Herein is love

For years I prayed for this child. Years. When he was born, I could not be more thrilled, and overwhelmed. I'd stare at him sleeping and weep. I thought my heart would burst from how much I loved him. Scary love. Don't ever want to lose him love.

It didn't hurt that he was absolutely beautiful - strangers-stop-and-comment beautiful. Blond hair, blue eyes, perfect soft skin. Just chubby enough. Such a good baby, a funny baby, a smart baby. He did everything exactly on time - sat up, crawled, walked - as though he were reading the same baby books I was poring over. He was perfect.


Before I could blink he was a toddler into everything, and talking. Oh, he was so funny. He couldn't pronounce things the right way, and we would ask him to say certain words over and over and crack up when he did.

He was such an outgoing little boy. He would go up to any stranger and ask them questions and show him his treasures. He absolutely loved animals. Yet he loved his mommy and daddy the best, and showed us all the time with hugs and kisses and I love yous.


Even his terrible twos weren't that terrible. We often said, "He's just a great kid, that's all there is to it. He's a great kid."

He got bigger, and smarter, and funnier. Each day I loved him more than the day before.

I told him to get into the car, and to bring some snacks and books to look at because it would be a long drive. We were going somewhere special, I said. He loved having me all to himself so his face lit up. "Where we goin, Mom?" I loved how he called me Mom. Made him seem so old. "A secret. Someplace special. Just get ready." I faked a smile and raised my eyebrows and pretended to be excited.

We drove for hours. He read his books and asked me a million questions and made comments on everything he saw out the window. I didn't blow off his questions like I often would do, or ask him if we could play the quiet game. I listened and I answered and I told him stories about the day he was born, the day he rolled off the couch, the day he spilled the bottle of syrup all over the floor.


I told him so many times that I loved him, how glad I was that he was mine. How much I had wanted him, how long I had prayed for him, how blessed I felt to be his mother. By the fourth or fifth time he rolled his eyes and said, "I know Mom. You already told me that, Mom. About a million times, Mom!" I was glad he couldn't see my eyes from his seat in the back of the car.

Finally we were there. We were there. My heart dropped. I thought I might vomit but I forced myself not to.


I pulled the car over before the bridge. "Are we here?" he asked excitedly. "Yes baby, we're here." I kept my sunglasses on so he couldn't see my eyes. "Finally!!" He jumped out. "Where are we? What's that? A bridge? Whoa, it's tall! Can we go on it?"

"Yes."

"Aaaaawesome!!" He ran ahead.

I came up behind him, my heart pounding. "Mom, we're up so high! I've never been on a bridge before! Can I throw a rock down into the water? "

He threw the rock and watched it fall all the way down. It took forever to hit the river. He threw another, and another. I touched his hair, I rubbed his back. I put my nose into his hair and inhaled him, just like I used to, when he was brand new. I loved this child so much, my heart could burst.

"Hey, Momma. Can I sit on the rail?"

I bit my lip. "Yes baby."

"No way! Cool!" I helped him swing his legs over. He found a larger rock and tossed it in. I wrapped my arms tightly around his back, this back I loved, this back I had bathed, this back I had scratched to sleep. My tears came down. It was time.

I loosened my grip. I held him by his forearms. I let go of one. He turned and he looked at me, he looked in my eyes, and I gasped as I saw fear in the beautiful green eyes of this son I loved so much. "Mommy...?" Sobbing now, I loosened my grip on the other arm, still staring into his eyes. "I love you sweet boy. Oh, my God, I love you."

And then the angel said "STOP. Do not lay a hand on the boy. Do not do anything to him!!"

****

Nearly four thousand years ago, God asked Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son. But then the angel said stop.
It would not be sufficient offering.
Such a heartache would not be required of Abraham.

Nearly two thousand years ago, God sacrificed his beloved son.
That time, no one said stop.


In this the love of God was made manifest among us,
that God sent his only Son into the world,
so that we might live through him.
Herein is love,
not that we have loved God
but that he loved us
and sent his Son
to be the propitiation for our sins.

1 John 4:9-10

Dog people?

