Monday, November 9, 2009
about longings
Sometimes someone else just says it better. That's all there is to it. I could have tried to say the very same thing, but wouldn't have communicated it very well.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
about brownies
It was a great weekend. We spent Saturday night at camp with friends from church. Saturday night supper was a healthful diet of fire roasted hot dogs on white buns with plenty of ketchup and mustard, potato chips, green pepper slices (I tried. Really, I did.), and the famous smores’. Oh, and pink lemonade to drink. Very healthful.
Then today our congregation gathered at camp for our morning worship service followed by a fantastic BBQ chicken dinner with yummy side dishes. Everyone brought desserts to share. Eldest daughter made brownies. Mmm. Again, very healthful. Butter and sugar are good for you, right? And vanilla? Eggs? Flour? Cocoa?
So today upon returning home I surveyed the remaining six brownies left in the pan. Yes, I’m with you. I’m surprised there were ANY left. But there were. Someone was thinking healthful thoughts and passed by the brownies. Those must have been the people who decided instead on apple pie or the lovely cherry cheesecake or the rice crispy squares surrounding the brownies.
What to do with the brownies? I had to find a home for them. Ah! There were some chocolate chip bars left from the other day! I’ll just add them to that container. I pop open the Tupperware and here is what I find:
Hmmm. Wonder who took the last one. Wonder who took the last one and didn’t bother to add the Tupperware to the stack of things-to-wash.
Seems that food just doesn’t hang around this house very long these days.
And here’s hoping that my great friend Jo, over at Jo’s Kitchen Table, has some really great hints on healthful eating. I’m counting on you girlfriend!!
Parting shots:
Then today our congregation gathered at camp for our morning worship service followed by a fantastic BBQ chicken dinner with yummy side dishes. Everyone brought desserts to share. Eldest daughter made brownies. Mmm. Again, very healthful. Butter and sugar are good for you, right? And vanilla? Eggs? Flour? Cocoa?
So today upon returning home I surveyed the remaining six brownies left in the pan. Yes, I’m with you. I’m surprised there were ANY left. But there were. Someone was thinking healthful thoughts and passed by the brownies. Those must have been the people who decided instead on apple pie or the lovely cherry cheesecake or the rice crispy squares surrounding the brownies.
What to do with the brownies? I had to find a home for them. Ah! There were some chocolate chip bars left from the other day! I’ll just add them to that container. I pop open the Tupperware and here is what I find:
Hmmm. Wonder who took the last one. Wonder who took the last one and didn’t bother to add the Tupperware to the stack of things-to-wash.
Seems that food just doesn’t hang around this house very long these days.
And here’s hoping that my great friend Jo, over at Jo’s Kitchen Table, has some really great hints on healthful eating. I’m counting on you girlfriend!!
Parting shots:
The boys LOVE to hang out with the cows. One day last week I looked out my kitchen window and saw eldest son lying there just looking at the cows. He said the pavement was warm (it was a chilly day).
p.s. post about girls coming soon!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
about a walk in the dark
Sunday.
The child was sick. So I let him take his normal nap. But then he was up for a while and wanted to take another nap. So I let him take nap number 2. Hmmm. Bad choice.
So at 10pm this is the face I see:
Well, ok. Not this face exactly. This was his birthday face with ketchup on it.
Happy as a clam he was. Full of energy. Wrestling with Papa on our bed. Not tired in the least. This is the kid who is exhausted at 8:30 every night.
So Papa Hobb(it) gave said child the option of going to bed or going on a 1 mile walk with Papa and Mama Hobb(it)--- our sometimes nightly ritual after the small Hobb(it)s are in bed.
He chose the walk.
It was a dark walk. But there were stars to see. And a possum ambling along the soybean field going in the opposite direction we were going. And the sillouette of the trees making a dark shape against the sky that looked just like an alligator with it’s mouth wide open, showing rows of sharp teeth. At least it looked exactly that way to the 4 year old Hobb(it).
