Thursday, October 13, 2011

The Baby Chase

I am currently pregnant for the sixth time. Yes, you read that right. Six pregnancies, so far only two babies. Not a very good track record. I am eleven weeks. I have seen this little wiggling miracle via ultrasound four times. Today in 3D. Totally amazing. At this point "he" is about one and a half inches long, yet in his pictures I see his hands and feet, little elbows, glimpses of a silvery spine, indentions where his ears will soon form. He is very alive. His heart sounds strong. He is real.

To be honest, I was about to give up. I'm no spring chick when it comes to baby-growing. In fact, when the doctor found out I was pregnant, she prescribed some special prenatal vitamins. I got them home and looked at the brochure, and the whole thing was about "older mothers." WELL! I was shocked. But, one thing I've learned through all the baby chasing is that God has His own timing. So, I guess He had me pegged as one of those older mothers. The thought makes me smile.

The kids seem excited. They are all atwitter about the thought of sharing a room when the baby comes. They found out about it today and are literally already picking new paint colors. Adelade is my big-time change-fearer. She is excited about the baby, but I see concern in her face about how this BIG change will affect her little world. She wanted to know if she could keep all her stuff. This is a child who doesn't ever want me to paint furniture and almost cried when I got bangs because she likes things just the way they are. Then Sawyer asked if he could keep all his plastic dinosaurs. He loves jumping on bandwagons.

With all the talk of room changing, Sawyer wanted to make sure that we are "keeping" the kitchen and the bathrooms. I told him that sounded like a good plan to me.

This is a happy time. Maybe my chase is over. God has been good and has taught me a lot during my wait for this child. He gives and He takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

Sunday, September 11, 2011


Today is a strange, sad, and emotional day in our country. "We will remember" is the prevailing thought, and everyone is sharing where they were when they heard the news that our country was under attack. I'm not sure why we feel the need to do this, except that it helps us feel connected to one another. Maybe it helps to rekindle that "we're all in this together" feeling that permeated the country right after the attacks. We were united in our desire for revenge, our need for some kind of reckoning. It was and is an interesting time in our nation's history.

For me, it was fitting for this significant anniversary to fall on Sunday. The Lord's day. It reminds me of His goodness, His mercy, and His awesome power. And today while I worshipped I couldn't help but wonder why Christians don't feel a similar ache in their guts or have the same teary eyes or the "we're all in this togther" feelings when we think on the cross of Christ. Why is it that we don't cry "We will remember!" and give God the honor for His perfect plan that culminated in the death and resurrection of his Son?

I think it's fitting to honor the lives of those Americans lost on 9/11. It's good to thank those who keep us safe and to grieve with those who lost loved ones. It's appropriate to honor the heroes who risked their lives on that day.

But, tomorrow is September 12th. We will go back to our regular lives. The TV specials will be over. We will be relieved that we don't have to think about that day for awhile. So, why don't we wake up tomorrow morning with hearts for remembering the only death that ever changed eternity? Let's unite with a declaration for the ages. No matter how crazy this world gets, or how tough life is, or how wonderful things are, we will remember what God has done through His Son. We will remember that His glory and greatness are all that matters. We will remember that we are nothing without Him. We will remember.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

There's No Place Like Home (Movies)

Watching home movies can be a blessing and a curse.

1. Extreme boredom. Especially if they're not YOUR home movies and you or your children are not in them. Watching a friend's unedited vacation videos has actually been known to end friendships. Just don't do it.

2. Sentimental overload. Chubby babies, cute little kids who love their mommies. Guaranteed tears and possible chocolate ice cream eating will ensue just to ease the sentimental pain.

3. What-has-happened-to-me Syndrome. Seeing yourself when you were thinner, younger, and (for you men) with more hair can be quite a blow to the old ego.

4. What-was-I-thinking Complex. Especially hurtful if you were a child of the 80s. I mean, the hair was bad. Really bad.

But, then there are the blessings.

Chad and I recently ran across some video of the kids when they were little. I realized after watching that I had actually forgotten what Adelade was like when she was Sawyer's age. How is that even possible?

I've spent hours now watching the kids cry and flail when they were just minutes old, learning to talk, walk, dance, jump, and everything else that little kids figure out. I watched Adelade reading books to her kitten Backpack, who we only had for a few months before he "went on an adventure" and we never saw him again. I saw Adelade meet Sawyer for the first time and remembered the fear that I could sense in her when she saw me lying in the hospital bed. I saw Sawyer finally learn how to get those big old thighs to crawl around, and watched Adelade take her very first nervous steps. I also saw glimpses of my parents and Chad's before illnesses and other scares had touched our family.

