The talk

We finally buckled down and gave "The Talk". You know which one I mean, right? THAT ONE TALK? The one where we explain to our son that part of a daddy and part of a mommy is needed to make a baby?

Yep, THAT one. I wish I had some advice for all of you yet to have to experience this. I can say, we had planned it out. There was to be no awkwardness, no embarrassment. And then it all went to pot as mommy died of embarrassment. I'm quite literally dead from having to talk about the birds and the bees.

I don't know how the end of THE TALK went. I got all the way to the part where something goes somewhere and I ran out of the room. Daddy had to finish. I don;t know how it went. I didn't ask. I am assuming that Dustan told the boy all kinds of crazy stuff.

It would have been far easier to just show him this video

(Thank Val)

A wedding, A trip, and a one room home.

We are still alive. I thought I had better post and let everyone know, just in case you thought we might have croaked. Sometimes we have wanted to, but we are still hopping around.

Lindsey married Nick, and is now a Greenfield. I played at photographer. These two are my favorites. I tried to take the pictures in a story form, and since I succeeded, I am naming the story- "And the Bride was Sassy". Almost every picture was full of attitude.



Right after the wedding, we took a two week trip to Ohio where we had the opportunity to stay with my mom and dad as well as to speak at two churches. I also gave the worst speech of my life, and will never live it down. Really. Dustan won't ever let me live it down. Fortunately I have a great since of humor, and though I am mortified at speaking FAR too long, and saying such ridiculous things as "The dirt was REAL dirt- not fake dirt..." (don't ask)... I can still laugh. We all have to have an off day. Right?

Anyhow, I was also able to spend some much needed time with my sister, nieces, and nephew. Danny taught me how to play Zelda, and I stole his DS for two weeks. I almost put it in my bag and took it home with me. But, I left it there and am hinting around that I have a birthday coming up. hint, hint.
Karist

Ellianna (Or Ellie-monster)

Danny-boy

Devonae

And, now, we have arrived back at home. A place that is not ours, but is still becoming home. It's a place to lie our heads at night, to share in good (meatless) foods, and a place to make good memories with good friends. I have been busy carving out a spot I can call home and I will bring back some pictures soon. I also want to share a great recipe for Gluten Free peanut butter cookies.

Homeless

Toasty Toes Mansion is closed. (bawl). THe kids and I are leaving so that all the work we have done to get the house ready to sell does not get undone.

We have a couple of thing left to do, but not with the kids- so we have packed our bags and left. Daddy gets to stay, because, in the words of the kids, "Daddy can keep things tidy". And he can. His mama raised him well. However, he is relegated to one bedroom (not the mater), and one bathroom (also not the master).

We will be traveling around here and there quite a bit. We are currently looking for churches and groups of people we can connect with who might support our families mission to Ecuador, so if you know of one of those- hook us up!

I'll keep posting here and there, keeping you updated on the latest happenings, and maybe sharing a recipe cooked in another kitchen, a garment sewn in another home, and hilarious antics of children that are displayed in front of other families...

Ten (again)

Ten things I will miss when I move to Ecuador: (in random order)

1. My dog. I will really miss my Heidi-girl. I would take her with us, but she has a bad knee and it would be rough on her to have to live in the mountains.

2. Fall leaves. Can I even survive without a Fall season?

3. A Bathtub. I take at least one bath every single day. Ecuador has showers. No tubs. I am going to DIE.

4. Camping every year with my favorite peeps. I bet I can fit one more trip in before I leave, but I know that soon- they will be camping without me.

5. Dr. Pepper.

6. Access to good books, written in English.

7. English.

8. Tara. Can't write more. My vision is blurry.

9. My house/home/place I live right now.

10. My king sized bed. Ecuadorians are small people and King sized mattresses have to be custom made. Which is for rich people. Which will not be what I am.


