Small Scribbles

Readers, Get your mice (mouses?) ready! This post is going to take you all over the Web. When I wrote Turn-Right Rides a few days ago, I linked it to The Preacher's Wife blog so that other women participating in the I AM Bible Study could read it. This Bible study has actual questions that you are supposed to answer but because I am a triangle and a squiggle I did not answer them. I went off in another direction. (I promise you, Lisa, if I were doing a real life study with you, I would do the same thing.) And because Lisa is a circle and a squiggle (see April 14th) she did not whip off an e-mail that went something like, "Hey! Lady! You did not follow directions! You did not answer one...single...question.Now be banished from my corner of the Blogosphere!" Instead she gave me this: These are the directions for choosing a Blogger Reflection recipient: "Give to those who have who have been an encouragement, a source of love, impacted you in some way, and have be...

On Saturday afternoons when I was a kid, we used to pile in the wood-paneled station wagon...three in the front...three (or four) in the middle...and three in the WAAAY back. Looking back, these rides probably preserved my mother's sanity but I did not know it at the time. We just saw them as a break in routine. We would stop fussing and fighting for the hour or so that we meandered through the countryside. Turn-Right Rides we called them. No particular destination in mind. When we came to a stop sign we voted. Left or right? A decision was made and the car pointed in a new direction. We played the Silo Game . 1 point for white silos. 5 for the blue Harvestors. You could only count the silos on your side of the car. We drove over a bridge with a grated metal surface. The Tickle Bridge. "Everybody put your feet on the floor, we're coming up to the Tickle Bridge." We laughed as the vibrations came through the soles of our sneakers. We held our breath as we crossed long...

Yesterday, I touched a little bit on the creativeness of my kids. They seem to be bursting with it. At this very moment John is writing about Were-Chickens and Faith is sculpting a crocodile and its babies. These are surrounded by squiggly clay strips that represent the borders of Egypt. This slide show created by John and Lauren is Exhibit A into how their minds work. The pictures are infinitely funnier if you realize that the dog in the first photo is evil and is using The Force (think Starwars here) to control the other animals. If you double click on the photos you will see the captions that accompany this work of art. Enjoy.

I think of my friend, Dawn, as the Bruce Lee decorator. "Take that! And that! And that! Hiii-Yaw!" Fabric, flowers, paint colors and pictures fall into perfect order at her command. Me? Notsomuch. My decorating abilities are more like the duel between Merlin and Mad Madam Mim. "Take that! I mean that! OH! That's not what I mean!" Our one-income budget does not allow for this weakness. I must choose between school books and floral arrangements. My home is comfortable and cozy but you would not be awestruck if you were to walk through the front door. What we lack in beauty we make up for in serenity. This I can attain with music, candles, organization and a structured schedule. It is much easier on the wallet. Oil lamps and the fireplace in the winter make up for the lack of pictures on the walls. The smell of fresh bread and homemade soup might distract your attention from my kitchen table. We found a large oak table in the newspaper and bought it from a woman wh...

My brother Tim and I were born nine years apart to the day. This is a letter I wrote to him recently in commemoration. There are some things you might not know about the day of your birth and the days leading up to the day of your birth because you were busy developing and being born and stuff. I, however, know a few things because I was eight and then I was nine. These are my memories. I was an undercover spy when I was eight. I knew where to look for top-secret goods…In Mom’s top dresser drawer. You know the drawer. The one with the Twizzlers and chips, the nightgowns and underwear and all manner of confidential things. That one. One snowy afternoon in January 1977, my sleuthing turned up a home pregnancy test. I knew a few things about pregnancy tests by the time I was eight. I determined that this one was positive. I just couldn’t decide if this test was for a baby to come or for one of the previous six who were now running around the house. You know how Mom saves things. Turns out...

I have been wrestling with God this week. This has a predictable ending. I won't leave you in suspense. He pinned me firmly to the mat and held me there until I cried "Uncle!" It took a few days. On Wednesday, I wrote this: Famine and Psalm 33 I am starving For companionship, And conversation. Hungry for meaning, For purpose. Will faith disintegrate To dust under the enormity of this weight? Carried at length With no end in sight. But God says His eyes are on those who fear him Who hope in His unfailing love He will keep my spirit alive in this present famine. He promises. And so it is true. I could not bring myself to post it then because I was still wrestling. Still nursing self-pity. Still lobbying for my rights. God is gracious. He did not grind my weak frame to dust and laugh "BUAA HAA HAA!" in a deep scary voice. Instead He lifted me up and dusted me off. He renewed my strength as I was reading Luke Chapter 11 in preparation for going through it with the k...

The house is just beginning to stir. I balance a load of laundry on one hip and tiptoe toward the laundry room. I pass Claire on my way. She is dressed and rummaging in the pantry in search of a pre-breakfast snack. My early morning girl. Lauren, still cozy under her covers, turns the pages of The Indian in the Cupboard . I peek in on her but she doesn't notice. Faith sits up in bed and pushes tangled curls aside. She dangles her legs over the side of the bed and rubs her eyes. The sun pushes through the curtains and makes patches of light on her feet and on the floor. I pause at the boys' door and scan for dirty laundry. The room is dark. The sun will not make its way to this side of the house until the afternoon. John's stack of midnight reading and his flashlight are in a heap. I pick up a shirt and a pair of shorts and add them to my basket. John and Charlie are sound asleep. John sprawls on his back tangled up in his red fleece blanket. His arms and long legs stretch o...