And I am so happy to have every single minute of it. It reminds me how faithful God is. How blessed I am. And how quickly things change in life.

Sure, I cried a few tears. I had a few what-was-I-thinking moments. But, most of all, I remembered how very privileged I am to be a woman, to be a mother, to be a wife, and to be a believer.

So, drag out some home videos. Remember how adorable that mouthy teenager used to be. And let yourself be reminded just how much God has carried you through this crazy, chaotic, tragic, and beautiful life. He is not finished with us. Many more video-worthy moments are coming. And I can't wait.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

The Art of Being a Doormat

We aspire to be many things in our lives. Successful professional, maybe. Good wife. Super Mom. Sunday school teacher extraordinaire. Attractive. Youngish. Assertive. Powerful. Funny. Whew!

But, have you ever dreamed of being a doormat?

I mean, really.

Doormats are rather plain. Sometimes they have cute sayings on them, but eventually weather and wear make those disappear. They have mud, dirt, grass, and even doggie business on them. Sounds attractive, right?

They also get walked on, kicked around, and beat up. But, there they lie. Never getting up and running away or protesting, "I will NO LONGER be a doormat!" They hang in there and take it because that's what they were created to be.

Now then. In our culture today, we are sent repeated messages telling us that having doormat-like qualities is weak. "DON'T LET PEOPLE WALK ALL OVER YOU!" the therapists and the talk show hosts and the TV judges scream. "STAND UP FOR YOURSELF!" the magazines and the movies and the teachers and the billboards shout.

But, listen to what Jesus said:

"Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Matthew 11:29

"Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth." Matthew 5:5

Of his accusers, while dying: "Father, forgive them. They do not know what they are doing." Luke 23:34

Doesn't exactly sound like Jesus is calling us to stand up for ourselves, does it? Jesus was no weakling. But, he understood the importance of humility in his relationship with the Father and with his fellow man.

Please understand that I am definitely not suggesting that you should allow yourself to be abused. But, there are many small ways every day that we can allow ourselves to be, well....walked on. We don't have to continually be looking for the thing so-and-so said that offended us. We can choose not to let hurt feelings make us abandon a friend. After all, you didn't hear your doormat grumbling about that big wad of gum you scraped onto it yesterday, did you?

It's a tough thing to picture ourselves as humble, ratty doormats. But, this is the beauty of the Christian life. God is not going to run down to WalMart, buy you, and put you in front of a busy doorway to watch you get stepped on. But, He will watch with love and joy (and He will help you) as you choose to lie down in this life and say, "I desire to be like Christ, who humbled himself. I. AM. A. DOORMAT. It's ok if I get walked on a little bit!"

The Christian life is NOT all about standing up for ourselves. It is about standing up for Christ. And oddly enough, you can't really do that until you lie down.

Friday, August 19, 2011

The Lazy Perfectionist

I have issues.

I think I suffer from a rare form of perfectionism which causes me to quit things that I've begun.

Exhibit A:
Childhood journals. Dozens and dozens of them, started with gusto, tons of enthusiasm, an I'm-gonna-write-in-this-every-day-if-it-kills-me attitude. Day three. Too tired. Think I'll do it tomorrow. Tomorrow comes. Disgusted with myself for being too lazy to write on day three. Never write in it again.

Six Months later. Brand new notebook. Start again. Day three. Vicious cycle ensues.

Exhibit B:
Prayer journals. Don't you just get so enthused when you hear a speaker recommend prayer journals? You think about how great it will be to look back in your journal to see all the things God has done. I know the idea grabs me EVERY TIME. So, I buy a brand new notebook, guessed it. Day three. Vicious cycle ensues.

Exhibit C:
Any number of "great ideas" I have for teaching my kids. I buy a workbook or a program or a book or a CD or a DVD series or whatever. I don't even have to tell you how it ends. Blah, blah, vicious cycle.

So, when I started this blog, I told myself that I don't have to write here every day. I told myself that everything I put on here doesn't have to be Pulitzer Prize worthy (duh). I told myself I was doing this for fun and nothing more. And now it's been three months since I've written anything. And I've probably lost my three readers for good. But, I'm determined not to quit because, actually, I really like thinking about this blog, even when I'm not writing on it.

