can't stand it anymore

Ahhh. Thank you Bare Esscentuals!!

ain't too proud to post

This is reality, sisters. I recently posted some photos on facebook of my family and I. I was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed by people's responses... It's as if they think I actually LOOK like I do in the pictures ALL the time....So I decided it was time for a deep conditioning treatment.



Yes, that is saran wrap. Yes, that is a tray of cookies that I devoured the night before. Yes, that is my laundry stacked to heaven. Yes, I do need a quiet time, and that is my Bible. Yes, I am wearing an old Carolina tee-shirt belonging to my husband. Yes, I just posted this picture on the internet.

Hoping the truth sets me free...

the precious

Someone please tell me why I am so close to dropping $20 on a rubber giraffe named Sophie? I read the entire description on the back of the package while browsing at Nordstrom's tonight. I promptly returned home and looked it up on diapers.com. Something in me, my flesh no doubt, is calling me to purchase this stupid toy for my darling baby boy. What is it about this thing??!!

Have any of you internets purchased her?? If so, was your child mesmerized and happy for hours??




Vulli Sophie the Giraffe Teether in Natural Rubber (Sophie La Girafe)
Once Upon a time, a simple story….
The Little giraffe was born on the 25th of May in the year 1961… St Sophie’s day! In those days, the only animal toys available were farm animal or pet figures.. That is why one day in France, a certain Monsieur RAMPEAU, who was an expert in transforming sap from the HEVEA tree using the rotational moulding of rubber as a toy-making concept, came up with the idea of designing a giraffe. Such an exotic wildlife figure would be a first on the market, and its size and shape would be ideal for a baby’s small hands to grasp. SOPHIE is still “traditionally” produced to this day, a process that involves more than 14 manual operations. She is made from 100% natural rubber derived from the sap of the Hevea Tree.


I'm sooo getting it.

HELP!

I've messed up my blog, ya'll. This is why I have never attempted to design anything on here before. This looks terrible and I don't know how to fix it. ERRR!!

i lost it

I have laryngitis and sound like a man. Initially, I was thankful. Being the justice minded person I am, I was pleased that there was an outward validation of the inner yuck I had been feeling for a few days. Whenever I'm sick, which is soo rare, I always get the sense that Mark thinks I'm faking it just to be dramatic. I'm not being dramatic. I DO sound like a man. I DO have laryngitis and EVERYONE knows it.

Friday night Mark and I went out on a date. I did not shower for the day until 6:30pm. I can't believe that I used to START getting ready to "go out" in college around 9pm. What on earth?! We went to Mike's, which never disappoints. We didn't call ahead, and I was shocked how many night owls were out to dinner at 8:00 on a Friday night. It seriously felt like the middle of the night to me. We shared two amazing margaritas and spin dip at the bar while we waited for our table. Grilled salmon, garlic mash, filet, loaded baker, chop house salad with bacon, and deep dish apple pie. Every bite was a springboard to praise.

A gigantic stink bug is whirling around my kitchen right now. He is a stow away from Crozet. We were infested with them. They loved the sunny windows and would cling to the curtains in our master bedroom. They will dive bomb in the night and awaken you from a sound slumber. AND, evidently, they can survive weeks wrapped in a plastic bag and a trip through the gentle cycle. I'm not kidding. Two of these remarkable bugs made it from my curtains, wrapped into a glad garbage bag, into a truck, through the snow, to my pantry here, into the washing machine, and came out ALIVE. I wouldn't believe it unless I saw it with my own two eyes. UNREAL.

Exhibit A:

makes me laugh

I have re-read my own posts now for far too many days. I really need to write something new. While I'm at it, I thought I'd tell you that I keep making myself laugh over that picture of Angela Lansbury. I mean seriously. How ridiculous is that picture?! And of all the pictures on the web, I choose that one. The randomness of it makes me laugh every time. It's probably tacky to comment on your own posts like this. Oh well. It's my blog after-all.

perfect love

Perhaps you can relate. Mostly in my subconscious I reason that I would "respond better" if I was loved better. We women are reactors after all. The provocation dictates the demonstration. Surely, if ______ understood me deeply, appreciated me throughly, delighted in my heart, pursued intimacy, pateintly waited on me, made me laugh, knew when I wanted to be alone, rightly and romantically discerned my non-verbals, on and on...THEN I would respond with radical respect and unequivocal love. Of course I would. Of course you would. Right?

WRONG.

In fact. I didn't. In fact, often, I don't.

The truth is, I have been loved well. Without failing, without wavering, unending, forever, perfect love. His affections are never off. He always says the right thing, does the right thing. He knows all the non-verbals. He patiently asks for an outpouring of my heart. He suffers with me. Knows every inclination, hope, dream, and delight. There could be no more perfect love than His. So the question is, in light of His love, do I respond with consistent and reciprocal adoration? Do you?

My right responses are NOT, in fact, contingent upon the success of ____ to love me. Therefore, my demonstration of love to ____ should never be beholden to _____. I cannot wait on, or count on ___ to love me well. Instead, I must draw on the reality that I am, I was and I will be loved well. Loved perfectly. And that reality should so humble me that it causes an overflow of love to ____.

