buckle up. it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

I love this man. We have been married for almost 15 years, most of which have been awesome. However, when I think back on some things we've been through, I wonder how it is we are still here, still loving each other, still relatively sane, living the life of grown-up people, raising kids...and no one has bolted. Not the kids. Not us. No one has gone out for "milk" never to return. It's a wonder.

You see, when we married in March, I envisioned the beginning of springtime. Buds peeking out on the trees, grass starting to turn that gorgeous shade of green that invites you to throw down a blanket and have yourself a picnic. I imagined birds singing their happy little songs as we exited the church to begin our new life together.

Yeah.

What we got instead was snow and ice and what was being referred to as a "blizzard" in the South. Roads were being closed, and people began to panic because y'all all know if you live in the South that if anything white falls from the sky, you should consider investing in a cow and a bread machine. Because in a radius of 100 miles or so of the predicted flurry, there is nary a loaf of bread or jug of milk to be found. Most of the time these crazed shopping sprees are for naught, and the dreaded might be, maybe so, could happen snow never leaves the heavenlies. Or at best resembles dandruff. Not so on this particular occasion. We got ice and lots of it. We managed to get married, and guests even showed up. Bless their hearts. But we postponed our honeymoon when we found out that the only thing open in our planned destination in the mountains was a Shoney's, and no one had power. Lovely. We "skated" our way to some place in town and spent the night there.

This should have been a sign of things to come my friends. This was no boring life we were in for.

Fast forward one year. We decided to celebrate our anniversary with dinner and a movie. Not incredibly fancy plans, but we were happy with that. Until during our dinner, a rather large gentleman seated with his wife several tables away began to cough. And cough. To make a rather long story short, he got choked on his steak, presumably had a heart attack from the stress and passed away right there on the floor of the restaurant. The memory of his poor wife will forever be etched into my brain because they seated her at the end of our booth while the emergency personnel tried unsuccessfully to revive him. We could not leave. I will never forget their names and have over the years whispered a prayer on her behalf when I remembered our tragic first anniversary.

After that, other than welcoming our first baby into the world which was fantastic, we had a couple of relatively uneventful years until the Spring of 1998. I was home alone with our 2 year old and four months pregnant with Princess on a rainy, yucky day. Most of the day, all of the regular daytime t.v. programming had been preempted by weather news and warnings. I left it on just in case, but everything seemed to be happening in surrounding areas. Until that afternoon. I happened to hear the little "beep beep" for what seemed like the 173rd time that day, but this time I decided to take a look. And there they were, saying that a tornado had been spotted and was heading our direction in a matter of minutes. We lived in a very small house, and the only interior "room" was a closet. I still really didn't believe it, but I removed the vacuum cleaner from the closet to make room for me and the baby. No sooner than I had sat down with him on my lap, it was on top of us. My ears popped from the change in pressure, and then the deafening roar and crashing began. It couldn't have lasted for very long, although in my mind it couldn't be over soon enough. I remember vividly praying out loud for God to protect us as I held my toddler tightly next to me with one hand, and the door closed with the other. I didn't know if the house would collapse on us or if we'd end up in the next state. There is no knowing these things in the darkness of a coat closet. When the noise subsided, I opened the door to find that the house itself was still relatively intact. I ran outside to see the damage, and I could see through my neighbor's house. Half of it was completely gone. And our roof. It had been torn off right up to the place we had been sitting and then stopped. Coincidence? No, I don't think so. I believe God heard us that day...the prayers of a pregnant mommy and a two year old boy. I remember shaking and not being able to make my hands be still, but I did not cry. Not until I saw my husband running down the street to get to us. All of the roads were blocked by trees and sizzling power lines so he had to run pretty far to get home. When he got to the door, I remember falling into him, the gravity of it all just beginning to sink in.

We moved on from this event, having learned many lessons about what is really important in life and later that year had a beautiful baby girl.

