A Boys' World.

It was raining the other day. Pouring cats and dogs and I could hear yelling - no, sounded more like wild Indians about to attack our home - and feet running across the deck. I would hear an occasional thud against the brick and I know that sound. . . mud balls. The missed ones. The ones that were aimed at a brother, but missed. Laughter, the thrill of the chase.

It goes from laughter to anger (the kind you feel if you get plastered with mud in your face) and then back to laughter again.

That type of thing. The type of thing that makes laundry have a new meaning. . . means something like, oh I don't know, something worse than laundry. Thinking of bad word here, kind of sort of.

I looked out later when there was a lull in the noise. As if rain was not enough, the hose was on.

Realize that this is at the house that got a phone call from the water company saying there was too much water use going on. For the size of the lot, for the size of the home, how in the world could we be using SO MUCH WATER?

The water company doesn't know it but they should be super glad my husband answered that call and not me. I would have had an explanation. I would have invited them over to show them WHY. I would have asked for a huge discount on water. 

When Robert told me of the phone call, I felt guilty, like we were drying up the oceans and going to be the main reason global warming was going to overcome our area and our community would die of thirst because WE had used up all the water.

Yes, I understand the water peoples concern. Little lot, little home. . .

But what they don't know is that there are ten people that live here. They still don't know that. Unless they read my blog.

Ten people shower. . . sometimes they have to shower twice a day, sometimes three. Depending on what boy does what and what toddler poops where and when. Ten people eating which means dishes and tons of them, even though I do go for the paper plate idea quite regularly. Ten peoples laundry. And that's where I think we are clearing out the oceans and rivers. The laundry.

Because this is a boys' world.

The plain truth is that our washer and dryer go through the day and through the night. I know all of the problem solvers reading my blog just now want to message me all the amazing techniques to not having to wash so much. How not to waste.

Maybe like don't play sports.

Don't let your boys wear winter jackets in the rain hosing each other down and killing each other with mud balls.

Don't go to the river and hike so much, just plain don't do things that cause dirty people and clothing.

Don't give your baby food without a bib on.

Make your kids wear the same thing every day, or at least twice in a row.

(That is gross now. My husband and four boys. . . ahum, and even girls, cannot possibly do that. They just get that dirty. We would have to become even less social than we are.)

etc.etc.etc.

So where was I. . . right, yes, I've just finished scrubbing white football pants with bleach. Scrubber in hand, bleach jug in the other, hot water.

WHITE FOOTBALL PANTS?! Who in the world thinks of such an idiotic idea?! Three this year have teams who wear WHITE FOOTBALL PANTS.

Seriously. 

And so yes, they do wear those babies more than one time before a wash.

Shelton's got so dirty in practice at school that somehow they got stuffed in a laundry bin in the school laundry room of like the "uncleanables." Shelton couldn't find his pants for the world. He took Bub's to school for practice. Yes, somehow he thought his brother of 5 years younger wouldn't mind and somehow he could squeeze in those pants. Talk about immodest.

And he managed to squeeze in them . . . taking some of the pads out of them, unknown to me of course. I pick him up the other day from school. He sits in the front seat of the car, holding his rear in pain. "What's up with that?" I say. "Football practice," he says. I say, "What happened?" and he says, "No pads for my butt." I say, "What? What happened to your pads?"

Then I get the scoop. But still he can't find his pants. I marched into the school yesterday afternoon and went straight to the boys locker room. I sent Shelton in on a mission and I said if he couldn't find them I was going in. 

In the mean time I snooped around the school laundry room. I spotted a bin behind a few others and there I spotted what I knew were my sons pants. The insignia was bleached out from black to pink. That would be my laundry job for sure. And they were the dirtiest pair of football pants I'd ever seen.

I marched proudly out of that laundry room to the boys locker room and yelled in about my find. 

And because I live in a boys' world, Shelton peeks his head out and says, "Ah mom? My cleats have gone missing. . ."

When I first started taking these pictures of the boys, I thought I was just taking Shelton and Bub. Then Christian comes

flying out of the swimming pool. He had been lying down in the bottom holding his breath!

Back in August before Christian's real season began, they had this all evening scrimmage practice for all the teams. I've never been

to anything quite like it. It was like marathon football. Christian played and played and played, way past dark. He said he could eat a cow after it was over.

(Christian with the tackle.)

Christian on the run. . .

Christian has a wonderful ability to break tackles. I do believe it comes with the territory of being a third born under 

two big brothers. Since he could walk at nine months he is just use to running for his life. The kid has wheels.

And can catch just about any ball at any time.

I don't get many chances to get Scott in action since he plays for school now. I hope to get more shots at some games this season.

Scott is known for literally growling on the football field.

Yes, I even heard him from the sidelines last weekend. He plays a mean strong safety. 

First game of the season his team won 44 to 12. Scott played awesome.

