I stood with my back to the room, scrubbing the stovetop while a full orchestra performed in our apartment.

The dishwasher stood in for the string section, producing various flowing harmonies and chords. Mercy used a box flap and a few toys to give light percussion to the group. A flutist perched in the tree outside and expertly warbled for us through the patio doors, while Liberty hummed a happy, mellow saxophone or French horn sounding melody, engrossed in her coloring at the dining room table.

I smiled at the spilled grease on the stove. "We're pretty blessed, you and I, aren't we?"

The stove agreed.

We made it to the Strawberry Festival yesterday with our friend Rosemary and shared two mountainous helpings of strawberry shortcake complete with ice cream and whipped cream. Oh, the deliciousness! Vocal Bling, an a cappella female version of a barbershop quartet serenaded us while we ate, and I decided if I were ever part of an a cappella female version of a barbershop quartet, I would want to be named Vocal Bling also.

Then the four of us stood in line for an hour to receive a balloon from a clown. Mercy wanted a "key-cat." Liberty requested a princess and received a pink scepter that has been a delight unto her soul until it popped this morning. The heat, the waiting and the beating sun all convinced Rosemary and I that our time at the festival was quickly drawing to a close, and after the balloons were obtained, Rosemary wisely retreated to an air-conditioned space called home. The girls and I bravely found the back of the face-painting line, but when I spotted a woman still in that line who had joined it at the same time that we had joined the balloon line, I told my sweating, sticky, nap-ready daughters that it was time to go home.

"BUT I WANT TO GET MY FAAAAAAAAACE PAAAAAIINNTTEEEDDD!" When the wailing did not quickly subside, I realized desperate measures were called for.

"I can paint your faces when we get home, but you have to obey and be respectful. Now. It is time to go. What do you say?"

Surprisingly enough, two happy faces beamed up at me, and two "Yes, Mommy!"s chorused out of smiling lips. Startled at the abrupt cheeriness, I stood in line undecided for another thirty seconds.

Then the sun came back out from behind it's passing cloud, and I quickly turned the stroller toward home.

And that, my friends, is how I became a water-color face-painter. Mercy was my first victim. I painted a red heart on one cheek and a purple star on the other. Quick and easy (except for the wiggling), DONE!

I smiled, pleased with myself, and considered carrying my $1.00 non-toxic water-color kit to the next fair with me. I could set up a booth, charge a quarter per face, and make a lovely profit. I began dreaming of all the garage sale bargains I would be able to purchase.

But then Liberty stepped up to my brush and requested a dragon on one side and a "princess with a pretty dress and a crown" on the other side.

Oops, dreamed too soon.

My friend Rosemary called on Monday to ask if I wanted to hang out at the Strawberry Festival downtown with her on Wednesday, and I excitedly said YES! So early yesterday morning, I fed the girls breakfast and then gave them a bath. What? Bathing doesn't normally follow every meal at your house? How about just the meals that involve syrup?

I dressed them in really cute outfits, put adorable bows in their hair, and off we drove to complete a round of errands before meeting up with our friend. I stopped off at the library to return some books, stopped off at the church to go over VBS plans for next week, stopped to bottle-feed some orphaned kittens for a busy friend, and finally drove downtown to meet Rosemary.

The unplanned feeding had made me late, and I thought it strange that Rosemary hadn't called my cell looking for me. I stopped in at her workplace to see if she was waiting, but I was told that she had gone to lunch. Gone to lunch? She's supposed to be finished at noon. And then I wondered out loud, "Is today Wednesday or Tuesday?" The lady at the desk grinned knowingly. "It's Tuesday."

I considered going home, but I had already told the girls that we were going to have a picnic, and they were so excited. So we walked to a nearby flower garden, home to several benches and a "water mountain" as the girls call water fountains, and we unpacked our picnic lunch. A relaxing, quiet time of eating and enjoying the beauty around us hovered over our bench, and the three of us sat contentedly together. Eventually, I stood to throw our garbage away, while Liberty and Mercy followed make-believe paths among the mulch, flowers and boulders. After such an enjoyable experience, I didn't want to return home to vacuum and launder and scrub, and we still had a few hours before naptime.

"Want to go on a sculpture hunt?" I asked the girls.

"YEAH!!!" Liberty screamed as she jumped up and down. Mercy watched her sister's excitement and decided she wanted in on it too. "Yes," she enunciated decisively and seriously put her hand into mine so we could walk down the sidewalk together. We picked up a map of the Sculptures On The Square and began walking. The fun part of all this is that the sculptures are scattered over several blocks and displayed in very unexpected places, so you have to hunt for them. Also, they are so life-like, that on a sidewalk hosting other passersby, sometimes the sculpture looks like it is just another pedestrian.

The first sculpture stood in the garden with us and was easy to find. The second sculpture - a policeman writing out a ticket - stood two blocks away in front of the police station, fittingly enough. Liberty stared at him, and in a small voice whispered, "He is scary."

"Oh, no," I responded cheerfully, "this is a policeman! Policemen are nice, and they help take care of us. They keep us safe and make sure we are obeying the laws. See his uniform? That's how you know if somebody is a policeman because they wear a uniform like this, and see his hat? And his badge? And look, he has a gun in a holster, and some bullets on his belt. This is a ticket pad in his hand, and he is writing on the ticket because someone disobeyed the law. See? He's good."

"OOHH!" Liberty said with pleased confidence in her voice. "He IS good, Mommy! That's great, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Thank you, God, for policemen."

"Yes. And if somebody bees mean to me, then the policeman will pull out his gun and SQUIRT them! Right, Mommy?"

"Ummm, y-yeah..."