Part 1

Where did we leave off.

Oh yeah. My husband, my partner, my soulmate, my beloved, my supporter in petness or in want, had just called me a Bad Parent. A Potentially Bad Parent anyway.

"I can't believe you are doing this to me."

He smiled.

"This is gonna be YOUR DOG. You hear me? YOUR'S. YOU pick up the poop. YOU train him. YOUR DOG. Got it?"

"Of course! My dog! Of course!"

"You're picking up the poop!!"

"Of course!" he smiled. I thought dubious thoughts and buried my head in my arms.

I spent some time (HOURS) on Petfinder.com and learned that a there was a place not far away that took in poodles and poodle mixes and they had several cuties available. I braced myself.

The next morning Shep bounced all over the house, "We're getting a hamster! When we getting a hamster? We're still getting a hamster, right Mom? When? We're getting a hamster! When we goin Mom? Where are we getting a hamster?"

To his last question I answered, "At the Houston Hamster Rescue Center. What are you gonna name him?"

"ROCKET! Rocket the hamster! Yippee!"

"You sure you want Rocket?" I asked. "How about Twomey? That was my grandma's maiden name." (And the name I had always dreamed I would name a dog, if I ever got a dog, which I would never do.) "It's a family name. Good Irish name. Isn't it great? Twomey! Come, Two-mey! Get it? Ha ha! How about Twomey, Shep?"

Shep wrinkled his nose. "Twomey? No way Mom. I'm naming him ROCKET!"

Soon we loaded all four kids into the car and headed to the Hamster, er, Poodle Rescue Center to choose Rocket/Twomey. As Walker waited with the kids on the porch, our wonderful volunteer Sam took me back to look at all the available "hamsters." I decided that choosing which pet would become my newest child was the one area where I could finally exert some control.

The rescue center has a tent where the bring out the dogs to be introduced. A safe place to make small talk and see if the two of us hit it off, if he laughed at my jokes, if he could dance, before we make a lifetime commitment to each other.

There was one puppy that I was told was very calm, very docile, very laid back. YES! That's Twomey! Puppy came out, looked at me...and utterly blew me off. Wouldn't give me the time of day. The Alex Forrest in me said, I'm not gonna be ignored! Next!

Then we brought out "Lindy Boy," whom I had seen on PetFinder.com. First Lindy Boy went out to pee twice in the rain, which I considered a very. good. sign. Then Lindy Boy took off like a...rocket. He ran and ran around the tent. He jumped up on me, gently. He ran some more. He sniffed a ball. He sniffed me. But when I reached down to him, he let me pick him up, and he snuggled with me, and put his head on my shoulder, and looked deep into my eyes, and he whispered, "Hi, Mommy."



I called Walker. "I found Rocket. Bring 'em back!"

"Good," Walker said. "Cause Shep is getting a little suspicious at all the DOGS around here."

The kids came through the gate


and I said, "Hey Shep. Here's your new HAMSTER!"


Sam videotaped it, which you can watch here, where Shep asks, "Do you have real hamsters here?"


And Shepherd's life was complete.

And I got back my Good Mother card.

And became a Dog Person.


And I have yet to pick up any poop.

Gimmeaways

This is what girls on 3 hours of garage sale sleep look like.

Kat at Momentum is giving away one of our shirts! Pop on over and enter!!

Not only that, but Marla is causing me to covet with her beaded cross giveaway. Which is all kinds of ironical. And I don't even think ironical is a real word, or at least it shouldn't be, but I really like to say it. Ironical-ly.

The prayers of righteous women wake me up!!!

Oh. My. Word.

From y'all's lips to God's ears. I woke up this morning and felt NORMAL like I have not in weeks! I stayed home from church with Mags who is covered head to toe in some itchy rash - please please let it be the Contagious Jungle Rot, please let it be anything but a certain allergy to a certain kind of mammal - and I got so much accomplished!! Whoo hoooo!!

Except for, um, blogging about a pet Shep may or may not have gotten.

Which I should be able to complete tomorrow.
Art takes time.
(insert snort here.)