Shelton, below pictures, yes, in his tighty-whities. I'm not sure who's pants he has on this scrimmage.

He is always easy for me to spot though - only kid who wears a blue receiver's glove, and 

he has switched out his regular cleat laces for navy blue ones. Football with a little fashion, that's Shelton.

His first game of the season I was at Scott's away game, but Robert said he played great and their team 

pulled out a first game win as well.

Then there is Bub. . . where to even start. 

Bub is an awesome kid. Love his heart. Love him. Just simply a wonderful little guy.

I wasn't really into putting him in football this fall, but he wanted to. I thought maybe it was just

because his brothers do it. His personality just didn't seem like the football type. I didn't want him to feel

like he had to do something that wasn't him. I would question him, carefully, trying to hear his heart.

He insisted, in few words, that he really wanted to play.

And so for the first two weeks I sat there through his practices going, "This just doesn't seem like him."

I wondered if we'd made the right decision to let him decide for himself. I wondered if him being so much

smaller than everyone else was going to do damage. I worried, just a little. Or maybe more than a little.

But if there is one thing I have learned about Bub in his first seven years of life? Don't under estimate the kid.

In fact, maybe don't ever under estimate a kid who is a fourth born boy, period. They are made of things you just don't understand.

They have lived life in a way, others just won't, can't. They hold strengths that only fourth born boys can hold.

So it has been with Bub and football.

He got put on the defensive line. Really?? Okay, well, I've had my years of football experience and that just seemed wrong to me. Smallest, youngest kid on the team and put on the beat up line?

I watched practice after practice as he bear crawled into the offensive line boys twice his size, just to get sat on 'til the play was over.

After each practice I wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't complaining one single bit, but you have to know Bub. . . he doesn't complain, one single bit about anything ever. He rolls with the punches. I can remember when his cousin, each and every single time we saw him, would just tackle him and sit on him. Bub would let him. Calm, cool, and collected it was like he just knew his place was "at the bottom." He would never, ever hit anyone. Ever.

This troubled me. I tried to show him, to tell him, that he didn't have to just let people run over him. To stand up for himself. To throw the punch back if need be. Yeah, not sure you can find that in any parenting book, but I could see that being dominated and under three extroverted, stronger, bigger older brothers his whole life, that his personality had just decided to accept the position of "bottom."

He didn't seem unhappy about it, just accepting. Like it was just nothing to him.

So for weeks of practice through the hot summer I watched him. Over and over, on the bottom of the pile. I'm not one of those mamas who has to have her sons be running back or some "position" - It was obvious Bub was not fastest, biggest, or experienced. I'm for winning teams, not personal glory. But my heart didn't like seeing him be where I've seen him all too often before in life. Being sat on, and being fine with it.

I did something I've never asked any of my boys because I don't believe in ever quitting. "Bub, you want to keep playing?"

"Yes."

"I'm okay if you want to try something else. . ." I wasn't sure I was saying the right thing. I'd never given my other boys options of quitting.

"I'm not quitting, Mom."

I hoped I hadn't offended him by giving him the option. I just couldn't tell if we'd done the right thing to let him play.

I glanced back through the rear view mirror and there he was, helmet still on and dirty all over him from being run over all practice long.

That evening I had watched my little boy go from coach to coach after practice on his own accord and thank each and every coach for coaching him. I watched how every single other player took that hot and uncomfortable helmet off as soon as practice was over and how Bub left his on. Sometimes even until we arrived home. 

I kept taking him back to practice several times a week all summer long. End of August I began to see something. . . I saw my little defensive line man bear crawling through the offensive line, fighting with everything in him to recover fumbles, and even occasionally tackle the QB.

I cannot really put into words the growth I've seen in Bub through this football experience for him. He has come into himself. He has become more confident. He has taken on more responsibility here at home, all on his own. He has proven to me, without me even asking him to, that he doesn't quit. 

We pray together before getting out of the car each practice. I pray about life, about God making him a man of God and learning through every experience what it means to never give up in the spiritual battle. It's quick sometimes, a flare prayer usually. If I forget Bub will say, "Mom, pray please." I am seeing God at work in his life through all this. All his brothers, Robert -- we all say under our breath, "Can you believe the change in Bub since he started football?" 

His team has won their first three games. Bub plays a lot of the game, always defensive line. He has recovered fumbles, crawling straight through the offensive line, going for the prize.

First game of the season - as I sat there in the stands seeing a big mound of little football players, knowing my Bub was at the bottom. . .

I wanted to jump to my feet, wondered if he would be okay. He is after all my "baby boy." He is after all the "little guy" out there.

The coaches start pulling the players off one by one and then, there was Bub, football hugged as tight as possible to his chest. He had taken the ball from the offense and waited until the mound could be pulled off of him. The coaches got to the bottom of the pile and his coach lifted Bub off the ground way into the air, Bub still hugging the ball, to show the ref our team did indeed get the ball from the offense. I wish I had a picture of him being held up in the air like that in the middle of the game. . .