And besides, I've found a loophole.

I took the summer off.

See how that works? Just like that. It's no longer a matter of laziness or lack of ideas. It's what we busy professional mothers/bloggers have to do. We have a life, you know. We take time off from the trials of a popular blog. I mean, my three readers can be really demanding!

So, I'm back from my summer sabbatical. My, it was refreshing! You'll be pleased to know that this summer I started yet another prayer journal that I abandoned. I don't think I even made it to day three. But, hey, I wouldn't have even been able to start it without my time off.

I like to think that my lack of stick-to-it-ness it more about being a closet perfectionist than being completely without discipline. Or maybe I just really love to buy new notebooks. Whatever the case, I hope that I can come up with something else to say here before I have to claim a fall holiday. Thanks for reading!

Monday, May 9, 2011

Leave it to the Pro

I'm a professional mother.

This thought just occured to me the other day. When people ask me what I do, I have a tendency to reply, "I just stay home with the kids." JUST?! Every time that word comes out of my mouth, I scold myself for saying it, yet when I'm asked that question, that little four letter beauty slips out every time.

But now I've had an epiphany. I'm thinking of having business cards printed:

Melissa Edgington
Professional Mother

24/7 service
No mess too big!
No boo boo too small (for a band-aid)!
Call 1-800-SLEEPLESS

Seriously, though. This is what I do. Chad goes to work and gets paid money (praise the Lord!). I live at work. And, while I may not get cash on a regular basis, I do get paid. I compare it to the way a country doctor used to get paid in eggs or quilts. I get paid with hugs, kisses, I love yous, rounds of Candyland, dance parties, dress up, Nick Jr. marathons, smiles, tears, and fascinating conversations. My bosses are short and rather immature. The demand is high. And I love every second of it.

So, the next time someone asks me what I do, my reply will not contain any "justs." I'm going to say, "I'm a professional mother. Here's my card."

Monday, May 2, 2011

Let There Be Light!

Last night before bed I watched an episode of "Texas Country Reporter." Do you remember that show? Chad and I decided it must've come on on Sunday nights when we were kids, and watching it sort of signaled the end of the weekend. I've always loved Bob Phillips' deep voice, telling me that DQ is the Texas Stop Sign and all that. If you've never seen the show, Bob travels around Texas reporting on neat things going on in all the small towns and big cities and places in between.

Last night he interviewed a couple who live in west Texas who have chosen to give up the conveniences of the modern world. They live seventy miles from civilization in a one room adobe hut with no electricity or running water. She makes all of their food from things they've killed or grown, and keeps the place running with none of the appliances that the rest of us rely on. They don't have a toilet, for crying out loud.

Still, when I was watching her play her harmonica and strum the guitar while he sat with his ten gallon hat tipped back, tapping his foot on their little front porch, I was taken by this little couple. They were happy. They were in love. (She said when he went out riding she couldn't wait for him to come back, watching for him "like a little kid or somethin'.") And they cared nothing about money or anything that most Americans would think is important.

In explaining why they live the way they do, she said that she felt that the invention of electricity had led to the demise of our society: "It seems like when people got electricity and they started stayin' up all hours that that's when all the trouble started." She said this with so much simplicity and such conviction that I started thinking, "Yeah. Electricity. Maybe that's really a problem in our world. Look at them. No computers. No radios. No telephones. No TVs. Heck, they won't be able to watch this story about themselves and they don't even care." I was getting all worked up about it, thinking about all the trouble that our electronics cause, how lazy we are with our dishwashers and our washing machines and our internet.

I went to bed dreaming about a simple life on the range. Then a thunderstorm came up. And there was lots of lightning. And there was lots of rain. And then our power went out.

And I got hot. And it was too quiet in our room with no fan. And I wanted to get up but there was no TV to watch. So, I laid there and thought about how great electricity is and how that lady is really missing out in her one room shack with her homemade clothes and her pickled beans and her outhouse.

It was only a few minutes later that Sawyer called out, absolutely terrified, because he woke up and couldn't see his hand in front of his face. I felt so sorry for him when I came in with a little flashlight and he was trembling and crying. Something funny happened. When he saw that light, he settled right down. He gathered up his stuffed Pooh and his blankets and he cuddled right up with his Pillow Pet and, after I assured him that I would leave the light on, he drifted right off to sleep.

I thought of the little couple out in the west Texas desert. And I thought of God.