I because I left you all hanging for so long in great anticipation of my next random TEN- here is another:

Ten random things I will NOT miss:

1. Slush/Freezing rain

2. Starbucks

3. Cookie Cutter Subdivisions (and being greatly annoyed everytime I see fields being turned into yet ANOTHER one)

4. Feeling purposeless

5. Having to drive everywhere I want to go.

6. Bananas (cause there will be an abundance there)

7. Constant ringing of my telephone

8. Mega sized grocery stores

9. Dentists (I might regret this one)

10. People burning Fall leaves

And now, I tag ten of you to fill my my big head with lots of love. Tell me ten things you will miss about me when I leave you here to deal with freezing rain and urban sprawl without me.

Four down from Ten

Ten random adjectives that start with P:

1. Putrid

2. persimmony (I can make up a word. Afterall, I made up the game)

3. Pleasant

4. Precarious

4. Pretty

5. Precocious

6. Periwinkle

7. Plausible

8. Plodding

9. poor

10. Pooped-out

I randomly assign the following ten following letters to ten random friends.
Gwen- H
Renee- K
Tara- X
Carrie- L
Devon- B
Dawn- F
Random friend number - A
Stacey- C
Sarah (from the Sarah and Jack fame) -S
Sarah (the artsy fartsy colorful lady with the singing husband)- Q (and I think she can handle it)

10.3 (and not the one I promised)

Ten Random thoughts that are rolling around in my brain.

1. I am done.

2. Finished.

3. So very done.

4. I am NOT kidding

5. If I were a cake, and you stuck a fork in me, the cake would come out with the fork. Because it was a burned up piece of rock.

6. If you asked me to take a long walk off a short pier; I would. Then I would drown, because I am doner than doner than done.

7. I quit.

8. Some worlds will end. Most will continue to turn. the planet Beckasan has blown into tiny shards sending shrapnel into the entire known universe, making everyone else wish that they too, were DONE.

9. I think it is cool that I have have my own planet. I just wish it had a cooler name. Maybe Beckawsome? Or Rebappy? Or just BecDONE!

10. I don;t have any more random thoughts. My brain quit just a few milliseconds after I did.

And I can't tag anyone. I'm too done.

Ten point Two

Ten (random) things I am grateful for:

1. Colorful socks. Especially the 1.00 Target ones. Nothing beats cheap and colorful!

2. Coffee. Duh.

3. Peanut butter. (the kind that is not laden with poison)

4. Spring (because it's coming. I can smell it.)

5. My sister-in-law Carrie and brother Seth, who are braving the Foster care system to take care of children who need a home and a family. Right now they are my heroes.

6. A working toilet. Although, the more my boys pee on my walls, the more I think outhouses were a pretty good idea. (I am sorry for the complaint that worked its way in here)

7. WIBI radio, which I can get streaming online, and which allows me a chance to worship while I do my morning chores.

8. Raymond Paving Rabbids Wii game, which has kept my three children VERY entertained for the past three days. It has been quite a pleasure to not hear, "mommy....I'm bored".

9. My laptop, which allows to to browse anywhere in the house.

10. jalapenos- because the world would just be a duller place without them.

And I am still tagging the same people I tagged yesterday plus I am adding Tara and Murali. And Gretchen. And Splayneo (I think I spelled that wrong) (I am too darn lazy to find all the links for those.

Tomorrow will be ten blogs I LOVE to read, which will not be fun because
a. I will have to not be lazy. Blogs need links.
b. I read over 100 blogs. How will I narrow it down?

Ten (part one)

Ten Random Categories of Ten Random Things (in ten days)

II. Ten Complaints:
1. My house. My poor house. We have to practically give it away. All my lovely trees are apparently worth nil in a nasty economy.

2. I am fat. And I exercise and eat well. I am sick of working hard and seeing nothing. At the same time, I think I look good. So why do I care? I am complaining that I care.

3. My couch is full of dog hair.

4. I have sores all over my head from being mysteriously glutened. I think someone is trying to poison me.

5. I am really missing some of my old friends. Facebook made me uncharacteristically sentimental. I really want to see
Brittany, Michelle, and Stacey. I want to sit with them and laugh about melting sporks over candle flames, dodging scissors, and watching bad movies.

