Lesson 148: So About This Flour ...

I'm sure you've been dying to know the story behind this post and picture. 

It all began last summer when Mark and I decided to become vegans. We were in an almond-milking, nut-snacking, garden to table cooking frenzy! We felt amazing, light, energetic, motivated.

I even started another blog called "I Don't Have a Clue: Vegan." It didn't take off. 

Full-disclosure. We also felt a little hungry.

(My college friends were totally underwhelmed by these meal plans.)

No processed foods. No meat. No cheese. No eggs. No dairy, which means no yogurt and no ice cream. It wasn't difficult to up the portion size of our veggie / fruit intake. We already loved all those healthy foods, but we realized that if we wanted to remain vegans, we had to figure out a healthy (inexpensive) way to incorporate bread.

Ezekiel bread is not inexpensive. 

But according to all this glutten-free literature, isn't bread the enemy?

I don't know, I'm not a doctor. I think the main reason for going glutten-free is because people experience slight (or serious) allergic reactions to glutten. I'm not sure of the benefits of cutting it out if you do not have an allergy.

To be honest, when I cut out dairy, I stopped having stomach pains, slept better at night, and smiled more. (Just kidding about the smiling bit.) So, who knows.

Anyway. A good friend, Lynsie, has been a part of a group of women who mill their own flour and bake their own bread for years. Her eating story is here and is worth a read. I am writing about milling flour after one go at it. She is a real miller!

She directed me to The Bread Beckers, who offer a free cd (yes, it is literally, a listen in your car, cd) that explains a plethora of health benefits from eating bread products baked from freshly ground whole wheat flour.

(Sidenote: The Bread Beckers theologize a lot explaining their reasons for starting their company and baking bread. I have to say, I do not fully endorse the way they use Scripture. However, the health information is incredibly helpful, and I do encourage their desire to serve the Lord with their lives and business.)

All in all, I was sold.

Now about getting wheat berries, a mill, and learning how to bake bread ...

Lucky for me, I have a dear friend, Teresa, who lives in town, who has access to an organic co-op, owns a mill, and loves to teach wanna-be's like me.

(Her husband has been instrumental in helping Mark with our compost pile.)

(Oh, and he married us.)

Together we purchased 50 pounds of wheat berries for $25! I wish I could give you a visual of just how much potential flour that is. Well, so much.

Something went wrong ... I ended up covered in flour!

 Wheat berries are amazing for a couple reasons. First, a wheat berry contains within itself a perfect completeness of nutrition. I'm not really sure what this means in specifics, but it's definitely a good thing. Second, as long as the wheat berry remains unmilled, it will continue to retain its complete nutritional value.

The second the berries are milled, the clock starts ticking and it begins to lose nutrients. This means that once you mill, you have to bake soon after, or else freeze the flour.

I decided that milling, baking from scratch (I'm traditionally a boxed cake kind of girl), and learning to bake bread was too much for a weekend that also included a Christmas party and church play. So, I reduced the grand plan and ended up just baking enough pancakes and muffins for the week.

Using Lynsie's recipes, I put on C. Underwood's Sound of Music in the background (My cliche response is that the remake was a flop.) and got to bakin'.

After 50 pancakes and 36 muffins,

Only a few casualties.

I still had this much milled flour to freeze,

And 48 pounds of wheat berries left at Teresa's.

I'd grade this first experience an A+. Milling was fun, baking was surprisingly simple, and the food was a hit! We are still eating pancakes 10 days later. (Freeze pancakes immediately, and they hold their nutrition.)

Next on the agenda ... bread. I just need to get my hands on a bread maker. I tried the kneading approach once and have completely forgotten the steps.

To complete the update, we are no longer vegans. That phase lasted two weeks. However, we did learn a lot in that time and try to eat a veggie-heavy diet with less dairy, less eggs, and less meat.

Yummy whole-grain breakfasts help with that!


Lesson Learned: I, Katherine Ashbaugh, can in fact bake something from scratch for my family. I do not need to rely on the Little Red Hen for everything!

Lesson 139: Eggos and Ice Cream (Loving Children Well)

I come from a long line of people who love children. My dad is one of seven, my mom is one of five. Including my siblings, I have 32 cousins (and brothers), who have added 10 significant others to the family, and 13 littles. (Only 13 of us are over the age of 25).

The matriarchs of my family: Marie Manning and Virginia High are women who love children. The patriarchs of my family: Richard Manning and Robert High are men who love children. Throughout the course of my life, these people have been faithful, consistent, loving ... and creative!

They tailored their homes and our holidays to welcome children and make children feel loved!

Today, you are lucky, I am going to give you some of their secrets. Oh these aren't the typical "love kids well" suggestions. These are ideas that are funny, quirky, and totally kid-appealing. They are ideas that will make kids feel included, make kids laugh, and ultimately, make kids feel cared for.

These are not just suggestions for grandparents, but for anyone who has children within their sphere of influence. If you are a parent, an aunt or uncle, a friend of someone with a kid, a neighbor, a church member, or of course, a grandparent, these are suggestions for you. 

Without further ado:

THE SECRETS OF BEING AWESOME WITH KIDS 
(IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER)

1. Dollar Bill Holiday Cards: Every holiday, each of us received a themed card with a crisp dollar bill. Receiving mail makes a child feel important. 

2. Eggos and Ice Cream: The breakfast of champions at my grandmothers house. In fact, so memorable was this delicacy, that I chose it as a dessert option at my wedding. She was unable to attend, but the waffles and ice cream reminded me of her playful spirit. 

3. Saving Up Snowballs: My grandmother took the older cousins outside on a snowy day, formed snow balls and stored them in a newspaper wrapping in the freezer. This made winter last through summer. (Note: The snow turns to ice, so it's not actually a good idea to have a fight with these.)

