New Project!

I've started a new blog that is closely related to the blog I kept last year called "The Home Life Improvement Project." I hope you'll check it out!

More Butterfly News

Icky Picky has emerged. It's been three hours and he's still not showing any signs of wanting to fly. His personality is holding true.

I did some more research today. What we have raised are actually Eastern Black Swallowtails rather than Anise Swallowtails. I had no idea how many varieties of Swallowtails there are!

I also discovered how to tell the difference between males and females. Our Firstborn was a female. Icky Picky is a male. How to tell? Pretty simple. Like most in nature - the male is prettier.

It's hard not to watch their metamorphosis and not be amazed at the creativity of their Maker. Everything about them speaks of wonderfully intelligent Creator. One who lovingly thought of every last thing.

There's also a good deal of spiritual insight to gain from observation. I'm not the first to come to that conclusion, but it's been reiterated to me as I took care of them. I guess if I could put it into one sentence it would be this: I'm not yet what I'm going to be. I'm lumbering around doing my best to stay fed and not let anything eat me... I sometimes look up at the sky and long to jump and find myself soaring on eagle's wings. I can almost feel the wind lifting me higher and higher if I close my eyes and dream.

Reality is pretty harsh as a caterpillar. But God promises that the transformation will not be complete until I am no longer earth-bound.

I'm looking forward to that. One other thing the caterpillars reminded me. Sometimes it seems like people are stuck in their chrysalis. They haven't moved in days and it's easy to think maybe they're just dead. Maybe hope is gone.

But keep watching, and we might be surprised to suddenly see beauty emerge.

It's an hour later and Icky Picky has finally decided he's ready to go. I'm going to try to upload our video from his goodbye. (And yes, he took his time. It's a long video.) Tried twice. And admitted I don't know how to upload a video. I've done it before, but apparently I have forgotten or blogger has changed. If anyone can help me I'd appreciate it!

The Life and Times of Icky Picky

Meet Icky Picky the Caterpillar.

We met Icky for the first time when we were wading through the sea of weeds that has become our garden. He and his brothers and sisters (not quite sure about the gender issue when it comes to caterpillars) were living on our parsley.

We thought at first we had found Monarch butterflies. We were in a panic wondering where we might find some milkweed for our newly captured babies. Fortunately at some point my brain kicked in and I realized that if they were living on our parsley, they must eat parsley. This led me to discover in the internet sea of information that we had actually adopted Anise swallowtail caterpillars.

And so Icky Picky and his six siblings found a home in our old fish aquarium. They ate all the parsley from our garden as they grew into very fat caterpillars. Two of them died, but the remaining five have all shed their skin for a chrysalis. One has shed his chrysalis for the sky.

I can't tell you Icky Picky's story yet. He's still resting in the hole of the rock. He is the only one of our caterpillars we named, because we discovered that he had a unique personality. Yes, caterpillars have personalities. Who knew? I'm sure someone did, but not me. Icky Picky is a particular sort of creature. Whereas our firstborn found a spot to rest in a matter of minutes, Icky Picky searched for the perfect spot for an entire day. Over 24 hours he roamed. I put him back in the aquarium five times. Finally he settled in the shelter of the fish tank rock. Besides the firstborn who has already taken to the sky, his other siblings have not moved since they went into stasis. Every time Icky Picky is disturbed, he twists and turns in protest.

THE LIFE CYCLE OF A BUTTERFLY

This was the smallest one we found. He was hard to see at first.

What they look like just before they make their chrysalis.

Our firstborn after he picked a spot.

Firstborn shedding his skin.

Firstborn was green after he shed his skin. The two on the rock turned the color of the rock. Who knew they could camouflage themselves?

Firstborn just after he fell out of his chrysalis.

After 2 1/2 hours of drying.

When it was time to set him free, Eldest helped him out on a stick. He climbed up onto her arm before he flew away.

Icky Picky is next. We're all keeping an eye on him.