But I was on my feet clapping too hard to think about a camera!

My Bub. With the prize. He might be the sweetest, kindest, quietest little guy around, but don't let that fool you.

He is not a quitter. He is a gentle giant in his heart and I am super proud of him.

Here is Bub in the picture below at practice one evening - he's the guy on the bottom of the pile with arms grabbing the ball from the offense.

Love these next two shots of Christian's team - one evening after a rain, working out.

Bub gearing up for practice. . .

Bub at practice warming up. . . did I mention he has giant 7-8 year olds on his team?

Bub - warm-ups.

~

Speaking of the boys this post. . .

Shelton (and Scott) have had some great opportunities given them to sing and play music.

They had their first little public invite a few weeks ago to play at a local frozen yogurt's grand opening. And got paid. They loved that experience.

Shelton is enjoying helping lead worship at school on Friday mornings for Fellowship of Christian Athletes. He and Scott are so excited with what God is doing and the turn out this past week was larger than they could ever remember having. Scott said, "Mom, kids were singing and worshipping before school together and it was so awesome!" We continue to pray as a family that God will use them as light, to pour God's love out to those around them.

Shelton and Christian are both enjoying choir at school. 

Here are a few pictures Shelton asked me to take last month (before he cut all his hair off for football!) for a school project/movie he did for an assignment on his passion for music. . .

Realistically speaking, if I were to show pictures of what the older three boys do most these days it would be them sitting here at the table doing homework. I am getting my share of re-doing 5th, 7th, and 8th grade math and science each and every evening after supper.

I ask God to show me ways into their hearts. I know one way is through food  and I've been blessed to be so close to their schools and take them a special lunch a few times a week. I leave notes and quotes around for them and verses and messages in their lunch bags each day. Sometimes I wonder if it really makes that big of a different. I wonder if anything gets through or if God is at work. . .

Then God will show me. I didn't realize until last week that Shelton had been taking the messages I was writing and was using them as notes for his Bible study group of guys he meets with at lunch at school. One day he came in and in passing out of the blue said, "Mom, keep sending the notes. I have been using them in my Bible study and it doesn't just encourage me but the other guys too. . ."

One of the quotes I tweeked a bit and hung on their wall this past week:

It will hurt. It will take time. It will require dedication. It will take prayer. It will require will power. You will need to make healthy decisions. . . and it will take sacrifice. You will need to push your body to the max. There will be temptation. But I promise, when you reach your goal, It's worth it.

There really are ways to "walk with them" and "teach them" and "lead them to Christ" even when we can't always be there with them.

I want to be like Bub on the defensive line. I'm not quitting. God, help me to keep plunging myself through what seems way too big for me, going for the prize. A lot of days I feel sat on, on the bottom of the {laundry} pile, the giants around me holding me back. I see in my mind Bub getting up, shaking off the dirt and lining back up again on the line to go at it again.

Not everytime does he make it through. Nor do everyday I win the battle. 

I know I have other options. But I'm not taking them.

Thanks, Bub, for teaching mommy something I needed to remember all over again.

"And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." Gal. 6:9

"Therefore, my beloved {sisters}, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." 1 Cor. 15

 ~

And here's a big shout out to ONE YEAR today since her forever long pregnancy ended and HER LIFE began here in front of us to love and enjoy!

Alyssa

(all words and pictures are copyright to resolved2worship. Please do not use without permission.)

Just Today.

The rooster crows usually bother me. We have neighbors on either side who have roosters and these roosters normally start about 4:30am. It's not quite 8am now and they crow, well - according to me counting under my breath, about every 7-10 seconds. 

I grew up in the city and never woke to the sound of a rooster. I had books as a child that talked about farms and I read about how roosters crowed and I kind of thought somehow it would be cool. But I don't now. Nope, even the other morning I thought about taking my shot gun and . . . making me some rooster pot pie.

I remember a day not so long ago, maybe just several years ago - as in like four - that we lived in the inner city and between two railroad tracks. Each morning the ground would rumble, the house shake. The noise was so hard to get use to when we first lived down there. But then it kind of become back ground noise. 

The roosters haven't become background noise. At least not most mornings.

This morning is pretty though, over the hills. I love our view, even if it means roosters. The mist sits low on the hills and the sky is cloudless. When the sun rose it was pink-orange. Like a huge balloon, perfect and round.

Shelton was gone before I could get myself out of bed. He has football practice before school even starts and has to be there no later then 6:30.

Christian woke up acting like the non-morning person that he is and it's my job to get him geared up and out the door by 7:00. It's actually a good time because it's usually just the two of us and we get some kitchen table time before I hug him and say goodbye.