4. Fools Gold Hunt: Before we arrived, my grandmother would scatter fools gold on her pebbly driveway. Hours were spent on expeditions to find it! (Alternative: As my brother goes about his yard work, he gathers up cool rocks, shells, and other items that he finds and puts them along a specific bank. When kids come over, he directs them to explore that area.)

5. Special Sleepovers: Two-inch think, stripped floor mattresses were rolled out in the family room every time we came to stay. There were enough for all the cousins. We'd snuggle in, watch the same three movies over and over again, and eat freeze pops. Which leads me too ...

6. Super Snack Stash: My grandmother kept a freezer stocked with freeze pops and soft pretzels. She also always had Club Crackers for making peanut and marshmellow fluff sandwiches. These treats were reserved for grandmother's house! We never had them at home. 

7. Christmas in July: As everyone grows and moves on, it's become harder for our family to all be together at major holidays. My grandpa instituted Christmas in July as a family tradition. It's hosted at an aunt's pool, but there is Christmas music, Santa's hats, and presents, presents, presents. 10 a piece to be exact. If you bring a friend last minute, don't worry, they get 10 presents too!

8. Mamie: Mamie was my grandmothers donkey. Mamie seemed to live forever and ever. We'd feed Mamie, pet her, and occasionally ride her. (Mamie did not in fact live forever. Rather, when one Mamie died, they would purchase another donkey and christen her with the same name.)

9. The Spaghetti Grinder: Yes, my grandmother taught me to turn an imaginary crank (located next to my ear) and to systematically spit out my mouthfull of spaghetti back onto the plate. Gross, yes. Hilarious, yes. 

10. Beautiful Books as Gifts: My mom has handed over my collection of children's books as I've had my own children. Every time I open the cover, I see that the book was a gift from an aunt, a great-aunt, a grandparent, an uncle. It seems as if everyone always gave us books! 

11. Curiosity collectors: Both sides of grandparents collected interesting items. Buckets of beautiful seashells, donkey figurines from all over the world, keys, hats, canes, pipes, artwork, Coca-cola products, and so many other things. Items were put out on display for us to marvel at, pick up, play pretend, providing endless amounts of fun and intrigue. 

12. A Winter Wonderland: Every year at Christmas, my grandma would set up a full town of winter magic. She had hotels, houses, shops, ice skating ponds, carriages, and so much more. Everything about the scene made us feel like we were in another world. 

13. Trips: Whether to an amish shop, a railroad station, Colonial Williamsburg, or London, my grandparents took us on adventures. On such trips, we literally had to read every single historical plaque. We were encouraged to ask questions and learn history. Our grandparents were intent on opening the world up for us. 

14.VBS at the Beach: My grandmother and aunts would bring leftover Vacation Bible School supplies on beach trips. During down time (when we weren't searching for shells, feeding the seagulls, or playing board games), we would learn Bible stories and do crafts. 

I could go on and on. 

A Comm Professor from seminary talks about the importance of "getting your mind in their mind." He's speaking of an audience when preparing a talk, but I think the principle is transferable. If you have children in your life (in any capacity), try for a second to think like they do.

What pleases them?

What makes them giggle? 

What would be interesting or engaging for them? 

What stimulates their creativity or imagination? 

What did you enjoy when you were their age? 

What makes them feel special or loved or cared for? 

The results are wonderful. Their eyes light up, the gears in their brain start turning, and a sweet connection is made. 

I wonder, what simple, engaging ideas have your gleaned from your elders? I'm all ears!

Lesson Learned: Who knew that eggos and ice cream could be a legacy?

Lesson 124: A Miracle ... Not From OUR Garden

If you've followed this blog through the summer, you are well aware of the fact that Mark and I are kind of obsessed with our garden. It's not the garden itself, but more the fact that actual food grew in our garden that we were actually able to eat. Unbelievable.

See posts here, here, here, here, here, and here if you've missed out on this fun.

However, I will say that we grew one plant this summer that thoroughly caught us off guard ... in a great way.

It all began last fall.

We were romping around the yard as we do, tossing kids in leaves, and playing with the season's blessings.

In the country, when the season is over. These natural wonders don't go to the dump. They get thrown into the woods. Compost, right?!?

Can you guess where this story is going?

Look what we found growing near our fence this summer! Isn't he perfect?

 He's the perfect finishing touch to a simple centerpiece. (Ours is the little guy.)

 He's also a perfect mountain for driving cars over. 

Y'all, if we were amazed by produce springing up that we tried to grow, you cannot even imagine our excitement over plants we didn't try for.

Isn't nature incredible?

Lesson Learned: Pumpkin seeds. Not just for eating.

Lesson 118: A Hokie Highlight

A sad reality of living in South Carolina is the plethora of poor influences on our kids' lives. Yes, unfortunately, they are being reared smack dab in the middle of Tiger and Gamecock territory.

It sure is disheartening.

So powerful is this peer pressure that Samara hesitantly called an orange hairband her "Clemson hairband" the other day ...  just to test the water.

She was immediately informed (in a kind, gentle, VT voice) that "No honey, that's your Hokie hairband." 

Have no fear Hokies. Have no fear. More attention was directed towards this situation.

Just to be certain the lesson sunk in, we spent a good portion of tonight dedicated to a thorough Hokie-loving indoctrination on Youtube.

My kids were "Hokie, Hokie, Hokie, Hi-ing" themselves up the stairs to bed. They fell asleep with visions of Hokie Pokie-ing dancing in their heads. They'll awake to Enter Sandman in the morning, I am confident of this.

We spent a significant amount of time personalizing the whole ordeal. (Pay attention around second 29).

Who wouldn't want to become a Hokie fan if they had to watch their uncle score a touchdown against Miami ... over and over and over and over again?

(Sorry for the poor quality of the video, but if my kids had to endure it 10x's, you can watch it once.)

