Into Jesus

We recently started using days of the week magnets to organize our prayer cards on the fridge by region, relationship, etc. It has greatly helped us to be consistent in lifting our missionaries up by focusing on a few families/individuals each day. Maybe you are better about this than we are but we needed a plan.

Today (and every Monday) is Cory and Jena day. Jena is a wonderful friend of mine (what up, girl?!) who is serving in Uganda, Africa. And Cory is her wonderful, not-so baby brother serving as a Marine in Japan.

This was Isaiah's prayer for Cory today:

"God, please help Cory to get those boys involved in Jesus."

Involved in Jesus. The minute he said it I felt such conviction. (that's the last time I listen to my six year old pray -kidding) The phrased rolled over and over in my head. I thought Lord, we get involved in so many things. Wouldn't you agree? We get involved in church activities, and we get involved in Bible studies; we get our kids involved in sports, and we try to get ourselves and others involved in community and serving. And those things aren't bad. They aren't wrong. But my heart just sighed at the simplicity that seemed inherent in that statement. Simplicity and definitive purpose that I know my heart has been crying out for.

I want to be involved in Jesus.

Do I know exactly what that looks like? No, and I'm sure it's a little different for each of us. But at the very least I can figure out what Jesus was involved in which seemed to me to be love, truth, and people. More specifically, loving people into the truth and truthing people in love. (truth in it's verb form ;-))

Certainly that includes activity within the body of Christ and activity in community -not for mere busyness' sake but for the purpose of getting others involved in Jesus who get others involved in Jesus who get others...

What do you say? Wanna get involved?

What a Feeling

Yesterday was our "Vibrant" Women' s Conference. You know, the speaking thing I've been pooping, er, I mean, preparing for the past couple of months.

It was really amazing. It's so cool to see how God uses ladies from completely different backgrounds, completely different experiences, and completely different personalities to bring glory to Himself. Amid all the variations, Jesus Christ was the unifying factor.

I hesitated to post about it here because I don't want it to appear to be a lame attempt at fishing for compliments. People are incredibly gracious and the affirmation is wonderful in so much as it shows how faithful God is to equip us for what He asks us to do. But it's really not necessary. The truth is, without God taking control of the situation, as I clearly felt Him doing, I would've hit the stage, burst into tears, and then run for the bathroom. Grace and grace alone prevented such a freak show.

On the other hand, if you were there and you hated it, feel free to comment. I'd be happy to see what I need to work on in the event of future opportunities.

Some have asked how the passage (Mark 5) and story (the woman with the issue of blood) directly relates to my life. There are some very specific circumstances that I considered sharing in the conference but through the Holy Spirit, wise leadership, and Godly counsel decided to save it for another time. I didn't want anything to compete with who Jesus is in this amazing story. And I still don't.

But in general terms the part of this woman's story that captures me again and again is the call of Jesus to just get real. To trust Him with my whole story -even the less than the ideal pastor's wife moments. To own it all and give it back to Him.

I think sometimes we stifle God's ability to comfort us like our true Abba- Daddy because we work so hard to be self-soothers. We learn the pat answers, memorize the appropriate scriptures, and walk around quoting our hyper-spiritual anecdotes while we are raging with hurts, fears, and anger on the inside. And in the mean time, Jesus is standing there saying, "who touched me?" Or better yet, "Why did you tug on My robe if you've got it all figured out?"

But truth is truth, right Amie? Yes. And praise God it is unchanging. But the truth is meant to bring freedom. And I am thankful that God saw fit to share this woman's story with us; to show us that we can come out of hiding and bring all of our baggage to His feet, rest our chins in His hands, and then go in peace.

Tomorrow

I will be 34 tomorrow whether the sun comes up or not. I was thinking earlier about all the great things a 34 year old can do that a 33 year old can't. Yeah, there are none. And all the great places a 34 year old can go that a 33 year old can't. Nope. None of those either. So, what exactly is the point of turning 34? Just to mark the passage of time and orbits around the sun? I guess so. But I'm okay with that.

As Nathan was heading to bed tonight he sweetly said, "One more day of 33, Mom." He climbed in my lap, melted in like he's so good at doing, and wrapped his arms around me. "I'll never see my 33 year old Mom again" he mused. Tim and I laughed. What a funny little brain he has to put it in those terms. As I was still chuckling, I looked down and realized that he was crying. It was such a sad, funny, sweet moment. I said, "Nathan, you know that I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and be different than I was today, right?" He agreed and dried up the tears.

On the one hand, he made me feel really old -like he thinks turning 34 clearly means death is eminent. But on the other hand, I felt incredibly loved by a little boy who likes his Mamma and doesn't want her to change too much from one year to the next.

Here's hoping I don't wake up with two noses on my face. That'll really mess the kid up.

Anything You Can Do

...I can do better.

We don't have a lot of boy versus girl power struggles in our house. There are several reasons.