To sum up? It's one thing to learn about the life cycle of a butterfly. It's quite another to experience it.

Finishing Well

Eldest daughter is standing in front of our very own Santa Maria replica that permanently rests in the river downtown. We recently visited after studying about Christopher Columbus in homeschool.

The tour guide on the ship told us a story I hadn't heard about the unfortunate fate of the Santa Maria and her crew. Christmas day of their voyage, the entire crew (including Christopher Columbus) got so drunk they all passed out. Only a twelve-year-old boy was left to man the ship. He did his best, but managed to wreck the boat on a Haitian island.

Columbus was determined not to be defeated. He used the wreckage of the ship to build a fort, and left the entire crew there at the fort until someone could return for them, and sailed on aboard one of his other two ships.

When someone did return, they found the fort destroyed and every man (and child) killed by natives.

I was reminded of this story yesterday evening as our youth pastor reminded us of the life of Solomon. Solomon was given every advantage a king could require to rule his people well. Not only was he the son of the greatest king that ever lived, he was raised to know the law of Moses, which explicitly carried instructions for kings. Beyond all of this, God himself endowed Solomon with wisdom that was unheard of before that time or since.

And Solomon did well. For awhile. But all of his advantages led him down a path he couldn't resist, even though he knew better. 700 wives, 12,000 horses and way too much gold and silver later, he sadly wrote at the end of his life that he had missed the boat. Too late. "Fear God and keep his commandments." he wrote. "This is the whole duty of man."

I'm humbled that I don't have to learn the hard way. I can take a good hard look at Solomon and remember how he felt about all the things he had put his trust in after he got them. They defeated him. They crippled him. They tore his heart away from his Creator, where it had rested safely and peacefully, and caused him to fall in a way that ruined his life and his effectiveness.

When I add this to the message from Pastor Sol yesterday morning, I have the missing piece of the puzzle that Solomon forgot. "God's work is always accomplished through God's power." If I try to stay on the right path in my own strength, I'm destined for failure. The trick is keeping hold of the humility it takes to keep every step of my life focused on Christ.

As I hope to move forward in my writing, there are two things I've been praying for with fervency. They come from a song from Matthew West called "Stop the World." I need to be humble, I need to have nothing to prove.

And if God can remind me of that, every day, for the rest of my life, I hope I will be able to finish well.

And you as well.

Credible Fiction

My dad shared a quote by Mark Twain today on Facebook. "The only difference between reality and fiction is that fiction must be credible."

Ha. It's the truth! Reality is full of awkward pauses, unbelievable happenings, and unsolvable dilemmas. But fiction must always make sense, must always resolve, must always have a point.

I'm okay with that. I feel very frustrated by reality when it doesn't make sense. This is probably why I am a fiction writer. I prefer my world to be neat, orderly, and flowing with beautiful symmetry and meaning.

And so I have been writing, which is my lovely excuse for refusing to blog lately. I have been lost in the world of fiction.

I am trying at present to gain some self discipline in my writing. I love the first time, rough draft writing part. I love to shape the story and piece it together and add the dialogue. I don't even mind the second pass, fixing typos and awkward grammar.

After that, I get unreliable. Writing the proposal, doing intensive repair, sending queries to agents and publishers... I do it once or twice and then give up and start writing a new story. But this won't do. If I'm going to spend so much time writing, it can't be for me alone. I have to learn how to write in a way that others will learn and grow from, as well as be entertained by. I think I'm getting closer. But I must to learn to polish.

I'm presently trying to fix a novel from three years ago and get it ready to submit to a pretty big contest in September. This is not going well. I really, really just want to write my new novel. I've grown as a writer in three years, and it's tedious to try to bring my previous level up to my present level. Part of me just wants to give up on the old story and try to finish the new one in time. But I feel like the old story is one that needs to be told. I feel like if I could get it right, it would have a place.

