just another perk

Well, the longer we live in the holla, the more I realize that its benefits just keep on givin'.


*Water from the well that goes away with any power outage due to the pump being powered by electricity.


*Poison ivy whose vines are large enough to swing from Tarzan-style.


*Redneck laundry.


*Creepy uber-poisonous spiders that appear out of nowhere.


*Wood roaches that sneak in when you're not looking (probably while doing redneck laundry) that considering their size could be claimed on our taxes.


*Swarm-like masses of gnats that would rival the plague.



And just this week, a new benefit.



*Reverse mail delivery.


Yeah. This is a good one.


You see, I am accustomed to delivery trucks whose drivers pull up and politely "beep beep" just to let you know they are making their way to your door with a package. That way if you're home, they will kindly place it inside the door for you. Nice guys they are.


But this week I heard a "beep beep" and while I was peeling a toddler off my leg and lugging the chubby bubby on my hip, I heard a "BEEEEP BEEEEP!!!!"


Hmmm. I thought to myself. I wonder who that could be.


So I opened the door to see our mail carrier stopped in front of our house with the window of the pick-up truck rolled down. You see, in the holla, we don't get the usual mail "jeep" but a pick-up truck.


Anyway, I smiled and waved and said, "Good Afternoon!"


"I've got a package for you," she replied flatly.


So I looked at her.


And she continued to look at me.


And I looked at her.


And she looked at me. Not blinking. Not even a twitch to indicate that she might actually get out of her vehicle to bring me my mail.


I was beginning to wonder if this was the start of a stand-off on our little lane in the holla. Should I hold her eye? Should I wait her out?


Beginning to feel like an idiot, my "be nice at all most costs" illness began to kick in, and I caved.


So I said, "I'll get my shoes?" Yes, that was a question.


To which she replied, "M'kay." And pretended to do something in her truck.


All the while, I'm thinking...


We have one of these.




















And normally when I am looking for my mail, I can find it in my...





















But perhaps, my "package" won't fit. But still, don't they usually bring your mail to the door? Never in all my born days have I had to GO GET IT unless they left me a little note to pick something up at the post office which is reasonable and customary.


Realizing she was not going to budge, I quickly slipped on some shoes (so SHE would not have to wait... *cough* *cough* dang illness.) and went to the mail truck to retrieve my mail.


I thanked her, though I'm not sure for what, and she peeled away, slinging a little gravel, and went on her mail-delivering way.


Hmph.


At least she doesn't drive by at a high rate of speed and fling it all out in the yard like the mail-carrying maniac in the movie "Funny Farm." Y'all remember that?


Maybe next time we'll have a stand-off.


Heh. Who am I kidding? I'll probably have to make the rest of her deliveries.


*cough* *cough*

Happy Mother's Day

A friend of mine sent this to me via email. I definitely thought it was worth sharing.



A Mother's Footsteps


It was a busy day in our Costa Mesa, California, home. But then, with 6 children and one on the way, every day was a bit hectic. On this particular day, however, I was having trouble doing even routine chores -- all because of one little boy. Len, who was three at the time, was on my heels no matter where I went. Whenever I stopped to do something and turned back around, I would trip over him. Several times, I patiently suggested fun activities to keep him occupied. 'Wouldn't you like to play on the swing set?' I asked again.


But he simply smiled an innocent smile and said, 'Oh, that's all right Mommy. I'd rather be in here with you.' Then he continued to bounce happily along behind me.


After stepping on his toes for the fifth time, I began to lose my patience and insisted that he go outside and play with the other children. When I asked him why he was acting this way, he looked up at me with sweet green eyes and said, 'Well, Mommy, in my Sunday School class my teacher told me to walk in Jesus' footsteps. But I can't see him, so I'm walking in yours.'


Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord: And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart. And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. Deut. 6:4-7



~Author Unknown

an indelible mark

Sometimes things happen in life that stun us and leave us asking questions to which there are just no answers. That happened this week when friends, Eric and Susan, released their precious baby boy into God's hands.

So many of you have left comments and emailed me about how much Luke and his journey spoke to your heart and how the faith of his parents ministered to you. It's in that spirit that I write these words:



Dear Luke,

We praise God for you because you were "fearfully and wonderfully made." As the Creator himself knit you exquisitely together, He missed not one detail. You were beauty and perfection and grace all wrapped up in dewy soft skin and destined to touch the lives of many. And so you did.

You will never know the impact you made on our lives during your short time here. The lessons we learned from you touched us deeply and in ways that mere words seem woefully inadequate to express.

You caused us to dig deep--to not just say we have faith in God, but to live each day believing Him. And to not just believe Him, but to earnestly seek Him. Seeing you struggle drove us to our knees time and time again. We found ourselves on our faces crying out to God for healing and mercy, our hearts being drawn ever closer to you and to our Heavenly Father.

You also taught us what it really means to rejoice! We jumped for joy at every miracle and each sign of God's divine intervention. Seeing you hold tight to your toys and watching your little chest move up and down with each breath of life made us grin from ear to ear!

You reminded us to be thankful. Life is precious and short, and each day is to be celebrated. You spoke softly to us to slow down and really breathe it in.

