I noticed several funny things while on my way to work this morning that brought me joy, and I drove through town with a silly smile on my face.

1. The Perky Intern: My favorite radio station is based out of the Big City an hour away, and they have hired a summer intern who brings a very upbeat vocal quality to the air waves. She sounds extremely young, although I know she must be in college, and her voice is always extremely happy. This morning, they put her in charge of reading the news.

She read in her cheerful, upbeat voice: "It was dark and late last night when a city policeman was killed in a hit and run. The officer was kneeling outside of his squad car using a radar gun to catch speeding motorists when one of those motorists ran into the back of his car pushing it into his body and crushing him to death. Also last night, a bullet ended the life of a young man, who police are declining to identify before giving the details to his family. The neighbors in the small neighborhood where he was shot are shocked and concerned that this has happened so close to their homes. A presidential candidate is crashing a debate party today. Paul Don (I think that's the name that she said) was not invited to the presidential debate involving many other candidates, so he has decided to throw his own party...in the same building as the debate and at the same time. He is offering free hamburgers and hotdogs to the first 500 people who show up."

I have to tell you, it is hard to take the two deaths mentioned seriously, when the newscaster is so joyful about it. And then I cracked up listening to the Paul Don party crashing. He sounds pretty fun to me. Although, I'm not sure what type of president he would make if he was crashing cabinet meetings all the time, and what would he do if a UN negotiation didn't go his way? Find a creative way around it, or just do his own thing to the detriment of others?

2. The Mismatched Flowers: As I entered town, I drove past a house with six beautiful hanging baskets of flowers on the front porch. Each basket overflowed with dusky pink blossoms, all but one basket that is. The last basket dangled the same flowers, but in a distinctly orange tone that did not match the house or the other flowers at all. I laughed out loud as I imagined the surprised homeowner discovering for the first time that the promising buds on the newly purchased plants were not the same color on every plant.

3. The Practical Joke: On my way to drop Liberty off at her babysitter's house, I passed another victim of the town's ongoing practical joke. Twenty, pink, plastic flamingos perched on thin metal stems on the front lawn of a house, and a posted sign in the yard read in large, black letters, "YOU HAVE BEEN FLOCKED." These same flamingos and sign were in the front yard of a house four blocks away two days ago, and I remember seeing the birds and their accompanying verbiage several times at various houses last summer, too. At the time, I thought it was a practical joke, and I got a great laugh out of it, but just before blogging about it, I decided to search the Internet to see if anyone in town has said anything funny about the incidents. It turns out, the birds are a fundraiser for breast cancer. Townspeople secretly vote on who should be the first victim of the flocking, and in the middle of the night someone sneaks out to the house and flocks the front lawn. The birds remain at their posts until the homeowner donates to breast cancer research. He then chooses the next person to be flocked, and in the middle of the night, the birds migrate to the next nominees' yard. That's the best fundraiser that I've ever heard of!

Our three scrawny baby birds have become fuzzy teenagers overnight.

Yesterday afternoon, when Libby and I came home from work, two fluffy looking birds were lounging on our front doorstep. They were sitting on the threshold of the doorjamb with their backs pushed up against the door. Each bird had picked a corner, and they were hanging out there looking like a pair of gangsters leaning up against a cement wall in the "hood."

I parked the car inside the attached garage, and carried Libby inside the house. Curiously, I peered out the front window to see if the birds were still lazing by the front door. They were, and they didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. After thirty minutes without movement by either bird, I decided to up the fun factor.

With Liberty balanced in my left arm, I loudly unlocked, relocked, and unlocked the front door. I hesitated. I heard no movement on the other side of the door. I opened the front door just a crack to see if the birds were still there. They were. The tail feathers of one bird stuck through the open crack of the doorway. I lightly touched his tail. He did not move at all. I tried to let Liberty see the birds through the crack in the door, but I didn't want her to get pecked in the eye either. I closed the door to get the teenage robins to hop off the door frame. They didn't budge.

I reopened the door and observed the nearest robin, the one with the tips of his tail feathers inside my house. He was scruffy looking. His feathers were downy soft and fluffed up. His chest sported a light amber coloring and dark brown polka-dots. I assume his chest will darken into the famous rust color of Robin Red Breasts as he ages. I wanted to touch him, but, okay, I admit it. I am scared of birds. Maybe I read Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds at too young an age. Sure, they look cute from a distance, but get within six feet of one, and you'll notice the beady little eyes, the sharp, pointed beak, the scratchy clawed feet.

This robin's beak seemed exceptionally pointed and shiny, maybe because he was so young or maybe because I was so close to him. My eyeballs were about six inches from his pointed beak. I checked that the crack in the door was small enough to keep his body out if I needed to suddenly pull my eyes away from the opening. I ached to touch him, but I decided to play it safe. I picked up one of Kimmie's flip-flops that happened to be near the front door (and shouldn't have been). I figured, if I touched him gently with the shoe and he didn't violently stab at it, then I could try again with my finger. I slid the foam sole through the crack in the door and gently rubbed the robin's back.

In a flutter of feathers, he and his sister fled from my doorstep. As I stared down at the twin piles of waste matter built up on both corners of the threshold, I realized the siblings must have been sitting at my door at least all day, if not all of the previous night. Had their mother been bringing their food to them at my doorstep?

At least real gangsters at their favorite hang-out spots have the decency to find a toilet when necessary. I closed the door to prevent any stray birds from swooping in, and I walked to the cabinet under the kitchen sink to get a scrub brush, thankful that only two of the three siblings had visited my doorstep.