Until then, thank you so much for your prayers. And keep them up. It's a beautiful thing to have energy. Thank you Jesus!!

As my token of love to you, I leave you with this.

I have seen Anita Renfroe twice now in person and have just about wet my pants both times. Especially when she sings this song, which pops into my head often when I lie in bed with my beloved.

Often. As in, daily.

Be blessed...and with God as my witness, I'll blog tomorrow.




PS - thank you for all your advice re CFS - I do believe a future blog post is in order.

Does it seem to y'all that lately I've had trouble blogging?

It's because lately I've had trouble blogging.

I am in one of those big time states of overwhelmness. Swimming in a sea of unfinished tasks. Chanting Philippians 4:6-7 to myself each morning just to keep from hiding under the covers.

I've gotten some things done, like, the kitchen junk drawer that I started to clean out about six weeks ago is ORGANIZED. You don't even know how huge this is. And I have managed to put away all the kids' winter clothes and pull out spring/summer clothes which is way way better than a groundhog at ensuring that Houston will have a freakish cold snap very soon and all my kids will be wearing is tank tops and skorts as they frolic in the freakish snow.

Al Gore, my foot. It's Missy doing her seasonal clothes cleanout, that's the cause of all this climate change!

As exhilarating as accomplishment may be, I still have miles to go before I sleep.

Sleep. That's another issue.

Recently I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which explains a lot. I take about 5,345 vitamins a day which does help, but still sometimes it acts up. This month is one of those times.

It's beyond frustrating that I often can't seem to go two or three hours lately without a nap. Because I have kind of a busy life and all.

And I would greatly appreciate any prayers y'all could offer that the Father send me just the gigantic-est energy surge.

And then I will actually be able to complete the dog people post. I mean, you're waiting with puppy breath to see if Shep's dream came true, right??

Thank you, my invisible friends.

Good night.

Dog People

Shep, gazing longingly at a friend's dog, Buddy.

I am not a dog person.

Never have been. I have had brief and torrid love affairs with specific canines, but never the entire species.

Once upon a time I was a cat person, in my former, pre-kids life. I brought into our marriage two cats, Parlin and Bridget. I loved them. Well, I loved Parlin, but Bridget wasn't terribly lovable so I fed Bridget but I loved Parlin. Think Jacob and Esau. Anyhow, one day when my precious, loved-much-more-than-a-cat baby boy was about six months old, Parlin scratched him in the face and suddenly Parlin was Esaued.

But then that precious baby boy grew up and developed a terrible, debilitating addiction - to dogs.

For years, y e a r s, Shepherd has been begging for a dog. And for years I have said, "You have Ike. Baby brothers are better than dogs!!" And still he begged.

I searched for a 12-step program for him, in vain. So I explained in gory detail the downsides of dog poop. He yet persisted. I offered to dogsit for all our friends so that he could get his fix, but within days of the pet going home Shep would need another hit off the dog pipe. Finally I told him he could have a dog when he was ten. I told him that again, and again, and again. And again.

Walker is not an animal person at all. Now, I know you consider this to be a character flaw, and I agree with you. But it has made my quest for a pet-free zone much easier to maintain.

About six months ago, Walker, the consummate anti-animal person, completely switched sides and began lobbying on Shepherd's behalf, insisting that the kid needed a dog, deserved a dog, had earned a dog.

(He had "earned" it by begging, I guess. And if begging is the criteria for receiving, I am certainly due for some kids who put their cereal bowls in the sink without being asked and husbands who clean the gutters by their own volition.)

When Walker defected, I felt betrayed, and outnumbered. I had to accept the cold hard fact that the Dog People were winning.

Defeated, I began to ask Dr. Google about the ideal dog for people who don't like dogs. A very, very low-maintenance dog, who met the following criteria:

1. no shedding.
2. small. A drop-kick dog. A fake cat.
3. calm, good with kids, sweet
4. no shedding.
5. no drooling - picture Lucy: poisonous dog germs!! I am Lucy.
6. no extensive pooping.
7. no shedding.
8. smart and easy to train.
9. no shedding.