6. I have too much stuff I have to read. I love to read, but not the stuff I have to read. The stuff I have to read puts me to sleep. And I don;t have time to sleep because I have too much stuff to read.

7. I hate the carpet in my house.

8. I hate my skin. I used to have beautiful skin, which I assume I should be grateful for. But it's a tough pill to swallow when I look in the mirror every morning to red, rough, nasty skin.

9. I want a grilled cheese sandwich. With real bread.

10. I have boys who pee on the walls. There is no other complaint as big as THAT one.


And I tag ten friends to play along (Marmie, Carrie, Renee, Gwen, Dawn, and five other people who might also read my blog)

Tomorrow will be Ten wonderful things I am grateful for. Unless I randomly decide to have something different.

Consider the ant...

Years ago I wrote a little piece on my "Ant thoughts". And, for your reading pleasure, here are those very thoughts:

Two things:

#1. My dad always told me to look at the ant. See how hard he works? He works all day and never complains. He lifts twice his body weight and doesn't say a word about an achey back. He works with his co-workers and doesn't get in fights and squabbles.

All this pert advice supposedly comes from scripture, and was supposedly supposed to make me clean my room without grumbling and without fighting with my sister.

#2. My cabinets are overrun with tiny ants, scrambling for homemade bread-crust crumbs and the big red splat of strawberry jam. I noticed their ever-moving line as I was trying to find a half dirty glass to get myself a glass of water.

These two things got me wondering, thinking, and trying to make excuses for why I am not like an ant.

And here is what I came up with. Really, how do we know that ants are not complaining? They are tiny. If they made complaining noises we
a.) might not hear them, and
b.) they would be in a foreign ant language that is not understood by the common housewife or even an educated scientist. I doubt even a linguist could tell us if the ant was making sounds of pleasure or grumbling about the wicked queen who turned him into a slave.

How do we know there is not a tiny morgue lined with tiny ant parts from ants who have been slaughtered by other over-worked ants who have gone postal?

Oh, and another thing...we don't see what is going on under those any hills. Maybe there are rooms full of drunken ants watching all the other ant men carrying in jagged leaves and all of my homemade bread crumbs. Perhaps there are hundreds, maybe THOUSANDS of these lazy ants who sit on their third body part all day -dreaming of watching soap operas and eating bon bons...
AND, on top of THAT, ants are indistinguishable. They could be carrying one load back and taking in easy in a leaf hammock for the rest of the day for all we know. They COULD have a 2 hr work day and a 2 day work year, spending the rest of the time dreaming of soap operas and bon bons.

And one last thought. Ants are annoying.

They somehow worked their way into folkloric heroic proportions. They serve very little purpose (Leaves are capable of decomposing on their own), except to make me feel guilty. After all, they are such hard workers AND they wouldn't be in my house if I was more fastidious about cleaning up all the homemade bread crumbs off my counters.
They are simply a perky, little, crawling conscience.

So, I have considered the ant. And I have decided that I am not one. They have a thorax, an antennae, six legs, and seemingly super-human strength. Until God blesses me with six legs to help me do all my work, I am going to continue on as I have. Reading the online newspaper, doing dishes when we run out of clean ones, doing laundry when Mt. dirty clothes explodes, and having fun chasing my kids around the house whenever I feel like it. Oh, and I will spend a good amount of time dreaming of soap operas and bon bons...

(My ant study was not a scientific one. I manipulated my observations to create the theory I needed to salve my guilt)

(also, the constant reference to homemade bread was also an attempt to salve my guilt.)

That said, this video is FASCINATING! Watch and enjoy (and clean up your bread crumbs)

So. I heard some famous person on tv said that home-schoolers were demented.

I only heard that a famous person said this. I didn't follow the link to find out what the context was, or who this famous person was- because:
a. I don't care
b. I really, really, really don't care.
c. because I wouldn't know a famous person if they slapped me upside the head and stuck a straw in my nose.
d. I just really can't make myself care.