You left an indelible mark on each of us, and we will never forget you. And Luke, I can't wait to meet you in heaven one day, sweet boy, just to say thanks.

wordless wednesday

This is not a typical "Wordless Wednesday" post. I'm just calling it 'wordless' because I don't have words; I just don't know what to say.



Yesterday's post from Eric and Susan:

"God chose to heal Luke today and he is now with Him in heaven - whole and healthy and breathing freely. We praise God for His goodness and mercy."














Please pray for Eric, Susan, Hogan & Sydney and go leave them a word of encouragement.

a scream and a holla

About three months ago, we moved away from suburbia to what I jokingly call "the holla." We really are not out in the country, and are in fact mere yards from a two-lane highway. There are only three houses on our little lane, ours on the end by the road and two others, all of which are separated by the equivalent of a football field (or so). E made friends pretty quickly with the neighbor kids, but especially with the boy next door who is her age. It is normally rather peaceful and quiet. I like quiet.



HOWEVER...



A peaceful afternoon with the big kids playing outside while the little ones napped was interrupted by screaming. Not your ordinary screaming, but screeching the likes of which I have only heard in horror movies. These shrieks could be heard inside the house, drowning out The Food Network and an awakening baby, and I'm pretty sure I saw Paula Deen wince at the shrillness and sheer volume of the racket coming from my very own backyard.



Well.



Being completely annoyed responsible and concerned, I momentarily ignored the sounds of my littlest waking from his nap and the recipe for the deep-fried something-or-other being whipped up on the tube so that I could go out and face what surely must be a severed limb or something equally gruesome. I wondered if I should have my phone in hand, with emergency number on speed-dial, for the crisis that most certainly awaits me on the other side of the grove of trees, from which the hubbub originates.



I step outside, shrieking now somewhat subdued, almost as if children up to something may have heard the back door close. Then it starts up again, and I see my eldest coming toward me through the maze of jungle-like growth that is my backyard. I keep walking toward the yelling, his steps now nearly matching mine, and bark in his direction, "WHAT?!"



"M (neighbor kid who lives in the middle house) is up in the tree, and he won't listen to me when I tell him how to get down, and he's just screaming and..."



By now we have reached the "scene of the accident." And I'm here to tell you, with that much clamor, there SHOULD HAVE BEEN an accident. There were no severed limbs, just a kid sitting on one refusing to come down. Barely six feet up, mind you. And my daughter was standing on a limb ABOVE him, waiting patiently to get down.



Now, look, I am basically a nice person. At least two or three days out of the week. Really, I am. But this whole scene had just been played out a few weeks ago in another tree, in another yard.



As I relived my own flashback of this EXACT SCENE, I got a little angry. I'm not sure why. Maybe this just is not my day to be nice. Or maybe it was an unlucky day to be stuck in my tree. Hard to say.



You see, the last time Tarzan tried to climb a tree, he got "stuck" about six feet off the ground with his bent knee wedged in the crook of the tree which commenced the screaming and screeching and dogs howling and sent my daughter running down the lane in tears, terrified that M was so stuck he might have to just live up in that tree and WAH and "Daddy, you've got to help M, Daddy, pleeeaaassseee!" So Jay, being the nice one and all, jogged down to the neighbor's house, to find the grandmother on a step ladder with her hand under his rump while he screamed and yelled things like...

"Oh my God! AAAHHH! I'm gonna die! OOOHHH! Call the fire department! WAAHHH! Just cut down the limb! AAACCKKK! You're killin' me! OOOHHHOOOOHHHOOOOHHHOOO I'm dying!"


So my husband, who is nice, calmly tells him to push up with his arms, and VOILA! With the weight off his leg, he easily gets "unstuck" and comes down.



After my flashback, which took probably 5 seconds to replay in my head, during which I'm pretty sure my ears began to bleed, I just looked at him in disbelief.



Then I lost my mind for a minute. And I yelled. At him. And everyone nearby. And probably the dog.



Could I have helped him down?



Uh-huh.



Should I have helped him down?



Probably.



Did I help him down?



Nope.



While this is not one of my prouder moments, I could lie to you and tell you that I consciously thought that this would be a wonderful "teaching moment." You know, the kind that good parents have when they let their offspring learn the "natural consequences" of their mistakes...blah blah blah.



Yeah. I wish I could tell you that's what I did.



Nope. Not me. Given his history of histrionics and his propensity for pandemonium, and since he was in MY YARD with MY KIDS and stuck in MY TREE, and I had to wade through poison ivy to get to him, SO I COULD YELL, he was pretty much on his own.



After a little more yelling, his and mine, he finally made it down and was told not to climb any more trees if all he was going to do was scream when he got up there.



Because I am nice.



Then I told ALL OF THEM to kindly find something else to do and STAY OUT OF THE TREE, because all the screaming had "worked mah nerves" and now I had to go take care of the other screaming now coming from the little one who just wants up from his nap, thankyouverymuch, and ohmylordybe, and blah blah yada blah blah, you made me miss Paula Deen.



I did not move to the holla for all this drama, y'all.