Rest assured, friends. We are all Hokies here!


Lesson Learned: Considerable attention must be given to education if a child is not going to be negatively influenced by their neighbors. (Actually ... our neighbors are Hokie fans! Phew.)

Lesson 111: A Masters Degree and Two Babies: Part 2 (Making Time at Home Matter)

Find Part 1 of this story here.

_______________________________________________________________________

One class does not equal a degree.

And one baby does not equal two babies.

You are right.

When I left you off last time, I had just finished my first seminary class, Samara was 10 months old, and my body was regaining health.

Hebrews-Revelation was soon followed by a week-long summer intensive on the Johannine epistles and two fall classes on the Gospels and Isaiah-Malachi.

I was loving school, loving learning, and loving racking up credits.

Credit Count: 11.

Praise God!

My body was loving it as well, and soon, I was (basically) back to normal.

So healthy was I, that I was actually able to conceive again.

Yes, my friends, this is a story of Seminary and Babies. You knew babies would have to make another appearance!

In November of 2010, Mark and I were delighted to find out I was pregnant! Though I had had dreams of finishing seminary, I could not foresee that being possible with two babies age two and below. I resolved to continue in my classwork as much as I could, but a full degree was out of the picture.

We were both at peace with this.

Unfortunately, just nine weeks later, three weeks before spring classes began, I miscarried.

What a sweet blessing it was to be that baby's mama, even for ten short weeks! We received great comfort and support from our seminary friends during this time, and we were grateful.

It is strange to view things from this perspective, but the miscarriage had implications for my seminary degree. To allow my body to recover (my body always seems to be recovering, doesn't it), I was told to wait three months before trying again.

This left spring semester open with no pregnancy.

Mark and I were in the swing of things with school, understanding time management and scheduling better. Classwork was easier. I was no longer nursing.

With the imposed baby wait time and the way our schedules providentially fell, a degree was now in sight!

It was a legitimate possibility.

Thus, in the spring of 2011, weeks after my miscarriage, I was attending seminary as a full-time student. I enrolled in five classes. It was hard, and it was a lot of work. But it was awesome.

And I healed. 

Credit count: 24.

Praise God!

Right after May finals, we received good news again.

As I told Mark one day in the seminary bookstore storage room, "I passed my test." He couldn't believe I had received my marks so quickly after taking an exam.

I said, "No dear. Not that kind of test."

Now, to understand how I progressed from here, you have to recognize a few things.

First, my pregnancy with Samara was the worst! (This is not an exaggeration. It was the worst!) However, Samara was about the easiest child a parent could ever ask for.

Also crucial, my pregnancy with Hudson was the best! (Seriously, the best!)

So great was it that as I entered my 2nd trimester, I also entered Summer Greek.

What is Summer Greek?

Summer Greek is the seminary gauntlet. It's the do or die, make it or break it, rite-of-passage seminary class. Three weeks of straight Biblical Greek! There is homework every night, a quiz every morning, and a test every Friday.

Summer Greek tests not only the student, but also the student's entire family.

(Thank you, Mark, again!)

In short, Summer Greek is not for the faint of heart!

Hudson took Summer Greek with me. 

He also continued to grow steadily in my belly through Greek II, History of Missions, Introduction to Theological and Pastoral Studies, and Biblical Counseling that fall.

Friends, that boy is primed for seminary!

Credit Count: 40.

Praise God!

Now, here is the part of the story where you might just think I'm straight up crazy. And I'm ok with that. However, I do want you to remember that my pregnancy with Hudson was amazing!

I delievered Hudson on February 1, 2012. The first day of spring classes.

Mark and Hudson with one of our favorite professors!

Six days later, my mom drove me (and Hudson) to Charlotte to attend Poets class.

Two days after that, she drove me (and Hudson) up again to attend Greek Readings class.

My body rebounded quickly. Mark and I were on our games, schedule-wise, but let's be honest. During this period of time with a newborn, a 2-year old, and 7 seminary classes between the two of us, THE LORD WAS SO GOOD!

Credit Count: 43.

Praise God!

Our final year of seminary was great! It was busy, of course. Hard. A lot of work.

But somehow, somehow, somehow, we finished. 

Y'all, we both finished.

Credit Count: 67. 

Praise God!

It is no exaggeration when I say this was one of the sweetest moments of my life.

Lesson Learned: Praise God from whom all blessings flow! Seminary blessings! Baby blessings!


Finish the Series With:
Part 3: Ways for "Making Time Matter" During Seminary
Part 4: During Seminary, I Did Not ...
Part 5: Reflections on My Children's Experience with Seminary

Lesson 110: A Masters Degree and Two Babies: Part 1 (Making Time at Home Matter)

During this "Making Time at Home Matter" series, I'd like to tell you the story of how I earned a Masters of Arts in Biblical Studies from RTS-Charlotte, while raising two babies.

However, I would like to be clear right from the start. I do not think every mama needs to be in school while raising their kids! Mama-hood is plenty good and awesome in and of itself!

I am sharing this story merely because there may be some of you who do think it would be enriching or beneficial to return to school. And so, since I've done it, I thought I'd let you know how.

The story will be told in 5 parts:
Part 1: Seminary and Babies at the Beginning
Part 2: Seminary and Babies in its Completion
Part 3: Ways to "Make Time Matter" During Seminary
Part 4: During Seminary I Did Not ... 
Part 5: Reflections on My Children's Experience During Seminary

_______________________________________________________________________

(For time's sake, I'll skip the portion of the story which explains my desire to pursue ministry full-time. I'll simply pick up where seminary entered the picture.)

_______________________________________________________________________

Mark had just broken up with me. (Every good story begins with a break-up.)

Yup, the LOML (love of my life), who was a missionary in China (my desired profession), had cut the cord of our relationship, and I was left alone to figure out what the next step in life should be.