I feel as if I should make a defense for myself. In the year of 1983 my mother (who is undoubtedly demented) pulled me out of school to homeschool me. So, if anyone has a right to speak on behalf of demented home schoolers, It's me. Right?

Oh, and I home school my kids. My kids are second generation home schooled, which makes them an extra special form of demented.

Here's the deal. I want to type out this really cool coherent post in response to this un-known famous person. Alas, I can not.

My fingers are in my ears, my head is wagging back and forth, my eyes are glowing red, and my tongue is hanging out. Bliggity bloggity bloogity blubber blug.

It's all I can seem to get out.

If anyone thought I was going to disagree with the well known famous person (except to me), they would be mistaken. I am definitely demented. I am pretty sure that anyone who knows me agrees.
And the poor clerk at Starbucks tonight agrees. Poor guy. My friends tipped him extra because I made him so distraught. One friend dumped all her change into his tip cup.

And I am SURELY not going to argue about how my children are not demented. Have you met my kids????? They are s.t.r.a.n.g.e AND demented.

However. I don't think it was the home schooling. I think it was genetics. But, maybe it was home schooling. I should definitely leave that option open.

And it starts.

The count down for Christmas. Except this year I won't be party to it. I don't really care how many days there are until Christmas.

Last week I cared. But this week I don't care.

This week I am already ready for Christmas.

You see, at first I thought, "This year I will make everyone's gifts." I hoarded links, and how-to's, and tutorials. I made a mental post it note list of everyone who "needed" gifts, and what I could give them.

A Christmas checklist. Like every other year. Like every other family.

And then I had a better idea. Why spend all this time frantically trying to make gifts that will never get completed? Just like every other year, I would be forced to run to the store- buying high priced, over priced crap for everyone. Why? For what reason? Did everyone really enjoy last years dollar store lotion?

So, my new idea was just to buy the stuff now. I would shop ahead, and therefore put thought into each gift. I would think about the person, and buy gifts that they would really like. It was a good idea, right?

But, then I had a better idea, helped out by a certain video I saw on youtube.

Why not buy nothing at all? Seriously? I don't even remember what my husband got me last year, much less his Aunt so and so. The gifts I so carefully picked out for my children now sit neglected on a shelf. What is the purpose of all this gift frenzy, the money spending, the debt building, the guilt induced fear of not adding up to everyone else's generosity?

So. I am opting out. No one is getting store bought gifts from me. No one is getting handmade gifts for me. Not my mother, not my pastor, not my son's Sunday School teacher... Not my children.

And I can hear a worldwide gasp. "What about the magic and awe of Christmas for the children?"

My response, " Under Control." My children will not open a single battery operated, plastic, hair growing, gun toting, miniature sized anything.

Nothing they open will have a price tag, a return receipt, or those nasty little screws that drive parents nuts every Christmas day.

They won't make a list, and if they do, I doubt their list will coincide with what they receive.

Because Esther is NOT getting a white horse with a horn out its head.
And Weston is NOT getting the entire Star Wars Lego set. No matter how much he begs for it.
And Marcus- actually, I don't have a clue what he wants. But it probably is long and shoots bullets which he most definitely WILL NOT GET.

As I travel to Ohio to spend Christmas with my parents and siblings. With my sister-in-law Carrie, and with my brother-in-law Jesse. With my little nieces- and my mischievous nephew, I will load my van with gifts wrapped in festive paper and tied with ribbon. Just like every other year. But this year, the gifts that I add to the tree will be far different than any other year.

My Christmas revelation has not turned me into the grinch. It has, rather made me a bit more Claus like. And far more Christ like.

Throughout the day, we will unwrap these gifts. The fist one will be a rectangular one. Under the paper and ribbons, our family will find my father's old black Bible, and he will open it and read the Christmas story. I will hold Esther on my lap and Marcus and Weston will be snuggled under my arm, and together we will have anew, the awe of that very first Christmas.
The Christmas story will remind us what Christmas giving is all about.

And in that spirit, the children will grab another package. Inside the gift bag filled with confetti will be a bag of chocolate chips. Together we will make chocolate chip cookies. And Marmie will have to swat at the children's hands when they try to eat all the cookie dough.