Mercy leveled the "Why? Weapon" with it's infinite ammunition supply at her sister this morning, and I sat back to enjoy the scene. I thought I'd have to wait until Liberty Grace was grown and had kids of her own before I'd get this level of satisfaction out of life. The conversation started innocently enough.

Mercy: "Whatch doin? Gace?"
Liberty: "I'm resting."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I need to rest."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I need to rest."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I need to rest."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because. I'm. Tired."

A slight pause followed while Mercy Jane arranged herself on the floor next to her sister and snuggled up. I stayed tuned, knowing round two was just around the corner.

M: "Whatcha doin? Gace?"
L: "I'm resting."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"

And so on...until even I was bored of the conversation. After quite a while of this, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm tired."
M: "Why?"
L: "Because I'm..." (Apparently, she realized she had just wasted thirty minutes of her life, and she stopped to find another tact. Then with the tone of a patient school teacher she began speaking again.) "Mercy Jane, do you see my eyes? See how they are tired? And do you see my tongue? See how it hangs out of my mouth like this?" (She waited while Mercy examined her facial features.) "That means I'm tired."

M: (pause) "Oh."


Now why haven't I ever thought of that? Maybe the child just needs a visual aid.

On Saturday night, Jeremy got down on his hands and knees and scrubbed the bathroom floor. He did this for two reasons:

1. We are silly people who put our mop into storage a year ago and refuse to purchase a new one when the one that we have is perfectly good.

2. It was my Birthday Party Day! In this house, on your Birthday and/or your Birthday Party Day, you do not have to do anything that you don't want to do (within reason).

Isn't he wonderful?

Since my Birthday was on Monday, and my Birthday Party Day was on Saturday, I had a wonderful Birthday Week to savor in-between. It all started where you would expect it to start, bright and early Monday morning. "Happy birthday, Wonderful," my husband's deep voice rumbled gently into my ear. "I love you!" When my eyes finally opened, the bedroom was empty, and the sound of the front door thumping closed informed me that my husband had left for work. I smiled a happy, loved, contented smile and let my eyes slowly drift closed, and that is how they remained for the next twelve seconds until Liberty shouted in her room, "GOOD MORNING, MEECEE DANE!"

And the day was off!

Friends and family blessed me with birthday greetings on Facebook and lovely phone calls. Jeremy called me several times during the day just to shout out, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" He sent me several celebratory emails, and when he arrived home from work, he led the girls in a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday to me. Each day of the week brought something new. A homemade card from Liberty Grace on Tuesday, a night off on Wednesday so that I could go to Bible Study with my ladies' group without children in tow, and when I returned home, Jeremy had done the dishes! A special family night out for supper at a local Mexican place on Thursday, and on Friday a hilarious game of Monopoly Cards that lasted late into the night.

And here, I must interrupt my story to tell you a cuter story: While at La Limas on Thursday, I discovered Jeremy's covert operation involving his secret agent Mercy Jane - Operation: Happy Birthday. Anytime I was out of hearing range, he would coach her to shout out "Happy Birthday, Mommy!" when I returned. However, his plan kept backfiring. Whenever I would return, he would whisper, "What do you say, Mercy Jane?" and she would respond, "THANK YOU!" Laughingly frustrated, he would say, "No, what do you SAY, Mercy Jane?" And she would hesitate..."Thank you! DADDY!" After several rounds of this occurring throughout the week, I finally discovered the operation when Jeremy misjudged my hearing distance at the restaurant table. Oh, how we laughed!

Saturday was the day set aside to be called Birthday Party Day, and as such, it had a reputation to live up to. After a lazy morning, we left the house around eleven o'clock, and stopped off at KFC for a picnic lunch. Then we headed for the zoo! I have been wanting to take the girls to the zoo ever since we arrived in Indiana, and finally, my dream has been realized. It is such a large zoo that although we spent three hours there, we only saw an eighth of it, but it was an action-packed, hands-on fraction. The girls petted so many animals that I couldn't even begin to recount them to you. The Ball Python does stands out in my mind, however. At one point, the snake handler glanced at a thermometer and mentioned that it was about 92 degrees, and I had to agree with her assessment. We all splashed in "spraygrounds" throughout the park, but for Jeremy and I that wasn't enough, until finally God opened the skies and it POURED down on us for twenty minutes or longer. Relief! We walked the rest of the eighth sopping wet and wonderfully cool.

We drove home with the intention of changing our clothes and getting a quick nap in before suppertime, but Liberty and Mercy both fell asleep during the ride back. Now, anyone who has had toddlers knows that if you rescue a sleeping child from the extremely uncomfortable contortionistic nap they are suffering through in the car and carry them gently into the house and successfully tuck them into their very own soft and comfortable bed without waking them, once the rescuer takes one step back from the child's bed, said child will immediately terminate any inklings that their systems might have had of taking a nap, and they will bound forth from their mattress with rejuvenated glee. Thereby, robbing all parents from any respite they might have wanted to enjoy.

Luckily, we have toddlers, so we are able to make informed decisions.

We decided to remain in the car for the duration of the napping period, and that is how Jeremy and I joined the ranks of the extremely uncomfortable contortionistic car nappers. The four of us slept in our van, in the parking lot, in front of our apartment building, for a little more than an hour. And what a restful sleep it was! After our refresher, I ran into the apartment, grabbed a change of clothes for everyone, did a little freshening up of myself and ran back out to the van. We then chose a fancy Italian restaurant in town that we had never been to, and indulged in the most exquisite flavor explosions known to mankind.

Sandra D's has become my new favorite restaurant. Replete with luxurious ambiance and what could have been the swelling soundtrack for the movie Return to Me (one of my favorites), our dining experience left NOTHING to be desired. Oh, it was wonderful!