I admit it. I LOVE spying on people. I love watching as they go about their daily business, and I love peering in their windows to see how wonderfully they may have decorated their homes. To my husband's chagrin and my mother's partnership, if any window in any house that I happen to be driving or walking past has open curtains, I will surreptitiously gaze into the room as I continue moving slowly past. In the past, I tried at times to curb my curiosity, and even now, I attempt to mask the direction of my gaze without ripping my eyeballs from their sockets, but people and homes are so addictive to me.

Last week, I stood at my kitchen window, minding my own business and washing the dishes, when I noticed my neighbor in his backyard. He and his wife have recently started a small garden, and it is their pride and joy. Whenever I walk over there to visit, we invariably end up in their garden evaluating just how much the miscellaneous vegetables may have grown over the past few days. This is their very first garden, and they are obsessed with it. (Sidenote: I planted my first garden, named Garden 1, on Mother's Day this year in a small flower bed in the front of my house. As of today, not one flower has grown in my little flower bed, and I am very sad about that. I plan to start Garden 2 later this year.)

As I unashamedly watched out the window (because it was daytime, and no one could see that I was staring like a maniac) Denny carried a sprinkler over to his garden. The sprinkler was the type that creates a swaying arch of water like a lady's old fashioned feather fan in days of yore. (I've been wanting to sneak that phrase into my blog since I started typing, "days of yore.") Anyway, Denny set the sprinkler down in the center of the garden. He stepped back and watched the arch bend backwards and forwards several times over his plants. Apparently, the water was missing a few too many leaves for his liking, so he walked over and adjusted it. He stepped back again and observed. He walked forward and adjusted it. He stepped back and observed; he walked forward and adjusted. After twelve (yes, I was counting) adjustments, he picked up the sprinkler and carried it from the center of the garden to the far left side. He set it down in a strategic spot and stepped back to observe the spray.

A few more adjustments later, I became bored (and Libby was hungry) so I turned from the window and fed her a few crackers. About fifteen minutes later, I walked past our sliding glass doors and noticed Denny was still out in his garden, placing, observing and adjusting. The sprinkler was still on the left side of the garden. I picked Liberty up and pointed our garden-crazy neighbor out to her. We laughed and watched him from the sliding door until the sun began setting. When I decided that the growing darkness would enable him to notice me watching him from inside my house, Libby and I boldly stepped out onto the back porch. "How's it going, Denny?" I called out to him with a grin and a hint of a chuckle in my voice.

He glanced over his left shoulder towards us. "Hi! Just working on watering the plants." He volunteered.

Liberty and I stood on the back deck for a little while chuckling to ourselves, but once the mosquitoes decided I would make a great main course for the evening, we headed back inside.

Maybe that's what my problem with Garden 1 was. I should have asked Denny to come water it!

Yes, I did drop off the face of the earth, and I had a lovely time floating through space this past month. Actually, now that school is out for the summer, I've lost my rhythm. So many events filled with happiness and fun have distracted me from my blog, and I have so much to catch you up on!

I will strive to update. But I warn you, the random spillage from my brain will not necessarily be in chronological order...or even in logical order at times.

Let's start with my newly found phone. I found it last week, wedged underneath Liberty's car seat. I don't even know how it got into the backseat of the car, but I'm too joyful to investigate seriously.

I'm planning to help decorate the fourth of July parade float for our church this Thursday. I wonder how Liberty will enjoy that fun. She'll probably sit on the lawn and attempt to eat it while I work on the float.

My sister Charity came to visit us this weekend from Illinois. She surprised Jeremy for his birthday. When he came home from work at three in the morning, she was perched on top of the refrigerator. Kimmie and I attempted to hide in a nearby doorway to watch his reaction, but he spotted us right away and asked why we were awake. Charity sang out "Happy Birthday, Jeremy!" from her throne, and Jeremy looked startled and ready to jump into action, but he anticlimactically responded, "Oh, hi."

Jackie and Dave were married May 19th, and I flew down to the wedding in Florida. Our family camped at Lake Red Rock with Dan, Kari and Aaron the following weekend, which was Memorial Day. The next weekend, June 2nd, our friends from college Dan and Liisa and their kids stayed with us on their way to a family reunion in Oregon. Now, that was a lot of fun! Having old college friends spend the night, I highly recommend. They left us with big smiles on our faces and rejuvenated hearts. I miss my fun-filled, college days, but truthfully, I love my current, life-filled, family days more! The weekend after that was my birthday, and we celebrated by road-tripping into the City for fun. The weekend of June 16th, our family stayed home, no visitors, and accomplished some yard work. We have a sad little pine tree in our front yard that needed doctoring. (I've decided to name our homestead Lone Pine, which unfortunately sounds very sad and dreary, doesn't it?) We also found three little blue eggs in a nest in the tree. Kimmie named the momma bird Mary, and we began bird watching that week. Last week, the eggs hatched and we now have three ugly little baby birds who demand food from their muscle-building momma. That lady puts on mileage trying to keep her hungry brood fed. We've got to have a completely worm-free yard by now. That brings us to this weekend, which was Jeremy's birthday and Charity's surprise arrival. Chari left yesterday evening with Kimmie. They traveled back to my parent's house in Illinois, where my brother Nate and his wife Suzy will stop off on their way to our house next weekend from Ohio. They and their two dogs will pick up Kim from Mom and Dad's house, and finish driving to our house. They're going to stay for a week during fourth of July, and Jeremy and I will be taking vacation days from work during that week. Jeremy's dad and Tammy are also supposed to join us during the week of July 4th, so we're going to be having a blast! We even purchased some new games to play! I can't wait!

I just can't keep my phone around me!

Last week, I was without my communication device because I had misplaced my cell-phone charger. This week, I've lost my phone! It went AWOL on Friday night as soon as I got home from work, and I had already told several people that I would call them.