Maybe later, they will unwrap a movie. Not a new one from the store, but an old one. A favorite. Probably Star Wars because I am the only one who hates Star Wars. And we will pop corn the old fashioned way and have a family movie time.

I will have wrapped our well worn games; the ones that we already know the rules to, and the ones that everyone loves. When they are unwrapped we will play them. Grandma too. We will even make her play Bang. If I have to watch Star Wars, she can be forced to sit through a rousing shoot em up game of Bang.

I will wrap up a pair of socks for each kid, because we will need to keep our toes warm for our Christmas day walk, and maybe someone will stay home to make us hot cocoa for re-warming our frozen noses.

This is not a new idea. It's one I learned a long time ago, but the video reminded me of it.

On Christmas day, God gave me His heart. And I plan to celebrate that gift by giving mine.


Want to join me?

As this post gets read by more people and passed around, please comment and add your ideas of what could be wrapped and placed under the tree. Together, we can make this the second best Christmas this universe has ever seen.

History. His Story.

My father challenged me to read this today. How relevant and how beautiful it is. Nothing I could write today would equal the value of these beautiful simple words.


Psalm 146

1 Praise the LORD. [a]
Praise the LORD, O my soul.

2 I will praise the LORD all my life;
I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.

3 Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortal men, who cannot save.

4 When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;
on that very day their plans come to nothing.

5 Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD his God,

6 the Maker of heaven and earth,
the sea, and everything in them—
the LORD, who remains faithful forever.

7 He upholds the cause of the oppressed
and gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets prisoners free,

8 the LORD gives sight to the blind,
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,
the LORD loves the righteous.

9 The LORD watches over the alien
and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

10 The LORD reigns forever,
your God, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the LORD.

Weeks ago, I read a blog post that resonated with me. It's like she jumped inside my head. I saved it and link it here today. Those who read my blog and align themselves with Christ- Do not forget who you are. Those who read my blog and are not Christ followers- please know that not all of us have lost our mind or our hearts.
For Christian Voters

Happy Belated FALL!

Fall is Coming

At first it was sunnier
And brighter
And shinier
Bluer

And then it got chillier
And darker
Very much
Earlier

by: Marcus King September 2008 (age 7)

Nature is...ummm... interesting.

I find it humorous. Sue me.
More camping pictures to come.

Nine Years and three days ago

I found myself trying to squeeze into a booth at Denny's. "Auugh<" I said to the waiter. "I don't think I can fit." Which was the truth, and a great embarrassing shame. I had recently gained 77 pounds and was fatter than fat could even be. My poor feet were pouring themselves out of the only pair of househoes I could find to fit.
The waitress moved us to a table, which was good because I could scoot the chair back. Way back, in order to fit.

Just a few hours later and I found myself in the hospital; victim of labor induced pre-eclampsia. It was a good day to be expecting a child. Sept 21st, my sister-inlaw's birthday. My water broke and we began to expect the birth of our first child.

Sept. 22nd. It would be a good day for this little boy to be born. On Sept 22,, 1990, I decided to follow Christ. It was, in a sense, my re-birthday. What a lovely day to give birth to my first child- a boy I had already named Marcus.

Sept. 23rd. All I can remember thinking was that, if this child was waiting to be born on his father's birthday just three days more- I would KILL him. And speaking of KILL. Dustan thought day three of labor would be a good time to munch down on donuts. And the doctor finally decided that a c-section would be an option. And he and Dustan quarreled. I had not, afterall, according to the father of this ever patient baby, been in labor for three days just to have the baby cut out of me. I had pushed for EIGHT hours, and all I could think of was strangling the both of them.

Everything else was a blur. The bad kind of blur. The unconscious kind of blur. But. We made it. Both of us. A very wounded mother soon was holding her almost grown 10 pound son. He was so serious. So old, even in those first few moments. And as I held him, as I snuggled him into my breast and smelled his newborn self, I could never have imagined the years that would follow.