I was struck by the thought that people all over the world, whether they live in mansions filled with the latest everything, or in huts with no running water, are just stumbling through the dark without Christ. That little couple is at peace with their decision to live without electric lights. I don't think I would enjoy it much. But, it doesn't matter if I surround myself with brilliant, blinding man-made light. It won't satisfy my soul, even if it does calm a fear or two. All of us will have a moment, no matter how bright our surroundings, when our spirit suddenly cries out, "I can't see anything!" And there is only one cure for that kind of darkness: the Light of the World, Jesus Christ.

I pray that little couple has found Him.

My electricity came back on a few hours later. I think I heard the Hallelujah Chorus in the distance when my ceiling fan kicked back on. I drifted off to sleep thinking of all the great things about electricity, and about the goodness of a God in whom there is no darkness.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Learning Whether to Weather the Weather

Have you ever had a near death experience? Done something that had to be done and almost paid for it with your life? Have you ever almost sacrificed your life for a noble cause?

Me niether.

But, on Monday night I did almost leave my children with no mother so that I could go to a movie.

My friend Heather and I had planned several days in advance to go see the movie. We were pumped. She's a new mother, I'm an (old) mother, and we were so excited about popcorn, relaxation, and beautiful on screen people to mindlessly stare at for a couple of hours. As our meeting time grew closer, I noticed that it was getting really dark outside, even though it was still daytime. Big dark clouds were rolling in, and when I checked the weather radar there was LOTS of red, and a severe thunderstorm warning was afoot.

I wish I could say that I'm the type who doesn't get nervous when it storms. I'd like to tell you that I'm not bothered by bad weather, that I didn't spend many hours of my childhood nervously watching clouds to see if I could see any tornadoes dropping from them. We lived in the country, and there were no warning sirens or weather reports to rely on at that time--we just had to watch the clouds and watch our dog Scout's behavior to determine whether we needed to hit the cellar. Scout loved being outside and if he ever tried to come into the house we knew we'd better take cover. He also hated going into the cellar, and during storms when he refused to go in with us, I don't know where he hid out, but we knew it was ok to come out when we couldn't open the cellar door because he was sitting on it. It seems like I spent a lot of time fretting about storms when I was a kid.

And, it probably didn't help matters when a tornado showed up in our small town when I was a third grader. We had to shuffle into the halls at school and crouch with our hands over our heads while the tornado sirens wailed. It felt like Armageddon. That storm was bad enough that the Abilene TV stations came out to cover it, and my uncle had a hard time living down the interview during which he said, "Well, we thought it was really more of a little twister than a tornado..."

Those were big times in my small town. But, the dark, greenish alien planet-looking clouds stuck in my mind and I have never liked seeing that look in clouds that are in my skies.

But, I'll tell you one thing I hate worse than tornadoes: being thought of as a wimp. Yes, I admit it. I have pride issues. But, I was not about to let my friend Heather think for one second that I could not handle the little storm that was brewing on our movie night.

It hadn't started raining yet, and I texted her just to nonchalantly check in. I told her the radar looked bad and inquired about her thoughts on the matter, being careful not to give any indication that I had a knot in the pit of my stomach. She texted back, "It's up to you. I've never been afraid of storms." Well, what is any self-respecting red blooded American girl going to say to that but, "Ok. Just checking since you have a ways to drive." As if I was mainly concerned that she would be afraid. Liar.

Anyway, by the time I left my house, the tornado sirens were going off. The torrential rain had started. And I couldn't get through a single song on the radio without the special weather alerts breaking through. You might think this would've been a good time for me to back out. No sir. I kept right on driving.

Once I got to a point when I could no longer see the yellow stripe on the road and couldn't hear my radio for the deluge that surrounded my car, I honestly thought that I was going to have a heart attack. I called Chad and told him so, loudly, since I couldn't hear myself over the pounding rain.

Somehow God got me to that dang movie theater. When I drove up I left my umbrella in the car and ran up to the theater through the monsoon, not even noticing that I was getting soaked. All I knew was that there were people inside there. Glorious civilization! I honestly had to fight the urge to get down and kiss the sticky floor of that theater. I felt like I had finally landed on a gorgeous desert island after days of floating on a stormy sea! And seeing my friend's face calmly walk trhough the door, nice and dry under her red umbrella, I felt sheer bliss. We had made it. We'd survived. I was so happy to be alive that I spent ten dollars on popcorn and a Coke.