Scott it last to leave. This morning he wasn't feeling himself. I made a fruit shake of pineapple, banana, frozen strawberries, lemon juice, water. Actually tasted pretty good and I sat with him at the table drinking it and talking about whether he should go to school or not. But there is a history test today in second period and . . . I left the decision up to him. He went back and forth. I would have loved to have him stay. 

But he is gone too now. 

I am grateful our schools are so close. I see them here from the window. I like being able to see where Christian is and where Shelton and Scott are. Oh, how there will be a day all too soon where I won't. So, I just appreciate today, even with those rooster crows still going just now. I like how Robert can take them to school in the mornings and spend time talking and praying with each other them on their way there and in the carpool lane before they head in.

Usually after they all leave, I notice something someone has forgotten. A school ID, a lunch (ugh), a textbook, a homework assignment, or football gloves. Something.

But today I don't see anything. yet. And in a way I kind of don't mind when one of them leaves something because that means mid-day I go over there at lunch. Sometimes I go at lunch whether they forget something or not. Just to eat with them, or hang out a little before returning home for little girl's nap time.

Bub went to my mom's this morning for his schooling.

I only have four girls this morning. Four.

One of which has been up and being her crazy silly little self for almost an hour now. She is Lake. The week Scott was gone with my parents I determined to have her completely 100% potty trained day/night. It took a week, but after that week, she was good! When she wakes she has the funniest habits though. A bowl of cereal, always the same kind, with milk - BUT, the milk must cover every single part and piece of the cereal, or it's like the world has ended. Then she uses the restroom and brushes her teeth. 

She checks, are her princess underwear on? Uh no! if not, then the house should come down.

Yes, Miss Drama Queen is in training these days big time. I love her personality and I am not into squelching it one tiny bit, but teaching her that life isn't about just her and that loving God and loving others is what life is all about. . . it comes with not playing into her every wish, showing her making life miserable for everyone else is not going to be the pattern around here.

I don't give my toddlers the option of "If it feels good, do it." But I'm no strict mommy. I don't do rules really very well. But, taking time to make pleasant children for their own benefit and the benefit of others means encouraging at a young age that the world doesn't revolve around them.

Which means I must stay calm, cool, and collected in my heart and attitude so that she knows in her spirit I don't think life is just about me either. How to do that every single crying-out-loud time?! Because after all, she does give me a chance to reveal my heart like once a minute. . .

Well, as with all the children at this age, she and I are growing in grace together. The process is hard but I know the main thing is that she know I love her and that I am after her best and not my comfort and that her behavior isn't for me, it's for her sake in the long run. My patience and consistency in showing her what is loving to others and to God is my goal each and everyday.

~

My time is up. Haven wants to climb down and stop feeding and three other little girls are ready to roll into this new day.

There is lots to do besides some schooling because we all had the flu last week. Me included. Oh wow, was it bad. Laundry has been out of this world huge. Now that I feel a week behind, I know I just need to live the next moment, the next minute, do the very next thing.

Soon this day will be over. Somehow though each day means, well, one more down, one more less. . . and I want to live like there is no tomorrow. Even if on the last day of my life I were to need to do laundry and chores and teach pre-school.

So God, give me the strength. Renew my health, my strength, my stamina for what lies ahead of me today. Help me to love hard.

Love well.

Live full.

Hope.

Pray.

Laugh.

Turn some music on right now and dance with the girls first thing here in the living room together and get this party started.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83R-XQhDUWg

I took a picture very similar to this black and white earlier this year - but the other day 

when I shot this, I saw one of the reason I just love her sleeping pictures. She always crosses her

arms exactly the same way when she sleeps. Precious to me.

She loves to come in our bed in the mornings. . .

Showing her four teeth. . .

She likes to put her head band on and off all by herself. . .

Playing with her baby doll.

Alyssa

Suited Up.

Lots of football these days. Bub is now suited up with the rest.

Alyssa

Just Pictures Really. And My 35th.

This has got to be my all time favorite stop sign. ever.

I passed it, um - I stopped at it - on my way to the store the other day and I had to turn around and stop again because I just thought it was so cool.

I could promise this will be my last post with summer beach pictures. The other day I thought if I put on fall colors and took the three little girls on a picnic for lunch that it might make me feel like it was fall. (I keep thinking of decorating pumpkins.) Instead it felt like summer had started all over again, reaching 100. Our lunch melted, the view that was suppose to be delightful was over-looked out of surviving the heat and our picnic moved to the air conditioned car within ten minutes. 

I started thinking beach all over again, my pumpkin decorating ideas forgotten.

Shelton teaching Itty to surf the shallows. . .

Sand, um well, maybe more like mud castles.

Lake ~ one of my favorite splashes.

My baby! Running like a wild child all over the place. She had no fear of the water, waves, or eating sand.

This makes for a busy beach mommy.

~

I'm not sure who had the idea this time around to soap everyone down. Or who encouraged Itty to snorkel the trash can. . .