The Lord had been clearly pulling my heart towards full-time ministry, but I felt completely inadequate. I loved the Bible and loved to study it, but I intensely desired further instruction. I wanted the whole picture, as well as the minute details. I wanted someone to teach me!

So, I applied to seminary.

It was the summer of  2007, right before I left for a year-long overseas mission assignment in Dublin, Ireland. I was fully expecting to be a single missionary for the rest of my life, and I wanted a few years of foundational training before setting out. I was hoping to return from the field and find this training in seminary.

In January of 2008, I received my acceptance letter. Wahoo!

A week later, Mark called and said he wanted to marry me. (A story for a different day).

I liked that idea!

We returned to America the summer of 2008 and were married in December. In the meanwhile, Mark applied to seminary and was accepted.

Young and "open the Lord's will for our lives," we thought we might like to spend a few years together in China or Ireland first. We wanted to continue to explore and learn while we were unhindered enough to do that.

However, soon after the wedding, we received some big, unexpected news!

We were in Scotland with Holly when we found out. Interestingly, she and her husband left Scotland shortly after this picture and came to seminary at RTS Charlotte!

Globe-trotting with an infant did not seem wise, and so, instead, we decided the most responsible course of action was seminary.

Did you catch that? We ultimately made the decision to attend seminary because of a baby! (If you've ever been in seminary, you understand that this is a hilarious decision.)

Fast forward at few months.

We were set to move to Charlotte, so Mark could begin summer Greek in 2009. Four days before departure, my water broke (unexpectedly) at 32 weeks.

Samara was born soon after.

First Family Photo

Did you catch that? We were prevented from moving to Charlotte because of a baby!

Turns out the issue was entirely with my health (again, a story for a different day), but the long and short of it is that what followed Samara's birth was six weeks in and out of the hospital, three surgeries (for me), and whole lot of wreckage to my body!

We also were given the gift of a sweet baby girl! Praise God!

Out of the hospital healing took another six weeks, but by October, we were finally ready to move. (Exactly four years ago today.)

Seminary here we come!

Man, I was looking rough!

Class officially began in February, and Mark was psyched!

I, on the other hand, was still exhausted. The pregnancy, disease, surgeries, (and nursing), had taken a huge toll on my body. I slept all the time. I lost fifty pounds. And I began to process the emotional trauma of the past six months.

Seminary was going to have to continue to wait. 

However, on the first day of school, my sweet friend and neighbor told me she was planning on auditing a night class, Hebrews-Revelation. She asked if I would I want to go with her?

Thanks, Judy!

Though I did not really feel up to it, I agreed to go. And if I was going to make the effort to go to the class, I was going to make the effort to do the work for the class for credit.

Friends, agreeing to go to this class was the first step towards getting a master's degree as a mama. I had to show up!

I didn't start out anticipating actually finishing degree. Rather, I remembered why I wanted to attend seminary in the first place. I wanted someone to teach me the Bible. Whether that ended up being one class or twenty, one was better than none.

So I went.

The class was such a blessing, I cannot even describe. In fact, the goodness and richness of that class still brings tears to my eyes.

At seminary, I made friends. Real, loving, gospel-centered friends, who began to sustain me physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I got to act like an adult, dress like an adult and interact with other adults. (This is priceless for stay-at-home moms.) I was required to use my mind. Most importantly, my professor, Dr. Michael Kruger, opened up the Scriptures in a way that I had never before experienced.

Through all this goodness, I began to heal.

Mark and I could not have been more grateful to the Lord!

Mark with our first seminary friend, Trey. He ended up marrying a friend of ours from Virginia Tech!

Now, how does the baby factor into all this?

Well, I was still nursing at night.

And I hated to pump.

So, Mark (my sweet, wonderful, special, brave, phenomenal husband) would bring Samara over to campus during my twenty minute break and I would nurse her in the study lounge.

The typical night went something like this:
- Listen to lecture on different views of eschatology in Revelation for 80 minutes.
- Nurse Samara for 20 minutes.
- Listen to lecture on recapitulation in Revelation for 80 minutes. 

And so on, week after week.

Somehow, finals came in May. I wrote the longest, most well-researched paper of my life (in my bed, during nap time), took the hardest exam I've ever sat through ...

And with that, I had 3 seminary credits.

And a 10 month old.

The adventure was just beginning.


Lesson Learned: "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

Finish the Series With:
Part 2: Seminary and Babies
Part 3: Ways to "Make Time at Home Matter" During Seminary
Part 4: During Seminary I Did Not ... 
Part 5: Reflections on My Children's Experience During Seminary

Lesson 102: A Battle in the Kitchen

(For the purposes of understanding the dialogue, my voice will be represented by regular up-and-down writing. If produce is speaking, its voice will be represented by italics.)

________________________________________________________________________

Hey, giant hard green thing! What are you? I've never seen one like you in these parts before.

 Ha! I am a mighty acorn squash! You're scared of me, aren't you? You should be. (Laughing to the cats.) She's too scared to do anything to me. Let's enjoy this nice warm spot on the sill.

Scared of you? Please! You are on my turf!


In fact ... I'll compost your brains out!

Whatch you lookin' at? I ain't scared of you either!

I plan to win the day!

Victory sure is sweet!

Lesson Learned: Trying a new recipe is WAY MORE FUN if I imagine I'm in the middle of a war!

Lesson 100: Post ONE HUNDRED - An Important One!

Today I would like to tell you arguably the most important story of my life.

Does it have a beginning? There's a simple answer and a complicated, but true answer.

Simple: July 3, 1984.

Complicated, but true: The foundations of the earth.

If you've been reading this blog, you'll know by now I have a thing for the divine sovereignty of God.