He was pretty sure he wanted to turn around. His legs were suddenly tired. But he made it the whole way to the end of the driveway (a whole 1/2 mile). Papa Hobb(it) had offered to carry him home, but he walked it all on his own two very tired 4 year old legs.
Will you believe me if I told you he went straight to bed with no complaints at 10:25?
I can’t wait to hear the stories he tells the other Hobb(it)s in the morning about his late night adventure with Papa and Mama. On a walk. In the dark. All about the possum. And the alligator in the trees. With rows of sharp teeth.
We made a memory. He’ll talk about it for a very long time.
I just hope there’s not a repeat performance tomorrow night.
The child was sick. So I let him take his normal nap. But then he was up for a while and wanted to take another nap. So I let him take nap number 2. Hmmm. Bad choice.
So at 10pm this is the face I see:
Well, ok. Not this face exactly. This was his birthday face with ketchup on it.
Happy as a clam he was. Full of energy. Wrestling with Papa on our bed. Not tired in the least. This is the kid who is exhausted at 8:30 every night.
So Papa Hobb(it) gave said child the option of going to bed or going on a 1 mile walk with Papa and Mama Hobb(it)--- our sometimes nightly ritual after the small Hobb(it)s are in bed.
He chose the walk.
It was a dark walk. But there were stars to see. And a possum ambling along the soybean field going in the opposite direction we were going. And the sillouette of the trees making a dark shape against the sky that looked just like an alligator with it’s mouth wide open, showing rows of sharp teeth. At least it looked exactly that way to the 4 year old Hobb(it).
He was pretty sure he wanted to turn around. His legs were suddenly tired. But he made it the whole way to the end of the driveway (a whole 1/2 mile). Papa Hobb(it) had offered to carry him home, but he walked it all on his own two very tired 4 year old legs.
Will you believe me if I told you he went straight to bed with no complaints at 10:25?
I can’t wait to hear the stories he tells the other Hobb(it)s in the morning about his late night adventure with Papa and Mama. On a walk. In the dark. All about the possum. And the alligator in the trees. With rows of sharp teeth.
We made a memory. He’ll talk about it for a very long time.
I just hope there’s not a repeat performance tomorrow night.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
about icing
Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard to fetch confectioners sugar to finish the icing she was making for Sunday’s cake. But when she got there she discovered she had only half the amount of sugar she needed. And since she’d already begun to make the icing she decided to substitute with ordinary granulated sugar.
Old Mother Hubbard made the amazing discovery that granulated sugar cannot, I repeat, cannot take the place of confectioners sugar in butter cream icing. Granulated white sugar makes for a very grainy, heavy icing. So Old Mother Hubbard added 8 oz. of cream cheese in hopes of saving said icing. Now Old Mother Hubbard’s icing looks smooth and lovely. But alas, it is only an illusion. When once the icing is in your mouth it breaks out in all its heavy grainy-ness.
Old Mother Hubbard will use the icing anyway and is pretty sure that all the little Hobb(it)s and Old Father Hubbard will be very impressed. In spite of its heavy grainy-ness.
Oh wait. Now I’m mixing nursery rhymes and Tolkien. Hubbard. Hobb(it).
I can imagine Bilbo Baggins reading nursery rhymes to Frodo. It seems like a Hobb(it) kind of thing to do.
Good night from our part of the Shire.
Have a blessed Sunday!!
Old Mother Hubbard made the amazing discovery that granulated sugar cannot, I repeat, cannot take the place of confectioners sugar in butter cream icing. Granulated white sugar makes for a very grainy, heavy icing. So Old Mother Hubbard added 8 oz. of cream cheese in hopes of saving said icing. Now Old Mother Hubbard’s icing looks smooth and lovely. But alas, it is only an illusion. When once the icing is in your mouth it breaks out in all its heavy grainy-ness.
Old Mother Hubbard will use the icing anyway and is pretty sure that all the little Hobb(it)s and Old Father Hubbard will be very impressed. In spite of its heavy grainy-ness.
Oh wait. Now I’m mixing nursery rhymes and Tolkien. Hubbard. Hobb(it).
