won with that.
It has been a weekend of neighbors and traffic, of hard work and periods of waiting, of boys re-discovering the love of a skate board just in time to keep it from being sold. Of bake sales and lemonade stands and friendly faces buying from little boys.
A weekend of sunshine and a light breeze to hint that change is coming. A time of cleaning out the old and making room for new. Making room for space. Space to more fully enjoy our home and to feel a little less cluttered and rushed. Space for our souls to breathe and wait for what is next.
Transition, change, redirection. Things I've always struggled with. Hanging on to today for fear of nothing better for tomorrow, and I have been so many times willing to accept less than God had planned for me all along. And in considering plans...then comes the true picture of mercy. The gift of God NOT giving me what I truly deserve. But instead making me the grateful receiver of more good gifts than I can name or count.
But I really should do that sometime - count them, name them... one by one... like the song says. God does, after all, inhabit the praises of his people. And in counting those blessings - and joyfully giving praise to the giver of all good and perfect gifts - I am at that moment being handed his mercy. Mercy that has forgiven me what I truly deserve with all my human flaws and failures - and instead, being handed the beauty of God's grace that allows me to move forward toward his higher hopes for me.
Mercy and grace. I can't get enough.
A man and his thoughts.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
2:37 PM
The only thing I've
ever really enjoyed about doing laundry is going through the boys'
pockets. Because after they started school and I was no longer their
constant companion and guide, I never really had a full picture of their
days. And that's a huge step for both mom and kid. And as they get
older, that step gets bigger and wider. And the mysteries increase. So
I dig in pockets, unashamed. Not trying to find out anything in
particular - maybe just a souvenir of their travels. So I can be
informed, yes,... and so I can be a part of it, too.
Playground
wood chips in the shoes and treasures of the day. Stuff
that we - adults - ME - would call trash, usually. But it's a little
map, a story of a day in the life. And yesterday I thought it so
interesting that even my 13 year old again collected a treasure - A
piece of wood found in the school yard. And maybe I thought it so
interesting because I also thought it beautiful. I saw a spark of
interest, and creativity, and a memory of a little boy that used to fill
his pockets with crazy things. I miss that little boy.
But we had to take his project away from him because it looked like a dagger, and he could get suspended from school with that thing. But I know if he's ever stranded on an island or lost in the wilderness - like their hero, Survivor Man, this kid will be just fine.
Firemen do not regard themselves as heroes.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
8:06 PM
Was talking to my fireman husband a while back about so many recent firefighter deaths. And it bothers
him about all the talk of dying as a hero. So I thought it fitting to
mention this today as we remember the huge number of lives lost on
9/11/01. Not just those of firefighters. Though 343 lives in one fell
swoop is extreme. But of all the deaths on and related to that day.
And I think anyone who lost someone on that day would consider their
loved one a hero. So many heroes, most just not wearing a uniform.
So here is what my husband says best expresses his thoughts on the job of a fireman, and being considered a hero.
“Firemen are going to get killed. When they join the department they
face that fact. When a man becomes a fireman his greatest act of bravery
has been accomplished. What he does after that is all in the line of
work. They were not thinking of getting killed when they went where
death lurked. They went there to put the fire out, and got killed.
Firefighters do not regard themselves as heroes because they do what the
business requires.”
-- Chief Edward F. Croker, FDNY,
speaking upon the death of a deputy chief and
four firefighters in February of 1908
-- Chief Edward F. Croker, FDNY,
speaking upon the death of a deputy chief and
four firefighters in February of 1908
And I have to think that all 343 of our lost firefighters on 9/11 might have agreed.
Today my oldest
decided he would like a new mother. One who doesn't make him do things
he doesn't want to do. Like sweep up the mountain of broken pecans the
squirrels have enjoyed all over our driveway. I miss the day when our
now deceased neighbor would pay the boys $1 per tail to kill those
things with a BB gun. Now they just run amok - much like my kids.
So
Ethan saw the task as insurmountable, impossible to complete or even
start for that matter so he tried to make
deals. And I told him that making a deal with his mama is like making
one with the devil. Trade your soul and you never know what you'll get
in return. I did suggest, however, that he go online and find a want
list of nice families looking for stubborn teens and I would put in a
good word for him.
5 minute Friday writing - topic RED
Friday, September 6, 2013
10:07 PM
Joining other bloggers today for 5 minute Friday - a quick, unrehearsed, thoughtful speed project on a given topic. Today the prompt was the word RED.
Red.... the color of love, and the color in this mom's heart as I think about my little guy today.
And
red, to me, is the color of our home. The outside bricks, the pretty
things inside, and the first piece of furniture I ever really owned.
And one of the things I most love. An antique pie safe, that, before I
was born, my grandfather found, rebuilt and painted it a gorgeous shade
of barn red. So much history and so much future all started with this
piece of furniture and the love that a man poured into it. And I've
built our home around it.
Red
is the color of our fireplace bricks,
the color of the heart over our entry door, and the color of a sign
announcing, "HOME" on our kitchen wall. Our house is run over with a
giant dog
and 3 big boys and all their dirty clothes and ... well, just
stuff. And so much of the time it looks like a bomb went off - but a
bomb that exploded cozy blankets, plenty of socks, and what looks to
have been a darn good time.
Red is the color of my husband's fire engine and ambulance - the color of rescue. The color of a much needed response.
Red is the color of the blood shed for me - despite it all - by a savior that chose me, - again, despite it all...
Little mishaps, adventures and stories along the way.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
12:27 PM
Yesterday was
Christopher's first day of middle school and he came home exhausted and
starving and worried about the next day's bus ride because apparently
the school bus broke down first thing in the morning. "For an HOUR... AN
HOUR!!!! We waited in someone's yard." He has a great flair for drama
and likes to spin a tale a bit.... and I love that boy.... because he
reminds me
of, well, ... ME.
So
I
told him the bus thing was just a thing - one of life's adventures
that make it fun - and asked if the lady of the house - the one where
all 30 kids were hangin' in her yard - offered them refreshments for the
wait. No southern hospitality there because no lemonade or cookies or
kind words were offered to encourage the young ones along their way.
But they drove off with a story to tell, and that's definitely worth
something.
This
morning in class - a lady came up to me and said, "You've got a feather
on your
butt." Not like a Las Vegas showgirl kind of feather - just something
stuck there which obviously didn't belong. And it wasn't really a
feather, it was just dirt from our dirty YMCA floor that looked like
tail feathers, I suppose. But a friend loves at all times... even when
they have to tell you that you have something on your rear end. Another
adventure and another story to tell.
I know that sometimes people are mean. Sometimes people are nice. I think I'm a mix of both. Hopefully more nice than mean.
I know that people care. And most want to care. They just have to be given the opportunity and the open door to make the offer.
I know that plans change.
I know not to wear flip flops to climb stairs. Just don't.
I know that if I forget or choose not to take time to pray, I stand a good chance of all hell breaking loose and having a generally sucky day.
I know that a trip to summer camp brings with it lots of memories, new skills, and in our experience, nearly severed fingers, lice or diarrhea. Every time. Every year.
I know that if someone hurts one of our kids.... it hurts the mom just the same. And we get mad,too. Like poking a bear with a stick.
Hell hath no fury like a 6th grade girl scorned... be warned.
And sometimes people say one thing and do another. Actions speak louder than words. If it looks like a duck, and acts like a duck, it's probably a duck.
I know strong bodies still get injured. And strong hearts still break.
But like I told Christopher about his school bus, it's a story to tell. The every day stories that make up who we are. And I want to be a great story teller.