We moved several times over the next few years and had another baby just two months before that little storm called Katrina left us in the wake of yet another natural disaster. I don't know why, but that whole weather thing is kicking our butts. Suffice it to say, yes, we evacuated, and came home to find a water mark almost six feet up our walls and the contents a total loss. Again, we were reminded of God's mercy and provision as our family was safe and sound, and God returned to us all the material things we lost. And more.

Jay used to joke that we pretty much had all the natural disasters covered except for an earthquake and a volcano, and that our next ministry position would surely be in California or Hawaii. Sometimes he is so not funny.

I guess what I've learned through our experiences together is that God is good. He is faithful. And that no matter what we go through, it can be used "for our good and for His glory."

I started out telling you about how much I love my husband. I really do, and I would not want to go through this sometimes crazy life with anyone else. We are good together. And we've ridden out a lot of "storms" together...the proverbial kind and those of the weather variety. He's kind and compassionate, patient and passionate about life, and such a way-better person than I am. He says he married up, but I'm quite sure I did. We are in this for the long-haul. Good times and bad, I'd follow him anywhere.

Well, except maybe California or Hawaii.

I love these feet!

There's just something about his chubby little 'foots' that I love. After changing a diaper today, I was kissing and tickling his feet, listening to him giggle, and I was suddenly carried away by my thoughts.

I began to think of how he loves mostly to go barefoot around the house because he likes to be able to see his "toesies." But how on occasion he wants to wear his socks because he enjoys sliding on the floors, and will squeal, "Wook at me. I'm 'skatering.'"

I then thought about how quickly he has grown from that tiny newborn foot that could barely hold a sock to a very active toddler who loves to jump and dance and twirl to any music that finds its way to his ears. He's almost helpless to sit still when the music starts. It transports him to his own little world. We just stand back and watch. And enjoy.

I thought about all the places that his feet will one day take him. How sometimes the path will be stony and rough, and the journey will require extra effort. And that there will be thorny patches when he will have to determine in his heart if the destination is worth the pain the journey will cause. Times of running through tall grass (probably in our yard) and carefree jumping into puddles.

Before I even realized it, my thoughts had turned into a prayer for him, that God would make a way for this child of mine. That He would even now be carving a way through the rocky roads of his future, that He would make the grass a little greener and would teach him how to rise above the muck and the mire that this world is so full of by teaching him to set his feet on a rock. The Rock.

My heart felt so heavy for the few short moments that I had been carried away by my thoughts. But as I poured out my heart to God, I was comforted by His astoundingly great love for us. This scripture came to mind. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope." (Jeremiah 29:11) I love how The Message says "I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out--plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for." WOW! I just love that God has it all worked out already. I can stop worrying. I know as a parent we can't choose the path our kids will follow, but hopefully we lead by an example worthy to be followed. Follow me as I follow Christ...

Amen.

wordless wednesday

faith like a child...

Joseph, Mary, a Shepherd, and Baby Jesus (played by a puffalump)

"...you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." Luke 2:12

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

If you've grown a little tired of all the "Happy Holidays" greetings, "Holiday" catalogs, "Family Trees" and the myriad of other so-called politically correct references for the celebration of the birthday of Jesus Christ, commonly known as CHRISTMAS, for Pete's sake, click here.

And watch this!

I am so thankful...

1. for an awesome God who loves me, who saved me, who walks with me daily through my crazy life, protecting me from myself

2. for the kindest, most patient man I know--my husband for almost 15 years--who loves me in spite of myself and puts up with all my "stuff" (and tries hard to fly just below the radar on this "blog thing")

3. for my baby who begins my day, everyday, with the biggest, cheesiest grin you've ever seen simply because he's glad to see me

4. for my toddler who keeps me on my toes and has me laughing (and sometimes crying) throughout the day because of his antics (oh yeah, and he helps me with the laundry)

5. for my daughter whose love for music (and silly dancing in the living room) makes me smile, and that she is healthy enough to grow her hair and donate it to a kid who needs a little dignity and hope

6. for my son who can almost always makes me laugh, even if it's at myself because he's silly and witty at the same time (and he's a great jar-opener)

7. for being raised in a Christian home by my single mom, who no doubt made tons of sacrifices for us kids and didn't complain about it, and for my aunt who truly is my second mom