Pretty soon, I'm going to have no friends! (My family has to stick with me no matter what, cuz they can't get out of being my family. Ha!)

To everyone who is feeling slighted by my lack of communication, I am sorry. I really do love you. Really.

Back at the campsite, Aaron played a new and improved version of Duck, Duck, Goose.

My mischeivous baby cooked up her own ideas.

Hatching the plan

"What? I'm innocent!"

We fished and fished, but caught nothing. Kimmie wanted a fish so badly that she took a picture of someone else's catch.

I accidentally stepped into Kimmie's picture of the shore.

Liberty was happy that she didn't have to eat any fish.

Of course, she is happy just about anywhere. Here she is in the tent.

And here in her Tot-Tot.

Super Baby!

All in all, we had a great time camping...

...and Kimmie was happy to be back home!

At work, I deal with financial planning and investing. Usually, this is a hope-filled occupation. Investors optimistically put their money into various funds, expecting that they will have earned more money when it is time to take it out of the fund.

But there is another side to my job. When an investor dies, the family calls me because our office is responsible for appropriately distributing the money to the existing beneficiaries. Since the beginning of April, there have been an unusual number of deaths, and as a result, many families have called the office or walked in to let us know.

I've never had to face death before. My older sister died, but that happened before I was born. My grandma died when I was sixteen, but we lived in New Jersey and she lived in Illinois. I had never spent a lot of time with her, and even though her passing hurt, it hurt more in terms of lost opportunities than in terms of a relationship now missing. I feel ill-equipped to comfort or empathize with the raw grief I am facing on a daily basis.

A 92 year old mother of six grown children passed away. Her oldest son walked into the office on a sunshiny day in April and blandly announced, "Mother's gone." I gazed at his face while my mind absorbed his words. His voice graveled out as he explained, "She passed on just after midnight yesterday." He paused, cleared his throat, forced air into his lungs and raised his head determinedly. "Thought I'd better let you know."

A man in his fifties shook when he told me that the sick mother he had cared for over the past ten years was finally at peace. That was over three weeks ago, and he has come into our office many times since then just because he has no one else to talk with. Without the frail patient in his life needing constant attention, he is lost. He has known nothing else for the past decade.

Craig attended the funeral of a 24 year old man last week, and yesterday a father called to tell me that his youngest daughter died on Saturday. Her two, young children are now under their grandparents' guardianship. I listened to the heartbreak in his voice when he told me. The tiredness. The unfathomable grief. The disbelief. I jotted down the relevant details so that we could perform our financial duties for him appropriately, and I told him, "Ron, I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

How does that help? It does not even begin to convey my real feelings, my real, deep sorrow for the families left behind. And if it doesn't cover my small measure of grief for the family of a person that I had never met, how can it assuage a minute portion of the grief of the person I say it to?

I am saved. I am saved from Hell, from the cost of my own sin. I know this because I have trusted God to punish His Son Jesus for my sins instead of punishing me. I know that when I die, I WILL be in Heaven. I WILL be better off. I know that my family will miss me, but I know that if they have accepted God's power to forgive their sins, I will get to see them again in Heaven when they are finished living on earth.

But how can I apply this to my clients? I'm not worried about my own future; I know that it is secure. I am grieving for the families left behind, and for the loved one whose future is now present. I don't know where they are, and I don't know what to say to the client on the other end of the phone or on the other side of the desk. Yesterday, I hung up the phone, put my face in my hands and cried.

I'm sorry.

A hug.

It doesn't go away. It might fade for me, but there is a hole in a family now that will never again be filled.

Jackie and Dave's wedding was absolutely wonderful! God gave me several new friends, and an amazingly fun time with new experiences that I loved. Today, I'll talk about the new experiences and tomorrow I'll tell you about my new friends.

New Experiences:
On Friday morning, all of the bridesmaids went to a nail salon and were pampered. I now have gel nails, a french manicure with a pretty design and a pedicure. Alan painted my nails, and he and his wife, Leah, own the salon and work there together. He told me that he used to be a graphic artist, and Leah worked at a nail salon. She suggested to him that they open their own store, and he said that he jumped at the chance because that meant that he would get to work with her. Yay!

Later that afternoon we practiced at the rehearsal, and all of us bridesmaids got to meet all of Dave's groomsmen. They were a pretty fun bunch of guys, always laughing and joking around. We got to meet their wives and girlfriends too, but more about that later.

After the rehearsal, we drove to the hotel where the reception would be held. We ate dinner, and I got to meet all of Jackie's extended family whom I have heard so much about through my years at college with Jackie. It felt wonderful to finally meet these people whom I felt like I already knew.

Once dinner was finished, the bridesmaids headed upstairs to the ballroom to decorate for the reception. We had been there for approximately an hour or so, when the wives (and a fiance) of the groomsmen burst through the door. They laughed and talked and worked with us. Together, we made the room beautiful, and we made new friends. I know that Jackie had been worried about moving away from her close-knit family into a place where she may not know anyone, but since many of Dave's groomsmen are also his co-workers, that meant that Jackie had automatically made friends with several of Dave's co-worker's wives. I wish you could have met these ladies. They were so fun, friendly, energetic, and silly! I wished that I were the one who would be spending more time with them. At one point I asked, "You guys act like you are more than just co-worker's with each other. What's the deal?" And they all responded at once, "We ARE more than just co-workers and wives. We're one big family." I am so thankful that God has provided another close-knit family for Jackie to be part of. He is so great!

Now that the reception room was beautiful, we bridesmaids had a job to do. We handed Jackie the car keys and told her we were on a scavenger hunt. We all piled into a car that was built for very skinny people. Amidst lots of laughter and tangled bodies, we were finally able to close the doors, and we told Jackie that her first assignment was to find a swing set. She quickly drove to a nearby park filled with wooden playground tunnels and swinging bridges. We climbed over the equipment to the swings and posed for the camera over and over.