Finally sated, we left the building and performed a lazy family-hand-holding dance to our van. After a waiter and then the chef himself brought Liberty's pink doggie and my black camera out to us, we backed out of our spot and pointed Wynni towards home, but a little orange light began flashing at us.

"A door is ajar." "A door is ajar."

I despise vehicles that state obvious inaccuracies. Everyone knows that doors are not jars. Who do they think they're fooling, anyway?

Both Jeremy and I got out and performed various operations on the sliding door on Mercy's side of the van, but it didn't do any good. As we stood out there, bent over, peering into the bottom door track, the downpour started again with a vengeance. We scurried back to our dry seats inside the vehicle, and Jeremy drove with one hand bent behind him, holding the door handle so that it would not blow open. Thankfully, we were only a few blocks from home.

Whew, this is getting long! I'll make it short. We waited out the storm in our van; Jeremy heroically repaired the door; we put the girls to bed, and then Jeremy scrubbed the bathroom floor.

What more could you ask of a Birthday Week?






But you see, it wasn't over yet.

(Did I surprise you?)

(Good.)

(Because I got surprised, too.)

Last night, Jeremy made Secret Ingredient Crock Pot Roast, Buttered Lima Beans, and his World Famous Mashed Potatoes for our supper. (Don't tell me you've never heard of his World Famous Mashed Potatoes. That would not be right.) He told me it was for my Birthday, but this did not compute to me because my Birthday, my Birthday Party Day and even my Birthday Week were all over. Nevertheless, he insisted that I was wonderful enough to have an extra day of celebration, and therefore he made a special supper for me.

And after supper, he delivered a birthday card signed by Liberty and Mercy and Daddy. It was purple with silver glitter, the words on it said Another year older; Another year hotter, and it sang when I opened it. Of course, Liberty claimed the card immediately so she could dance, and then Mercy handed me yet another present, the DVD of JULIE AND JULIA!

Then we put the girls to bed and sat side by side dunking oreos into milk and playing Monopoly Cards -- wherein I trounced him.

Last night, I drove past The Yellow House to get to my friend's home where our Bible Study was held.

And I cried.

Not big sobbing "Why Me?" kind of tears but just tiny, peaceful rivlets of goodbye to the dream.

And then...

And then...

My realtor was at the Bible Study. In fact, she hosted it at her house, and she told me that The Yellow House had NOT been sold. Something held the process up, and as of this moment it is not sold.

Well, whadda ya know?





I told Jeremy this news when I arrived back at the apartment, and he asked, "?"

"I know!" I said right back at him.

The End.















Really now, this is silly, right? We're building a house, for Pete's sake. (Well, actually we're building it for our sake.) But the owners of the plot of land we've picked out have not made any contact with us in the four weeks that we've tried getting in touch with them. Who knows?

(God does!) So we're leaving it at that.

We are proceeding with the building process (which means we are waiting on the land owners to contact us back) and ignoring The Yellow House. If God wants us to have it instead, He's going to have to call us on the phone and say, "PLEASE GO MOVE INTO THAT HOUSE ALREADY, YOU THICK-HEADED DREAMERS." And then we will.

Maybe.

But if He doesn't call us on the phone and say, "PLEASE GO MOVE INTO THAT HOUSE ALREADY, YOU THICK-HEADED DREAMERS," then we will move into our built home instead and live happily ever after.

...as I welcome my newest nephew, Levi Graham, to the world!



Isn't he adorable? He was born May 26th to my bro-in-law and sis-in-law, Josh and Melissa, and I haven't gotten to hold him yet. But my day is coming.

You hear me, Levi? I'll get there somehow because I love you! :-)

It's not that I don't love you all, cuz really, I do. It's not that life hasn't been blog-worthy, cuz really, it has. It's just that we're spending most of our time outside now, and when we do finally make it inside, I have laundry and dishes and meals to tend to. It's also that I'm trying to get to bed earlier as part of my new lifestyle, and none of that lends itself to extra time to spend blogging.

However, the new house is progressing well. We signed off on our plot plan last week - hooray! I'm currently picking a stain color for the front door - leaning towards cherry #2, but we'll see.

The family is progressing well, also. My birthday arrives on Monday - I've asked for a pony; Liberty loves the outdoors - she went streaking this morning, and I had to reign her in a bit; Jeremy's acclimating to his job - he put on his new company shirt last night and danced around the living room for me; Mercy HATES bugs and loves dirt, but Liberty and I actually convinced Mercy to touch a roly-poly this morning - she did with the accompaniment of much shrieking laughter and no wailing and gnashing of teeth. See? Progress!

How's your summer been going?

As you may have guessed, my life now consists of running here and there with the kids in tow, looking at the nuances between this dishwasher and that, pulling Liberty Grace off of the machines and Mercy Jane out of the machines, and deciding which one I want in the new house. (Err, dishwashers that is, not children.) So I haven't blogged.

Plus, it's hot out.

So here's a quick story that I emailed my friend Debbie Awful a few weeks ago. Debbie Awful works at a radio station down in Georgia, and she thought y'all would like to read what occurred at our breakfast table. In fact, I can't even claim the pun in my title. Debbie Awful thought of it.

Copy and Paste, you are my friend!

Our family was listening to your radio station this morning while we ate our breakfast of pancakes and eggs. Liberty kept kicking her sister Mercy Jane under the table, and I finally asked her, "Liberty Grace, are you kicking your sister?"

"No, Mommy," she lied to me.

Just then, Bud or Bug or whatever his name is on the radio said something like, "If you're listening to WRAF, then YOU ARE KICKING your weekend off right." The phrase YOU ARE KICKING came right after Liberty's response to me.