Shelton claims though that he cleaned it out very well. Oh my. But even his face looks a bit shocked - not sure he expected her to enjoy it to that extent.

Six kids staying cool on the porch. 

~

Shooting off rockets one evening with the kids. 

Baby loves to roam, as I follow close behind. I love to see her exploring. I love these simple shadow pictures of her (and me) from this past week. . .

And my other little toddler girl. . .

~

This morning was the typical crazy-get-ten-people-ready-for-church in less time then most people spend getting just themselves ready. My fault really, because I was so tired from this past week (as usual) and I slept in more than I should have. I went to church with wet hair pulled in a pony, sunglasses on top of head and no make-up. I like that our church doesn't have bright lights. I don't like that I slept in. 

We sang an old song in worship this morning, "He is Exalted" - dating back to the 80's if I recall, Twila Paris. . . took me back to my childhood in my mind when my dad would lead worship - I can remember singing it at the top of my lungs. I did again this morning. Declaring who God is, "He is the Lord, forever His truth shall reign. . ."

We went for donuts after church and today, rare, but I ate my share and even had a mocha. Because today was special.

Then this afternoon was just the normal around the house and working with the children while Robert napped. I did get in a special little time for me while the little girls napped though - putting vacation pictures in an album for the living room box of vacation albums that the kids love to look through. It seemed kind of relaxing, just sitting there on the floor by my window, slipping in photos in slots one after another. Can't remember the last time I've done that.

The afternoon began to cool down towards evening and we all loaded up and headed for the lake. There was a nice breeze and it was calm and pretty. Robert and I had explored the "new" lake on our date a few weeks back and told the children we would take them back for a swim. I really couldn't think of a better thing to do today. Funny, but there really isn't much that makes me happier than making them happy.

(The kids always say, "Trade me a bite for a bite?")

I thought about an afternoon alone, getting my feet/toes done because they need it so bad. Or my nails. . . or walking shops with no stroller, no toddlers, just me. Maybe even trying on things. Maybe even buying something ha! But why? That sounds so empty these days. . . when the kids love to celebrate birthdays so much as if mine is really their's! 

The lake was awesome. I wish we could have stayed longer but Mondays a-comin' and sadly, there were kiddos who still hadn't finished up homework and we couldn't make it a late night. . .

(took some time out to play at the park by the lake too after our swimming. Robert snapped these of the kids with me.)

More evening shadows on baby dearest. She wanted to climb to the top like her sister.

After the lake, it was my pick tonight and so I chose burgers and fries. We ate outside the 50's diner on the walk, the evening kind of perfect. I looked over two tables full of children talking and laughing and counted my blessings - literally counting, because Lakelyn is hard to keep track of these days. Yep, eight heads. 

So that is how I celebrated my 35th. 

I just thought all day how awesome it is to have lived 35 years. Not because it's been easy but because it's been. Just plain mercy.

(sun going down on our fisherman-boy.)

I decided I better write this down because on the way home tonight the children wanted me to tell them stories of my childhood birthdays. . . my memory seemed fuzzy, maybe because, like I've always heard, we woman start going down hill at 35? (Must be true because I've felt it this year for sure!) Anyway ~ I had to think real hard and when I did I came up with the following memories:

Remembered my 6th birthday - a girls' sleep over at another girl's house from school who shared the same birthday. I remember wearing a pink skirt and some of the girls being mean, and some of the girls being nice and we painted our faces with face paint and make-up and everyone fought over who was going to sleep by the birthday girls and some girls got their feelings hurt.

Then there was my 7th and we'd just moved to California and we didn't know anyone and we didn't have a lot of money and I had a watermelon with candles for my birthday cake. I was okay with that - in fact, I thought my mom was pretty cool to do that.

My 8th we'd just moved again, this time to Louisiana and again new place and lots of changes and I had just recently met a few new friends and so I had them over for a small party. I got a purple dress that had a tie on it and that bothered me because I didn't think that was cool. My 9th I got a dollhouse that my parents found at a garage sale and thus began my fascination with interior design. I didn't play dolls in that dollhouse, I spent hours redecorating the rooms over and over again for years.

Then my 10th happened and my parents said I could have a slumber party and I invited all the girls I could think of my age, which was about ten girls. It was fun, good memories. Dad made up games for us to play. Probably my favorite birthday. 

Then I couldn't remember any birthdays really until 16 - that morning my sister flew out for a big trip and my mom was sad and the day was discouraging and that afternoon we went on a hike up near Malibu Beach (lived back in Cali again at that point) and somehow as we were hiking the coastline we ended up on a nudest beach. Yep, mom got us out of there quick, but who can forget a 16th like that? I got a dozen roses from a guy that birthday and failed my drivers test. I'm not sure those two had anything to do with each other though. I made my own cake - well, not really a cake. I made a raspberry cobbler from raspberries out of my garden.