So far my discipline is not impressive. So I'm putting myself on notice, and if you know me, remind me. Just say "edit before create."

And thank you to those of you that reminded me that I do have readers for my blog. I'm sorry this place has been so deserted. Thank you for sticking with me!

Just Like Grandma

Anyone who knows me knows how incredibly much my Grandma means to me. She left this life last year, and I still feel her absence as acutely as I did when she died. I remember sitting at her funeral, staring at her, wishing that I could will her to get up out of that casket. She looked like she was only sleeping. It would have been just like my Grandma to play a joke like that. Make us think she was dead, only to pop up in our face and yell "BOO!"

Just get up, Grandma. Please.

I knew it was a ridiculous idea. But that's the way my Grandma was. It was really hard to believe that she was really gone, that she really wouldn't get up again. That she wouldn't squeeze my hand with more power than an eighty-something year old woman should possess. She wouldn't smile in that Grandma way and make that sound like she was stuttering over her words "Uhb Uhb Uhb..." before she said something silly.

I loved you for being my silly, playful Grandma.

I had almost forgotten those funny Grandma sounds until a few days ago. My 7 1/2 year old daughter was talking, and suddenly, in the middle of her sentence, she did it. "Uhb Uhb Uhb..."

JUST LIKE GRANDMA.

It was as if Grandma had gotten up and walked into my house and spoken to me through my daughter. Or maybe God just made sure that my girl got that one special gene from her that would make her say that phrase just like Grandma said it just for my sake. So I would know that she's not really gone. She's still around. Not only is she with the Lord, with her one true love Grandpa - waiting for me and everyone else to join the party - but she's here. She's in my mom. She's in my aunt and my cousins and my sisters and all of our children. And those little things that made her our special little Grandma were passed on, so we could remember her. Even when she's not here to talk to anymore.

I miss you, Grandma. But I'm glad you left quite a few little parts of yourself here. I can't wait to see you again.

The picture captures the moment that I introduced my firstborn daughter to my Grandma.

Jump!

I'm a biggest loser fan. I must admit to it. I'm a sucker for people changing their lives in big ways for the better. In fact, as I tell my children, I'm trying to be the biggest loser myself these days. 15 pounds down, a few more to go.

Anyway, this past Tuesday night, the group went to New Zealand, and they had to climb this sky tower all the way to the top, which was some insane number of stories. Let's just say all the people and cars looked like ants when they got to the top. And when they got up there, enjoying the view safely behind glass windows, Bob bounces in and tells them that they have a choice - climb back down the stairs.... or jump.

My own mind took a particular course as I put myself in their positions. This wasn't just some observation deck overlooking the city - this was HIGH. I'm not intensely afraid of heights, but it made me a little queasy just watching the view from my recliner in my living room.

Surprisingly, all of them were for it except one. And he was probably the only one that was really thinking straight about it. I was with him all the way as he inched his way out onto the launch area. I understood when he was breathing in and out and staring in horror below, trying to imagine himself flying through the air, putting all of his faith in a few cords that were supposed to break his fall and let him land safely on that tiny little X at the bottom.

He waited. And waited. The employee who suited him up and hooked him on said "One two three go!" but he didn't go. And I didn't blame him. But all of the sudden, he got this look of sudden determination. As if he were realizing that he didn't really have a choice. It would be a letdown for him and the whole world watching if he didn't jump. He probably knew that he would regret it forever if he didn't take one more step forward and let fate have his life.

He jumped. And after the moment of extreme terror when he first let go, suddenly his face became relaxed. His arms went out. When he got to the X, he was smiling and cheering. He realized that letting go of fear, embracing the inevitable truth before him was a moment in his life that he tasted freedom.

It occured to me that it must be just like that for someone to make the decision to follow Christ after living in this world into adulthood. I have a hard time imagining it, because I was six when I jumped, and even then, it was more of a formality because I had never made a decision NOT to follow Christ. I deepened my commitment when I was 13, and then again when I was 18, but I have never placed myself on the opposing side where Jesus is concerned.

