From a Distance

Sorry to leave you all hanging for so long. My grandmother took a turn for the worse and we made an unexpected trip to Atlanta. I am posting from my parents house just to give you a quick update. On Saturday night, it seemed she wouldn't be with us much longer at all. It's Tuesday and she is still here. If there is no change today or through the night, we will head back home.

She has been coherent most of our visit though she sleeps alot. It's great to have this time with her! Continue to pray for our family as we are all juggling schedules and trying to "plan" around something none of us can control. Pray for wisdom and discernment. I'll keep you updated as much as possible.

Sweet Child O' Mine

It's official!

Isabella's adoption is finalized! I'll be taking copies of this document to my good friend Dr. Theraflu. PER ADOPTIVE MOM -no more! Which leads me to interject a solemn note: Judi is no longer with us. A moment of silence please.



Okay, we're over it!

Bella on the other hand is with us to stay! Woot, woot.

Nathan and Isaiah said, "Wow, Bella. You're really our sister now!" and Mamoune said, "Dad, look we got a gold star!"

That's right people. We are a gold star family. Not silver, not bronze ---gold, baby! oh yeah. ;-)

Our House

Maybe I've never pointed this out before (or maybe I have) but we live in a trailer. A mobile home if you want to dress it up a bit or if you are hillbilly ghetto like us...it's a tray-lah. I'm not ashamed of this and it turns out that seven percent of the US population lives in trailers. (according to the 2004 Population and Housing Narrative Profile.)

But I do sometimes forget that not everyone has the same appreciation for these homes built from the finest toothpick construction you've ever seen. While at a birthday party today I was introducing myself to a few ladies and one of them (who recognized me from the local park) asked where I live. I'll be the first to admit that my answer isn't usually what people are expecting. Do you know where the projects are? Instantly two of the three's eyes widened with a look of "Do we have those in our town? Oh my gosh." It only got worse as I continued with: "We're about one block in. In a double wide." Dead Silence. Followed slowly by obligatory head nodding.

Clearly, neither of these girls would have been caught dead in a trailer. Not even if a tornado picked it up and landed it smack on her head, which is quite possible. I politely excused myself from the sudden and uncomfortable lack of conversation. Go figure. Fortunately, several families from our old (and foundation secured) 'hood were there and offered a way of escape.

So, if this is new info for any of you and it shatters your image of me (whatever is left after that last post) ...I'm sorry. We love our trailer. No, that's not it. We love our home! And trust God not to let it get carried off by strong winds. :0)

Just As I Am

Just as I am. Let's see according to the songwriter this meant: utterly hopeless -without one plea, darkly blotted in our souls, tossed about, conflicted, doubtful, frightful, fight-ful, poor, wretched, and blind. yikes. Yet we believe that our Savior, Jesus Christ, meets us in that wretched state and by His abounding mercy and love draws us to Himself "just as I am."

Amazing, isn't it? But then somewhere along the way, thanks to our "maturing" in our walk we decide that this same God who met us just as we were can no longer handle us just as we are. We start believing that we Christians are supposed to be dignified in our pain. Then, if by some horrible loss of our witness, we respond to devastation by throwing ourselves down and pitching a royal fit, we quickly shroud ourselves with guilt; making excuses to God and apologies to others.

And if we don't immediately plunge into the sea of self-guilt, it's not long before some pious Christian brother or sister -usually some legalistic nitwit who's only half way down their check list for earning (or keeping) their salvation; only half way because they just can't get past that "stop sinning" box - gazes down on us through piteous eyes, shaking their heads, and sucking their teeth...for shame, for shame, for shame.

I'm going to say something right now that might get me in a lot of trouble...hesitating... hesitating...gonna say it anyway. If you haven't bitched God out for something that was beyond your ability to understand and that shook you to the core of who you are in the past year or two of life, you may as well go and plant your fake, plastic behind in a department store window. You are a mannequin. A hollow imitation of humanity. And what's worse -you are the only one who is convinced by the mask you wear. Like some poor sap who doesn't know his toupee is on backwards.

I've seen too many instances recently of Godly people who are truly wounded by life, sin, or circumstance who just need permission to feel something less than super spiritual.