Liberty looked startled at the computer (which is how we are hearing your program) and with a touch of fear in her voice, she quickly turned to her sister and fervently said, "I'm sorry, Meecee Dane, for kicking you!"

Then she checked the computer to see if she had been forgiven.

HAHAHA!

On Thursday, May 6th, we received the phone call: The Yellow House At The End Of The Lane had been sold to someone else.

Surprisingly enough, I felt only a twinge of disappointment. Granted, other more traumatic events had recently clamped my thoughts into their choking death-grasp, and I didn't have a lot of brain power left over for thoughts of the home that wasn't meant to be. Also, God had hugged me a few days before the news of the house came, and His hug is still giving me peace as I write this. But from the very beginning when Jeremy and I sat across the table from each other in that restaurant and held hands asking God for His wisdom, we have been careful to keep this situation in His hands. He's smarter and sees further, you know. So we had decided that if God wanted us to have the house, HE would do what HE needed to do to give it to us, and if He didn't want us to have this house, He wouldn't. Finding out that He didn't do it was disappointing but not devastating.

Another possible reason for our relatively peaceful resignment to the situation was the fact that Jeremy and I have had time to prepare for the probable disappointment. We had already discussed what our options would be if God chose to give the home to someone else, and we knew we would go ahead and build on the small lot we had picked out before that was almost perfect for our family.

In the week or so since receiving the negative yellow house news, I have reflected on our absolute certainty that we should go ahead with the bid and the wait, which has now caused us to miss out on some of the relocation benefits Jeremy's company would have provided. I have wondered, did we misunderstand God's prompting? Did we make it all up? But having thought about it here and there when time and brain-space has permitted, I've realized a few things. First, I am sure beyond sure that we did follow God's leading. He made it very clear to both of us that we were to put the bid in and wait for the conclusion of the matter no matter what it cost us. He made that clear to us several times over the months when changing our minds would have been convenient.

I don't know all of His purposes, but the second thing that I have realized is that the wait for the house took us on a maze of twists and turns where God's working in the situations became extremely evident and His gentle-yet-persistent pull on some hearts traveled to the top of our prayer lists and has remained there. It has ended up being quite an adventure story with good guys and bad guys, thickening plot lines, justice hopefully coming forth, but more importantly closer relationships with God forming in several hearts! We were introduced to people who have become good friends; we were introduced to people who have desperate heart needs; we were introduced to people who became nice connections to have in this town, and none of that would have been possible if we had not ridden the wave of waiting. We have also made friends with neighbors here at our apartment complex who we would never have met if we had built a house months ago and moved on our time-table.

I'm so glad God is smarter than we are and that following Him is an unpredictable, sometimes wild, always worth-it decision.

So now you know. We are building a house! We chose a plot of land in a wonderful neighborhood where we already have friends who go to our church. I called it "almost perfect" earlier because we won't own a lot of land the way we had wished, but a small park, some rolling hills, a scenic pond and a gorgeous line of trees decorate the property just beyond the limits of our backyard, and we can easily pretend they are ours.

The house plans are finished. The decorator has done her job. The mortgage agent approved it all. Now we just need to sign the paperwork this week and begin negotiating a price for the land.

Let the new adventure begin!

Finding a balance between blogging and spending time with my family and getting my housework done is doing me in.

Sorry, I've gotta jet. I have laundry that needs to be folded and put away, a kitchen to clean (Jeremy made his AMAZING spaghetti last night, but did not clean up after himself), and supper to start.

I hope I'll be back later to fill you in on a mulitude of news, but I have two episodes of Survivor to catch up on tonight when Jeremy gets home, and one of them is the finale!!!! AAHHHH!!!

Last night my supper consisted of a very delicious grilled cheese sandwich and a handful -- or two or three -- of Cool Ranch Doritos. Of course, these chips were consumed while I watched The Biggest Loser TV show because everyone knows that the calories eaten during that show do not count. Especially if you're flexing your stomach muscles and alternately lifting each leg while sitting on the couch. I'm not saying that I was doing that, I'm just saying that I could have been, which would totally have made those chips more like apples in my system.

I did not mean to eat the chips, it's just that they were there, and the bag needed emptying so that I could go on with my health-oriented goals, you see. At least that obstacle is out of my way now. I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Today, I have eaten one Kashi granola bar and some water and several bites of a pear that was so sweet Liberty called it a Lollipop Pear.

I'm looking forward to lunch. I wonder what it will be.

***Edited for better reader-comprehension***

Some things happened a few weeks ago that sent my trust in God into a tailspin. I won't go into detail about what occurred, but because of these events I started to wonder how God could possibly be called consistently good. I started to wonder why He would choose to respond "yes" to certain requests and "no" to other requests that were equally if not more significant. I started to wonder if praying was worth the breath I would waste.

You know the stages of grief that start out with denial then anger? That's exactly where I was. The first week I was able to continue my daily routine relatively undisturbed at least on the surface. I chatted with neighbors, laughed with my daughters, pondered my way through the budget with Jeremy, listened in church, but inside my brain and emotions were reeling; it felt as though a tornado were whipping my thoughts and emotions past my sight so quickly that I could not grasp any one thought and follow it to a logical conclusion. I cried out desperately to God on behalf of all involved, begging Him to miraculously turn this situation into something good. Begging Him to work in hearts to draw us all closer to Him. It took about a week, but eventually the reality of what has happened sunk in. The tornado slowed enough that facts are now visible. It is somewhat of a relief because the lack of equilibrium the tornado brought was unsettling, but there are days when I long for the whirlwind to return with it's confusing numbness. Now that some facts are visible, some consequences are visible, too. Consequences to many more people than just the person who should be paying the consequences. Consequences that are too costly, too painful, too far-reaching to realize their extent right now. As more and more of my thoughts were able to reach their logical conclusions, they caused torrential tears of shock and pain. Those tears in turn transformed into strong, ugly, battle-ready anger and disappointment directed at God.