Amazingly, I found a breed who met this description: Poodles. They don't shed, toys and miniatures don't get too big, and they are incredibly smart. Who knew?

Well, all you dog people knew, of course. But remember me? I am not a dog person.

We began to seriously look into getting a poodle.
And then I had a panic attack and cried out in anguish that I was just not ready to become a puppy momma and the idea was tabled.
Whew. Close call.

Last week Shep found a snake in his Mimi's backyard


which quickly died and as he mourned the demise of his beloved-for-almost-two-whole-hours garden snake, he said, "I just want something to loooooooove! That I can hold and pet and looooooooove that loves me baaaaaaack!"

Yes. He did.
I pointed to Ike.
He cried some more.

Friday night, when Walker was away, Shep asked for a hamster. Sure! No problem! You've just never asked before! Tomorrow you and Daddy can go buy you a hamster! Hot diggity...hamster!

When Walker got home, I informed him of his upcoming day trip. To which he replied, "A hamster? That's so stupid Missy. Please. Don't get the kid a stupid hamster. Let's get Shep what he wants! A DOG!"

To which I filed my standard protest that I wasn't ready to go there, a new baby, fine, sure, but a dog? - it was too much responsibility, I was too overwhelmed, I don't know anything about dogs, I just couldn't do that please don't make me go there please.

To which Walker replied, "He wants a dog so much, if we don't get him a dog, we are bad parents."

Oh no he di-int! He did NOT just play the Bad Parent Card!

Dangit! He knows I can't resist the Bad Parent Card!!

I exhaled.

Stay tuned for part two.

The marriage bed

During our engagement, I couldn't wait to have him by my side every night. I imagined our bodies gracefully intertwined, holding each other tightly yet comfortably as we slept deeply all night long. Above our brand new ivory colored 600 thread count sheets my tanned arms would show a peek of one of the many beautiful pieces of lingerie my girlfriends had bestowed upon me at my bachelorette party. Probably on the 23rd of every month I would wear my demure yet irresistible white wedding night nightie to celebrate yet one more month of conjugal bliss.

We were married November 23. During our honeymoon and the 33 nights to follow, I took joy in selecting each night's silky nightie. It was all I dreamed it would be, and more.

On December 26, I decided that before I drugged myself into oblivion with Theraflu to combat my nausea and headache, I had better take a test on the off chance that those negligees - probably the leopard print one - had led to a pregnancy.

My little bout with the flu will be seven years old this August.

With gestation came instant insomnia. Suddenly the previously cozy double bed we shared was an homage to my nightly misery. I tossed and turned, begging God to give me some sleep before I was asked to teach second graders the next day.

At bedtime, we would lie as spoons while his big hand cradled my womb. For about two minutes. Until the torture from the coarse hairs on his chest poking and scratching the skin on my back and the ridiculously heavy weight of his arm caused me to roll away - as far away as I could get in our shrinking double bed.

After the thirty seconds had passed that it took him to fall asleep - a skill that made me incredibly envious - the snoring began. First I would shudder hard enough that the bed would shake a bit. A pause...I'd lie in hope. Then a nudge. Nudge harder. Kick his leg. Kick his leg harder. Shove his shoulder and whisper accusingly ROLL OVER! You're SNORING!! In his half sleep, he always managed to give me a dirty look before complying. Until he snored again.

And once, I was startled awake in the middle of the night by a piercing noise. My heart racing, I feared I had heard a gunshot. There was no gun. There was only my husband. Still sleeping as his "gunshot" filled the air.

The many silky negligees slept on rose scented drawer liners as my previously flat tummy grew, and grew, and grew. But his soft white undershirts with the yellow pit stains were oh so comfortable over my maternity underwear.

In March we moved to a new home. Before we moved, we went shopping for our new marriage bed. The biggest bed you have, please. King size. So we can pretend our beloved is not even there, thank you.

The baby was born. And then another, and another, and another. I had sworn no child would ever sleep in our marriage bed. Four newborns have slept in our marriage bed. As have four sick, napping, segregated, or scared-of-thunderstorms children.