God tells us to cast our cares on Him because He cares about us. This makes me think of my children. Sometimes they come to me with quiet words expressing a fear or concern. But suppose one of them falls off a bike and finds themself sliding spread eagle down the pavement. How do they come to me then? Are you kidding me? In legs pumping, arms flailing every which a way, screaming their lungs out, body writhing agony. And I can say with a soft, soothing voice "baby, it's gonna be okay." At which point they will yell back at me "BUT IT HURTS!!!!"

Now, I could look at them and say "well, if you were a slightly more mature eight year old you would be handling this with more dignity." Of course, if they drag it out for six years and are clearly wallowing in the mud of self-pity I'll certainly give them the "buck up camper" speech. But I don't expect my child to stoically swallow legitimate hurts and I don't think God expects that from us either.

I have a song in the wings that will hopefully be ready for intro soon (at least to our church family crowd). One of the verses deals with this very thing:

"You are faithful when I am faithless,
You are strongest when I am weak.
You are mercy when I'm blinded by anger
I throw my fists in Your face, You gently lay me at Your feet.
You are faithful. You alone are faithful."
Copyright 2007

Let's take off the mask and get real with God and each other. You have my permission. ;-)

I Can't Drive 55

...but I can post 55 concurrent song titles! That's right -this is post #55 and yes, I have been sitting on that song until just this moment.

For those of you who thought I was insane, you'll be relieved to know that the ongoing stroll down musical memory lane was completely intentional. I was challenged back in December by Ron Millender to see just how long I could keep it up. Three months and 55 posts later -here we are. I have a personal goal of 100 but seriously, it's not as easy as you might think so don't hold me to it. Especially since I try to use songs that I know instead of downloading lists of every song written in the past twenty years. It may come to that but not yet.

Here are my post 55 thoughts. I think that today it became clear why Tim and I have had such a hard time letting go of our little beach trip. (You've noticed that, eh?) As I sat this morning holding the again feverish Bella, trying to figure out how to get three other children cleaned, greased, styled, dressed, and ready for church while managing my little cling-on, and discussing with Tim when or how he could come and get them so that Bella and I can stay home and not infect the rest of the world with whatever she has...it hit me. It's all about the hats.

At the beach, I only had to wear one hat (not counting the literal sunhat) -the wife hat. For three days I was a wife. Just a wife. And with that kind of limited focus, I can tell you, I was a dang good wife! And let's be real, it's a very rewarding job.

Back here in reality, I am a wife, pastor's wife, mom, friend, teacher, disciplinarian, chef, doctor, etc, etc, etc. You all know just what I'm saying 'cause you live it, too. Lots of different hats. And the same is true for Tim as well. "Beach Tim" was a husband. "Reality Tim" is a father, pastor, friend, accountability partner, counselor, administrator, etc, etc, etc. It's no wonder we find ourselves looking at each other and thinking who are you? The real question is more like which hat(s) are you wearing right now? If we happen to be wearing complimentary hats (husband/wife, Dad/Mom, Pastor/pastor's wife) life moves along fairly smoothly. It's those days when we find ourselves wearing different hats that conflict finds it's best feeding ground.

This morning for example: I was wearing my need to bathe four children, give constant instruction to three, home school two, while medicating and comforting one MOM hat. Tim was wearing his DAD hat under his need to get to church, staff meeting, 4:00 appointment, visitation tonight PASTOR hat.

The Dad hat prompted him to make this offer on the way out the door:

"If you need me to come home and do something just let me know."

My Mom hat replied immediately:

"I need you to come home and do something."

His Pastor hat stared at me with a pitiful how do I get out of this look.

See the potential for conflict? Fortunately, we didn't fight. My Mom hat whispered in my ear, Suck it up, babe. At least now you have an excuse for wearing your pajamas all day.

So, the next time you feel trouble with your mate bubbling under the surface, stop for a second and think about the hats you are wearing. And ladies, never forget: a good mom hat is the perfect accessory to any pj's.