I imagine it is kind of like standing at that launch area, looking down at all the ant-like cars and people, and trying to understand why it is so important that you jump off and let invisible arms catch you and break your fall. You know you should, you know it won't make good tv if you chicken out, but it's big. It's really big. What will everyone think of you after you jump? What will have to change in your life that you really aren't prepared to let go of?

So many questions. But in the end there is only that still small voice, so loving, so insistent... calling YOUR name. "Jump. I'll catch you. I promise. I've never missed, I've never even come close to dropping anyone. You'll be safe. Much safer than you are on that ledge."

To me - the answer is easy, because I know the voice. I trust him with everything I am, and it's true - he never disappoints. He's stronger than my image of strength can even project.

But when you're the one on the ledge and you hear him calling, what will you do? Will you jump? Will you abandon all and let go of yourself, of your ambitions, of your desire to hide your failure and display your pride and confidence... and admit you need him to catch you?

Because in the end, we all have to jump. And it is our decision how we make that jump. With his help, or to his sorrow.

And if you jump into his arms, get ready for the rush of your life! Get ready to breathe your first real breath of air. Get ready for every dream of your heart coming to life in front of your eyes.

That's what Jesus is.

White Tulips

There's a great show I like to watch. I'll go ahead and admit I love to watch it. In this show recently there was an episode where one of the main characters told someone that he had asked God for a sign that all the terrible things he had done over the years were forgivable. He thought that if God could forgive him, perhaps his son could as well. He asked that if God were willing to forgive him, that he would show him a white tulip, even though it was Boston and winter.

He's a fictional character. But he brings to mind all the people out there living their lives and plodding along, trying to put one foot in front of the other one - wishing that somehow there were a way to erase all the mistakes, all the bad choices, all the sin they've been responsible for. If only God would send a sign that he was willing to forgive.

God did. A sign more beautiful than a white tulip. He sent his own Son to bleed his life out for every last one of us that know we don't deserve forgiveness. He took our place, sacrificed his sinless self so that we could absolutely beyond a shadow of any doubt know that we are forgiven, if we only ask. He was raised again to life to prove that God has power over death, which we only face as the result of sin.

Now it's my prayer that I can be that white tulip. Help others see through my life, though faltering and imperfect, that I am forgiven. That I am loved. That there is nothing in this world, nothing we could do that could keep a single soul out of God's incredible love and desire for relationship.

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:6-8

Digging Deeper, Flying Higher

I've returned to my website after trying another blog experiment. I've found that I most definitely prefer writing my quiet thoughts and happenings rather than attempting grander notions of gathering readership through this method of writing.

I don't count it as a failure, even if it is. I learned so much about myself and about who I am as a writer by trying something new. I know now that my heart is for fiction, and I'm excited about getting on with two stories I've begun and continuing the process of learning and growing as an author.

Just about every last ounce of my energy in this time of life goes to my family. I suppose that is the way it is when you are a wife and a homeschooling mom of four young children. God is teaching me to take a step at a time and not to try to rush or grab for visions and dreams that He hasn't allowed yet. It is the time of my life to give my all to my family. And that's okay. There will be days coming when they will not need me the way they do now. That will be okay too, and I'm excited to know what new adventures and ideas God will have waiting there for me to pursue and experience.

Life with Jesus keeps getting sweeter. The more I know him, the more I trust him, the more I am okay with this broken world being less than what I hope. This isn't the final destination. And everything that comes to me has been filtered through loving hands. There is no reason not to trust.

And so I will trust.

Picture taken by Kathy Kirtland.

A New Project

I've started a new project. I'm putting myself on notice with the blog "The Home Life Improvement Project" that in the next year I and my family will become more responsible in the areas of finances, environmental issues, health, our relationship with God and with others. If you are curious, if you would like to join the project or if you just want to make fun of me, feel free to check it out!