What is a stronger word than disappointment? Because disappointment is not even close to the correct term. Disgust, maybe? Discouragement? Disenchantment?

I felt like God's true character had finally been revealed to me, and it was not what I believed it to be. Not pure. Not consistent. Not good.

In The Jesus Storybook Bible that I am reading to the girls everyday the first story is about the serpent, satan, whispering to Eve the first lie, "Does God REALLY love you?"

I struggled to pray on, but I began wondering why I was putting in the effort. If God did not say "yes" to someone else's prayer about preventing the situation, why would He be bothered to say "yes" to this prayer of mine about turning the situation to good for all involved? Those questions led to doubt about the true character of God, and the unpleasant ambiguous feelings created by doubt led to anger.

"GOD! WHY DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN? HOW CAN YOU CALL YOURSELF GOOD? HOW CAN YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELF? ..... I don't know that *I* want to live with You, anymore."

Have you ever fought with your best friend? Have you ever argued to the point of distance with your husband or wife? Has someone whom you expected to be a permanent, reliable part of your life ever let you down so drastically that there were conflicting feelings in your heart? Feelings like "STAY AWAY!" and "DON'T LEAVE ME!" shouting out at the same time?

That's how I've been feeling about God.

I'm in the middle of memorizing Ephesians chapter four (I've been in the middle of it for about three months now, because I'm slow like that), and verses 14 and 15 keep rattling around in my head. At the most inconvenient times, mind you.

"Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into Him who is the Head, that is, Christ."

I knew that I didn't want to base my belief system on circumstances and whatever my emotional reaction to them happened to be. If I did that, my belief system would change whenever my emotions dictated (tossed back and forth by the waves). I also knew that I didn't want to base my belief system on what others tell me is true because who knows where that research came from or what miscommunications or misconceptions occurred during that process (blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming). I want to be solidly planted on TRUTH alone. Regardless of where that path leads. (Ephesians says it leads to maturity in Christ.)

Jeremy and I briefly discussed The Matrix movie where an entire population of people lived a wonderful make-believe life. For them, choosing to seek the truth led to bleakness and war. Which is the better choice?

I've decided to choose Truth, even if maturity in Christ is not a pleasant, easy or pretty thing.

Huh. I guess that's a "so far" statement to quote Beth Moore in her Annointed, Transformed, Redeemed Bible study. Last night, as I cried myself to sleep, I told God I DIDN'T want to choose maturity in Christ if it meant this much pain for myself and others. But last night was BEFORE God came and talked to me.

You people reading this need to know that what is pouring out of my keyboard is not at all what I planned to type right now. These words are streaming straight from my heart and surprising me as I type them.

This past week (the week where I faced the situation full-fledged, the week where my anger burned and my confusion confused me), I have struggled back and forth with the "GOD, STAY FAR AWAY!" and the "GOD! DON'T LEAVE ME!" feelings. Ephesians convinced me not to make any rash decisions right now, and this post by Liisa (my friend who's husband has died) helped persuade me to hold on. There is more happening than I can currently see. At least, that what the "Don't leave me!" side was telling me.

The "Stay far away from me!" side wondered is God good? Does He plan to say yes to my current prayers about this situation? Does He even care? That last question was hard to ask, because I know God. He's my friend. We enjoy life together and hang out together and have a grand time laughing together and loving together. We've been through HARD TIMES. We've been through life and death situations. We've been through prayers that He has said "no" to. We've been through silences. We've been through devastations. He's always been there. I know He cares. At least, I think I know He cares. I began evaluating my relationship with God: remembering events when He communicated directly to me, sifting through nuances to see if I had misunderstood His personality. And through it all I kept telling Him, "You don't have to prove Yourself to me, because You've already done that several times in the past, but could You just tell me what kind of prayer answerer You plan to be? Could You just help me understand a little bit of what's going on here? There are so many details and so many people affected by this; whenever I start to think I understand all the repercussions, I turn a corner and find a whole new set of results and feelings that overwhelm. I just need to know You're God. You're good. You're trustworthy."

I'm so thankful that He welcomes honest questions. I'm so thankful that He doesn't turn away from fearful doubters.

And you are never going to believe what happened next.

1. Jeremy has been away on a business trip for several days. Around midnight last night, I was writing all my questions and rantings to God in my prayer journal (it was the first time I have clearly attempted to put all these random accusations into understandable words), and Jeremy called to say goodnight. When I told him what was going on in my heart, he was able to immediately help me bring several aspects of life into focus, weed through the outlying issues and get straight to defining the real problem. I know that sounds cold and clinical, but it helped me let go of the lesser problems so that I didn't feel so overwhelmed. Then with my big problem defined, I could search for solutions. In the meantime, Mercy began vomiting in her crib, so all forward progress was halted, but I hung up the phone with a sense of purpose and hope, and I slept peacefully...when I was finally able to get back to my bed.

2. This morning, a lady from church called me. She told me that God had clearly prompted her to call and tell me the following message. Then she proceeded to define thoughts that I had not yet attempted to evaluate myself. She described EXACTLY how I had been feeling (even feelings that I had not yet discussed with Jeremy), and she told me, "Missy, God loves you. He IS good, always. He knows you are overwhelmed not just by this big situation, but also by many smaller ones that are swarming you right now," and she named a few of them. She spoke specific things that she could have no knowledge of on her own, and it was word for word what I had said to God in my prayer journal the night before. Then she prayed for me. She prayed that I would know truth. She prayed that I would be useful. She prayed for my relationship with God to be sturdy and wonderful. She prayed specific requests for everyone in all of the multiple situations surrounding my life right now. She had not yet finished praying when I realized God was hugging me.