While I sat through the movie, soaking wet, I couldn't help but think that this scary adventure was going to be a happy memory for me. After all, I had faced a fear, gotten extra butter on my popcorn, and shared an interesting night with a good friend. If I had died out there on the road, my last thought probably would've been, "Well, THIS was a stupid idea." But, isn't it great when things work out just fine, when heart atacks are avoided and cars find their way where they need to go and friends can be together? Life is good.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Notes on Being Childish

Sometimes I think grown ups need to lighten up. Have you ever noticed how much we love debating, discussing the problems of the world, spouting political views, and complaining about anything and everything?

If you are feeling weighed down by your grown-up-ness, I have the solution for you. Just grab the nearest kid you see and strike up a conversation. It's amazing how much they can change your outlook!

Today I was laughing about a time when Chad was hanging out with some old friends from high school. We already had Adelade at that time (the only ones of this group who had a child), and our thinking had definitely shifted to notice all those little things that kids notice when they're little. Maybe you know what I mean. Those days when you get a little thrill everytime you spot an Elmo balloon in WalMart, just because you know your kid is going to love seeing it. Chad and his buddies were taking a walk, and suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks and pointed, face full of excitement, eyes wide, and voice practically squealing with delight: "Look! A squirrel!" I still giggle every time I picture what those guys' faces must've looked like as they witnessed this outburst from their rock-band-playing lawyer friend. One of them probably said in a dull tone, "Dude. It's a squirrel." They had all noticed aquirrels their whole lives, but Chad was excited about it the way they all used to when they were little boys, simply because he had been spending lots of time with a child.

Kids have such fresh, awed notions about everything. We should try it.

In just a few days we'll be celebrating Easter with our churches and families. For Christians, this is the ultimate celebration of what was accomplished on the cross for us. This year, let's not let it pass us by in the same old way, viewing the event the way grown ups do: just another Easter, gotta get the dinner cooked, gotta get Easter baskets ready, gotta clean my house for company, gotta make sure my kids are decked out. Let's approach this Easter with the awe that we had as children. Remember how you felt when you heard about the angels, about the mystery of an empty tomb, about the friends who got the greatest news they could imagine, about what it all means for all of mankind.

If you have a hard time doing that, just grab a child and read the story to her. Watch her eyes widen with wonder at the best news that ever hit this grown up world.

And, while you're at it, notice a squirrel today. They really are funny.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

What Big Teeth You Have!

Last night I was awakened by a terrified call from Adelade: "Mama! Mama!" I scrambled for my glasses (picture Thelma from Scooby Doo feeling around for her glasses after they've been knocked off by a clumsily exiting Shaggy), finally located them, and hurried to her room. Adelade was in tears. Her hair, still damp from her bath earlier in the night, hung in her face while she cried like her heart was broken.

I immediately held her and rocked her like she's a baby, asking what's wrong. Thankfully she still lets me do this. As a child I was afraid of EVERYTHING. I mean, I was terrified of my own shadow. So, I have a lot of sympathy for kids in their rooms alone in the middle of the night.

She managed to choke out between sobs, "My (gasp) tooth is (gasp) wiggling around in my (gasp) mooooouuuuuth!" I felt of the tooth she pointed to, and sure enough, it was wiggling. A lot.

My mind immediately went back to the days when we were waiting for that little tooth to pop up. She was only months old, and we were so excited about seeing her first tooth break through, such an adorable little pearl in her tiny mouth. Now, here I was, six years later, realizing that that precious little tooth was about to let go and remind me again how quickly time passes.

But, before I could stroll too far down memory lane, I was snapped back to reality by Adelade's next question, "What am I going to DOOOOOOO????"

So, I started saying all the things mothers say at such a moment: "It just means that you're getting to be a big girl," "Lots of your friends have already lost teeth," "Another tooth will come in to replace it," and finally, when nothing else had consoled her, "When it comes out you can put this tooth under your pillow and get a little money to go buy something!" I was sure that would perk her right up. But, she never missed a beat. The tears kept streaming, and I just kept holding her and pushing that hair, even more damp with tears now, out of her eyes.

Finally we turned on a light so I could have a better look at the precious wobbly tooth. This brought on more tears, so I asked, "Why don't you want to lose your baby teeth?" She buried her head in my shoulder and choked out, "Because (gasp)....because I love them!"