Barefoot, we slung our sandals (renamed grassdals) over our fingers and sloshed through the sandy playground towards the car. We noticed a police car in the parking lot with it's blue lights flashing, and we decided to give Jackie her next assignment immediately--have our pictures taken with a police officer. We changed directions and walked to his car. Jackie was too nervous to talk with him, so I became the spokeslady. I explained that we were having a bachelorette party, and we needed to have our pictures taken with him. He suspiciously questioned us, but Jackie was wearing a tee-shirt that said Soon to be Mrs. L. and the wedding date was printed on the back of the shirt. He smiled handsomely, and once the flashes had vanished, he said, "Now you can put on your list that you were kicked out of the park." It turns out, the park had closed at ten pm.

We merrily squeezed into the car and found a McDonald's with a playland. We sat on Ronald's lap and climbed through the equipment, documenting our progress along with way with film. One of the workers came out, and we thought he was going to ask us to leave. Instead, he calmly began sweeping the floor, not sparing a glance for the crazy group of women climbing through the plastic tubes with shrieks of laughter.

We ended our party early at Walmart (where every party should happen) since we were all so wiped out from the previous all-nighter, and we finally climbed into our respective sleeping places around two in the morning, knowing that we needed to wake up at four in order to have our hair and dresses ready for the photographer before the wedding.

The wedding took place on Saturday. I've never been in a wedding before, so that was pretty cool for me. (Well, I was a flower girl when I was four, but I don't remember much about that except for my beautiful dress and flowers.) Amazingly enough, there were no mishaps. That's kind of sad for me also, because I enjoy funny disaster stories to tell. My dress needed to be hemmed a little more, but it was too late for that. So I informed my groomsman that I needed him to walk slowly to give me a chance to kick my dress out of the way at each step. He very obligingly crept along. His name was Rich, and he was a detective. I tried to think of a good mystery question for him to figure out during the rehearsal, but I couldn't come up with anything great.

At the reception, the bridal party walked in to the Star Wars theme song. That choked me up for a few minutes, because it made me long for Jeremy who had stayed home in Iowa with Kim and Libby. I ate the most WONDERFUL Chicken Cordon Blue that I have ever had in my entire life, and I dropped three forkfuls of salad on my dress. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am smooth.

Two groomsmen toasted the bride and groom during dinner, and I was just getting up the nerve to stand and toast, when Jackie and Dave left the table to mingle with their guests. I had a pow-wow with two of the other bridesmaids to determine if I could still make a toast even though the bride and groom were no longer at the table. We couldn't come to a satisfactory conclusion, so I asked the DJ and the photographer who were standing together chatting. (I figured they had been at enough weddings to know what would be appropriate.) They told me to wait until Jackie and Dave returned. I waited and waited and waited. Finally, they started back to the table. Just as they arrived, the table clearer took my toasting glass, along with the toasting glasses of everyone at the head table! I stood to my feet and attempted to discretely flag the lady down to ask for our glasses back, but she was not listening to me. I sank back onto my chair and laughed with the bridesmaids about the situation. Then I decided to toast with the water goblet that was still left on the table. I pushed out my chair and headed towards the dance floor with butterflies flapping away in my tummy. As I got there, the DJ pulled his microphone in and said, "Now it's time for the Father/Daughter dance." I stood at the edge of the floor in dismay and watched as Jackie and her daddy danced to "Butterfly Kisses." Then Dave and his mom danced, then lots of people danced, and I finally gave up my dream of toasting the bride and groom. It was a very sad moment for me.

But I got over it quickly when Faith and I and several of the groomsmen and their wives sneaked out to the car to decorate! I'll post pictures as soon as I have some. It was pretty awesome!

Tune in later this week for part two - "The Wedding: New Friends"

I will be leaving for my friend Jackie's wedding in Florida, and I will not return until Monday. Woooo-peee! :-)

Kimmie's birthday party this past weekend was a hit! Five teenage girls stayed up all night on Friday, and on Saturday we opened presents, played, then hit the mall for some major shopping.

Friday night was uneventful for me. Jeremy and I hid in our room around 9:30 PM and gave the girls the run of the house. They watched a few movies (3), ate a few pizzas (4), drank a few 2 liters of Mountain Dew (6), and did not sleep at all. (Big surprise.) I fell asleep around 10:30 or so, and Jeremy (who normally works night shift) got up to watch movies with the girls. He was really trying to steal the Mountain Dew.

Around two or three in the morning (as I heard the story), Jeremy said, "Who wants to go to Walmart?" So they all piled into the car and headed for Walmart. We won't discuss the terror striking deeply into the hearts of the Walmart employees as they heard the group entering the store. I still haven't heard all of what happened, but it was loads of fun, apparently. And of course, the girls (and Jeremy) had to obtain more Mountain Dew.

I woke up around 6:30 in the morning on Saturday to feed Liberty, and two of the five girls were already up. Kimmie was one of them. I made scrambled eggs and waffles for breakfast, and found out that the fruit salad planned for breakfast had been eaten in the middle of the night...as well as the veggie tray that had been planned for lunch. In fact, when I surveyed my kitchen, I realized that I had not invited girls over for Kimmie's birthday, but locusts disguised as girls, Men In Black style.

Around noon, we had cake and ice cream and opened presents. One of the girls had given Kimmie several water guns. The girls squealed and immediately filled the guns at the kitchen sink and raced outside. Jeremy and I stayed behind to clean up the mess in the kitchen, but my heart was outside with the girls. After a few minutes, I found out that Jeremy was thinking the same thing, because he said, "I wish I had a water gun to surprise them with."