8. for being reconciled to my father recently and hearing him say he loves me for the first time at 36 years of age (it's never too late), and for meeting two aunts for the first time that I really like...they're "quirky" hahaha :)

9. for inlaws who love me like one of their own and only occasionally think about finding Jay a new wife (mainly when they read my blog)

10. for friends over the miles and through the years that have left their mark on who I am today

11. to live in a country where I'm free to worship, to homeschool, to speak my mind, and just about anything I can imagine or dream of and for everyone past and present who has fought to make it all possible

13. for love, laughter, music, good food, good friends, good times...

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYBODY!

#*@% !!!

I received this email the other day. Read it; then we'll "chat."

A few months before I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to our small Tennessee town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family. The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into the world a few months later.

As I grew up, I never questioned his place in my family. In my young mind, he had a special niche. My parents were complementary instructors: Mom taught me the word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it. But the stranger, he was our storyteller. He would keep us spellbound for hours on end with adventures, mysteries and comedies.

If I wanted to know anything about politics, history or science, he always knew the answers about the past, understood the present and even seemed able to predict the future! He took my family to the first major league ball game. He made me laugh, and he made me cry. The stranger never stopped talking, but Dad didn't seem to mind.

Sometimes, Mom would get up quietly while the rest of us were shushing each other to listen to what he had to say, and she would go to her room and read her books (I wonder now if she ever prayed for the stranger to leave.)

Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the stranger never felt obligated to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our home... not from us, our friends or any visitors. Our longtime visitor, however, got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my mother blush.

My Dad was a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in the home, not even for cooking. But the stranger encouraged us to try it on a regular basis. He made cigarettes look cool, cigars manly and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (much too freely!)about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing.

I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced strongly by the stranger. Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents, yet he was seldom rebuked... and NEVER asked to leave. More than fifty years have passed since the stranger moved in with our family. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was at first. Still, if you were to walk into my parent's den today, you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures. His name?....

We just call him, "TV."

OK, so this is not a tv debate. We totally watch too much at our house. I know it, I've confessed it, but I'm not ready to repent yet. I know way too much about Suite Life, Hannah Montana, Drake & Josh and High School Musical than I should or ever wanted to at this stage in my life, mainly because the kids' shows are better and cleaner to watch than anything else. But I've also learned a lot about "flipping" houses and decorating on a stingy, I mean meager budget, which I think is going to come in handy very soon. (that's another post...stay tuned)

My point is that it's easy to change the channel when someone is expressing their opinion with "colorful" language that you don't want to hear, and you certainly don't want your kids to hear (or repeat), but what about real life? What if someone decides to exhibit their colorful, though apparently limited, vocabulary in front of your children? What then? Do you call them on it? Do you ignore it, and then explain to your kids that "it's not nice to speak that way and if I ever hear you say anything like that, I will a) wash your mouth out with soap (that seems to be an old-time favorite) or b) sew your lips together with stuff from Dad's tackle box."

Really, what do you do? This is not a rhetorical question, people. I'm really asking.

Oh, about the tv thing...I'm feeling convicted. As much as we all love to read, maybe we'll have another tv "fast" and just read or play a game together. Sounds like a good idea to me.

Happy Fall-o-ween!

For those of you who know us well, you know that Halloween is one of those 'holidays' that if given the choice to 'take it or leave it,' we'd probably leave it. I won't get into all the whys. We celebrated it as kids and dressed up and knocked on the doors of neighbors and took candy from people and were told not to eat the apples and don't stay out too late and watch for cars and stay together...and we turned out reasonably well. I mean, Halloween didn't cause any issues for us and we were not scared or scarred for life. Yep, it was all pretty innocent back then.

But as a parent, you wonder if you should let your kids dress up, and if they do, should it be scary or cute, do you trick-or-treat or trunk-or-treat or do you stay home with all the lights off and watch a movie and be really quiet when all the costumed little buggers come-a-knockin' at your door wanting sweets or do you go to a church-sponsored activity that serves as an alternative???? Wait...did I just say be quiet? Hahahaha. Okay, that's not a viable option for our family. Maybe for yours.