First, because our kids are under the influence of a somewhat strong-willed, slightly opinionated, and teensy bit stubborn alpha female. Secondly, because our kids are also under the influence of a very godly alpha male who loves said female very much and the two have spent years learning their prospective biblical roles despite the aforementioned traits of said female. They see Daddy open the car door for Mommy but they also know Mommy can open a pickle jar if she needs to. :)

Thirdly, because Mamoune has Haitian breeding on her side. She is strong. Very strong.

But just today, the kids (plus one of our adopted neighborhood kiddos) were playing video games. The girls were up and I must say, even I was a bit embarrassed by their performance. Mamoune spent most of the race with the words "WRONG WAY" flashing on the screen while Jayla had to repeat the same jump over and over and over with the same fatal result. It was inevitable that the boys would seize this opportunity to establish themselves atop the proverbial totem pole.

"Girls stink at this game!" "You don't even know how to ride a motorbike." "Ya'll are the slowest drivers ever!"

I would have smugly pointed out that it is completely illogical to equate a game with actual skill as a motorist and that neither of these two boy creatures has nor ever will acquire a license based on their PlayStation skill level. That's what I would've done. Mamoune chose to go a different direction altogether.

"Well, too bad boys don't even know how to paint their fingernails."

I decided not to share that on Celebrity Apprentice one of the Backstreet Boys actually did paint his fingernails. I hated to poke holes through Mamoune's uh, rock solid and completely rational argument. Plus, the boys may have seen this as a challenge and I'd rather not go there.

God Bless the USA

So, Tim and I watched a few minutes of the Miss USA pageant last night. I couldn't take it anymore when one of the ladies strutted across in her bathing suit and faux fur and racked up a disgraceful 7.64 in the compilation score that pops up in the corner of the screen. 7.64!!! Granted -you choose to submit yourself to the scrutiny of the judges and millions of audience/TV viewers when you go into the pageant system; but what bothered me was the thought that this girl is likely to watch video of the pageant and will see herself get the lowest swimsuit score (from what I saw) and then frantically start nipping, tucking, or sucking things to fix whatever blaring flaws the judges saw. Flaws that do not actually exist. SAD. Very sad -but not the point of the post. Just a side note -no charge! =)

This was the funny exchange I wanted to tell you about. Tim spent his first year of college in Anderson, Indiana. Last night when they introduced one of the contestants as Daisy Doodah from Anderson, Indiana I was like "hey Tim,did you hear that?" He said, "yeah, I don't know how I missed her up there." I started chuckling and responded with, "Uh, well, it could have been because she was only 12 when you were there." He was shaking his head and telling me to shut up before I could even get the whole sentence out. Oh, it still makes me giggle. Who knew getting old would be so much fun.

Don't Know Much

...thus the lack of consistent blogging. I'm sorry. Here are a couple of fun moments for you:


Yesterday, the kids and I were discussing random things and they asked what constitutes being a "toddler." I was trying to explain that it is usually the time when a child is walking but not always steadily, and getting into things -toddling around as it were. They were amazed to find out that they, too, had once gone through a toddler stage. And even more amazed to think that the adults in their life had shared this experience as well. They began filing through individuals and laughing at the mental image of them as toddlers. Then Nathan said, "Even Mrs. Teri was a toddler once."

For those who don't know, Teri is very close friend who stands at least a good head, maybe two, taller than...uh...Lucky the Leprechaun. Vertically challenged she is. So, I paused for a second and said, "I think Mrs. Teri's still in her toddler stage." The kids howled with laughter. Then Mamoune added quite sincerely, "You know Mom, she is always getting into things."

Teri -if you are reading; I'm sure she meant getting into things like the Word, and serving, and gardening. Good things like that. I'm sure that's what she meant. =)

Then the topic switched to the kids Wednesday night teacher. Nathan says that she is pregnant. Mamoune says "no way, her tummy's not even fat." Then Isaiah set us all straight. Is she pregnant?

Isaiah: NO! She is not! Her son plays baseball!!!

(looks of confusion passing between me and the other two children)

Me: What does Dalton playing baseball have to do with her being pregnant?

Isaiah: Because nobody would take a brand new baby to a baseball game. duh!

Well, there you go.

Sound of Silence

You've been listening to the sound of silence for several days. I'd like to tell you that I am now breaking that silence to bring you insightful pontifications and musings of the profound sort. I'd like to tell you that.

Instead, what I have for you are miscellaneous ramblings, silliness, and newsy updates. I can sense your excitement.

Rambling: Tim and I were standing in the doorway waving goodbye to Ben and Shelby McRoy (who do not read this blog- - not sure why we let them in our house). We were experiencing some mild thunderstorms and there was an occasional flash of lightning, during which I would lean backward into the house and out of the doorway. It was a sub-conscious reaction more than anything but I couldn't help laughing when Tim looked at me with a skeptical, raised eyebrow and said, "you don't really think that's going to keep you from being struck by lightning, do you?" If nothing else, I figure it left Tim sticking a good 12 inches farther out than me, creating the (perhaps slim) possibility of him being struck first. I'm not anticipating that this maneuver will be making into any weather safety manuals.