He stopped the spinning of the earth and the holding up of the stars and the polishing of the sun to speak directly to me. He used my own carefully worded questions to give me specifically worded answers. While Rosemary's voice sounded in my ear, it was so obviously God's voice speaking to my heart. In the movie Arsnic and Old Lace when Johnny comes home with a distorted face from too many bad plastic surgeries, and he is trying to convince his aunts that it is really him, he uses instances from their mutual past that only family members would know about as proof. That's what God did for me yesterday. He used my own privately written prayer journal sentences and put them in Rosemary's mouth to prove that it was Him, to prove that He loved me, to prove that He was aware of the situation and WITH us all.

And He didn't have to. Who am I that God would feel the need to prove Himself to me? I'll tell you who I am. I am His daughter. He loves me! Just like He loves every single person on this planet.

Have you ever been hugged by a Holy, Powerful, GOOD God? Peace and joy and absolutely certain security flooded inside me. I'd like to tell you right now how it felt, but the only thing I can express is the lack of tension. The lack of stress. The knowledge that things are just as they always have been -- life hasn't changed -- but somehow, everything is different. All the stress I had been storing in my muscles released at once. My body felt as though it had just received the most relaxing massage known to man. My face was not wide enough for my smile to extend the way it needed to. I jumped up from the rocking chair with the phone still pressed to my ear. My friend continued to pray, not knowing what God was doing on the other end of the line. My joy was so big, it could not stay contained inside my body, and it tried to come out of my mouth. I stammered through an attempt to tell Rosemary what was happening, but there are not words to describe God's hugs. I thought I'd be able to tell you guys what it was like, because I'm better at writing than I am at finding the best words out loud. Unfortunately, I'm realizing now that even by writing about it, I cannot express it fully.

All I know is this: God is GOOD. He can make ANY SITUATION work for the best, but we have to let go of our death grip on our own blueprints and bow to His unseen prints.

Trust me, friends. HE IS GOOD.

If you've knelt beside the rubble of an aching, broken heart,
when the things you gave your life for fell apart,
you're not the first to be acquainted with sorrow, grief, or pain,
but the Master promised sunshine after rain.


Hold on my child; joy comes in the morning!
Weeping only lasts for the night.
Hold on my child; joy comes in the morning!
The darkest hour means dawn is just in sight.


To invest your seed of trust in God, in mountains you can't move.
You have risked your life on things you cannot prove,
but to give the things you cannot keep for what you cannot lose
is the way to find the joy God has for you.


Hold on my child; joy comes in the morning!
Weeping only lasts for the night.
Hold on my child; joy comes in the morning!
The darkest hour means dawn is just in sight.

(William J and Gloria Gaither, 1974)

The Sunshine Award: The Sunshine Blog Award is awarded to bloggers whose positivity and creativity inspire others in the blog world.

Thank you for this award, Que!

Que and I have been reading and commenting on each other's blogs for a little while now, and I have to tell you, his posts are the ones that I laugh at every single time. (Well, there was that one time when he wrote about computers, and I didn't get anything he said. That time I didn't laugh, but all the other times I did.) Que's Daddy Mind works EXACTLY the way Jeremy's mind works, and so I just can't help but laugh when I read something on Que's blog that Jeremy has ranted about repeatedly to me through the years. Also, Que and his wife have three girls, the two youngest are the same ages as my two, so their antics crack me up. (It also helps to know that while I'm reading Bad Kitty fifty-eleven times every day, some other poor soul is likewise enjoying that book on a daily basis. And truly, it is a fun book. It's just that after the nine-hundred-twenty-seventh time reading it that week, it can start to lose it's charm.)

The rules for accepting the award are:

1. Put the logo on your blog or within your post
2. Pass the award to 5 bloggers
3. Link the nominees within your post
4. Let them know they received this award by commenting on their blog
5. Share the love and link to the person from whom you received this award
6. Share 5 things about yourself


Step one: Logo in my post, check.
Step two: Pass the award to five bloggers

• My new-found blogging friend "PJ The Great" writes Confessions of a Sugar Addict where she mixes humor with some real-life issues like infertility and self-esteem. I love the fact that she keeps it real about what she's struggling with, but she also keeps it funny.


• Tiffany Anne from In Pursuit was the very first blog on which I ever lurked. (I'm famous for my lurking abilities.) It just so happened that I was bored one day, and I clicked the blogger link "Next Blog." After a few clicks, I landed on Tiffany's site, and the rest is history. I loved the glimpses she gave of her heart as she followed Jesus in daily life. I've followed her through almost three years now, and enjoyed reading as she met the love of her life, then dated, broke up, dated again, and now they are married! Somewhere along the line, the two of us began emailing each other, and now I count her as my friend. The lines between blogging buddies and real life friends begin to blur. Once when I was having a bad day, she sent me some free beautiful jewelry from her Etsy shop! You MUST go there. Her creations are gorgeous and very affordable! Right now, she and her husband are spending their honeymoon on a mission trip to Bangladesh, so her posts are especially exciting lately.