Click on "A New Project" to find out more.

This Crazy Life of Mine

"When are you going to blog again?" a friend asks.

Oh, yes.. blogging. Right after I get the laundry caught up, do a load of dishes, change diapers, feed everyone... then I'll blog. Wait - first I need to get on the elliptical for awhile and shower, then I better vacuum because the dog hair is piling up - oh, and then we have a doctor's appointment to evaluate that cyst growing on the back of Hannah's knee... Maybe tonight after I make dinner, clean up after dinner, give baths, put clothes away - then I'll have a chance. As it turns out - storms roll in, and Talia wakes up screaming. That sets John off. John doesn't return to sleep for another hour or so - well after my own bedtime. And by that time in the middle of the night I am doing well to read my Bible and pray for a few minutes... eyes close... it all starts again!

That wasn't my answer. "I've been researching for my next novel."

"And you have four children?" she reminded me with a smile.

"If I made that an excuse, I'd never write!"

It's true. While writing the above lines, I have been interrupted four times, I am a half-hour overdue to feed my baby, my hair is wet from my shower and needing to be blow-dried. Supper needs to be started, and I just remembered today I promised to help out on my writer's group site with articles, AND I need to make cookies for Bible school next week. And Noah and Talia can't do their summer reading chart on their own. Oh, and groceries. We're out of milk!

It's crazy. My personality generally means I am someone who can be depended on to get things done - and fast! But this crazy life of mine sometimes gets the best of me. I will admit if I didn't write or read, I'd have a hard time picking up the same shoes ten times a day. The sometimes tedious life of a mom of four is definitely a blessing - but there's no question about it's difficulty.

As you can probably guess - I wouldn't trade it for the world.

And I just got interrupted again.

And I think Talia is pouring water all over the bathroom floor.

Ah, this crazy life of mine! Thank you Lord for making my most precious dreams come true.

Say Amen

"Say Amen, Tal!" I say as we finish the prayer for the food at lunch. My two year old lifts her big blue eyes to mine and stubbornly yells "No!"

"No nummies till you say Amen." I sigh. It's become a daily struggle. Every meal. She'll say "Thank you Jesus" and "Amen" all day long, but if she's sitting at the table and it's time to eat, she simply refuses to comply.

I thought my first two children were strong-willed. I didn't yet know the meaning of the term. When Talia joined our family and became my daughter, it didn't take long to figure out that Talia wants Talia's way and will fight to the end to get it.

I'm not very strong willed. I'm a firstborn who likes to take care of people and seeks peace and harmony. If someone asks me to do something, and I can't find any reason to believe it's wrong to do it, I'll do just about anything. I can't understand why a barely two-year-old girl would put her meal on great hold just because she doesn't want to obey.

And it bothers me as her mom to withhold her food until she is finally broken down enough to mumble something through her tears that sounds remotely like "Amen." I want her to have her nourishment. I want her to grow into a strong, healthy young woman.

But I want her to love God more.

And so I fight, knowing that this struggle now while she is so young and tender will give her an easier life, and a better relationship not only with the people around her but most importantly with her Savior.

It makes me see Jesus so much more clearly. He doesn't want us to suffer. He hates it when we cry, when we struggle, when we lose. He created us to be eternally happy and carefree. But he knows that a little struggle now is what causes us to trust. To be put to the test where we are forced to stand up and choose whether we will follow God or follow ourself is His gift to us - the gift of choice.

I can choose to love Him, to serve Him, and to trust Him no matter what. And in return - I receive the benefit of joy and peace, no matter what. Or I'm free to refuse.

But that means no lunch. And who wouldn't want to eat a feast when it's set before you?

God has set before you life everlasting and happy or eternity without Him. All you have to do is be humble enough to admit you need Him. You need what He sacrificed for you on the cross. You need the power that raised Him from the dead. You believe His Word and you want to belong to Him.