In fact, this story is about God. It is the story of how I have come to love and trust in God.

Lesson 88: A "New" Night Before the First Day of School

I've done "the night before the first day of school" before. A whole lot of times. In fact, I'd say ... if I had to count ... I've personally not slept through about 20 of these types of nights.

Last year, I wrote about what I thought would be my last first day of school. I was super emotional. 

Last year was nothing compared to this.

Tonight isn't my own "night before the first day of school."

Tonight is my daughter's first "night before the first day of school."

And so, (since it's my blog) ... tonight is my "first time as the parent of a child on the night before the first day of school."

Do you see what I did there? Do you understanding the nuancing? I'll spell it out just in case.

Tonight is the last night that my daughter is simply my daughter. Tomorrow, she also becomes someone else's pupil.

She's basically gone forever. 

Big motherly sigh. 

Oh get it together and tell the story, Katherine.

You see, I'm mostly being dramatic with all this heaviness. In truth, tonight was not one of the most gut-wrenching nights of my life. In truth, it was rather fun.

Samara and I had a few last minute details to attend to. This included a trip to the grocery store to pick up apples for her teachers, because ...

"Kids have to bring their teachers apples."

Oh really. Don't we already have apples in the fridge that you can take?

"No, these apples have to be the reddest of red."

Of course they do. And who gave you this information?

"The Little Critters book."

So, out we went to purchase the reddest of all the red apples.

At the store, Samara
1. found the child-size cart in the corner,
2. chose the apples,
3. set them on the counter for the cashier to ring up,
4. (I paid.)
5. carried the bag to the car, and then again into the house,
6. placed the apples in the fridge to keep them cold,
7. and threw the plastic bag into the trash can.

Friends, I think she's ready!

As I gave Samara her bath tonight, washed her hair, helped her lay out her new dress for the morning (and hair accessories), tucked her in with an extra long squeeze, I wondered to myself ... am I?

Am I ready to trust someone else to spend this amount of time teaching my daughter?
Am I ready to spend this many hours away from her?
Am I ready for her to understand the words I slyly spell to her father?
Am I ready for her to have so many new and interesting experiences that I'm not around to know about?
Am I ready for time to just speed up and get away (as all seasoned parents have warned me that it does from this moment on)?

I mean really people, we are one step away from college.

Wait a minute, I'm being overly dramatic again.

Her teachers are awesome, loving, and intentional.
The hours at school will fly, and she'll be home everyday before I know it.
It'll be a while before she can spell.
Experiencing life on her own is part of independence and growing for both of us.
Time passes whether she's here or there, and she will grow up and leave, but not quite yet.
God is sovereign and good ... and she was never mine to begin with. She has always been His.

In fact, Samara (which is actually my daughter's middle name) means "guarded or protected by God." She was aptly given the name after a terrifying emergency birth. A TEB (terrifying emergency birth) in which she came out unscathed. A TEB in which she was perfectly guarded and protected by God.

From the beginning, Mark and I have been aware that Samara is a gift and a responsibility that we have been entrusted with. In parenting her, we are merely serving the Lord.

We love her. We think a lot about her. We do our best to do our best. But ultimately, the Lord loves her more than we could ever even fathom. His will for her life is perfect for her good and His glory.

His will includes her heading out to school tomorrow.

Away from me.

And it will be good.

What a sweet and hard thing it is to be a mama! 

I best get some sleep now. I have a big day tomorrow.


Lesson Learned: Who knew "the night before the first day of school" was more of a rollercoaster ride for the mama's than for the littles? Say a prayer for me?!?!

* Linked up at Living Well, Spending Less

Lesson 84: A Praise Song and An Ordination

There's a classic Chris Tomlin worship song that was popular during my college days. The lyrics are: "We fall down, we lay our crowns, at the feet of Jesus. The greatness of your mercy and love, at the feet of Jesus. We cry holy, holy, holy, is the Lamb."

I have this great memory of singing this song during a worship service at Urbana, a huge missions conference, in 2006. I remember it carrying so much meaning, because in order to have the "mission" bent, we sang it in Chinese. At the time, Mark and I were dating, but Mark had been in China, serving with a missions organization for five months. I remember feeling like the song was this thoroughly symbolic thing, that Mark and I knew we had to be separated, and it was painful, but it was ultimately a good thing, that the gospel might go forth in China. I had an understanding of the Lord's glory, and I knew that at the end of our lives, whatever we had done or sacrificed for the sake of the gospel, would be given to Jesus. We would desire to give everything we had achieved or earned on earth over to Him, and that there would be no question whether or not a life devoted to serving Him had been worth it.

Urbana was a huge time of "consecration," if you will, of my life to the Lord's service. I thought for sure this meant missions (and it did for a brief time and might again), but regardless of what capacity, I was committed to following Jesus' lead wherever.

A few Sundays ago, the children of our church sang this same song during service, as they had learned it during the week at Vacation Bible School. Their voices were so sweet, and the words so simple. It immediately took me back to Urbana, to a room of mission driven young people, reminded me of my steadfast commitment, and caused me to question ... do I still believe all this?

I mean really. Where has this "commitment" taken me? Seven years forward. Factor in some time in China, Ireland, and Switzerland. Add a marriage, a terrifying disease, two babies, and a seminary degree. Through all of these changes and interesting paths, do I still believe that the Lord is perfectly guiding, protecting, leading, shaping, molding, and using me?

Yes. I do.

It just looks a little different than I expected it to.

I have a feeling this is how it usually works.

It was particularly fitting to consider this most fundamental question on this particular Sunday. You see, right after church, Mark and I loaded the kids in the car and drove to Raleigh to attend the Ordination Service of one of our best friend's from seminary.

It was amazing!

I love ordination services, maybe even more than weddings. It is such a beautiful thing to see a young man, headed into the ministry, surrounded by supporting, loving mentors and elders, commissioned to a distinct calling in the ministry of the church ... and all of it done to the glory of God.