To be honest, this is an issue I revisit every year. What are we going to do? Do the kids even want to dress up? Can't we just skip the pumpkins and move on to the turkey? So this year, I decided not to stress. To just take it all in stride and hope that I am not screwing up my kids, that one day when they are lying on the couch of some highly educated, well-meaning, I'm sure, psychiatrist, psychologist, counselor, etc., to trust that they won't be saying, "...and my mom would/wouldn't let me be a superhero, ballerina, vampire...and I...didn't get to have candy or I had a horrible stomachache and false teeth by the time I started junior high... You get the point. They will no doubt have many more important things to discuss. I'm sure of it. I understand that there are those who believe we shouldn't even be celebrating such a 'holiday' in the first place and those on the other side that say, "just let 'em be kids for goodness' sake!"

With all that being said, I'd just like to give a shout out to Judith and a big "thank you" to everyone at Northshore Church who organized a Fall Festival and gave our kids a chance to dress up if they wanted to, have candy, play games, and overall enjoy a fun, safe time with their friends. THANK YOU!

And the winner is.....RYAN VICTORY!

Ryan won the costume contest for the youth. It's a little hard to see at this angle. He was a baby riding on Granny's back, complete with old lady stockings and shoes. We went shopping at Good Will and found this lovely floral number that as an unexpected bonus even smelled old. No wonder he won!

And here's EMILY!

She was a puppy. The sign says "FREE to good home." She definitely would have won for cute and original. This was a perfect costume for her because she still loves dogs and horses. Besides, a box full of horses would have been heavy and just plain odd.

And here's Wyatt. His expression pretty much sums it up. What is he, you ask? A basketball player, of course. (thank goodness he'll be too young to remember he got the un-costume). But he had his face painted. It's a spider. He was SOOOO tired by the time we got there, he ate a hotdog, played a few games and had a meltdown upon departure. A normal night for him.

"Hey, wait! Don't they have 4 kids now? Oh my goodness, maybe they forgot one!" Gimme a break. We didn't forget Elijah. He just got swooped up the minute I walked in the door, and I had to ask for him back when it was time to go. No, he was not in Halloween get-up. But he was still very cute. We don't have a picture from last night because we couldn't keep up with who had him, but here's a recent pic anyway.

YES! He is this happy all the time. Elijah is almost seven months old now. He has decided in the past two weeks to grow up all at once. He has two teeth now on the bottom and doesn't mind showing you that he is learning how to use them. He is sitting up almost unassisted (you actually have to be left alone to practice this skill, and somebody is almost always holding him). He will nearly rip your arm off to get to his bottle which he has decided to hold by himself; he's ninja-like. Oh yeah, and he's saying, "Dada." Whatever. He is rocking on his hands and knees as if his life depended on his getting somewhere...and fast. But since he's the last addition to this Victory clan, I smile and gently push him over and say, "Not yet." I know I can't stop him forever, but perhaps I can postpone his mobility and the subsequent insanity that I know will ensue once he starts crawling. I know what you're thinking. One day when he joins the others in the supine position on "the couch" (because he hasn't learned to sit up yet) he'll be saying, "...and she kept pushing me over and saying, "Not yet." It was really embarrassing when I had friends over..." Oh well, a mom just can't win. As my friend Kirsten always says, in lieu of a college fund, we are saving for therapy.

Miracles

Pastor Larry has been preaching a series of sermons lately on the New Testament Church. And today's sermon was about miracles during that time. You know...like when the woman with the bleeding disorder whom no one had been able to help was walking among the crowd and reached out and touched the hem of Jesus's robe. She was healed instantly! And then there was Jairus's daughter, whom they said was dead. Jesus went into her room and told her to "wake up," and she did! Then Jesus told her family to give her something to eat. A sure sign someone is alive and well...a healthy appetite! There were lots of miraculous events going on back then...Jesus turning the water into wine at the wedding, Lazarus being raised from the dead, demons being cast out. The list could go on and on. It just got me thinking. The Bible says that God is "the same yesterday, today and forever." I believe that to be true, and if it is, that would mean that miracles still happen, right?

Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't seen any water turned into wine lately, and I'm pretty certain that none of my normal nightly dinners would feed thousands of people should they show up at my door. So, what is a miracle anyway? Ryan's American Heritage Student Dictionary defines it this way: 1) An event believed to be an act of god (should be capital G) or of a supernatural power because it appears impossible to explain by the laws of nature. 2) A person, thing, or event that causes great admiration, awe, or wonder. Ok, I think our previous list fits these definitions. But what about today? Right now? What about in our lifetime? Honestly, I'm not sure that if someone were raised from the dead in today's time, we'd quite know how to handle it. Maybe it's just me, but I think that after the media frenzy subsided and I had healed from my concussion from passing out cold and hitting my head, I'd be left in complete awe...speechless, totally without words. (Jay would probably think that in itself was the miracle.) On the other hand, I believe many other happenings could fit into our description of a "miracle." That's when it got me thinking. Have I ever experienced a miracle? Witnessed one? And I felt God whisper to my heart, "Bronie, look around you." Then it hit me. He unraveled a mystery for me.

Do you have kids? Have you ever held a newborn baby? I believe that the birth of a healthy baby is a miracle. Not metaphorically speaking, as in "Wow, with that traffic, it's a miracle we made it on time" or "After I drank all that coffee, it was a miracle I got to sleep last night." I mean a real, honest-to-goodness, act of God kind of miracle. Really, I do. I can't prove it to you scientifically or scripturally, but think about it. Think about all the things that have to happen in perfect timing, and in perfect order for God to "knit together" a newborn. Come on, really think. After conception, when this microscopic entity begins to divide, think about everything that must happen from that instant to grow this (yes, already baby) into a full-term newborn. How many events...hundreds? thousands? millions? I'm not a scientist or a doctor, so I can't say for sure. But I do know that there are a lot of things that don't "just happen" and that the events are timed, intricate, sequential and vital in producing the end result. And with that much going on, can you imagine the gigantic potential for error? Forget what you have read in the newspaper or have heard on tv about "the fetus" and even what you have read in most secular science publications. These things do not "just happen."

Let's really dumb down this concept so I can grasp it. Let's imagine you are baking homemade bread from scratch. For some of you this will be easy to visualize. For me? It's a real stretch, but stick with me. The ingredients have to be added in the proper order, at the right time, baked at the perfect temperature and for the exact amount of time for the end result to be successful. Even I know you can't throw a package of yeast into a pile of flour and then into a cold oven and expect good things to happen. Yeast has to be mixed with water first, dry ingredients sifted together, dough mixed and kneaded and allowed to rise...you get the idea. Everything in order and in its own time. A recipe usually has just a few steps, and can you see how we could truly mess up even the simplest of tasks? My point is you can't just throw the elements together all willy-nilly.

And babies aren't just born soft and cuddly, with an ear on each side of their head, fingers and toes on their respective hands and feet, organs neatly placed on the inside and operating at full potential right from the git-go without some miraculous, God-inspired "knitting together." Let's face it. We really have no control over the order in which these things occur, and factoring in the potential for human error or wanting to speed up the process (which having had four children, I'll admit there have been times I would have liked to speed up the process), it's a good thing we humans are not in control of such a spectacular series of events! A healthy baby is a real-live, awe-inspiring, supernatural act of God and a wonder to behold (and hold).

So I ask you again. Do you have kids? Have you ever held a newborn baby in your arms and witnessed the perfection of a brand new creation? It doesn't particularly matter if you are the parent or if the child actually belongs to you, if it was birthed from your womb or in your heart; there's no difference. This miracle is just that...a MIRACLE. So please don't ever think that just because you haven't seen your cup of water suddenly turn into a glass of Merlot, or you haven't seen someone actually come back to life that you have not experienced or been witness to one of God's miracles. Chances are, you have. And so have I.

Miracle #1.......................................Miracle #2

Miracle #3......................................Miracle #4