I told the kids what I could remember of my 18th, a little of my 19th. . . and then I couldn't remember a single birthday after that, not one! How sad.

Until my 30th. . . 

Which how could I forget my 30th?!

Robert and baby Brighton and I were in Cancun celebrating for our 10th anniversary a few months late and Robert decided to do some time share presentation thing that was offered because we would get like $100. off our rental car price. Basically we ended up at this huge beach resort which I could pretty much promise was run by drug lords and all sorts of criminals and after four hours at that place and nearly having our lives threatened if we didn't buy a time share, we just barely make it out alive.

I cried all the way back to our hotel - out of fear we were going to be tracked down and shot by the men at the resort who got so angry at us for not buying a time share, emotional exhaustion from trying to keep a three month old baby happy through the whole ordeal, and sad that my 30th birthday had nearly been wasted trying to save $100. on a rental car. I know, selfish my heart was - that was not what I had envisioned for my 30th. :)

Soooo, that afternoon I got into a rickety old airplane (seriously had holes in the side of it) that was painted red, blue, and yellow. The paint was peeling and piloted by a guy that didn't look anything like a pilot nor did he speak English. I strapped myself to some other guy who hardly spoke English that I'd just met and jumped out of the plane at 10,000 feet over shark invested waters. With a parachute.

Yep. Won't forget my 30th.

Needless to say I survived and went out to dinner that night at a romantic hole in the wall of a place in Playa De Carmen - candle light, Mexican food, black and white sleeveless dress.

It made me wonder if I should have done something a tad bit crazy on each and every single adult birthday so I could remember. . .

Then I realized that I have - I think most of my adult birthdays I've been pregnant. Really, that's a tad bit crazy.

Maybe that's why I don't remember my birthdays since getting married. . . because my birthdays kind of took a back seat to the birth-day I was awaiting that year - the birth of a baby. Someone meant more to me then me. Or the reality might be that I was so miserably pregnant I just plainly can't remember feeling like it could have been my birthday.

And so I thought about that today, here on my 35th. The kids liked my stories I told all the way home tonight from dinner.

I was about to write that nothing amazing happened today. But that's not true.

Tonight there is one amazing slumber party going on here with the best friends I've ever had.

They scream and yell and want to sleep by me. 

They make me gifts and ask me to open them outside under the stars and I ask how will I see what I am opening and Itty says, "By the light of the big dipper, if it's out."

I have a milk shake for my "cake" and every single kid gets their own spoon and huddles around and asks me to dip some into their plastic cup. They fight and ask who has had how much and whether it's all been given out fairly and I kind of don't care that even though Robert bought the shake for me, I pretty much didn't get some. Lakelyn says, "Mommy, put a candle on the shake?"

Shelton made me breakfast in bed. . . but it didn't make it to my bed because of church this morning and all the work getting off so I open the door to the car this morning to leave and there is a plate with this baked apple, coated in some recipe he invented this morning and it was a-mazing! I don't know how he does it but I didn't teach him. He needs to be some famous chief one day on tv. And one of my crystal glasses was sitting in the cup holder, filled with ice cold water. When Robert started the car and headed down our drive the water spilled all over me and soaked me nice and good for church.

The glass fell and everyone freaked out because everyone knew Shelton shouldn't have used the crystal and what if it broke? And then the boys all got into this discussion over how much money I could make if I sold all our dishes and how we should do that and go on vacation with the money. Like go to somewhere "far away" they say.

Morgan made me earrings out of seashells. She took a black marker and wrote a big capital "A" on each earring.  I will wear them tomorrow.

Bub came to me as I was getting out of bed this morning and handed me a ten dollar bill, "For your birthday, Mom." He has the biggest heart e-v-e-r and the biggest puppy dog eyes. I felt bad to take $10 but I knew to turn it down would be worse so I thanked him so much.

Scott had hand-made a knife while is Tasmania (Yes, Tasmania! Like who goes there? Such a great trip for him!) two weeks ago. He gave me the knife plus a bar of soap which says, "Made in Australia." And a card that says, "Let your heart take courage. . ." He recommended I use the knife in the kitchen. The knife is something fierce and looks more like a self-protection device.

Itty wrapped up stickers from my craft drawer with packaging tape and paper and made me a little decoration out of three stickers that say, "Wish." It is now hanging from the wall in my bedroom. She also wrapped up three tiny seashells and gave me those. It took me forever to un-tape it all, but so worth her joy! 

Shelton took a picture I had discarded of myself and colored on it and wrote sweet words and gave it back to me. I was glad he hadn't pinned in a mustache on my face 'cause I would have been tempted. On the back it said, "I love you so much, you're the best." He made me earrings from shells too and put them through the picture of myself that I had discarded. Creative. Made my heart smile just looking at it.