I wriggled my eyebrows mischievously at him, "We have a garden hose."

His face lit up. We huddled together, plotting how we could pull the hose from the garage and hook it to the outside water faucet without being caught. We finally decided that Jeremy would pull the hose from the garage into our bedroom. I would casually wander outside to "check" on the girls, and he would lower the hose through our bedroom window until I could attach it to the spigot on the outside of the house.

Our plan was working wonderfully, until we got to the dining room. The girls had split into two warring factions, and team one suddenly burst through the sliding doors on the deck and into the room. We thought they had discovered us, but they were too preoccupied with filling their guns up at the kitchen sink to notice us frozen in the middle of the room holding coils of the long, green, garden hose. After considering the situation, and realizing that team one was in the kitchen and team two was in the back yard, Jeremy and I raced for the front door, desperately hoping to reach the outside faucet before any scouts discovered our plan.

We screwed the hose to the faucet and were adjusting the sprayer for optimum fire-power when Kimmie walked up to us. Our backs faced the lawn, so her voice made us jump, "When you're finished hooking that hose up, can we have some water, please?" she asked, so politely.

"Why, sure!" I sweetly responded. The poor girl didn't realized what she had just asked for. Jeremy and I grinned at each other.

"AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" I yelled as I spun around with the sprayer flowing full-blast. The semi-circle of waiting girls scattered before us!

"Aaaaahhhh!" They all screamed as they ran in various directions around the yard. Jeremy kept my hose from kinking as I chased them back and forth. Finally, drenched, they sought sanctuary at the neighbor's house across the street.

A successful ambush = a successful birthday party!

Here are some pictures from a couple months ago. Libby is currently seven months old, but in these pics she is five months.

Our mystery mountain has turned into a mysterious pathway of mud.

I came home from work on Thursday, and the mountain had been used (by a machine that left giant tread marks) to fill in a trench that had formed in our front yard. I'm guessing that our builder was the one who brought the mountain and turned it into a pathway because another house in our neighborhood that was built by our builder also had a large machine pushing dirt around in its yard when I drove by.

I wonder if he is allowed to come onto our property without permission and fill in our trench? I am also missing our trench. It provided hours of entertainment for our family in the form of jokes and stories created starring The Trench. Now that it's gone, what will we do for fun?

Ooh, I know! We can dig it up again!

Yesterday afternoon, Kimmie fed and played with Liberty while I attacked the rain forest in our front yard with a lawn mower.

Recent rains (read torrential flood waters) have transformed all grassy areas into swamp-like mush, but our yard has dried out enough that I was able to push the mower and only sink up to my ankles in the mud. What I did not realize was that the self-propulsion part of the lawn mower is not working. This means that I get to pull out my manly upper arm muscles (I keep them in the top drawer of my dresser) and wrestle the mower up and down the steep valley that leads into our ditch. Oh, and throw my back out.

We now have a beautifully manicured front lawn. Well, mostly. The machine ran out of gas about three quarters of the way through. And boy, was I ever glad! I looked like a garden statue water fountain with all of the perspiration (girls don't sweat) running in glistening rivulets from my forehead. (See, even that can sound beautiful! Just don't come close enough to smell me! :-)

I thought I wouldn't be able to post until Monday, but I have a few minutes and I want to share a conversation that Kimmie and I had in the car on the way into town.

Kimmie and I were playing the "Glad Game" where I say something really bad, and Kimmie has to respond with something happy about it.


Missy - "Oh no, it's raining today."
Kimmie - "Oh, good! Now we won't get sunburned!"

Missy - "Oh no, our neighbor's house burned down."
Kimmie - "Oh, good! Now they can stay with us and we can become better friends!"

Missy - "Oh no, a meteor just hit that business and smashed it to pieces."
Kimmie - "Oh, good! Now we can have a rebuilding party!"

Missy - "Did you know we're going to eat green beans tonight."
Kimmie - (silence)

Missy - "Kimmie?"
Kimmie - "Well...I just can't think of anything good about that."

I love living and working in a small town.

Our town is preparing for a three day celebration that attracts tourists from all over the world. This means that all other aspects of life stop so that we can focus only on what is important -- The Festival.

For example, our little office, normally known for it's financial aspects, has become a trading post over the past three days. It began on Monday morning with Jody, a short, vivacious, poodle-haired woman in her early thirties who bounded through the front door and called, "Yoo-hoo! Cra-aig!" She lofted a real bowling pin painted metallic gold and tied with a red, white and blue ribbon over her head and performed a quick victory dance. Craig emerged from his office with a bemused smile on his face. "Hi, Jody," he greeted her. Once he sighted the bowling pin, he grinned widely. "I've heard about that! So this is it, huh? The famous trophy." I squinted from my office to read the placard fastened to the pin. It read

Yesterday around 8:00 pm, as the girls and I drove home from Kimmie's tennis game, we passed a mysterious mound of dirt in front of our house. This mound is about four or five feet high and maybe six feet wide. Just thick black dirt sitting mainly in our front yard and slightly on the road as well.

Hmm.

Why is it there?
Who put it there?
When did it get there?

These are all viable questions to ask...but who should we ask?

Oh, goody! I get to be a detective!

Q: How many tall people does it take to change a seven-month-old's diaper?

A: Three

Our family went road tripping over the weekend. We drove forty-five minutes to the "Big City" just to hang out on Saturday. Actually, I needed to deposit my monthly paycheck, and we went grocery shopping while we were there.

Yes, big fun.

After arriving in the "Big City" an awful smell permeated the car. The odorous molecules were so strong even my lovely Rain Forest car freshener couldn't fight it off. We finally decided to pull over into a vacant parking lot, and Liberty Grace, with a big grin on her face displaying her twin bottom teeth, was removed from the car. I wore a gas-mask.