You'll never regret "saying Amen" to your Creator.

You will most certainly regret the alternative.

"This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life." - Deuteronomy 30:19-20

A Better Plan and a New Life Beginning

I return to my horribly neglected blog to announce the arrival of a pretty special little person. My fourth child, John Michael, arrived safe and sound at 7:43 pm on April 11th, 2010. He weighed 10 pounds, 3 ounces, and was 22 inches long.

That's the short story. Now for the long version!

I have four children. I have two boys, two girls, all spaced a couple years apart. I asked God for just this scenario before I even knew if I would be able to conceive one of them. I asked for them in the exact order they arrived, I knew all their names before they were even created, and each one of them is exactly who I hoped they would be. This little one, John, is named for my grandfather who passed away 2 years ago - a great man who loved God and was a shining example to his family. My mom had always hoped for a son or a grandson named John after her father. When I found out that I was expecting this baby, I read from Psalm 103 the same day. "The Lord is gracious and compassionate." At that moment I knew that this would be my mom's baby John, as "John" means "The Lord is gracious." I didn't tell her. I didn't tell anyone save my husband, who admired my grandfather and completely agreed with the choice. I also came to realize soon after that this baby was due exactly two weeks after Grandpa's birthday. At that moment I began to pray almost daily that God would allow this baby to be born on the same day. Guess what? My compassionate Lord brought John Michael into this world on April 11, 2010, exactly 89 years after he brought John Herman Hubble into the world.

So I know it seems odd to title this post "A Better Plan." God did answer some pretty specific prayers. I am thankful to Him for all that He gave me, for all the hopes and dreams He answered so lovingly. I can see the smile on His face as I presented little John to his grandmother just over a week ago. I think God thought that was pretty special too.




I had a few other requests too. I wanted a natural, hitch free labor and delivery. I definitely wanted nothing to do with surgery, which was one of my greatest fears. I wanted an average sized baby and an uneventful pregnancy.

At 32 weeks I went into the hospital with high blood pressure. The next 6 weeks were a rough walk through a valley of bedrest, hospital stays, tests and scary predictions of this baby's size. By 38 weeks I was ready for my prayer to be answered and my baby boy to be born healthy in the appropriate way. Oh, I expected hiccups. My other labors were long and hard. My body never seems to work the right way, my babies never seem to be in the right position. This time was no different. I had wonderful nurses who did their best to help me help the baby into the right position, but John's rather large head was cock-eyed and not in a great position for birth. When the time came, I pushed and pushed with all my might, but the epidural I had cut out on the right side of my body and the pain and intensity of pushing quickly began to overwhelm me. At that time the baby started to show signs of distress, and you could feel it in the room. Everyone knew that my chance to deliver my baby myself was over.

"It's time." the doctor decided, and as much as I didn't want to hear it, I heard my gracious and compassionate Savior speaking through him. "It's time, my child. Time to let go of your plan and accept mine. Time to let me prove that even if your worst fears come to life, I will still be with you. I will still be God, and you will still be loved."

So with tears pouring down my face and with a terror I've never felt before, I was wheeled to the operating room. As the flurry of activity around me went on, I looked for my husband, but he wasn't there. The only face leaning over me was a stranger's. I didn't even see my nurse. I was alone.

But I wasn't. Someone was there. I could feel Him more acutely than I could even feel my husband, who eventually took the seat next to me and gripped my hand, obviously as scared as I was. I asked him afterward if someone had been holding my feet during the operation, and he couldn't recall anyone being there. But I remember more clearly than anything else that happened in that room, even though I was numb from the waist down - someone was holding my feet, and that feeling comforted me more than anything else. As I focused on it, I stopped crying, I started praying, and I waited for my baby to be freed from my body.

He wasn't freed without a cost. I have a painful incision wound across my abdomen that I will carry for the rest of my life as a scar. I have internal wounds that will not allow me to ever have another child any way other than another surgery.