Last week my groom and I made our king sized bed and burst out laughing at the huge red postpartum stain, at the stubborn remnants of a coffee spill, at the two year old's ballpoint pen artistry on our old ivory colored 600 thread count sheets.

This morning I lay in bed with him while the white noise machine hummed in the background. I wore a demure yet irresistible neon orange VBS t-shirt with a bleach stain on the front and underwear my mom bought me at the dollar store. The effects of four pregnancies means I sleep on a heating pad, barricaded by a pillow between my legs and a pillow to support my ever aching back. I wear earplugs now to block the snores. He rolled over, the face I know so well now toward me. I expertly arranged another pillow to block the flow of his morning breath.

He reached out blindly, found my hand, and placed his own over mine, then gently yet firmly squeezed my fingers as the new morning dawned and eight little feet began to scurry round our marriage bed.

I squeezed back. And thanked God for giving me more than I ever dreamed of.

Quite the view

Shortly after our wedding, I realized that while my new husband was my very best friend, he was still my best male friend. It only took a few months and one pregnancy to realize that he was not a girlfriend. He was actually nothing like a girlfriend, nor would he ever be. Nor would he ever want to be.

Because even my sensitive, communicative, Project Runway watching husband could give a flying flip about certain crucial topics, such as:

• Spit up
• Hill Country dryness vs. the Houston humidity and its effects on skin and hair
  
• The mildew and bacteria level of bathtub toys
• Vetoed baby names
• The fact that orange is very in
• Engorgement
• Fantasy plastic surgery
  

Yet everyone of these topics was discussed appropriately this weekend, while sitting on rocking chairs or around a dinner table or in front of a fire on a ranch in Bandera, Texas. Not with my would-be-bored husband. With five women I am so blessed to call my girlfriends.

We were the female representatives of our Who's Pregnant Supper Club that has been meeting together for seven years now. While our very accommodating and much appreciated husbands stayed home with 15 of the living children we've created between us, the six of us - plus one nursing newborn and three babies in utero - traveled to Lauren's family's ranch in Bandera. True to my name as the Baby-Hogger I spent much time holding delicious Trent, the latest son of my dear friend Carol. As I stood on the back porch and showed him this view


I whispered in his ear, oh, baby, just look at what God made!

Six women - older, wiser, and somewhat softer and saggier than we were when we first began meeting - rocked and cooked and ate and talked. And laughed. And talked. And cried. And ate some more. And talked some more.


And most importantly, prayed. We declared this a "stop and pray" weekend, and whenever a concern was raised about one of us or an absent girlfriend, we stopped, and we took the issue before our Father. Then talked and rocked and laughed and cried and ate chocolate cheesecake and talked some more.


A large, fascinating, sometimes heartbreaking part of the conversation centered around our childhoods and the effects that our fathers had on our minds, our hearts, our views of God, our marriages, our mothering. And we marveled at how the group of us, while so disparate, is a walking portrait of grace and redemption and living proof that our Lord makes all things new.

This morning, before we went back home to our best male friends, we sat on the patio and took these pictures of six very different, closer than ever girlfriends.


As I look at them now, I think to myself: Oh, wow - just look at what God made!

I'm adopted, you're adopted

*** Please note, my inventory is getting limited. Email me with the size you need before you paypal. Thank you!! ***

If you are a Christian - then you were adopted, no matter who your earthly parents are!

These t-shirts are a fundraiser to bring home baby Bethlehem from Ethiopia. 100% of the proceeds from the sale of these shirts will go to our adoption fund.

Thank you SO MUCH for helping us raise the ransom to bring our baby girl home!!

These shirts reference Ephesians 1:3-14, which says

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ.

In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, in order that we, who were the first to hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory. And you also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation.

Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession — to the praise of his glory.

This means that if you are a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, then, my sister or brother:

you are adopted.

Now go tell the world!!

NEW!! WOMEN'S i'm adopted TANK:

100% preshrunk cotton women's tank top. Black with white writing on front. Not tightfitted. The tanks run true to size. And they make you look skinny. Seriously.