Danger Zone

I talked to my mom a few minutes ago and got an update on Mamabel. They seem to have been able to regulate her blood pressure but still no indication of what caused the rise in the first place and nothing on the MRI to explain the incoherence. As of this morning, she was beginning to chatter mindlessly again but not quite so bad as before. They plan to switch out a few more medicines and see what happens but have discussed the possibility of discharging her late this afternoon. We'll see.

Mom asked what the crew was up to and I gave her the low down on our day thus far. I had one in bed napping because she has a fever -Bella; one on the couch napping because he had a fever for two days and is tired and moody as shown by his mean treatment of anyone who breathes -Nathan; one in the bed napping because he is apparently to tired to tell the truth and needs to reset his brain -Isaiah; and one sitting at the table waiting for me to start home school -Mamoune. Yes, it was barely 11 in the morning and three of the four were confined to their beds. What a day!

We wrapped up the phone call and said our usual goodbyes but then just before hanging up she said "ok, be careful." I hung up the phone chuckling. Be careful of what? Parenting? The ultimate danger zone. Do they make safety goggles for this job? I took a moment to imagine all of the possible meanings of this and here's what I've got:

Maybe she meant "be careful" because the kids are planning a coup. What did Mamoune tell her in that 45 second conversation?

Maybe she meant "be careful" that you don't kill the children no matter how ornery and grumpy they are.

Maybe she meant "be careful" because someday YOU will be the one in the hospital and they will be in charge of the care you receive.

OR maybe just maybe she meant that Tim and I should go back to Ocean Isle for another week or two and we should "be careful" on our way there. Clearly, we have a winner! Mother knows best, right?

It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over

Thank you all for your prayers. Here's the scoop:

My dad is feeling much better and was at the hospital when I called a few minutes ago. Good news. Even better, Mamabell was sitting in a chair and is no longer talking to the dearly departed. :-) Not sure what it all means but they have changed some of her medications and think it could be as simple as that. I have no intentions of putting God in a "she's healed and nothing can go wrong now" box but I do intend to be thankful for any amount of time we've been given.

After attempting to talk to her two days ago, only to meet confusion and no recognition whatsoever, I spoke with her just now and the difference was night and day. She knew me and asked about the kids and thanked us for praying for her.

So...just continue to pray that they haven't missed anything and that she won't be too disappointed to have to hang with us a bit longer.

Much love and gratitude to all of you!

I Say a Little Prayer (for you)

Hi blog family! I just need to make a quick post and ask for your prayers. My Mamabell (my grandmother who I've mentioned here before and whose story many of you have read here) is in the hospital. She went in last night with incredibly high blood pressure and hallucinations. The first round of MRI/CTscans didn't reveal an explanation so she will have a repeat of those tomorrow. She is 89 years old and has always had a sharp mind even as her body has deteriorated so, my parents were immediately concerned when she began saying things that made no sense and talking to people who aren't in the room. One of the most bizarre comments she's making is that she can hear a men's quartet singing. She can't understand their words but it's "the most beautiful singing" she's ever heard. sigh. Here is what I know:

1. I know that my grandmother is a believer and that she is ready and has no fear of meeting Jesus face-to-face.

2. I know that she has in some ways longed to go "home" ever since my grandfather's passing. She has many loved ones and a baby girl waiting to welcome her into her Father's presence.

3. I know that I am not ready to let go of her.

We are currently in that horrible position of waiting to see if and when we will need to travel to Atlanta. I selfishly want to see her again if the end is near. But I have every confidence that she knows just how much I love her and that I have to trust God's timing. He has every right to take her when He chooses or to heal her if He chooses. I don't have to like it and don't have to understand it. Sometimes humanity sucks that way.

Would you please pray for clear direction and for an accurate diagnosis/prognosis? Would you especially lift up my Dad? He is suffering from a nasty bout with the flu and is not able to be at the hospital with her. He and my mom have lived with her since Papaw died and this is a very frustrating scenario for him.

Thanks guys! I'll update you as I can.

Somebody's Watching Me

I want to begin this post by stating in no uncertain terms that I undeniably, irrefutably, unequivocally, and wholeheartedly LOVE my children! I really do. That might not always come across in the blogosphere but that isn't because it's untrue -only because I am not a very sappy, mushy mom and I enjoy writing about the goofy, insane things they do versus the sweet, tender moments. You'll get a few of those but clearly not a majority.



