Decent Christian Woman

Apparently, a decent Christian woman has the ability to hold her tongue. No, this was not recently illustrated to me by a pastoral sermon, my scripture reading or any spiritual retreat, book, or even another Christian sharing truth with me.

No, this revelation was made through television. Yes, television. If God can use the donkey to talk to Balaam, then He can use whatever means necessary to communicate truth to his servant.

So Friday night, I made popcorn for the kiddos and we settled in to watch that old classic, The Wizard of Oz. This being my first time seeing it since….well, probably childhood, I was amazed by my adult perspective on the movie. You remember that woman who came to get Dorothy’s dog? Well, here are Auntie Em’s words for her, “I’ve waited thirty years to tell you what I think of you, Elmira Gultch! And I still can’t tell you because I am a decent Christian woman.” She then storms out of the room. My popcorn about fell out of my mouth. An actual reference to Christianity in pop culture? An acknowledgement that a relationship with God affects your behavior? An actual on screen manifestation of the fruit of the Spirit, self-control? I was stunned.

Less than forty-eight hours later, I am listening to the T.V. while trying to fall asleep. The husband is awake and watching an old Denzel Washington movie called Johnny Q. Public, where a father takes hostages because his insurance company will not pay for his son’s heart transplant. The negotiators want to use the wife to talk him down, but when she sees the insurance woman, she states, “I will not be used, and I will not talk to that woman,” Then she turns to her, “I would tell you what I think of you but I am a decent Christian woman.” End of conversation. I was flabbergasted. Another bit of self control because of a relationship with Christ! This was, at least, what, forty years after the Wizard of Oz?

I sat up in bed, “That’s just what Auntie Em said on Friday!” I exclaimed. The half-sleeping husband raised an eyebrow in my general direction; he had not been home for movie night and was not in the loop. “That bit there, about the decent Christian woman! It’s straight from the Wizard of Oz!”

Having been married for a long time and having grown used to these strange outbursts, he calmly asked, “Should I rewind it for you?”

“No, no,” I responded, “I am going to sleep now.”

But as I lay back down, I thought of television’s portrayal of these two “decent Christian women” and their ability to hold their tongue. I wondered if one writer had borrowed the line from the other. I wondered if today’s Christian woman is too quick to complain, too quick to speak, too quick to denigrate others. I thought, am I holding my tongue as I should be? Am I a decent Christian woman? Lord, let me be self controlled in all areas, not in myself, but because of my relationship with You.

Take A Step

A smooth sea does not a good sailor make. It’s the rough seas, the pirate encounters, and even the mutinies that make the man. Times of adversity reveal true character.

When my husband lost his job, someone told him, “I guess your faith in God is real after all.” Apparently, this person was waiting to see Ryan fall apart. They wanted to know if his talk matched his walk. Ryan did not fall apart; he didn’t even fall on his faith. He leaned back comfortably, acknowledging to Whom he belonged. My husband did not panic, cry, or whine. He even smiled. A doomsday cloud was not above his head. He rested in the calm assurance that God had it all under control. He has always been a good sailor (and granted, he’d faced rougher seas then unemployment). True, this bystander had been looking at the Christian, and not the Christ. (Not to worry, the husband pointed him in the right direction).

Still, the point remains. Do we truly rejoice when we face trials of many kinds? Or do we believe we are the masters of our own destiny. Do we acknowledge that ALL we have is because of our Creator, God? No, this does not mean we sit in our unemployment and wait for God to drop the perfect job in our lap. Faith is an action word. It’s a walking word, and a place where God meets us. Remember Indiana Jones and the “step of faith” he made into the seemingly bridgeless chasm? There was the bridge, the once invisible made visible. This is what happens when we take that first step.

Of course, this is all easier said than done, or is it? Doesn’t it become easier in the doing? Don’t be a sailor afraid to set sail. Stop worrying about the weather. Acknowledge to Whom you belong and walk in it. Go ahead. Take a step.

A Toddler’s Top Five Books

Again? You want me to read this again? Am I the only adult who can recite Sandra Boynton’s, But not the Hippotamus from memory? A hog and a frog do a dance in the bog….

Young children generally love books, and my twins are no exception. As a homeschool mom, I want books that educate my kids. Not boring facts, but something that sparks the imaginative process. If I teach my kids to absolutely love reading, there’s no limit to the information they can find out as adults. So here is a list of their favorites (and mommy’s too.)

1. But Not the Hippopotamus by Sandra Boynton. A hippo watches the action from the sidelines while the phrase is repeated, “but not the hippopotamus”. At the end she is invited to join the action….and the answer is… “but YES! the hippopotamus.”

2. Hello Shoes by Joan Blos. A little boy and his grandpa hunt the house for his favorite pair of shoes. They look in several places without discovered the favorite footwear. When at last the missing shoes are found, he buckles them BY HIMSELF for the first time, and the grandpa sings, “This is the boy who buckled his shoes…buckled his shoes…”

3. Diary of a Wombat by Jackie French. This “Australian raccoon”, the nocturnal wombat, discovers his new human neighbors. He digs up their flowers, wrestles their welcome mat, tears down hanging laundry, and pounds on their metal trash cans until he receives carrots. It is told from the wombat’s point of view. It ends when he decides he likes his new neighbors and they are very trainable.

4. The Christmas Crocodile by Bonnie Becker. The Christmas crocodile didn’t mean to be bad, not really..This story tells of all the havoc a crocodile causes when delivered to the wrong address, and all the things he eats, including the blue spruce, a big one. It ends with the crocodile being hauled away to his rightful home and the little girl, Alice Jayne, smiling because she has a secret, a newly hatched baby crocodile upstairs.