I can imagine Bilbo Baggins reading nursery rhymes to Frodo. It seems like a Hobb(it) kind of thing to do.
Good night from our part of the Shire.
Have a blessed Sunday!!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Zip-off pants and angry tears on the floor
This morning Son 1 sat on the floor dissolving in angry tears. He’d zipped on one leg of his zip-off camo pants, but was struggling to zip on the second leg. He kept saying over and over, “I can’t get it!!!” He never bothered to ask for help. And I was standing right beside him.
Nearly every day I’m amazed at the things I say to my children. Not because they’re brilliant breakthroughs in Godly parenting, but because I could easily imagine God saying something very similar to me.
So, back to story about Son 1: I say to Son 1, “Please stop crying and just ask me for help. I’m standing right here!”
Hmm. Nothing like being hit over the head by your own words.
Ok. Back just now from rescuing Son 2 who was trapped in the back of the coat closet. He was practicing in the dark with his new dollar store flashlight and sat down in an extra booster seat I keep there for guests with small children. He buckled himself into the seat and couldn’t get out. He on the other hand when needing help was yelling rather cheerfully, “Mama, can you come help me???” *sigh* Oh, the differences between children. But that’s a topic for a whole nother’ blog post.
As I was saying, there is nothing quite like being klonked with your own wisdom.
The last several weeks have been difficult. There are things I’ve been struggling with emotionally, financially, parentally, spiritually. I want to sit on the floor and cry angry tears as I wrestle with the “zipper.” But I can’t fix it. It just won’t go. There isn’t a thing in the world I can do about it. No wait. I do sit on the floor and cry angry tears. I confess.
All the while I think the Father is standing there. Waiting. Waiting for me to stop crying. Waiting for me to simply ask for help.
Last night I finally started asking for help. And believe it or not I’m not asking for money (although some greenbacks could help out a little). I’m not asking God to change my children. I’m not asking God to change my husband. I’m not asking God to change my circumstances.
I’m asking God to change me. The “zipper” in this case is me. I guess you could say I need a serious faith and attitude adjustment. *sigh* (again)
Ironic isn’t it that my dear pastor-husband is preaching a summer series on “faith.” Ironic too that our senior pastor (dear, kind, wonderful man that he is) prayed last week that we’d have a bad week. He says that when we have bad weeks, Daniel’s messages are richer.
Nuts. Why didn’t anybody tell me. Or at least warn me. It should be in that little packet of things they give the new pastor’s wife. You know. A little brochure that says “What to expect in your marriage and family when your husband preaches on certain difficult topics.” Oh wait. There was no little packet.
Back to last night. Somewhere in my reading, may have been a blog, may have been facebook, doesn’t matter, someone said something about “coming to God.”
Duh. I should know these things. I am after all a missionary kid, and now a pastor’s wife. I’ve memorized Scripture. I’ve studied it. Good grief, I’ve taught it. “Come to God.”
After that amazing revelation, I hit my knees and cried some more. Asking God to change me. Nothing more.
Today I’m remembering, and being reminded that “coming to God” is something I must do nearly hourly in this difficult season. It’s not rocket science. It’s just showing up and saying, “God, here I am. I came. Oh yes. There You are. Now I can see you again. You got everything under control? Ok. Thanks. See You in another hour.”
Well, something like that. I think you get the picture.
My faith is being tested. But it’s ok. It’s good in fact. Sure doesn’t feel good. But it’s good. Yup. It’s about that time.
Uh, God? I’m coming again. You there?
Nearly every day I’m amazed at the things I say to my children. Not because they’re brilliant breakthroughs in Godly parenting, but because I could easily imagine God saying something very similar to me.
So, back to story about Son 1: I say to Son 1, “Please stop crying and just ask me for help. I’m standing right here!”
Hmm. Nothing like being hit over the head by your own words.
