Noisy time

I found this post today on Between Two Worlds, a blog that I occasionally read. It jumped out at me as I have seen this happen in my own life. I no longer have a quiet time. My time is not noisy, necessarily, but I do pray out loud with my eyes open as I speak with God. If I just can’t get away from an audience (the kids or JD), then I pray a very quiet whisper. I first started doing this a few years ago after my pastor described his quiet time. He prays aloud while walking in his office. As I started to get over my silly inhibitions of talking to myself (I know, I know, I’m talking to God, but it felt so strange at first) I realized my prayer life was growing. I was staying focused on God, my praises, confessions and requests. Instead of relaxing, I became incredibly involved, and at times, I have felt like I was truly conversing with a living God. Some achieve this by journaling as well, but I grew frustrated by thinking/talking faster than I could write. I do still journal some, but it is more bullet points of how God is working in my life, things He is teaching me, or just experiences, instead of long entries detailing my innermost thoughts.

So here is part of the post. To read this rest, go here. Let me know what you think. How do you pray?

“It’s fair to say that having a “quiet time” is a misnomer. We should more properly have a “noisy time.” By talking out loud we live the reality that we are talking with another person, not simply talking to ourselves inside our own heads….I’ve known many people whose relationship with God was significantly transformed as they started to speak up with their Father. Previously, “prayer” fizzled out in the internal buzz of self-talk and distractions, worries and responsibilities. Previously, what they thought of as prayer involved certain religious feelings, or a set of seemingly spiritual thoughts, or a vague sense of comfort, awe, and dependency on a higher power. Prayer meandered, and was virtually indistinguishable from thoughts, sometimes indistinguishable from anxieties and obsessions. But as they began to talk aloud to the God who is there, who is not silent, who listens, and who acts, they began to deal with him person-to-person….Out loud prayer became living evidence of an increasingly honest and significant relationship. As they became vocal, their faith was either born or grew up.”

Another baby . . . another boy???

Yep, it’s true . . . we are expecting another baby. Our fourth baby.  Possible our fourth boy.

Expected arrival: Mid-October

Official due-date: October 14th.

Oh friends, there is so, so much I want to tell you. I’ve been kind of quiet on this blog recently because so many of my thoughts are consumed by this pregnancy! I am excited to share my thoughts, concerns, fears and dreams with you for the next several months.

“You’ve got you hands full!”

With three young, vivacious boys, I hear it all the time.

I heard it at the doctor’s office on Monday. I’ve heard it at the grocery store, on the rare occasion I take them out with me. I’ve heard it at the park from sympathetic mothers who have one child, maybe even two, but never three. I’ve heard it from the nursery workers who lovingly care for my children.

It is true. My hands are full. Somedays it takes all my patience, self-control, and grace to get through the day. On days that we spend hours outside, my boys can come in with more energy than they went out with. They can jump, run, bounce, wrestle, crawl, and NEVER wear down. I, on the other hand, am exhausted at the end of the day.

My boys are not ornery. They are not rude. They are not trouble-makers or back-talkers. They are not mean-spirited. They ARE rambunctious. They giggle and laugh with infectious joy. They make silly jokes about body parts (what boy doesn’t?) and their food often becomes an airplane, rocket, or train.

I struggle with knowing when to let little boys be little boys, and when to step in and become the enforcer. For example, they love to wrestle on the floor. Inevitably, someone starts crying because an elbow has connected with a nose, a foot has kicked a stomach, or a kneed has crashed into a head. So, now we have no wrestling. Do you know how hard that is to enforce? It is in their nature to roll on the floor with each other!

Or we were invited to join a small group a ways back. We went twice. I loved the group. The kid situation just didn’t work for me. Some junior girls in the group were going to watch the little kiddos (10+) while we participated in the study. But, if my hands are full with my energetic boys, how can I expect timid, tweens to corral my boys plus other kids? Again, my boys are not rotten! (I feel like I am betraying them here. So let me put in a plug for them . . . I hear over and over how personable they are, how loving, how kind, even how well-behaved) It’s just that I know how quickly my boys can get wound up and going strong.

Or what about church? When church is out we grab the boys and head for the door. If I happen to get caught in a conversation, I am continually distracted. “No, don’t touch the coats.” “Stop pulling at your brother.” “Everybody sit along the wall, touching no one or nothing.” “Don’t tear up your paper.” AHHH!

Those of you reading this, smirking as you watch your calm girls play quietly with their toys, know this–in a few years I’ll be smirking back at ya while you deal with all those hormones and fights over skimpy clothes.

Bite the bullet

Have you seen the Magic Bullet Infomercial? I haven’t, but my mom has, and she bought the bullet.  So of course my dad (who does most of the cooking at their home these days) had to show it off while we were visiting a few weeks ago.  I was impressed.  In fact, I ordered it the next day.  It came last Friday.  We are in smoothie heaven.

I have a great, powerful, ice-crunching blender. But it is big.  It is a pain to get it out from the cabinet and to put it back away.  The bullet is small! Its parts are dishwasher safe.  Plus, now I can personalize each person’s smoothy.  Before, I made the banana-free smoothies for those of us who detest bananas, then I would make the banana-infested smoothies for Jacob and Jesse.  Today I just put a collection of frozen fruit on the counter and let each kiddo fix his own. Then I made a chocolate peanut butter smoothie for me!  Oh, and this weekend I made a mocha.  Yep, it even compared to my local coffee house.  (I know you may not believe, but I was stunned.  The milk was really, really frothy.)

As for my husband. JD eyed my recent appliance purchase with much, much skepticism.  Until I goaded him into making milkshakes after dinner.  He, too, was impressed with how easy it was to make individualized milkshakes.  He, too, was impressed with how easy the cleanup and how strong the motor is.

So, if you make a lot of smoothies or milkshakes, and if you have more than one person in your house, I would get one of these gizmos. I love mine.

a lesson in mercy and grace

A few days ago I was greeted by a screaming Jonah. He was crying so hard, I just couldn’t understand him. After quickly looking him over and determining there was no major injury, I made out the word “Jacob.”

Hmm.  Now to find Jacob.  I found Jacob crying in the basement.  Here is how the conversation went:

Me: What happened?

J: I was mean to Jonah.  Really mean.  Really, really mean, Mom.

Me: Oh, I see. Why?

J: I was really angry with him.

Me: Did he do anything to you? Did he take anything from you?

J: No.

Me: Uh huh.

J: I’m so sorry Mom.

Me: You’ll have to tell Jonah that you are sorry, as well as God.   When you’ve done that, you may go play.

J: But I don’t deserve to play. I was mean Mom.  I know I was. I deserve to be disciplined.

Me: Yep, you are right about that.  But let’s talk about mercy for a second. Mercy is not getting what you deserve.  Grace is getting what you don’t deserve.  God gives us both daily as we make mistakes because He loves us and He wants us to grow to be more like His Son Jesus.  So for today, I want you to have a taste of that.  God gives me grace and mercy when I mess up, and I want to pass some on to you.

J: Whoa. God is really good, Mom, isn’t He?

Me: Yep, Jacob, He really is.