5. Have you Got my Purr? by Judy West. A kitten searches the farmyard for her purr, asking all the animals in turn if they have it. The sheep send her to the dog, the dog sends her to the mouse (this is a little tricky as she is a cat) and so on, until late in the day, she is sent home to her mother and realizes she had her own purr with her after all.

Not only are these five books entertaining, they all have a surprise ending that widens the eyes of young listeners. What makes these five books exceptional is that they take their little listeners on a journey. Their little minds revel in this thought process. They anticipate the ending; they absorb the art of suspense and employ their imaginations. These are the kinds of books that “teach” children. These books are good for their development and yes, inevitably, they will implore you to “Read it again, puh-leeze.”

Crock Pot Writing

I love to write, but cooking….not really my thing.. but the crockpot..now the crockpot is like writing.

You start a piece, throw together the ingredients, chopping some big, some small. You put it in the pot and let it simmer. A piece of writing simmers in my mind; I pen some of it to paper. Look at it, toss in some small bits, maybe some big ones. Try a crunchy carrot or two…hmm…pretty good…turn on low and leave it be for a couple hours. Walk by later and smell it, it’s coming along….add a phrase or two….stir the pot a little. The smell permeates the house. You can even smell chicken and dumplings upstairs. By four’o’clock, I want to print it up, post it to the blog, send it to a friend, read it to a child, but wait, it’s not finished yet. It needs more….time….By six, it’s perfect prose, thick goodness ready to be ladled onto plates, steaming in its perfection. Makes me want to take a picture…but hey, it’s only food, prose, true soul food…don’t let it sit too long in the pot…then it’s overdone…over metaphored….over concised…let it cool….ladle it into containers for the overnight in the fridge…Next day, at lunch, it’s still perfection, maybe even better after the hot words have settled, and now, like a favorite paperback, reopened once again…Ahh, satisfaction.

Musical Beds

At our home we have the phenomenon of Musical Beds. Perhaps you have experienced this. We have four children and four designated sleeping places. The girl has her own room with a single bed in it. The three boys share a room with a bunk bed in it. It has a single on top and a double on the bottom. You see, adequate sleeping arrangements for four children. Yet, almost every night when I check the kids before I go to bed, I find at least one empty bed. This used to alarm me. Where is my child?

My twins have always shared a bed, and since they were babies, they always slept better together. It’s like they have to be touching each other to fall asleep. I remember putting two fussy infants on either end of the cradle and trying to rock them to sleep..no luck…but cram them in side by side and instant relaxation. This worked so well we only used a single crib. When they graduated from the crib to the toddler beds, I would find them tangled asleep in the middle of the floor. We finally put the little beds side by side so they would sleep in one or the other.

Now they are big boys, just turned six, and happily share the lower bunk. Usually, I untangle their arms and legs, make sure heads are on pillows and both are covered up before I crawl into bed for the night, but sometimes there’s an extra long leg sticking out or longish girl hair on a pillow…and usually at least one empty bed somewhere. This used to freak me out a little. Oh, my poor kids, how can they even sleep. I would haul each back to their bed and tuck them in. Only now, they are much heavier. Now, I just count limbs and make sure everybody has a blanket. I vaguely wonder if it’s like that new study about having pets. Pet germs supposedly boost your immunity…

It’s worse when you have one child with a cough or a fever. You tuck them in a single bed so the sickness is isolated but later, you may find yourself trying to move the coughing child to a sitting position in the dark and realize you have the wrong child as there are really two children now in this bed.

I don’t get it. I only had one sister. I only ever had my own room and I loved sleeping alone. I still love the feeling of having the whole bed to myself if my husband is out of town or I am napping on a restful Sunday afternoon. So this tendency to sleep like puppies is beyond me.

As they grow bigger and older, I am certain, the game of Musical Beds every night will be a thing of the past. It doesn’t freak me out anymore. I just find all four heads, pat them tenderly, make sure everyone is covered up, thank the Lord for my children and head to bed. Someday, Musical Beds will simply be another mommy-mind memory to chuckle about later.

Something Gold Can Stay

Morning Light

Perhaps the light in heaven

Will be like

The light on a June morning

Where it comes

Slanting across the fields,

Gilding the green

and shoots straight through

The windows facing east.

Released within the room

It penetrates

The green shirt

Hanging from a bureau drawer,

The socks and loafers

Heaped upon the floor.

Everything gleams with gold.

Transformed

As we shall be

When morning comes for us

And God's great love

Illuminates our souls

And sets us free.

Elizabeth B. Rooney (1994)

My daughter cried during swimming lessons today.

No, she was not injured.

No, she wasn’t freezing.

She just wasn’t having fun. She had run up against a challenge. A task she could not do. A task that could not be accomplished without work. She did not want to work. She wanted to give up. I saw it in her eyes, although she didn’t say it.

I saw those words settling there, “It’s too hard,” even though she didn’t say them. I called her over, held her hand, and first stated, “There’s no crying in swimming.” Then I told her, “Be diligent, work hard, and never give up. Keep trying. Persevere.”

She sucked it up and kept going. She finished her lesson. She wasn’t her usual chipper self, but the crying was over, thankfully. Next time, she would do better.

Today, the children pushed all my buttons. I yelled. I threatened, I did not listen. I just wasn’t having fun. I had run up against a challenge. A task I could not accomplish without work. I did not want to work. I felt those words settling in, “It’s too hard.” I felt the tears well up, and then, like a hand holding mine, words of Scripture comforted me and saved me once again. “So do not fear, for I am with you.” Isaiah 41:10

Be diligent, work hard, and never give up. Keep trying. Persevere.

The Snowstorm

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hill and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hiddden thorn;
Fills up the famer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.

1835 [1841] Ralph Waldo Emerson