Reconnaissance of the area showed no open stores or bathrooms, so I spread Liberty's changing pad out on the trunk of the car, propped the diaper wipes open nearby and proceeded to unsnap her outfit and untape her diaper. Liberty very politely waited until her diaper was opened to begin wiggling.

She twisted towards the diaper wipes container, and I deftly swept it out of reach. She twisted towards her diaper bag, and I held her ankles with one hand and shoved the bag away with my other hand. She bent as though she planned to sit up, and the tilting trunk helped her slide downwards. "Sit still, Baby," I instructed, and she giggled at me. I lifted her back into position, and still holding her ankles, reached for a diaper wipe. She saw her chance and seized it, attempting to crawl in the other direction.

"Stop! Jeremy, help!" I shouted. Jeremy jumped to attention and grabbed the dirty baby just in time to catch a smile and a gurgle of happiness. He kept his hand on her chest and shaded her face with his other hand. I noticed how huge his hands were in comparison with her tiny chest, and I smiled to myself.

Unable to continue her freedom crusade, Liberty decided to help change her diaper by sticking her hands where they could be the most helpful. "No, Libby." I said using one hand to hold her ankles and the other hand to block her exploring fingers. We stood at an impasse.

"Kimmie." I called. Kimmie had been laughing at us through the car's back window during this whole process. She suddenly sobered as she realized her regiment was being called to battle, but she faced her duty manfully...um, girlfully.

At first, we tried Daddy on chest and distraction duty, Mommy on legs and arms duty, and Kimmie on cleanup, but our arms kept crossing each other. We finally switched to Daddy on chest and arms -- there was a slight pause while Jeremy adjusted his stance to shade Libby's face with his body's shadow, Kimmie on legs and distraction, and Mommy on cleanup.

It worked! We celebrated our victory by three-pointing the diaper into a nearby dumpster.

From: Missy
To: Jeremy
Sent: 2:12 PM
Hi,
Craig gave me my paycheck today. There are several things that we need, and I was wondering if I could use some money for garage sales on Friday and Saturday. I know that I can find some clothes for you, me and Kimmie which we deperately need, and I'd like to find a small bookshelf for Liberty's room and a large bookshelf for the basement. I may also be able to find a trunk or something cool for the dining room that we could put our placemats and dishes into. Maybe a highchair, and a larger car seat for Liberty, which she will be required by law to have soon. If I can find some cheap games (like Aggravation!) then we could also get a few of those. I already have a print out of where the garage sales are tomorrow and Saturday.
Let me know, please! :-)
Missy


From: Missy
To: Jeremy
Sent: 2:13 PM
PS> I could also be on the lookout for 12" Star Wars dolls for your collection. Also, I need to know your pants and shirt sizes.


From: Missy
To: Jeremy
Sent: 2:45 PM
Another PS> I found a sale that has a snow blower!


From: Missy
To: Jeremy
Sent: 2:50 PM
Oooh, I just found one that has a shop vac, a GRASS SEEDER, BIKES!!! (Maybe I could finally get my bike in time to ride it at the campground!), bread machine, treadmill, weight bench, weights! What do you think? Want to come with me? We''ll have to get up early on Saturday morning. (Maybe you should just not go to sleep?)


From: Missy
To: Jeremy
Sent: 3:05 PM
Oh, Jeremy. I found a John Deere (I don't know what, but maybe it's a riding mower!!!!) also a DVD/CD rack, bar stools, baby carrier for my bike!, curtains (maybe for our bedroom?), garage storage cupboards and shelves!! Way cool! I can't wait!!!! :-)


From: Jeremy
To: Missy
Sent: 6:32 PM
Missy,
While I admire your enthusiasm, what I think you should do is pay the house payment, pay $251 towards the credit card and $130 for the baby. Take that away from your check, and you are left with $0 to spend. Trust me, Missy, I want you to be able to go garage shopping, but I cannot sacrifice our future financial freedom. Right now, we just do not have the money for garage sales. Please talk to me on Friday. Please also complete the estimate on going to Jackie's wedding and bring it with you on Friday when we do the bills.
I love you.
Jeremy
PS> These are not needs, but wants. All we really need is food to live and God. Everything else is a want.


Does this sound familiar to you? Ha-ha! I'm very glad God has given Jeremy and I to each other. Otherwise, I'd have plenty of pretty things, and no house to put them in! And Jeremy would have a perfect bank account, and no one to help him spend it! :-)

While flipping through computer files on my PC last night, I found this old document, and thought you might enjoy reading about what God did in my life years ago.

“Where are Mom and Peter?” I breezed into the house and curiously questioned my dad one afternoon late in March of 1995. He normally worked at this time of day, so it surprised me to see him when I arrived home from school. I continued my walk into the peaceful blue and white living room, dropped my book-bag near the velvety pinstriped couch, and turned to hear Dad’s response.

His already serious face saddened perceptibly, and he swallowed a few times before answering quietly, “Missy, they’re at the hospital.”

An awful feeling of dread overwhelmed me; with a dull ache in my stomach, I sank down on the couch and sucked in some air. I already knew that a problem existed with my two-month-old brother Peter, but I had assumed the appointment my mom talked about making with the doctor that morning after we all left for school would take care of it.

I had never been so wrong in my entire life, and my thinking and way of life has never been so drastically changed—but God knew exactly what He had in store for my future.

After months of testing and many brushes with death, my family and I found out that my baby brother Peter had an extremely rare blood disorder in which his body did not produce red blood cells. Because of the severity of this disease, Pete needed something to be done quickly. Unfortunately, doctors did not know how to treat this disease that did not yet have a name because of its rarity. They gave my parents a few options that might or might not do anything for him.