• My "real life" friend Cathy and I grew up together. We enjoyed sleepovers, giggling and passing notes in elementary school, but we spent less and less time together after she began attending a different high school. We still kept in touch and occasionally spent a weekend together at the mall or playing with my herd of brothers and sisters in our backyard, but when my youngest brother Peter became sick, most of my friendships died off. Not because we didn't care about each other any longer, but because no one really seemed to understand the strange emotions I was now dealing with. One day, Cathy showed up on my porch to tell me that she was pregnant and a little scared. We sat and talked for hours. After her son John was born, she came over again, and I got to hold him. A few months later, he passed away from SIDS. Once again, the two of us stood on that small concrete stoop together, dealing with deep emotions, deep struggles, deep issues. I can't tell you how she was feeling, but the twisted sick feeling in my stomach and the tears choking my throat and burning my eyes at the news were NOTHING compared to her grief. This time it was she who felt compelled to pull away from her friends, not because they didn't care, but because no one our age really understood. Through the years, we have kept in slight communication with each other, and recently through facebook (and my lost phone) we have reconnected. Twelve years have gone by since her bland announcement on my porch stoop of John's death; Cathy has a husband, two more children and a blog, Life After SIDS; she is majoring in psychology, and passionately pursuing her dream of helping others live in their grief. If you haven't yet guessed, I am glad to call her my friend, and thankful that through all of our ups and downs, twists and turns, we are still able to enjoy long phone conversations and heart connections.


• I met my friend Liisa in college; in fact, she and my husband Jeremy dated briefly. (I took steps to ensure that it was briefly! I'll have to tell you that story later.) Liisa married our mutual friend Dan, and after graduation, the two of them successfully carried out their "Six Year Plan." It was to have six children in six years, but during their seventh year two unexpected things occurred: a seventh pregnancy and Dan's home-going. He went home to heaven after a brief fight with a hole in his heart. Liisa's blog, Remembering Dan, chronicles their family's journey since Dan's death. Liisa tells you exactly how she feels, and at times the grief is raw, the anger strong, the questions unanswered, but the peace that passes understanding always shows up. The powerful truth that GOD gives us hope and joy that cannot be defeated by death and pain reassures again and again. I just tested the link above, and found that Liisa's blog is temporarily disabled. Come back and check this link again later until you are able to get through. It will be worth your time, I promise.


• My most recent blog addition has been Snoodlings by Whimzie. Whimzie's posts are generally just as light-hearted and funny as her name suggests, but Whimzie, too, has gone through and is currently walking through the valley of the shadow of death. Her father lost his fight with cancer a short time ago. (I'm not sure how long ago, since I am a new follower of hers, and I haven't read her archives.) Whimzie and her husband have three children aged about five to ten years old (again, I'm not sure on my figures). She grew up in a Bible-believing church and embraced it's teachings whole-heartedly, but watching her father's decline into the pain and suffering that eventually took his life shook her faith to its core. Since then, she has been questioning what she believes and why she believes it. I love the honest way she faces her questions head-on, diligently searching for TRUTH, not just platitudes. Her light-hearted posts are enjoyable and will have you laughing out loud; her truth-seeking posts will cut straight through and resonate in your soul.

Now I'm supposed to tell you five things about me, but that's crazy talk. We all know I wouldn't be able to choose just FIVE wonderful-slash-interesting things. There are simply too many, and I would be doing you a disservice by limiting my self-promoting list. So I'll skip that step! Have a great time reading my friends' blogs!

I'm in a writing sort of mood, but my manuscript is...you guessed it...in storage. I can't seem to do anything else but dream of fictional characters, right now.

And laugh at Jeremy's computer game.

He is playing Age of Empires II, which means he commands an entire race of people, builds towns and cities with them, then TRIES TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD (said in my best Pinky & The Brain voice). Just now, he commenced yelling at his troops, "NO! DON'T KILL THEM!!" His hands flew off the keyboard in the universal frustration gesture familiar to gamers everywhere. I glanced over to see his own Trebuchet operators attacking his own foot-soldiers. All the frantic mouse-clicking in the world could not save them. A few minutes later, when he had finally regained control of his army, I noticed a lone Brit taking a casual stroll around his fully armed French regiment. Incredulously I asked, "Is he seriously just walking right past your guys? What, does he think his bright red coat might not be noticeable?"

Then I remembered the American War for Independence, and I took back my last question.

Our lender notified us that the funding is dwindling in the lending program that we are planning to use to purchase the yellow house. This means that we need to begin the loan application paperwork within a week and a half, or we will not be able to purchase our home. (And even then, the funds may not be available to us anymore.)

I called the Short Sale Department at the bank that holds the mortgage and told them that we may have to cancel our offer unless they are able to hurry up the paperwork (MAJORLY hurry up the paperwork...to almost impossible speeds).

The agent that I spoke with named Danny was unable to pass my message on or tell me who the case manager for our house is because I did not have the seller's loan number or social security number (security measures with which I whole-heartedly agree). I asked him if my realtor could call him, and he gave me his phone number to pass on.

When our realtor called that number, she reached a lady who told her that there was no one by the name of Danny in her Short Sale Department but that there were Short Sale Departments all over the US. The woman listened to the message that we wanted to pass on to the bank, and then she responded that for security purposes, she could not pull up the information on "our" house or pass the message on to the appropriate personnel.

We have now exhausted every avenue available to us. It looks impossible, or at best, highly, highly improbable. The rest is up to God.

Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God." Mark 10:27

"What's happening with the yellow house?" people ask me on a regular basis. I love getting those questions because it shows that you care, that you're interested in our lives. Or that you're just nosey. (But that's okay; I like nosey people, because I'm one.)

It's been a long and exciting wait due to complications that have come up. In fact, the wait has been so long that Jeremy and I had started looking at other houses, hoping that one would speak to us. Surprisingly, they all spoke to us. Each one told us, "Wait for your yellow house. Don't waste your time looking elsewhere." We finally decided to wait in quietness and peace, and the past several weeks have been restful to my soul.

But the wait may be close to ending!

Our realtor called the other day to say that an appraisal has occurred which will allow the bank to set an acceptable minimum bid limit. The paperwork is in progress to give the bank rights to sell the house, and soon (hopefully) the call for "highest and best" bids will go out to the two parties interested in the house. (We've been praying that the other party will choose to drop out.)