So when I am having a bad attitude, I have no one to blame but myself. I am not justified in being a brat because ____ was such a jerk. And yet, I cannot fix my bad attitude myself either. I can ONLY throw myself on the free grace of God and ask Him to transform my heart, mind, and attitude so that I can extend love no matter the climate. He gets the glory, I get the Gospel.

"But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ- by grace you have been saved-and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immesurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not of your own doing; it is the gift of God, not the result of works, so that no one may boast."

Ephesians 2: 4-9

bed knobs and broomsticks

The post title really has nothing to do with this post, other than the word knob, and the fact that I love an old Angela Lansbury flick just about as much as I love my door knobs.

Here are some items that I give God praise for.




delightful pine floors








Knobs



A fenced back yard!





Covered front and back porches and an old fashioned mail slot.



Wainscoting!





Old nooks and built-ins.



Wood burning fireplace.



This was my grandmothers piano that I am refinishing. It was pale pink before. No worries.



Kitchen island. Joy.




And there is Angela. Why not?

the power of words

Mark and I have been intently reading Timothy Keller's church planting manual. Among many helpful topics he writes about loving the city to which you are called. We have been praying that God would give us a deep love for the people and the city of Arlington. A huge part of loving the people and the city is speaking well of them. God's words are omnipotent, and because we are made is His image, our words are potent. What we say about people and places matters. We are therefore intentionally, actively, speaking statements of blessing over the people in Arlington.

Examples...
Fail: People in Arlington are workaholics.
Blessing: People in Arlington are committed and driven. They are focused and successful in their jobs.

Fail: People in Arlington are overly concerned with appearances.
Blessing: People in Arlington have an eye for aesthetics and appreciate beautiful things.

Fail: People in Arlington are intellectual elitists.
Blessing: People in Arlington welcome an intellectual challenge. They are bright and insightful.

The later statements could be followed up with.... and they love Jesus with all their hearts, souls, and minds. The blessing statements are redeemed versions of the fail statements. It is not sinful to be successful. It is not sinful to appreciate beauty. It is not sinful to be smart. It is only when what we do, what we see, and what we think about terminates on self or stuff and not Savior that it becomes sinful.

just buzz it

I buzzed John's hair with "Whal" brand trimmers purchased from Walmart. Admitedly, it is a bit too buzzed. I'm just thankful that we don't have to go through the Billy Ray stage with him. Poor Grace.

I just ate two refrigerated pre-made dough balls and I'm thinking about going back for the last two. Anyone else do that?

I have been dreaming in paint swatches. The owner of the bungalow (we are renting) has given us permission to paint and be reimbursed for it. The extra measure of grace allowance has caused me to make lazy errors in color selection. Do not trust those Poverty Barn palettes. Shaker Beige is really another word for Mauve. Thankfully, after downloading all manner of Adobe applications and watching online tutorials and product demos and design tips, I finally felt renewed confidence enough to go monochromatic. Crown Point Sand, Fairview Taupe, and North Hampton Putty. I love the word putty. Anyone?

Our old media cabinet is now tucked into the mudroom. The rack made it.


That is seriously all I've got.

Angel Coming

Our sweet neighbor from the Knoll, a former nurse, gave Gracie this book for Christmas. Immediately when I opened it I was touched because the little girl looks just like Grace. She told us that the book was about a little girl who got a little brother.

In the quiet narrative, a young girl awaits the arrival of a new sibling. The lyrical text reads like poetry: "Mama says an angel is coming, coming clear up the mountain, riding clear up Lonesome Creek, a tiny babe tucked in her saddlebag, a tiny babe tucked safe and warm." Attractive, realistic acrylic paintings show the family's preparations as Pap takes the handmade cradle out of storage and Mam washes tiny garments that once belonged to the narrator. Glimpses of life in the hills include a quilting bee with all of the aunties and storytelling by the fireplace. In the end, though she hoped for a sister, the girl readily accepts her little brother, declaring, "Can't help but love him just the same." An appended author's note gives a brief history of Mary Breckinridge and the Frontier Nursing Service, describing the nurse-midwives who traveled into rugged terrain to serve families that otherwise went untended. It also explains that many young Kentuckians believed that babies arrived in the saddlebag of one of these "angel[s] on horseback."

When we got in the car to drive away from home the emotion came. God allowed me a precious moment of taking it all in. To date, the four years we spent at the Knoll were the most difficult of our lives. Contained within, various seasons were intertwined to compile one big character sifter. God knew that there were things in us that needed to go. He graciously ordained a myriad of trails, not the least of which was a two and half year wait for another little babe to fill our quiver. One of the hardest things about that time was the ache that we felt for Gracie. We so wanted her to experience the joy of having a little brother or sister. She didn't know. Sweet as she is, she played by herself so many days as Mark and I, and our sweet neighbor across the yard, looked on. Like the book summary says, "in the impressionistic acrylics, children run barefoot and the small house is spare, but abundant riches derive from the warm, close-knit neighbors who work and dance together."

Abundant riches indeed. I'm so grateful for all that we went through while living at the Knoll. An Angel, a Servant, riding on horseback, crossing rugged terrain, to a family otherwise unattended, brought us a baby. At last. He is so generous, isn't He? He even provided the saddlebag from Petunia Pickle Bottom. Glory. Then, at just the right time, God danced us along out of there. Broken, but better. Wonderfully wounded. And a perfectly intact family of four.

Thank you, Myra for the book. We will miss you so!