But God got John here. And in the process He was able to use the scariest event of my life to show me that He will ALWAYS be there, and I can do ALL things through Him who is my strength.

So take it from me, if your worst dreams suddenly come to life, if you can't figure out why in the world a God who is supposed to love you would let you suffer in the way you are hurting... remember to look around with spirit eyes, because I promise you He's there in the room... perhaps holding your feet with a grip of love.

"Do you wonder why you have to feel the things that hurt you if there's a God who loves you? Where is He now? Well maybe there are things you can't see and all those things are happening to bring a better ending someday somehow you'll see... you'll see... Would you dare, would you dare to believe that you still have a reason to sing because the pain that you've been feeling can't compare to the joy that's coming. Come on you got to wait for the light, press on and just fight the good fight, because the pain that you've been feeling is just the hurt before the healing... the pain that you've been feeling is just the dark before the morning." - Josh Wilson

Heaven Song

A Goodbye

Nellie Mae Doughty was born on July 25, 1925. I didn’t get to meet her until fifty-one years later, as Nellie Mae Hubble. But I got to hear about the adventures she had in the meantime. She grew up in Missouri with a bunch of brothers and sisters, which is why we always teased her about her “hillbilly” ways. She was pretty young when she fell in love with a soldier headed off to WWII. She told me that she didn’t know if he felt the same way until he kissed her goodbye instead of her cousin. He alone out of his group came back, and decided he would like to marry this beautiful girl.

Despite her obvious admiration, she didn’t make wooing an easy task for Grandpa. He had to ask quite a few times before she finally agreed to marry him. She planned her perfect church wedding, but a blood test result didn’t come back in time for Grandpa. So did they postpone the happy event? No, they crossed line into Arkansas where a blood test was not required and got married by a justice of the peace.

She had two daughters, though she always said she would have liked to have a big family. Little did she know at the time that God was planning on giving her nine grandchildren and 24 great-grandchildren before her time here was done.

It’s hard to know where to begin to speak about what my grandma meant to me. She wasn’t your typical grandma, but then she wasn’t your typical anything! Even if she weren’t the second most important woman in the world to me, it would have been hard not to love her.

I can categorize some of the wealth of memories within by using the five senses. Smells will forever be an instant reminder of my grandma. I remember sneaking into her room after she had finished putting on her makeup and doing her hair. The smell of aqua net hair spray, the fresh scent of her powder, and the light musky perfume that lingered in the air all serve as reminders of her to this day.

There are tastes that I’m sure she wasn’t planning on us remembering her by, but nevertheless we always will. Dr. Pepper, Kentucky Fried Chicken, her Thanksgiving dressing, ice cream sandwiches, just to name a few.

Seeing the pictures she took over the years, though she was always trying to stay out of them herself, reminds me of her. Always armed with her Polaroid camera, forever trying to capture moments and make them hers forever.

Hearing the stories she told while we sat at the kitchen table late into the night, sometimes a few of us, sometimes just the two of us. I got to hear all the stories that everyone else heard too, such as the cigar eating, the lost baby alligator, and the “Shower” incident, as well as a few that I never expected, and promised not to repeat. Grandma wasn’t one to hide her regrets or failures. She probably figured we could learn from them. And I for one, did.

I will always remember the touch of Grandma’s hands. They weren’t always gentle, such as when she would hold you down and tickle you or pinch you so hard she left a bruise. Her hands were rather frail for the last few years. But she had a way of communicating with her grip the love she felt for you, the will she had to hold you there forever so you wouldn’t go running back off into life, but stay with her instead. I always wished I could. It was hard to leave. Her touch may be the only thing some of her great-grandchildren will ever remember of her. Even in her last days, she was always on the floor crawling around with babies, carrying around toddlers that were too heavy for her, snuggling newborns even as she desperately tried to remember their names and which grandchild they belonged to.