I could have never imagined the stress, the joy, the weeping, the call to Social services to pick him up because I "had HAD it", the eventual diagnosis of aspbergers. I could have never imagined that that child would one day have the heart of a poet. passionate, and quiet, Stewing about the world and all it's contents. I could have never imagined that he would struggle to speak and then write songs and stories that would bring my heart to it's knees. I never would have thought that he would be so quick to anger, so slow to say sorry, so afraid to look others in the eyes.

And just a few years later, as he began to grow, and emerge into the child he was becoming, I would have never imagined that at nine years old, I would have a fellow worker in the early morn. Someone to clear the dishwasher as I loaded it up, someone to chatter with me about what would happen "if". "If". The word of his life. Everything in his mind, begins with, "What if."

And his eventual answers thrill my spirit. They come out through his fingers, and his thoughts. Answers beautiful.



Nine years ago today, as I held Marcus Wade King for the very first time, I could not have even imagined what Sept 23rd, 2008 would be like. Beautiful, joyful, and still so very serious.


By the way: This child, who in the past has shunned public exposure, begged for a birthday dinner at Chevy's. He practically fell over with giddyness when they came out singing and placed a sombrero on his head. When we asked him if the reason he chose Chevy's was the hat, he responded, that he just wanted everyone to look at him and know it was his birthday.

I'm kind of proud of him. I can't help it.

New

I have alluded to it before, but not made an official announcement.

The Toasty Toes Mansion is moving.

To Ecuador.

Yep. I am not sure Ecuador is ready for us, but we are super excited, and if you want to be part of our journey, you will have to add my new blog to you read list. Don't complain. I read over seventy-five blogs.

Anyhow Go over here to read of our adventures.

I was tagged. Like half a year ago. I'm a procrastinator.

Murali tagged me. It was so long ago that I don't even remember the rules. But. i think I am supposed to name six quirky things about me, and then tag six of my friends. Ha! Like I have six friends. I do, however have at least six family members, who we will pretend are my friends.

Quirky things about me:
1. I am the ultra conservative daughter of a Baptist preacher who has a decent start in covering her body in art (tattoo). I also have some socialist leanings, but unlike the rest of Christian America, I blame that on the Bible.

2. I shut down when politics are discussed. Which makes me a bit of a recluse at the moment. I have a really awesome theory that God is in charge of the universe, and that there are far more exciting things happening in the world than this election for me to both worry and get worked up over. This is a very freeing theory (although- I happen to hold it as fact)

4. I am really bad with numbers. My parents used to joke that my brain would shut off when they read me the story of the Three Little Bears...as soon as the number three was mentioned. However, I have an uncanny memory for telephone numbers and addresses that are not my own.

5. I always have to be doing something with my hands. Preferably rolling tape between my fingers.

6. I like to sneeze. I think it's fun. Oh, and I like to fart too. When I was a child, my mother washed my mouth out for saying the word fart. Now I fart as often as possible, just for an excuse to announce to the world, "I farted." My two little guys are frequently delighted by my skills. And, as if I was seen as the most talented mom on the planet for my awesome air passing skills, I can also say my name, or any other name, in BURPS. How awesome is that? I was a hit as a preschool teacher when I sang "Row Row Row your boat" all in burps.

I tag:
Carrie who has a lovely and very inspirational blog
My Mom, who cracks me up. Oh. and I love her.
My childhood friendJerusalem (yes that is really her name), who I think has been tagged way recently, but what can I say? My friends are few, I am desperate, and go to her blog anyway, cause she has really neato stuff. You will want to move into her house. Trust me.
hmmm, How bout- Sara because I like to pretend she is my twin, separated by birth. Have you seen her art work?
My sister, who has the funniest kids on the planet.

And Brittany Who I do not know. It's a random blog. But, it appears she is in highschool, and likes to play basketball. I told you I was hard up for friends.

I have a lot of stuff to tell you. And show you.

But, right now, it's hard to breathe and type at the same time.