Paypal is very capricious. If these links are not working, you can email me money at missydoll at gmail . com and let me know what you need!

Tanks XL $20.00 Large $20.00 Med $20.00 Small $20.00

*** Please note, my inventory is getting limited. Email me with the size you need before you paypal. Thank you!! ***

WOMEN'S i'm adopted TSHIRT:

100% preshrunk cotton, slim fitted, women's shirt. White with black writing on front. These shirts run true to size. 


I have a limited number of white shirts but quite a few BLACK women's t-shirts! They look just like the tanks.

my gorgeous sister-in-law Stephanie is wearing a medium

Paypal is very capricious. If these links are not working, you can email me money at missydoll at gmail . com and let me know what you need! Women's tshirts XL $18.00 Large $18.00 Med $18.00 Small $18.00

MEN'S i'm adopted TSHIRT:

50/50 high quality Hanes Best, black with white writing on front

----- SOLD OUT -----

KIDS' i'm adopted TSHIRT:

50/50 high quality, white or pink with black writing on front

Paypal is very capricious. If these links are not working, you can email me money at missydoll at gmail . com and let me know what you need!

Kids' Adopted Tshirt

White 2T $15.00 Pink 2T $15.00 White 4T $15.00 Pink 4T $15.00 White small (6-8) $15.00 Pink small (6-8) $15.00 White med (8-10) $15.00 White large (12-14) $15.00

Shipping may take up to three weeks if items are backordered.

Tshirt design copyright 2010
Please contact me if interested in selling these as a fundraiser

If you would like to make a tax-deductible donation to our adoption fund, please send a check referencing "Dollahon #1473" in the memo line to:

Lifesong for Orphans
PO Box 40
202 N Ford Street
Gridley, IL 61744

WFMW: How to Suck Snot Out of a Baby's Nose

It took me years and several babies to learn these skillz.

And now, I share the wisdom, with you, my sisters (with the help of my production assistant, GG):

A modified technique works for eyedrops and ear cleaning.

More Works for Me Wednesday here.
Most of which involve no body fluids at all.

A tour of the Proverbs 32 Ministries Headquarters

We just got back from THE most wonderful vacation. I will tell you all about it soon.

But right now I am in that, I need a vacation from my vacation stage. I am tard.

So I am going to take one more question. I did not do the random number integer, I just chose the easiest one. (By the way, you can still leave questions for me on the question post. Really. I love not having to think.)

Jawan is either in need of some encouragement or a sadist, but either way, she asked me to post pictures of the clutter in my house.

{deep exhale}

Okay, FINE.

(I can hear my mother screaming from across town DON'T DO IT MELISSA! DON'T HUMILIATE YOURSELF IN THIS WAY!!)

To be fair to myself, this was a crazy weekend. We had a garage sale Saturday morning, then got up and drove to Dallas Saturday afternoon. Just got in late last night. And I had Smockaholics last week.

My point is my life has been nuts for the past two weeks. Nuttier than the usual nutty. Chock full o nuts.

Despite my worthy excuses, I have a problem with clutter. There. I've admitted it. Which is supposed to be the first step to solving it.

It's the second step I am having trouble with.

So if you came to Naptime today for a self-esteem boost, I'm your gal! (Cept I hate the word gal. I'm your girl. Your chica. Your woman. Your loser friend with the trashed house.)

{deep exhale}

Here are my "hot spots", as FlyLady calls them.
Hope I don't sear your corneas.

The kitchen counter:


That tub contains all the stuff for my junk drawer that I cleaned out to be reorganized. Sometime in January.

The kitchen table. Okay, this contains a roadtrip worth of junk that was dumped there last night when Walker unloaded the car (see the suitcase on the floor?) The kitchen table usually is not bad because, like, we eat there.


It also contains the leftover pb&honey sandwiches that those two clutterbugs on the couch did not put in the sink as they have been told to do 3,867 times.

The front entry, covered with mail and newspaper.


And leftover books from the garage sale, ready to haul to Half Price Books so they can offer us a whopping $4 for them.