Ok. Back just now from rescuing Son 2 who was trapped in the back of the coat closet. He was practicing in the dark with his new dollar store flashlight and sat down in an extra booster seat I keep there for guests with small children. He buckled himself into the seat and couldn’t get out. He on the other hand when needing help was yelling rather cheerfully, “Mama, can you come help me???” *sigh* Oh, the differences between children. But that’s a topic for a whole nother’ blog post.
As I was saying, there is nothing quite like being klonked with your own wisdom.
The last several weeks have been difficult. There are things I’ve been struggling with emotionally, financially, parentally, spiritually. I want to sit on the floor and cry angry tears as I wrestle with the “zipper.” But I can’t fix it. It just won’t go. There isn’t a thing in the world I can do about it. No wait. I do sit on the floor and cry angry tears. I confess.
All the while I think the Father is standing there. Waiting. Waiting for me to stop crying. Waiting for me to simply ask for help.
Last night I finally started asking for help. And believe it or not I’m not asking for money (although some greenbacks could help out a little). I’m not asking God to change my children. I’m not asking God to change my husband. I’m not asking God to change my circumstances.
I’m asking God to change me. The “zipper” in this case is me. I guess you could say I need a serious faith and attitude adjustment. *sigh* (again)
Ironic isn’t it that my dear pastor-husband is preaching a summer series on “faith.” Ironic too that our senior pastor (dear, kind, wonderful man that he is) prayed last week that we’d have a bad week. He says that when we have bad weeks, Daniel’s messages are richer.
Nuts. Why didn’t anybody tell me. Or at least warn me. It should be in that little packet of things they give the new pastor’s wife. You know. A little brochure that says “What to expect in your marriage and family when your husband preaches on certain difficult topics.” Oh wait. There was no little packet.
Back to last night. Somewhere in my reading, may have been a blog, may have been facebook, doesn’t matter, someone said something about “coming to God.”
Duh. I should know these things. I am after all a missionary kid, and now a pastor’s wife. I’ve memorized Scripture. I’ve studied it. Good grief, I’ve taught it. “Come to God.”
After that amazing revelation, I hit my knees and cried some more. Asking God to change me. Nothing more.
Today I’m remembering, and being reminded that “coming to God” is something I must do nearly hourly in this difficult season. It’s not rocket science. It’s just showing up and saying, “God, here I am. I came. Oh yes. There You are. Now I can see you again. You got everything under control? Ok. Thanks. See You in another hour.”
Well, something like that. I think you get the picture.
My faith is being tested. But it’s ok. It’s good in fact. Sure doesn’t feel good. But it’s good. Yup. It’s about that time.
Uh, God? I’m coming again. You there?
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Sweetest bag ever. . . GiVeAwAy!!!
Perhaps my favorite blog for decor and inspiring ideas for my home. . . And she's giving away a beautiful bag this weekend. And it could be yours. Or mine. Doesn't matter really. Just check out her blog and leave a comment!
Visit:
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Thursday, June 18, 2009
smelly fishermen and a Beautiful City
My journey through the New Testament has finally brought me to the book of Revelation. I must say it’s one of my favorite books of the Bible. And no, I don’t claim to understand a good portion of it, but I love it nonetheless. It must be that part of me that loves to pick up a great book I’ve read before and read only the last chapter. The chapter where the long lost son returns home to his father. The chapter where the prisoner held unjustly is set free. The chapter where the woman held in bondage escapes from her captors. The chapter where the couple in love are finally married. Don’t you just love happy endings? I do.
In fact, we just watched a kids movie. You know. The animated kind. But I was blown away all over again by the way they borrowed their lines from “the Story.” A kid leaves home to follow a dream. The dream is shattered. But there are broken people who need help, so, as his father always taught him-- “see a need, fill a need”, he goes to work helping the helpless. But evil is against him. Evil doesn’t care about the needs of people, only making more money. But guess what. Evil never wins. The good guys come out on top. Evil is thrown into a raging fire. Goodness is the champion. And everyone ends up dancing.
That’s why I love Revelation. Evil never wins. The righteous come out “on top!!” Evil is thrown into a raging lake of fire. The righteous will reign forever with Him as champions. And everyone ends up dancing!