Be back later with lots of stuff including a tag from Murali (and a link for her later), a recipe for GF choco oatmeal cookies, and something else that my snotty brain has already forgotten about.

Oh, wait, the snot cleared momentarily. I made something. Wintery. For Esther.

Oh so random.

I have a jumbledness of thoughts today. Let me vomit them out at you.

We have a new housemate. My cousin Lindsey has moved in after my oh so very successful attempt at matchmaking was oh so very successful. Since she lived two states away from the oh so successful match, she has moved into the toasty toes mansion. It smells in our house, very much like a young lady in love. Which, in case you didn't know, smells like room fragrance and perfume. Add in some hairspray and you have the smell of love. Or, maybe that is just the general smell of teenage/young adulthood.

I have rediscovered the joy of peanut butter balls. The food rage of 1980 government issue food has now arrived at my house. Equal amounts of peanut butter, powdered milk, and honey. Yummy. I was going to take a picture, but my kids ate them all, and besides that, I was feeling to lazy to find my camera.

I have two good friends who are grieving loved ones. Tara lost her doggy, Stan, yesterday to what was most likely a brain tumor. It was heartbreaking.

And my friend Becki, who coordinates the TeenMops group has lost her daughter. Kari was young. My age. With two young boys. It is a sobering thought and my heart aches for Becki, as well as those two little boys. I would ask the question, "Why"? But the answer seems to futile, so I don;t even bother asking.

Esther wants to know when our Heidi dog will die. Weston wants to know if we can wave a magic wand over Stan and make him come back alive. All of them are now worried that I will up and die at any moment.

Homeschooling has resumed, and is no fun at all for anyone at all. I already want to quit. Marcus already has quit. He is a third grade drop-out. I keep reminding myself how many times I was a third grade drop-out myself. And how many times my own mother wanted to quit teaching me. And yet, here I am, with a great education (bad spelling and penchant for sentence fragments not withstanding...) and there my mother is, sitting in Ohio, looking at her vegetable garden and sipping hot tea.
I bet she does not miss the yelling, the constant search for the ever-lost pencils, or the chewed up erasers. I bet she is relived that she will never have to argue the value of multiplication tables or clear steady handwriting again.
Which is reassuring. I am only going to be a teacher for so long. One day I will have my own garden to sit in. one day I will never again have to hear two hours of whining about what would amount to thirty seconds of work.

And when I think of Becki, whose daughter has just gone to be the Lord. i feel guilty for wanting to speed along time. I think about all these random moments of peanut butter balls, new housemates, screaming and crying and ripping out of hair over the requirement of writing two sentences...and I decide to relish them.

At least for right now. At least for as long as I write this post.

The meaning of compassion.

While at our missionary training, the idea of beggars came up. It's a hard subject. No one really wants to deal with it. No one really wants to talk about it. There are no real answers, only difficult questions, and so, everyone avoids it. Or speaks about it in vague language.
I can speak. I have no fear. Beggars. No matter who they are, are humans. Created, just as I am, in the image of the Creator. Even the ones who are scams. Even the ones who trade their pennies and dollars in for liqueur and cigarettes.

When I became a child of Christ, I became a new creation- with new eyes.

For so long I have not been able to explain why the talk of beggars as scum makes me so angry with my brothers and sisters in the Lord. No one wants to be a doormat. No one wants to be ripped off. Everyone has better things to do than to waste time thinking about the man at the end of the exit ramp holding up a sign. Everyone would rather focus on the fact that he is wearing name brand tennis shoes, and that he looks like he belongs on sexual offender list.

But. Christ himself was not afraid to talk about this issue. He was not afraid to see it for what it is, and not afraid to do something about it.
Matthew 25:41-45
"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'
"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'
"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'
but the righteous to eternal life."

My friend Val posted this video on her blog. My heart leaped for joy, because it illustrated so perfectly what I hold to be truth.


HISTORIA DE UN LETRERO (THE STORY OF A SIGN)

The way we see things can change the world.
Who is a beggar?
Just a chance. For us to practice our new vision.



It's a beautiful day. And I can see it.