Christian gave me more hugs than I could count today. He always hugs and hugs lots, but today I got more than normal.

Lakelyn kissed me so hard on the mouth when I put her to bed tonight I almost had to cry uncle, but when she let go she said, "Ah! You the girl, Mommy!" and then, "When my birthday again, Mommy?"

Itty asked me in the car, "How old are you, Mommy?"

I said, "I'm 35 today."

She said, "Do you feel old when you get 35?"

I said, "Yes, I do."

~

Baby is nursed and I'm back to bed. Someday when I can't remember what I did on my 35th. . . I will read this. Maybe.

Alyssa 

Script Writer.

“If God is sovereign, then He is in control of all the details of my life. If He is loving, then He is going to be shaping the details of my life for my good. If He is all-wise, then He’s not going to do everything I want because I don’t know what I need. If He is patient, then He is going to take time to do all this. When we put all these things together—God’s sovereignty, love, wisdom, and patience—we have a divine story." (posted by J. White, words of Paul E. Miller, A Praying Life.)

 ~

I've known He is composing a story - my story. The story has taken twists and turns I could never have imagined, or even thought God would want to compose. Some how when conflict and tension end up in my story, I want to erase and re-write things my way. Who wouldn't?

When prayers seem "unanswered" I forget that is the patience of God - that kind of patience that I owe my very life to. Suddenly though, the virtue of patience isn't something I want Him to offer. "Oh God, please be impatient and hurry and do what I want in this situation!"

Ha. 

I wanted God to be the Writer of my story, but there have been times I didn't think He was a good writer at all. 

If I do not trust and believe God's love, His wisdom, patience and sovereignty in the story that He is composing in my life then I fall to cynicism -- maybe a quiet one, maybe not so quiet, sometimes a screaming kind, the heart wrenching kind . . . I begin to doubt that prayer really makes a difference, doubt that God really loves me because the conflicts and tensions in life hurt me; why would anyone who loves me want me to feel hurt?

And, "Well, if God is sovereign over all, controlling all things, what's the point? Why ask Him, why care. . ."

Don't tell me I'm the only one who has ever been there.

But if I am, that's fine too.

My actions and attitudes have said at times: "I wonder if I couldn't start writing the script now on my own, please?" 

Oh, I know how I would have written it! No tension, no pain, no conflict, no bad hair days. Just the beach maybe? 

(I hate to admit that sounds boring in a weird way.)

Maybe something like:

"There once was a girl named Alyssa. All things went perfect for her all the time. She felt no emotional pain or physical pain. She didn't even die. The end."

The feeling of rawness that I feel when disbelieving the Story Writer would write pain, out of love --

Sometimes it doesn't come over me like a wave, but gradually, slowly descends upon me when my story isn't "beautiful" and there are chapters that are way past the chapter page limit. I seem to beg, "Please, now, where is the eraser and where is the pen and can I take out pages, God? And can I write the story for my children different than mine and script it without conflict and without tension?"

Something like,

"There once was my child, they were perfect, looked perfect and were all things talented. They were perfectly spiritually discipled their whole childhood as they did everything. They found the perfect mate and were protected from all things bad or hurtful. Or sinful. They asked my council on everything and always did it and thought, "Wow, my parents are perfect and awesome." They didn't suffer at the hands of others and were always a christian and I knew they were going to heaven. The end."

We may try to script their childhood, their lives, but God is actually the one who is writing their story too.

~

This dialog is an un-compromised portrait, exposing of the unbelief that attacks at times --

If I'm not careful there can just be this distance between God and me when things go bad. Not that I don't believe in Him as God. I do. But as Paul Miller put it in "A Praying Life" -- I live more like a "functional deist"  -- then a loving daughter to her Father. 

God's sovereignty and my responsibility run throughout God's Word and they do not conflict, they go together. I see both from Genesis through Revelation, never separating from each other - two great truths, both very definite as they can be. They only ever conflict in the mind of the depraved, natural man. Salvation, as well as living the daily christian walk, is the combination of God's sovereignty and man's responsibility. He has called, works and saves, "He sows mercy" -- and I am called to ask for salvation, pursue Him and live for Him; what I sow that which I will reap. 

For example~

As I learn to pray, to take my pain to the God of this whole world, I can and I will see His sovereignty in all that takes place. His love, wisdom and patience is for my good. My story, with all good and bad, tension or ease, each chapter. . . truly is divine, He is the Writer.

But I'm not a puppet. 

The flip part is that in God's sovereignty there is John 16:24 which says, "Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full. . ."

Because my God does write scripts, He does control, I CAN ASK! And He will listen and He will act.

Since I am His child I can ask for patience with the process and He will give it.

I can ask for a heart of forgiveness and He will grant it.

I can ask for understanding of the process and He will open my eyes.

I can ask for trust, and He will prove to me His faithfulness and trustworthiness.