Revelation helps put the “now” into perspective. In this life we have shattered hopes. We have transition and change. There is cancer. There is death. But we forget that we’re not at the end of the book yet! We really don’t know what chapter we’re living in right now. And the “happily ever after” won’t be in this life. That’s Heaven. That happens when we return to Eden. That happens when evil is destroyed forever. That happens when God’s glory is displayed to the nations. But it’s not yet.
All that to say this: In my reading, I came to . . .
"And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb." (Revelation 21:14)
Wait a minute. Who has their names on the foundation stones of the city? You’re kidding. Twelve guys who followed Jesus. But weren’t they uneducated, smelly fishermen? At least some of them? And the others, a tax collector? No-name guys? Ordinary men? They sure weren’t wealthy. They hadn’t given lots of money to charity or started any faith-based programs for the needy. No doctorate degrees among them. Two of them Jesus called “sons of thunder.” Wonder what he meant by that exactly. These were men who argued about who would be the greatest. They didn’t always “get” his messages cloaked in parables. They were fearful. They thought when he died, he died for good.
But these are the guys who get their names on the foundation of the Heavenly city?
Just let that sink in a little. Ponder where you are in your part of the story. Go read “Epic” by John Eldredge. It might help a little with your perspective.
Nope. My name won’t be on any foundation stone. But I’m part of God’s big story and I’ve been given new hope because God thinks smelly, uneducated fishermen are important enough to put their names on the foundation of His beautiful city. And I think when I get there I’d like to find one of those names and let my fingers trace the letters and be reminded that Peter or John or James could have been my name. Ordinary. But I too have been given a place in the Kingdom.
Go live your story.
With the end in mind.
In fact, we just watched a kids movie. You know. The animated kind. But I was blown away all over again by the way they borrowed their lines from “the Story.” A kid leaves home to follow a dream. The dream is shattered. But there are broken people who need help, so, as his father always taught him-- “see a need, fill a need”, he goes to work helping the helpless. But evil is against him. Evil doesn’t care about the needs of people, only making more money. But guess what. Evil never wins. The good guys come out on top. Evil is thrown into a raging fire. Goodness is the champion. And everyone ends up dancing.
That’s why I love Revelation. Evil never wins. The righteous come out “on top!!” Evil is thrown into a raging lake of fire. The righteous will reign forever with Him as champions. And everyone ends up dancing!
Revelation helps put the “now” into perspective. In this life we have shattered hopes. We have transition and change. There is cancer. There is death. But we forget that we’re not at the end of the book yet! We really don’t know what chapter we’re living in right now. And the “happily ever after” won’t be in this life. That’s Heaven. That happens when we return to Eden. That happens when evil is destroyed forever. That happens when God’s glory is displayed to the nations. But it’s not yet.
All that to say this: In my reading, I came to . . .
"And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb." (Revelation 21:14)
Wait a minute. Who has their names on the foundation stones of the city? You’re kidding. Twelve guys who followed Jesus. But weren’t they uneducated, smelly fishermen? At least some of them? And the others, a tax collector? No-name guys? Ordinary men? They sure weren’t wealthy. They hadn’t given lots of money to charity or started any faith-based programs for the needy. No doctorate degrees among them. Two of them Jesus called “sons of thunder.” Wonder what he meant by that exactly. These were men who argued about who would be the greatest. They didn’t always “get” his messages cloaked in parables. They were fearful. They thought when he died, he died for good.
But these are the guys who get their names on the foundation of the Heavenly city?
Just let that sink in a little. Ponder where you are in your part of the story. Go read “Epic” by John Eldredge. It might help a little with your perspective.
Nope. My name won’t be on any foundation stone. But I’m part of God’s big story and I’ve been given new hope because God thinks smelly, uneducated fishermen are important enough to put their names on the foundation of His beautiful city. And I think when I get there I’d like to find one of those names and let my fingers trace the letters and be reminded that Peter or John or James could have been my name. Ordinary. But I too have been given a place in the Kingdom.
Go live your story.
With the end in mind.
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