I'm fairly convinced that if they had blogs of their own, I woud have a huge target on my back and you would hear plenty about my idiosyncrasies and annoying habits. Fortunately, they don't have blogs. I do. And so, having assured you of my genuine affection for them, I will now continue to jank on the little tyrants. =)



Do you all remember the title song? Particularly this line...

"When I'm in the shower, I'm afraid to wash my hair

I might open my eyes and find someone standing there."

Welcome to my world. I took a shower yesterday. I try to accomplish this every 2-3 days on a good week. You might think that taking a shower would yeild a precious few minutes of seclusion and privacy. Think again. In 20 minutes of shower time, my children came into the bathroom not once, not twice, but FIVE times! For the mathematically challenged: that's one interruption every FOUR STINKIN' minutes. Of course, they were needing help with life and death circumstances like -Can I have my FunDip from the fridge? followed by Why does Nathan get candy if we don't? followed by Nathan gave Mamoune candy and I don't have anything! followed by, you get the picture. I...am...taking...a...shower!! Get out and stay out!

I don't think they realize the danger these episodes put them in. Not physical danger so much but emotional. I had already decided that the next kid who walked through the bathroom door would be forever traumatized because I was going to come out of that shower in a naked rage and flush the toilet on their head. You can choose for yourself which of those things would require years of therapy to overcome. :o) Lucky for them, the fevered pitch of my final threat must of have been enough. The last two minutes of my shower were peaceful.

Interjection: Mamoune just came to me and announced that she is here to audition for American Idol. (She loves this game! Even more than Opposite Day.) She has two church stickers on her stomach and introduced herself as Mamoune Isaiah Sexton Sexton. Not sure how that will all fit on her debut CD. I played along (because I am fun) and said, "what are you going to sing for me today?" She decided on an original song. I wish I had a recording but here was the gist of the lyric:

When I am sweet it makes you smile.

But when I am bad and cruel it makes you have wrinkles on your forehead.

AHA! You thought I was exagerating about that Mommy scowl but even the kids recognize it. Mamoune is the first and only so far to take full responsibility for it. With such an astute observation, I naturally put her through to Hollywood. (insert jumping and high-pitched girl screams here.)

Say, Say, Say

Here are some random conversations and happenings at the Sexton house:



While I was trying (hurriedly) to get ready to run a quick errand yesterday, Mamoune confiscated my make-up bag. I told her to give it back to me. She said, "Mom, you have to say the opposite. It's opposite day." I remembered this silly little game from childhood. I thought it was fun then. It is not. I didn't really want to play and as I said, I was in a hurry. I decided to play and not play all at the same time. "Mamoune, if you do not give me the make-up bag, I am going to twist your head in the opposite direction of your body." She accused me of being "no fun." I have no idea what she's talking about. I am so fun.





The photo to the left is a decorative "thing" we have in our house. We've had it for a year or longer. For some reason Nathan chose yesterday to finally reveal his true feelings about it. Out of nowhere he says, "Mom, I just don't get this thing. I don't think it's appropriate for the room." Appropriate for the room? He's eight. He's a boy. Yet, I found myself needing to defend my style choice to him. "Well, I was actually planning on painting the twigs dark brown." He was unswayed. "Yeah, Mom, I realize that brown is your favorite color but I still don't get it." I'll let you know when he has his own HGTV show.





Bella is consistently saying what I would consider to be her first word (not counting the mamamama, dadadadada nonsense that some parents claim. She's the fourth kid. We expect way more out of her.) The word is "esh." Isn't that sweet? Well, if you could hear it, you would melt. Especially when she waddles up to the couch and you ask if she wants to climb up and she says "esh." MEANING: Yes, for any who haven't figured it out yet. Cut her some slack--it's the best she can do with only two bottom teeth. She jabbers like crazy and mimics lots of things but this is the only one that seems to be used in the correct context every time.




Tim and I are working hard to extend our dreamy vacation into real life. We hug a little longer before he leaves for work and kiss a little longer when he gets home. The kids pretend to be totally grossed out by us. We pretend to be a childless couple in our twenties. ;-)

Hope you are all having a great week!