It was all I could do not to cry as I sat there holding my baby, whose feet now almost touch the floor when she's in my lap. I was thinking, "I know! I love them, too!" But, I said, "Everything's going to be just fine. Just wait and see. You'll get a brand new shiny tooth and you won't miss this one so much."

She is so her mother's daughter. I feel for her. Really. When I was younger I hated growing up. I really dreaded lots of milestones, always feeling in my heart that I wasn't quite ready for them. Having boyfriends comes to mind. Spending the night with friends. Wearing a bra. Riding roller coasters. And, yes, losing teeth. Losing teeth was one of my all-time least favorite activities as a child.

She finally settled down and went back to bed. By morning she had remembered that her teacher gives little tooth-shaped necklaces to kids who lose teeth, and she was feeling better about it all.

Me? I'm ok. It's a tooth--it's not the end of the world. But, I'm sure you've noticed if you've been reading my blog long that I have a tendency to be a tad sentimental. Okay, I'm a horribly gushy mushy abnormally sentimental-type person. But, one thing we sentimental-types rarely do is take a moment for granted. And I'm pretty sure I'll remember that adorable and somewhat sad and quite exciting and happy middle-of-the-night crisis for as long as I can remember things.

Monday, March 21, 2011

For: Ever

Sawyer has become a forever kind of fellow.

I first noticed it a few weeks ago when I told him that he wasn't allowed to jump on the couch. He's had the crossed arms pout down for quite awhile, but this particular time he paired the crossed arms with this declaration: "Fine. Then I'm going to my room and I'm going to stay there FOREVER!"

Kids don't just suddenly come to points like this, though. He started with smaller statements. A few months ago he began expressing his dislike for anything that wasn't working out to suit him. If his food was too hot: "I don't like food anymore." If his shoe was untied: "I don't like shoes anymore." And sometimes, if he was really in a funk, he disliked whatever was closest to him. For instance, if I told him he couldn't go outside: "I don't like Woody (or my house, or church, or Adelade, or my clothes, or my hair) anymore."

As time went on and saying "I don't like" wasn't quite as satisfying, he moved on to his declarations about forever. Probably my favorite forever statement lately happened the other day. Sawyer hates being in his room by himself, so he altered his outburst a little: "Fine. Then I'm going to my room and then I'm going to sit on the couch and watch TV FOREVER." He says it so often now that I've begun telling him that even with forever as a timeline, he's going to have a hard time fitting in all the things he's said he will now do FOREVER.

Of course, I can't help but get a little philosophical about it all, especially since I am always so aware of how little time I have with my babies. I started thinking about how a time will come when he really will make some forever statements that matter. I pray that in the coming years I hear him say, "I want to devote myself to Christ FOREVER." Someday he will probably find himself a girl that he loves even better than he loves me (gasp!), and he'll say, "I'm going to be with her FOREVER."

But, for now I am content with my time with him. I know it can't last FOREVER, but it will last quite a while, and no matter what he chooses to fit into his lifetime, I know that as far as I can see, I will love him devotedly. Maybe the next time he does something exasperating I should cross my arms and say, "Fine. Then I'm going to love you FOREVER!"

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

My Heart Said WHAT?

Today I was having lunch with a friend. I was in the middle of a story in which I was seriously questioning the judgment of another mother and basically ridiculing a child when our food arrived and my friend offered to bless it.

I paused in the telling of my story while she prayed. Then she said something that hit me like a freight train. My sweet friend prayed, "May You be glorified by our conversation here today." Ouch. Seriously, double ouch.

Christian friends are a blessing. Now, my friend was in no way trying to redirect our conversation or to let me know that I shouldn't be saying what I was saying. But, God used her simple prayer to remind me that every moment of our conversation matters. And everything I say matters.

I have always struggled with a wild, loose, crazy, often mean, sometimes biting, sometimes downright vicious tongue. I so want to get control of my mouth. And that means I need to give God control of my heart.

"For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of." Matthew 12:34

Monday, February 7, 2011

For My Boy

Once there was a boy. He was a tall, super skinny, long haired, brilliant rock star poet. He was passionate about everything.

Once there was a girl. She was the sheltered, sweet, quiet small town type. She was cautious about everything.

One day the passionate boy convinced the cautious girl to be brave. He taught her how to love.

Soon the boy and girl were married. They were set to conquer the world.

The boy gave up his long hair and provided for his family. The girl grew to love him even more.