Silliness: Nathan and I had a snuggle session this morning and he took the opportunity to ask me some of his deepest and most thought provoking questions. For example: "Mom, does the hair on my head grow out of my brain?" (Clearly we have gaps in our homeschooling) I gave him a deeply scientific answer... "No son. On top of your brain is your skull and on top of that is fat and tissue, and then skin. And you have these things called follicles that are like millions of little seeds in your skin that grow hair." He started slapping himself in the head wildly and yelling, "I don't want seeds in my head!!" Here's how a professional mom handles panic like this:
"okay, dude, but no seeds -no hair. Just ask Daddy." Turns out hair seeds are not so bad after all.

Newsy update: I am spending much time preparing for an upcoming women's conference. I will be speaking and I have to tell you that it's a little disconcerting to see my name (via pamphlets) taped on the backs of the bathroom stall doors at church. (Especially without my phone number included. ;-)) I get very nervous. Just typing out my notes sends me to the toilet multiple times. By April 19th my colon should be clean as a whistle. Speaking opportunities are something that I love --about 30 minutes after they are over. Up to that point, I am a bundle of nerves and stomach cramps who is incapable of even standing up straight apart from God holding me up. I know He does this on purpose as part of my humility training. I accept it. He is God. I am not. It's the best arrangement. I covet your prayers.

Bye Bye Love

Here is Bella showing off some of her new skills. Enjoy.

The Eye of the Tiger

So, Mamoune and I went to the eye doctor on Thursday. I reluctantly scheduled the appointment after getting hit in the eye with a basketball cone (don't ask) two months ago and continuing to have pain from that injury.

It has been YEARS since I had an eye exam. Many years. I am a wimp. Plus I have good vision and in my book, if it ain't broke don't fix it. But there was evidence that something might be broken. I went. Lectures are not necessary.

It was everything I hate about going to the doctor. The people who put horrible, nasty, burning, blinding drops in my eyes and then poked weird contraptions into them while telling me to fight the urge to blink (okay, but tell me what to do with this overwhelming urge to punch you in the head!!!) were nice enough. They even seemed cheerful as they led me back to the torture chamber, er, I mean examination room. Maybe too cheerful. hmmmmm.

The good news is my eye is okay. I most likely scratched the cornea and it's just very sensitive, especially in the morning when my eyes are dry. A few drops when needed and I'm good to go. Also, I have 20-20 vision and barring another cone to the eye, shouldn't need to endure the horror for another four years.


The bad news was I looked like this when we left the office. Seriously, all pupil -no iris. When they put the dilating drops in they told me that objects within two feet may become a little fuzzy. Two feet? Right. Try two miles. I had to ask Mamoune whether I was actually signing my name on the credit card slip or not. I could've been signing the desk for all I knew.


I asked the nurse if the entire room being a blur or the slight headache that was developing were normal. She informed me that "sometimes people with light colored eyes can be especially sensitive." Good to know...after the fact. I expressed my concern over driving home and she responded with a less than sympathetic "yah." Excuse me, but I can't tell how many knobs are on that door across the room and I'm about to take my and my daughter's life into my own hands while driving home some twenty minutes away. Do you have any thoughts about that? "yah."

Mamoune's eyes were dilated as well so, it was literally the blind leading the blind. In retrospect, I should've called Tim. Driving was dumb. But we prayed for light traffic and God was incredibly faithful. We got all the way down Capital Blvd and I only hit the brakes twice (traffic lights included). Those who live in this area know that is a miracle! And we finally made it home donning our super cool cardboard sunglasses. I wore them proudly. I had no choice -every ray of sunshine brought me to tears. Hours later, like eight hours later, my iris' reappeared and my pupils shrank to their natural size.

Now I know why vampires don't have day jobs.

Only You

...could make up such funny, unusual, and just plain silly idioms. I'm so proud of all of you for trying (in some cases, obsessing). It was fun watching the comments roll in slowly but surely. We even had a few emailed in.



You all did great but as you know there can only be one winner. Actually there could be more than that but we are too cheap to offer more than one prize. And so, without further ado, congratulations to:

THE OTHER AMY!!!!

For her sage advice to "Let sleeping dogs make their own bed and lie in it." It was cute, both parts were true idioms, and it had great flow.

Way to go, Amy! You can email me at amiefamie@embarqmail.com with your address and your $10 gift card will be on its way. May I suggest the Scholastic Dictionary of Idioms. =)

Had their been a second place prize it would have most likely gone to John Mills who also masterfully intertwined two idioms into one clear flowing thought. Sorry, John -no gift card. Just our admiration.

And I must give out a few honourable mentions:

Troy Livesay -just for your willingness to stop caring for and serving the people of Haiti in order to participate in our little game. And for keeping your wife happy. We like her that way.

Nancy -for your diligence and for challenging us all with imagery of our grandma's sucking eggs up their noses.

And Patsy (my mother-in-law, fyi) -for telling us that you love us and condemning us to hell in the same blog post. Nicely done. ;o)

You guys are great. And you're all winners in our book.

In closing: Don't bite off more than an apple a day doesn't fall far from barking up the wrong tree. I think you know what I mean by that.

:oD