As the months passed, Peter existed in the hospital, often on life support. Many times we did not know if he would be alive the next day. Mom stayed at the hospital with Peter, and Dad had to work. Sometimes, after work, he would go straight to the hospital to visit Mom and Pete. At 15 years of age, I had younger brothers and sisters ranging from 11 years down to 18 months, so the responsibility landed on me to cook, clean, and care for six scared children who missed their parents, and who needed to be readied before school, supervised after school and comforted at night as they were being tucked into bed. I know that I did not do this job justice.

One night, my sister Charity’s tiny voice stopped me from stepping out of her bedroom after tucking her in for the night. “Missy,” her voice came out in a half whimper, “is Petey going to die?” My heart squeezed in my chest, and I rushed back to sit on her bed and run my fingers through her blond bangs. I looked down at the small second-grader and then over at the other bed occupied by my nine year old sister, Hannah, who was lying on her side facing us. Her solemn, white face reflected the full moonlight pouring in through the window as she patiently waited for my answer to Charity’s question.

I carefully considered my next words. If I told them not to worry – that everything would be okay, and then Peter did end up dying, how would they trust me again? How would that affect these girls’ relationship with God? God, help me! I cried out silently, ironically feeling like the disciple Peter who yelled, “Lord, save me!” when he was sinking beneath the storm-chopped waves of Galilee.

I decided to be honest with them. “I don’t know, Chari,” I smiled at her, my hand still tangled in her hair. “He might. But even if he did, God is taking care of him.”

Her next question shook me, “If Petey dies, will Mom come home?”

I suddenly realized that my fears, wonderings, and inconveniences were nothing compared to what my younger siblings were facing. They understood the situation in varying degrees, and their unknowns were vastly different from my unknowns. I assured her that Mom would come home immediately if Petey died, and the three of us ended up praying together. We knelt by Charity’s bed, the two girls huddling underneath me like I used to do with Dad when I was their age, but when I sat stiffly on the couch in the living room after leaving their bedsides, my anger boiled. I was too young to have to answer questions like that; Hannah and Charity were too young to have to ask questions like that; Peter was too young to have to endure pain like he was: I insisted to myself. My thoughts were indirectly directed to God, because I knew He was listening, but I did not dare to direct them intentionally to God.

I missed a lot of my second semester sophomore year and first semester junior year of high school and failed several tests, taking me from an effortless A/B student to a floundering adult-kid trying to decide what truly defined my priorities. Dad would bring my schoolwork home, and after I had put all the kids to bed I would stay up late to finish it. I put on a brave front around the kids and the people from church and my dad. I could have easily discussed the situation and my feelings with my father, but I knew that he was already over-burdened and facing the same pain and fear that I was. I chose not to add more to his plate, but in retrospect, I wonder if talking about our pain and fears together might have helped us both?

In my bedroom at night, I would pull the layers of blankets over my head, stuff my mouth deep into my pillow, and sob as loudly as I could without waking or frightening anyone, trying to express my hurt and anger and helplessness. In those moments, I sometimes whispered, “Why, God?” but I usually refrained from speaking aloud what I considered to be disrespectful.

Life continued in this manner until the week of Thanksgiving. Mom and Peter had come home from the hospital for the first time in a month. They were only allowed to be home for the Thanksgiving weekend, but our family wanted to be together for it. I stood in the kitchen washing dishes and staring out the kitchen window. The sun shown happily onto my face, but its kind attention was ignored. My hands lay lifelessly in the warm, sudsy water while my mind flew at top speed after one thought, then another. Thoughts gave way to tears, which chased each other silently down my cheeks.

I heard my mom come into the dining room behind me. When I turned to look at her, I saw that she had pulled out a chair, and she was resting her head in her hands. Her face looked so weary. Suddenly, I found myself yelling uncontrollably, “Why, Mom? Why? It’s just not fair! Why is God doing this to Peter—to us?” My sobs overcame me, and I could not speak for a few minutes. When I finally calmed down, I raised tear-filled eyes to my mother’s face. “Mom,” I whispered, “I don’t want to say this, but why doesn’t God just…just let Petey die?” Those words sounded extremely harsh in my ears, so I rushed on. “I mean, he is in so much pain right now, and this is tearing the rest of us up. Why doesn’t God just take Peter home now and get it over with?” I paused then added in a whisper, “I don’t want Peter to die.”

I expected my mother to be mad or shocked or something! Instead, I watched as a look of peace flooded her eyes and washed over the rest of her features. She smiled at me and replied, “Missy, God knows what He is doing. You may not have noticed, but so many lives have been changed because of this. You know that our church is changing. What about the people around the world who have been praying diligently ever since they heard? What about the families I have been able to meet in the hospital, and other people who are not sure if they will make it to heaven who know about this situation, and who are watching, amazed that we can cope through this? No, Melissa, God has a purpose for Peter being here and going through this!”

I will never forget my mother’s peaceful, triumphant smile as she spoke those words. Somehow, in some way, God used that smile to crumble my defenses. I turned back to the sink and plunged my dripping hands back into the water. I noticed the sunshine, and my troubled heart pondered life and God and Mom and Pete.

That night, I did not sob face-first into my pillow; tears slipped out of my eyes and into my ears as I lay on my back and said softly, “God, I know You are in control, and I give everything to You. I’m scared to trust You, but I’m going to anyway. Please take care of us.” I finally realized that my anger or grief would not change anything, so I chose to let God worry about the details, while I focused on trusting Him and praising Him for the little things that I could understand. This does not mean that I was not sad or hurt about the situation, but whenever I found myself thinking too hard about it, I would purposefully remember that God was in control and that He had a purpose for His actions, a purpose that was for good.