What can you guys do? Well, if you want, you can ask God to put a specific bid price on our hearts to submit when the highest and best call comes, and as always, ask God to help us remain content with whatever He chooses to give or not give us. Also, Jeremy and I refer to the house as "God's House" because of all the ways He has worked throughout the twisting circumstances surrounding it. Whether we get the house or not, God is obviously using it to draw others to Himself. We know for sure that some hearts are being spoken to by the Holy Spirit through these events. You can pray for those hearts along with us.

I'm beginning to get excited, and I don't even know for sure if the wait is ending.

It's the time of year when the bloggers that I read begin telling of their gardening habits. People, you need to know something about me.

"My name is Missy..."

long, shameful pause

"and..."

"and..."

"and I kill plants."

My grandpa has a green thumb. No, forget that; his entire arm from the elbow down is green -- vibrantly, lusciously green.

Mine is black. BOTH of my arms are.

I have adored the idea of gardening for as long as I can remember. When I was fourteen(?), I talked my dad into letting me dig up a patch of grass near our house so that I could plant flowers. I used a shovel and a hoe and tore up that sod myself. Then I pulled out the clumps, churned up the soil, mixed in beautifully black fertilized dirt, and finally raked it all into a smooth, fertile-smelling canvas. It took me at least a week if not longer. I drew up garden diagrams; I poured over gorgeous full-color seed magazines; I chose my seeds, and I bought them myself. I planted those seeds according to the package directions and according to the diagrams I had dreamed up. I watered, fertilized and carefully guarded that garden. (With seven younger brothers and sisters who love mud, guarding was a full time job.)

Then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After three months, I asked my dad how long it should take before my seeds started sprouting above ground. That patch of dirt remained barren, mocking me the entire year. The following spring, I pulled up the weeds that had crowded in, and started all over again. With the same results. I can't explain it. My dad couldn't explain it. Not one seed sprouted. Not one! And I planted a lot!

When I moved into my first apartment, my mom gave me a potted African Violet. (We have a running history with African Violets, she and I, and the plant was the PERFECT gift.) She told me how hardy they were and easy to care for.

I killed it within three days, and I promise you I followed all the instructions to a T. My mom was flabbergasted. She questioned me thoroughly about my care for it and told me it was impossible to kill that plant so quickly.

She bought me another one.

It lasted a week.

Then Jeremy took pity on me and presented me with some fake daffodils in a pretty pot. I still have them...in a box...in storage. (But we won't go there, right now.)

There are many more deaths that I could report, but I think you're getting the picture.

Anyway, I say all that to tell you how excited I am about the possibility of moving into a house (hopefully) soon. I plan to kidnap a real, live gardener, and have that person show me step by step how to garden.

Or I may just have the gardener plant everything for me while I dig in the dirt nearby pretending to plant so that my black arms don't destroy the seeds before they even have a chance.

Saturday, we strapped the girls into the car and drove to a gorgeous outdoor mall where we laughed, held hands, skipped and chased each other in the sunlight between stores. Truthfully, I would have rather been at a park, but Jeremy loves shopping. Or at least his version of shopping which includes trying on everything, choosing which items he plans to purchase, carrying them around the store, asking salespeople intricate, involved questions that require researched answers and then putting everything back and leaving. It used to frustrate me to no end, but now it just frustrates the sales personnel who haven't had thirteen years to get used to his oddities.

I found a wonderful shop called The Rustic Hutch and took pictures of all the home furnishings that I loved. The owner of the store came to me and inquired hopefully, "Are we about to be featured in Architectural Digest?" I laughed and informed her that my friend told me to take pictures of anything that I loved so together we could name my decorating style. (I'm anticipating a house, you see.)

When the girls became tired of walking, they sat in the double stroller and took turns kicking each other's backs and pulling each other's hair. They had a lovely time.

We stopped for lunch at a Chik-Fil-A with a playground and ended up staying for a few hours. The other kids were friendly, and a rousing game of hide-and-seek entertained them a while.

Then back to shopping again where Jeremy had a major realization, and upon his announcement of it, I sang the Hallelujah Chorus. Loudly. To the amusement of the passersby. He has decided that the T-shirts he wears to relax in are stained and holed beyond wear-ability! Can I get a testimony? I've tossed them into the trash on numerous occasions, but he insists on rescuing them. From that point on, we shopped for T-shirts. Since this has never occurred in our relationship before, I assumed that T-shirt shopping would be different from normal Jeremy shopping, but no. It is not. We returned home late that evening with nothing but groceries to show for an entire day of "shopping."

But he's MY man, and I love him.

He'll just have to go shirtless next weekend when he discovers that all of his ratty old T's have been burned while he was at work.

Hmm, shirtless, I like that idea.

Today, we slept late and missed Sunday School. I read to the kindergarten and first graders then to the second and third graders during church service, and afterwards we enjoyed a good, old-fashioned potluck with a table full of friends. I discovered that my children are finally at a stage where they can be trusted to sit in a chair and feed themselves. They can also be trusted to excuse themselves and run and play nicely with friends! Can you imagine that? It's been my dream for lo, these many years. I rocked my friend's baby to sleep, and enjoyed that snuggly warmness as she cuddled into my chest (the baby, not my friend). I also enjoyed watching Jeremy serve us all and clear off the table himself since my arms were full. What a nice man I married!

Now we are home, and everyone is asleep. The apartment sits quietly; well, except for Jeremy's snoring and whoever is gunning their engine outside and the sound of birds cheeping and a door slamming somewhere and someone running up the steps to the second floor... Nevermind! The occupants of our apartment are quiet and peaceful, and I am enjoying my time to blog.