It seems like an ordination service is really the only time a guy in ministry gets singled out. It occurs right at the beginning of his "career", and welp, that's about it as far as recognition is concerned until he dies and gets to meet Jesus.

At this service, we were charged to PRAY diligently for Crawford and Rachel and their daughter. We were called to pray that the Holy Spirit would work powerfully in their own hearts, in their family and through their ministry with RUF at Duke University. I hope that Mark and I will be faithful to do this.

LOVE THEM!

As Mark is studying for his own ordination exams, and I am transitioning into the role of a Pastor's Wife (gasp), I am so grateful that in one day I was reminded that all of our life's work, regardless of failures or successes, will be handed over to the Lord at the end.

We will do this gratefully.

We will see Jesus, and we will be dying to give Him the glory and honor He deserves.

As for now, we are not to seek recognition for ourselves, but are to be the ultimate deflectors. Everything we do and say should point others towards Christ. I pray that this would be a common thread throughout all of our friend's ministries, whether church ministry, RUF, Young Life, mission work, and so on. Whether in Durham, Charlotte or Clover, Milwaukee, Conway, or New Orleans ...

(or Raleigh or Chatanooga or next door to me. Sorry friend, couldn't resist.)

And I pray that we will be faithful to pray for one another, knowing that without the Holy Spirit, everything is done is vain.

Lesson Learned: It is sobering to be reminded again that our lives are not our own. But it is also wonderful.

Congratulations again, Stevener's! We are so happy to be a part of what the Lord has done and is doing in your lives!

Lesson 78: Lessons from Dancing in the Kitchen

I bet y'all think this post is going to be some sweet parenting tidbit. Something along the lines of, my daughter and I baked cookies while rockin' out to the Tangled soundtrack today. She had a pink ribbon in her hair, and I witnessed a beautiful picture of forgivenss.

No. This is much more self-centered than that.

I love to dance in the kitchen. Not in like the, my husband and I are so cute, one time we sang a song while cooking dinner, and now I'm blogging about it. It's more of a, I turn the music up as loud as I can, most days, put my Ray-bans on (feelin' cool tonight), close my eyes, and forget that anything else is going on in the world outside of Taylor Swift's break-up.

If kids are there, they join in.

If husband is there, he either joins in ... or wishes I would stop, but knows that if he says so I'll sing louder. So, he walks around, looking busy, and occasionally offers me an encouraging smile, hoping that his affirmation will end the party sooner.

In the old house, we listened to Pandora, which allowed for a variety of songs; however, we haven't switched over our internet yet, so for now in the new house, we have resorted to the old trusty ipod.

Oh the ipod. One of our younger seminary classmates commented that he had never seen an ipod as big as ours ... because it is that old!

Our ipod is a walk down memory lane, I'll tell you. It's not on purpose. We turn it on expecting to hear something new, all the while totally forgetting that new songs stopped being uploaded around 2009. We are not runners. (I feel like runners continue to acquire music.)

Anyway, the session usually starts off fun and lighthearted. A lot of jumping is involved, mimicing heartache, and directing intense love ballads towards Mark.

After an hour or so, Mark leaves the kitchen. He is bored and realizes his presence makes no difference one way or the other as far as duration is concerned. When he exits, I lose my main object of affection, and sometimes hit an energy slump. This is when slower, nostalgic tunes begin playing ... taking me back to the beach in Ireland, a train in Switzerland, or a mountain in China.

You see, the reason Mark and I loaded the ipod with music was to enable conversation breaks during much needed quiet times on adventures around the world.

When I hear, Counting Crows, Holiday in Spain, I think about a beach trip we took with 20 friends to Malaga, southern Spain, in 2005.

When I hear Bebo Norman, I Will Lift My Eyes, I think of Tiger Leaping Gorge on the western side of China, where I hiked one of the most beautiful places in this world!

When I hear, Joy to the World by Bebo Norman, not always, but sometimes I think about walking the streets of Lugano, pregnant with Samara, not fully comprehending that there is a child in my womb, but super emotional and excited about motherhood at the same time.

Transition. 

Since we've moved, I have been much more stressed about decorating our home then ever before. As I mentioned, the house is beautiful on its own, and I wonder if part of my anxiety (if you can call it that) is this idea that I need to do the house justice.

However, tonight, after a very characteristic dance party in the kitchen while Mark made 40 hamburgers for our youth group's summer kick-off dinner, I had a deeper thought connecting the old ipod and the disappointment (?) of this new house.

Mark finally has a paying job, which means I finally have some money to put towards our house. After four years of scouring magazines and websites, I knew exactly what I wanted to purchase and from where. As beautiful items have appeared on my doorstep, the contentment of finally getting the house I've always wanted has remained far off.

I haven't been able to decide if it's because I still need more (the italics here indicate the ridiculousness of this statement), or if it's because something deeper is going on.

Tonight ... with the dancing ... and the ipod full of nostalgic songs, I had a thought. I was listening to all these songs that remind me of traveling, and like they always do, they ignited this little spark in my heart that loves to travel, move, experience, and see. It's this part of me that relishes the freedom of living out of a backpack and not quite knowing where the day's adventure will lead.

It's this part of me that I gave up when I became a mom.

Now, I know that in the blogging world, mom's are not supposed to admit that life was in fact more fun before kids. We are supposed to be thoroughly tickled by the tender moments, the sweet touches, the funny sayings, and the peace of knowing we are spending our time in the most important way possible.

And all of that is true. Being a mom is tender, sweet, funny, fulfilling ... and fun.

But let's be honest, it is not the same kind of fun. 

I never cared about my house until I became a mom. In fact, my newfound obsession with all things decorating has continually stumped my husband over these past four years.