God filled my life with joy that overflowed all boundaries, and no way existed to contain it. My best friend, Jen, and her family came to visit for Thanksgiving, and God allowed me to serve Him sooner than I thought. Jen’s grandmother needed comfort about a situation her son was in, and because of what God had taught me through Peter, I could share His joy and peace with her. Later that night during my devotions, I read Matthew chapter 11, where Jesus’ cousin John the Baptist started to doubt whether Jesus was really God. John was in prison, about to be beheaded, and he sent a messenger to Jesus to ask if Jesus was really the one that John had preached He was. In essence, John wanted to know if he was about to die for no reason, if he had wasted his life trusting that Jesus was God. When I read this, I expected Jesus to be angry that John would dare to question Him, but instead Jesus turned to the people that were around Him, including John’s messenger, and He began praising John’s faith! I could not believe this! God does not mind being questioned; He knows we will all have doubts that His way is right, and He still loves us! That Thanksgiving eve, God enabled me to thank Him for putting this in Peter’s life, in my family’s lives, and in my life.

The summer of 1996, I worked in the kitchen at a beautiful summer camp in the mountains of upstate New York. The doctors were trying a new treatment for Peter, and he was stable enough for him and Mom to stay at home and travel back and forth to the hospital twice a week. Before I left home, I decided I would not tell anyone at camp about Peter. I was tired of thinking about Peter’s pain; I was tired of hearing everyone’s sympathies, and I was tired of explaining exactly what disease Peter had. I kept that promise to myself. I refused to tell anyone, and every time someone asked the group to give testimonies of how wonderful God has been, I sank lower in my seat and stopped my ears to the Holy Spirit’s urgings.

In the middle of July, I finally gave in. “Lord, to tell You the truth, I’m scared. It is so much easier to hide from this situation. I rested for a while, but You made sure it was not a peaceful rest. I realize now that for half of the summer, I’ve robbed others of the blessing You could have given, and I’ve robbed You of the glory You could have received. Please forgive me, Father, and please give me the strength to do this.”

The next time my kitchen supervisor asked for testimonies at lunch time, I volunteered right away. I told the entire story, and I finished with this statement that I carefully evaluated before letting it out of my mouth. “I would willingly go through it all again, because God showed me His grace really is sufficient for me.”

The following afternoon, my parents called the camp and I was brought out of work to the phone to hear that once again Peter had gone to the hospital. Because of his weakened immune system, Chicken Pox threatened his life. The doctors expected him to die before I could make it home, so my parents told me it was my decision whether I left or not. In anger, I rushed outside, looked up at the robin’s egg blue sky framed by the Appalachian Mountains and tall pine trees and cried, “God, what happened? I opened my mouth, and right away it piled back in on me! This is what I was afraid of in the first place. What are You doing?”

He opened my eyes, and I saw the majestic mountain He had made that I was staring at. He struck me with my own smallness and His sovereign awesomeness. I did not hear a voice, but God plainly said, “Missy, just yesterday you praised Me for giving you this trial. Have I changed? What is the difference between today and yesterday? My grace is still sufficient for you.”

Peter lived through the Chicken Pox, and six months later, January 1997, we decided to try a bone marrow transplant. At this time, this procedure was still experimental. I vividly remember reading through the stack of papers containing streams of statistics that the team of doctors had sent home regarding the process. The doctors told our family that there was an 80% chance that he would not live through the procedure and a 98% chance that if he did live through it, the transplant would not cure him. But he was dying anyway. Although many people angrily disagreed with us, we decided that the 20% and 2% shots were worth it.

Peter was still recovering during the first week of June, when it was time for me to leave for college. I had chosen a Christian college in Florida, a twenty-hour drive from my family in New Jersey, and leaving them at this time was horrible to me. My parents, however, would not allow me to put it off. Dad took off from work to drive me down there and say goodbye, while Mom had to stay home with Pete and the rest of the family.

November 4th, my dad called to tell me that Peter again delicately hung in the balance between life and death. Instead of experiencing immediate sadness, anger, frustration, I felt peaceful. I asked all of my new college friends to pray for him. Then I went down to the lobby of Bradley Tower where I lived and found Debbie Faubion and Jenny Jallen, two of my friends. When I told them of the telephone call, they both expressed their sympathies, and we all sat down on a nearby overstuffed, pink couch to talk. God’s strength permeated our conversation, and I know that all three of us walked away with God’s amazing peace and contentment.

God has definitely changed my life and thought processes through this situation with Peter. I know that whether Peter lives or dies, his life is in God’s hands—Who, like Romans 8:28 says, works all things together for good for those who are called, according to His purpose—and I know that His grace is sufficient!

November 11, 1997
Pensacola, Florida

My family has been under quarantine for the past week with the flu. Liberty and I had it first, and we lovingly passed it on to Kimmie who decided to share it with Jeremy.

Thankfully, although I felt completely awful, I probably had the least of it. Kimmie was hit hard, and as a result, we have our very first carpet stain that WILL NOT COME OUT! I scrubbed and scrubbed. If I ever find out the flu is going around again, I'm going to start feeding my family clear liquids ahead of time instead of chili. That way, the carpeting won't be permanently discolored. Today is Kimmie's first day back at school this week, and I am hoping that she'll be able to make it through the day. She's excited because she lost 12 pounds while she was sick! (Those twelve pounds are soaked into my carpeting, I know.)

Jeremy succumbed yesterday and missed work. He's sleeping right now, so I'm not sure how he'll be feeling today.

Oh boy, while I was typing this, Kimmie called from school to say that she felt very sick. (She just ate lunch.) I told her to have her temperature taken and sit quietly in the nurse's office for a little while. I wonder if I'm going to need to pick her up.