I can ask for love and He will fill my heart with love for others and fill me with the knowing of His love for me.

I can ask when I am lacking and He will give to me what I need to get through. 

I can ask for endurance and He will renew my strength like the eagle, renew my youth, and grant me that which is beyond anything I can muster on my own. Proving it is Him indwelling.

I can ask for acceptance of the chapters and parts of the script that I, in my humanness, do not comprehend, and He gives me that acceptance. . .

And hope. Even in His patient time, allowing me to not only accept but thank Him.

I believe in His sovereignty, His control. . . His incredible LOVING ability to write divine life stories, (and trust me I've got one that reads like fiction, but is so true.) all tension and conflict included.

I believe in my responsibility and AWESOME part in asking. To seek. To knock. To cry out. To look to, and to cling to. To believe more than just a functional deist! To relate. To walk with. To know more than just head knowledge. To know that salvation is not some zap from God, or I something I can't get a handle on. That I must ask and I must seek and I must desire. 

He listens and He acts. He saves. He changes me. 

The story is not over yet - thank goodness!

It is divine and He is sovereign, but He is our wise, patient, kind, compassionate, Father who listens and loves us dearly. He asks us to ask and He hears and in His loving sovereignty, He answers.

~

I had something happen to me when I was 20 that I had little to no control over. It was at the hands of someone who was a "christian." My husband put me in the situation that took place and did not protect me because he had been taught a wrong view of what it meant to honor his parents and asked, followed, and trusted their counsel over my cautions and requests. Controlling me. . . to my harm physically and emotionally. I was controlled because I did not know anyway around it at the time. I know, sounds twisted, but true and thus my script reads.

How could this be written as a part of my divine story by a Composer who loves me? 

I cried in great agony when I walked through that hell, and times after, "WHERE WAS GOD!?!"

How could I dare to even mention that part of my story here? Why would I?

The sweat that begins all over me, the feeling of wanting to throw up, my chest feels tight. My head fills like it spins.

Breathing feels strange.

All this begins to start to happen at first, but then peace comes and surrounds me. I wait and then it rises up in me! I believe that what is not hidden or kept in denial God will bring great fruit from. . .

I want to declare and testify of the GOODNESS OF MY STORY WRITER!

I have fought long and hard. I've questioned. . . I've wanted to deny the script was written, never forgive the characters involved, re-write, doubt the Composer.

But He has never let go of me. He has declared to me His goodness and love to me through that particular horrible event, and anything painful one before or after, and it is a part of my story and it is there for my good. It is a part of my husband's script too, how God has used it to draw him closer to Himself and free him from false teachings.

For it is through the testimony, through the scripts of pain, the chapters that hurt. . .

That unfolds our hearts and make them moldable ~ Needy and ripe and real for the asking of God's presence and life to indwell and save us and make us whole!

It's through the parts of our story that we wish didn't happen that we come into the knowing of what Christ suffered. And that when something is done to us at the hands, words, or actions of others, that as a daughter of God, it is being done to Christ. We are sharing in His sufferings in a way that is deep, real and painful. When I asked Him why, He showed me how tenderly He loves me - that He and I could share in a way that is so much more deeply connected than being a functional deist. That through the suffering I can actually proclaim and understand that He is good, wise, and loving. 

It's through the suffering that I get the tiniest taste of what He has done for me on the cross! I get it, I know and I rejoice in a way that I could not otherwise understand.

Oh, my adoration for my Script Writer this morning! Welling up inside of me and pouring forth with tears of joy and hope!

(My girls always look at me funny when I am sitting here typing and silently crying, yet smiling. Maybe one day they will read and understand their own stories better and be able to say with me, "Bless the Lord, Oh, my soul and ALL that is within me bless His holy name!")

~

 I have no idea if anyone is reading now this far into my writing, or whether what pours from my heart this morning can be comprehended in a way that makes sense like it does to me and frees me - but if someone out there has made it this far , I believe it's for a purpose. . .

May the testimony of the goodness of God in His ever-loving script-writing bring you into His arms, and into His presence, and may you ask of Him because He listens and may you know and understand and share in the sufferings of Christ through your own suffering so that you may know Him fully and be used of Him for His glory.

Your story is beautiful, painful chapters and all, if it has drawn you into the presence of God and saved your from yourself and given you eternal life - Praise Him! He makes beautiful things out of dust. The resolve 2 worship is something we must ask for, our responsibility. You can know that HE will answer you as He gives you eyes to see what a wonderful and loving Script Writer He is.

 P.S. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OR7VOKQ0xJY -- Here is a good link to a song (though one of the most repetitive lyrics ever! But sometimes that's what I need!) that I just love, the kind if you can relate to a little of what I've written here, you need to just turn it up and stand up, arms lifted and worship. Let it the truth wash and heal.

On with my day. I feel the smallest hint of fall breeze in the air. 

Alyssa