Even as I try to draw this to a close, memories come rushing through my mind. How I could never win a game of Scrabble against her as hard as I tried, and how easy she made it look. How she’d bicker and carry on with Grandpa just to get a laugh out of us. I remember she’d lose Jenny and me in the store and hide in the clothes racks so we couldn’t find her. She had a funny way of acting like a ditz even though we both knew that she was smarter than I’d ever be.

Thank you, Grandma, for the legacy of faith. For the example of determination and spirit, and a life finished well. Thank you for being one of the best friends I’ve ever had. For loving me through the toughest times in life. For believing in me, delighting in me, and always telling me the truth.

I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more than these inadequate words can express.

Goodbye…. For now.

Fun Recipe Resource

Today's Pick of the Day - http://homeandfamily-miranda.blogspot.com/

The Solution to Winter Dry Hands

Day 3 of my top picks for home and family - the solution to dry skin issues. http://homeandfamily-miranda.blogspot.com/

New Post in Home and Family

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Taking Blogging to New Places

One of my goals for 2010 is to expand my blog. I've added an area dedicated to writing, which will mark my personal journey to authorhood as well as share authors, books and writing resources that have been helpful to me. You will find the link to this area at the top left.

Another area that has been added is Home and Family. This area will be reserved for ideas, resources and links to things that have become invaluable to me as homemaker, wife and mom. I've found I've gathered quite a bit of information in my ten years pursuing this goal, and it is time it was shared.

The main area will remain my focus for my wandering thoughts, mostly devotional in nature. As I learn more about the resources available to blogs, I will continue to improve this site and transform it into something that is useful to others and not just a personal journal. My goal as a writer is to meet the needs of others, not only to satisfy my personal need to muse in the form of words.

So I welcome feedback in the form of comments or emails. If you have any ideas for me, let me know!

Watch and Pray

2010. It's not just a new year. It's a new decade. Full of possibilities and inevitable change. There are some dire predictions for the next decade, and whether or not they will hold any credence remains to be seen.

Have you noticed how change makes us uneasy? I'm not sure why that is, but I suppose it is at least partly because change is a human trait, not divine. God doesn't change. But the comforting fact is that He allows change and decrees change in order to bring us closer to the image of Jesus.

As I went to bed last night, I asked God to tell me what business I should be about in this new coming year. I turned to my place in the gospel of Matthew, and commenced my reading about the experiences in the Garden of Gethsemane that fateful night. I realized how much I - and the church as a whole - resemble the sleeping disciples. Would they have been sleeping if they really had any idea what would unfold in the next few hours? Would we be so complacent and content if we had any idea what the next few years held in store?

The words of advice were clear. "Watch and pray, so you don't fall into temptation" -red letters seeming to emphasize the importance of the command.

There's no getting around it. I'm pretty content where I am. I'm not easily moved at the idea of changing my life, even for the glory of God. But what if there's more to why He has me here than grocery shopping and exercising on my eliptical, making lesson plans for homeschool and singing in the church choir? What if His glory requires that I let go of the lifestyle I'm so comfortable in? Even if it doesn't at this point in time, something tells me that "watching and praying" doesn't happen without being willing to do so.

So my goal for 2010 is to learn how to watch and pray. Bigger things are coming than we are capable of imagining. The closer we come to the culmination of this world's eventual demise, the more important it will be that we be paying attention. Watching. Praying. Willing to give up our desires for His plans for us. More mature in our thinking and focused on why we are here than how we can make ourselves more happy.

No more sleeping disciples while Jesus pleads for watchful prayer. The Holy Spirit will help us in our weakness if we will let Him.

Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, "Sit here while I go over there and pray." He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me."

Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will."

Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. "Could you men not keep watch with me for one hour?" he asked Peter. "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak."

He went away a second time and prayed, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."

When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. 44So he left them and went away once more and prayed the third time, saying the same thing.

Then he returned to the disciples and said to them, "Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour is near, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us go! Here comes my betrayer!"