The girl gave up her teenaged figure and gave him children. The boy grew to love her even more.

As the years passed, things happened to the boy and girl. They fought, they made up, they grew in mind and spirit, they learned that life is hard and life is wonderful, they welcomed babies and cried over babies lost.

The boy and girl learned that life goes fast, that teething babies and graduations and accidents and intentions are all just flashes, dreams that grow a little blurry with time. And they determined that they would love every moment.

Sometimes, if you drive past their tiny house at night, you can see the passionate boy and the cautious girl dancing with their children. They are happy. Love lasts, they say. And it does.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Housework is Hazardous to your Health

Especially if you live with me.

Saturday started out like any other day. The kids were playing. I was working around the house, trying to maintain the picked-up-ness of the day before. Chad was working on the computer, and I was happy that things were fairly orderly around here. But, I kept noticing every time I walked through the kitchen that there was a definite stickiness to one area of the kitchen floor. Normally I might have ignored it, saved it for a later time, chalked it up to life with little kids. But on Saturday I was in the zone. I was on top of things. I was SuperMom. So, I got out the Swiffer Wet Jet and I absentmindedly cleaned the sticky area of the floor, thinking that I would do the whole floor later in the day. I sprayed it, mopped it, and headed to my room to start on another job. Literally two seconds later I heard a loud thud and a pained cry from Sawyer. If you're a parent, you know how you feel when the cry has that certain pitch that tells you he's hurt. I ran toward his room, thinking something must've fallen on him or who knows what. Then I heard a commotion in the kitchen.

I stepped across the hall just in time to see Sawyer lying on the floor writhing in pain and screaming with his hand on his head (that loud thud must've been his head hitting the floor) and Chad falling for what seemed like forever, immediately grabbing his leg, saying it was broken. Later I laughed about what a comical scene it really was. I can picture me mopping, walking away, Sawyer running in and going down, and Chad running in and going down. Chad was running to rescue Sawyer after I had sabotaged his run through the house with my mopped floor. But, I got Chad, too. Just like that. Two birds with one mop, you might say.

My favorite way to picture the scene is sort of Scooby Doo-like. Chad and Sawyer, in one place, looking at each other with wide eyes while their legs spin under them before they finally land with a crash. All because of housework.

To tell you the truth, I have been searching for awhile for a way to prove that my normally mediocre housekeeping is best for our family, and after the doctor looked at Chad's x-ray and said, "Yep, it's broken," I realized I may have finally done it.

Incidentally, Sawyer's head was fine. He has a remarkably hard head, apparently. One thing I know for sure is that future mopping in the Edgington house will be delegated to Chad. Either that, or we're going to have to invest in some "Caution: Wet Floor" signs.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Bankets, Dinks, and God

Yahoo! I'm back in business! I missed you, little blog. Kudos to Chad for deciding to become a computer genius and fix our old computer. Let the blogging commence...

My son is almost three. Like most three year olds, he loves calling out from his bed at bedtime to ask for various things. Sometimes I am patient when he does this and sometimes I'm not. This is how the first few minutes of bedtime usually sound:

"Mama, I need a dink!"

"Mama, put my banket on me!"

"Mama, I want Pooh!"

"Mama, I need a dink!"

Until finally I warn him that this is the LAST drink, and it's time for him to go to sleep. When I say this there is usually silence. Sometimes he goes to sleep and I don't hear a peep until the next morning. But, there are nights when he just can't bear the thought of going to sleep and being alone and he has run out of things to ask for. On those nights I hear:

"Mama, I want you."

Such a sweet and simple request. He doesn't really know what he wants at this point--he just knows he needs me in some way. He must have me, and you can bet that when I hear those words I don't waste any time getting in there to hug my baby.

When this scenario unfolded a few nights ago, I was sitting on the couch thinking about what had just happened, and it dawned on me that I had just witnessed a picture of my relationship with God. How often do I ask for everything else that I think will make me happy? He hears:

"God, give me another baby."

"God, make Adelade well so she won't miss her class party."

"God, make me a better (wife, mother, friend, cook, housekeeper, money manager)."

I can just picture God waiting to hear those words that are so pleasing to His ear:

"God, I want you."

When I acknowledge that I don't know what I want or what will make me happy, when I reach the point where I can say that all I really know is that I want and need and crave God, and I'm too weak to do anything on my own, He will really show me his power. I pray that I can be more like a little child calling out to his mama. I want you, God.