Tonight, with these songs in my mind, it all became frighteningly clear. I wonder ...

Because I feel like I no longer go anywhere, do I try to decorate my home in such a way that demonstrates that I've been somewhere? 

Is my home a showpiece that is meant to say, "No really! I've done things with my life ... things that do not involve diapers and sippy cups. I have seen the world. I am really interesting."

Along slightly different lines, do I put such thought into creating our home in order to give myself the feeling that when I am home, I am somewhere!

I wonder?

Y'all if this is true and not some crazy post-dance frenzy, a whole host of idols and misguided notions have been exposed in my heart. Blahhh, yuck, how terrible!

My guess is that this is part of the thought process. (The other part could simply be that I like pretty, functional, interesting spaces.)

A while back, I wrote a post about contentment. When I reread that post, I still believe that everything I said is true. Yet even while it is true, some of what I wrote today is true as well.

When you become a parent, you actually do give up a lot. There is no arguing that you gain a ton, but it is untrue to act as if what you gain merely replaces what you sacrifice. A loss is involved.

My conclusion for now and my hope for my heart is the reality that sanctification is a process. As the Lord makes us more like his son, he cracks away at our selfishness, pride, self-centeredness, desire to please ourselves, and all the rest of our nasty recurring sins ... and he changes us, fashions us, and molds us, into a beautiful, new, God-honoring person. Clearly, he still has work to do in my heart.

It is frustrating ... you know, to not be perfect already. But there is grace, and there is a gracious one.

And his plan is perfect.

And because of what his son accomplished on the cross, he rejoices over me with singing and dancing, on my good days and my bad days.

And that is a wonderful thing.

Lesson Learned: The Lord is long-suffering. He loves us perfectly throughout the various seasons of life. His love endures forever.

Lesson 68: Cleaning Under the Fridge

Did you read the title of this post?

All I can say is, YUCK!

If you've been reading this blog since the beginning, you may remember that cleaning is not my specialty. Not only do I not enjoy doing it, I do not always know what I'm supposed to do. You could say I Don't Have A Clue.

Recently I purchased Mrs. Meyer's  All Purpose Cleaning Supplies and Bathroom Cleaner, Lemon Verbena Scent. I chose this brand, because my mother-in-law uses it. One way to attain wisdom is to imitate others.

It's also made with natural ingredients so hopefully it's safer for babies. Mark, being the amazing husband that is, would bleach our kitchen floors, and I would sit (yes, just sat and watched), fearful that my children were going to keel over at any second from the fumes.
 
Inspired by my friend, Jessica, over at The Abundant Wife, I spent the morning scrubbing my kitchen and bathroom baseboards, really digging out the grime that has built up over, I don't know, the last two years.

I kept returning to the surface under the refridgerator and thinking, "Ugh, I really need to get at that, but not today."

However, eventually the knowledge of the layer of solid crustiness grew to be too much. My mind couldn't take it anymore.

Mark popped in for ten minutes between a meeting at church and heading up to Charlotte, so in that time I put him to work moving the fridge to the side.

I'll be honest. I expected to be grossed out, but nothing could have prepared me for what was living under our food storage unit in actuality. I started to take a picture to provide you with a visual, but Mark expressed great disgust at this idea. He did not see a need for documentation.

I kind of feel like it could have served as a reminder to move the thing more often. Anyway ...

Ever the optimist, I set to work with my Meyer's spray. Naturally, Mark suggested bleach, and I sent him out the door, my mothering protective instinct kicking in.

Y'all. A spray bottle and a rag was not enough. I had to incorporate the use of a tool. A real tool, as in from the tool box, tool. A metal, scrapper, five-in-one thing with a special grip handle. After an incredible amount of spraying and digging, I succeeded at ridding the most inconspicuous place in my house of its long-lingering sludge.

Accomplishment.

Tomorrow's task: Moving the stove. I am not excited.

Lesson Learned: This post may include some slight exaggerations. But not many. Move your fridge.

Lesson 67: Climbing Croagh Patrick Pregnant

When I was 3 and a half months pregnant with Samara, my husband made me climb Croagh Patrick in Westport, Ireland.

I was not thrilled.

Tradition has it that St. Patrick spent forty days and forty nights fasting and praying on top of this mountain. Sound familiar?

Apparently, at the end of his fast, St. Patrick succeeded in ridding Ireland of snakes. Thank you, Paddy!

Every year pilgrims climb this mountain barefoot, and sometimes on their knees.

I climbed it while wearing shoes ... very, very slowly.

Coming down was even slower. Those rocks were dangerous!

The view from the top was pretty amazing. Man, Ireland is beautiful.

I sure love this country.

And miss it.

Happy St. Patricks Day!

Lesson Learned:  I will always be an Irish girl at heart.

Lesson 65: The 26.2 Club

26.2 miles.

The first person to run this distance continuously was Pheidippides, who sprinted from the Battle of Marathon all the way to Athens to announce the defeat of the Persians. Allegedly, after proclaiming, "We won" (in Greek of course), Pheidippides collapsed and died.

The fastest person to ever run this distance is Patrick Makau of Kenya, who completed the feat in just 2:03:38. This is approximately the amount of time it took me to write this blog post. Got to love nap time.

The most recent group of people to run 26.2 miles and gain membership to an elite tier of personhood did so in Phoenix, Arizona on January 20.

This Rock 'n' Roll Arizona Marathon was my first.

My involvement in the RnRAM met every preconceived marathon expectation I have ever had. It required diligent training and meticulous preparation. It necessitated strong mental readiness, a real "can do" attitude. Finally it entailed pre-race discipline including proper nutrition, rest, and hydration.

Also as expected, I collapsed exhausted upon completion and experienced a true sense of pride in my accomplishment!

I can't even imagine how I would have felt had I actually run in the race.

I hope you didn't think that I had run. I don't really run, per se. I jog occasionally around the playground outside and am most likely capable of beating Samara in a race. But, no, I did not run in the race.

I was on a support team.

See, here I am cheering, as my bff Nikki checks in and receives her number. Excitement was in the air. Uber-fit, hipsters roamed the center, sporting neon gear and drinking water.

I wanted to be all of them!

But, my race day responsibilities lie in a realm outside the pounding of pavement.

Here I am with our team captain, Hayley. Hayley was not a marathon newbie like myself. Both she and her fiance, Brett, were inaugurated into the 26.2 club at a race in Washington D.C. As in, they actually ran 26.2 miles. Thus, she knew exactly what Nikki needed to succeed on this big day: A sign from her hubby, loads of water, a sweat towel, and of course, a cowbell. Because what marathoner does not need the encouragement of a cowbell? 

Support teams are very important. All that stuff I said about preparation and so forth was no joke. Hayley had the whole course mapped out, knowing exactly when and where we'd see Nikki run by and what supply exchanges needed to occur.

Let's be frank. Hayley carried the majority of the support team load. My role was essentially support to the support with the additional requirement of being really loud. I am really good at being really loud!

Now, I know all these pictures, plans, and props give the impression that we were a phenomenal support team. Unfortunately, on the first set meet-up point, Nikki's crew gave her cause for concern.

This first trade-off was a big one. She was to give us her vest and one empty water bottle, and we were to provide her with sunglasses and two full water bottles. We were ready. We arrived with time to spare, parked, and headed over to find a clear spot to cheer on our girl!

As we approached the race, my spirit was invigorated by the atmosphere. The band had me dancing, the crowds had me clapping, the sun had me smiling, the wind had my hair blowing. In my mind, I was thinking, "Marathons are the most fun" when out of nowhere we heard, "Hayley. Hayley! HAY---LEY!"

Reason set in, and we quickly realized Nikki was in the process of running past us.

FYI: When these hand-offs occur, the marathoner never stops running. Instead, support team members run alongside, seamlessly making the passes and offering words of encouragement. Also, FYI: I had no intention of assuming this running / encouraging role on the team. I planned to do some sign holding or cowbell ringing, but definitely nothing pertaining to running.

Yet, drastic times called for drastic measures. As Nikki's sungasses were perched on top of my head and knowing she was going to need them to survive the Phoenix sun (not the b-ball team), I sprung into action, franctically ripping them out of my hair, securing her vest with my armpit, and somehow managing to not spill my race day hydration (aka coffee) all over her.

Hayley also reacted instanteously and miraculously completed the rest of the transaction.

The moment was so exhilarating, the speed and drama, so intense.

And then she was gone. Off to run 21 more miles.

As we walked back to the car, we gave ourselves a well-deserved chastisement and vowed to not make the same mistake again.

And apart from one other miss (when we took too long waiting for donuts), I think we completed the race pretty well. At one point, we were able to facetime Nikki's husband, so he could see her run and tell her how amazing she is. We also provided a steady supply of chapstick, water, and high fives.

We were so busy supporting that we had no time to play "Marathon Spotting Bingo." Bummer, right? Every time a chicken clad individual passed me, I experienced a small sense of loss.

Yet, we knew that our first duty was to Nikki, and we proudly cheered her on to the end.

Yes, I'd say we did a pretty good job for our first marathon. It was rough, but we persevered and prevailed. We refused to give in to setbacks, instead learning from past wrongs and coming out on top.

As Nikki crossed the finish line, I wanted to exclaim as Pheidippides did, "We won!"

I will say though, I was slightly confused about why I didn't receive a medal at the end. See in this picture, Nikki is rockin' a medal with a rockin' desert picture on it, courtesy of RnRAM. She was also given a smoothie, a granola bar, and a Powerade, but there was nothing for Hayley, Brett, and I. It almost felt like the race coordinators didn't even know we existed.

Thankfully, there were some of those 26.2 bumper stickers for sale that all members of this exclusive club possess. I (kind of) deserved one, right?!?

Don't worry all you running purists: I didn't buy one.

Lesson Learned: My best friend is awesome.
(This wasn't really a new lesson. Perhaps it was just reenforcement of something I already knew.)

Lesson 60: Oh Motherhood

I'm a pretty cas (as in casual) mom. Not much ruffles my maternal feathers, and yet, the thought of an impending solo flight with one of my chickies has been known to cause short, rapid heart flutters.

Why a mother would ever want to spend the duration of any time with her child confined to her lap surrounded by a host of strangers, in the air, is beyond me. Unfortunately, as the old saying goes, you can't always get what you want, and the reality is an hour flight is way shorter than a seven hour car ride.

The joy of child flight traveling begins at the security check. Almost without fail, your sweet child has fallen asleep in the car on the way to the airport. Snug in their seat, lost in lala-land, your baby is a picture of an angel. However, car seat covers and dirty diapers are typical hideouts for suspicious substances. Thus, after a momma removes her boots and coat, empties her pockets, finds a safe place to stow her id and boarding pass, and displays her ziploc of 3 ounce liquids, she then must awaken sweet, sleeping baby, balance groggy baby on her hip, add baby's car seat to the conveyor belt, fold up baby's stroller with one hand (as you do not want baby to touch the germ-infested floor), lift stroller monstrosity to the conveyor belt ... and do all of this without showing the least indication of irritation or frustration.

Because after-all, modern mom's are never bothered by anything.

The pass through takes all of three seconds, and mom and baby find themselves of the other side of the scanner ready to reorganize everything back to its proper place. This is super fun when the security guard decides to take extra precautions with checking the car seat, requiring the balancing of baby to last longer, even as the next person in line's items are shot out crowding yours and causing a scene.

Deep breath.

Find your gate.