The bar by the back entry:


Sadly, this is pretty typical because it is the first encountered surface from the garage. It just doesn't stand a chance. (That is my favorite piece of furniture. I should show it to you sometime.)

This one I am including because it is not currently cluttered:


We do not call four items clutter. We call four items a miracle. And the remote control in plain view? Wow! What a wondrous Tuesday it is!

The dining table:


In the box is Baby Bethie's room. My friend Shelly had her daughter Allison's room done so beautifully in light purple with a wisteria and bunny theme. Every time I would walk in there I would just sigh. So when she redid Allison's room she asked if I wanted it all - um YES! Including the purple Pottery Barn rug there on the floor. I KNOW!!

The hanging clothes are leftover Smockaholics (Nicki? When you comin' to pick up your stuff?) What's in the laundry basket? Heck if I know.

And the coup de grace: the laundry room, vomiting textiles into the breakfast room.


Which is one reason why I really need to get off the computer. (That's a red tablecloth in the lower right hand corner, and when I opened it up there was an opened gogurt in there. From last week.)

There. I hope you have enjoyed your tour of the Proverbs 32 Ministries Headquarters.

God bless y'all and have a clutter free day.

(Happy now??)

One of the most beautiful things I have ever read, here.

The Most Radical, Most Awe Inspiring, Most Earth Shattering Thing Ever Put to Paper

Another post from Walker. Who is becoming a bit of a regular contributor around here. Welcome to the wacky, ADD brain who shares my life.

While anyone who know me would never say that I am the brooding sort, I do have my moments of pensive reflection, mostly happening while I am driving. These reflective periods often center on reccurring topics and issues.

Some of these topics and issues include:

1) Could I ever truly kill someone in combat? Could I ever be a soldier?

2) If I ever seriously started an aggressive weight-lifting regimen could I get huge and ripped beyond belief? (Caveat: I never said the topics and issues I dwell upon during my brief, fleeting moments of personal reflection weren’t stupid and vain.)

3) I wonder if I were born around the turn of the past century, and I didn’t have good religious instruction, if I would have become a committed Communist?

4) If I could go back in time and live an era as a fly-on-the-wall, what time would it be? Mine would be to live in Hell's Kitchen, New York during the punk/NewWave scene of the late 70’s-early 80’s. Blondie, the Talking Heads, the Ramones, Marshall Crenshaw, the early Prince shows at the Palladium. Maybe I would have bumped into pre-fame Madonna and talked her out of Kabbalah for life?

5) Wouldn’t be awesome to live someplace with endless horizons and gently rolling prairies? Someplace quiet, quaint, and temperate? Someplace like South Dakota or Iowa?, and lastly,

6) What is The Most Radical, Most Awe Inspiring, Most Earth Shattering Thing Ever Put to Paper?

#6 is what I want to dwell on today.

What is The Most Radical, Most Awe Inspiring, Most Earth Shattering Thing Ever Put to Paper?

Think about that for a second. What words, written by the human hand, have had the most profound impact on the course of human events? What lines of prose or scribbled letters is the most amazing thing ever chronicled?

Would it be political? Would it be religious? Meta-physical? Would it be a poem or the lyrics of a song? Would it be trite? Would it be all of the above?

I think if you were to get a random selection of thoughtful, educated humans in the same room and asked them this question you would get a variety of answers.

Some might look at you with a baffled expression unable to come up with anything at all. Probably a majority, sadly.

Some might suggest items like this:

“Give me liberty or give me death!” – Patrick Henry (patriotic and stirring, a quote that foreshadowed the dawn of the Great American Experiment)

“From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs.” – Karl Marx (the impetus for vast social change movements across the globe)

“In truth, there was only one Christian, and he died on the cross.” - Friedrich Nietzsche (a radical quote that encapsulates the move towards atheism during our modern age)

“There is no god but Allah and Muhammad is his messenger” – from the Quran (the central belief of Islam, a religion with one billion followers)

"Ah, beer. The cause of and the solution to all of life's problems..." - Home Simpson (this is just a funny quote.)

I have thought long and hard about Question #6.

Here is what I think is ”The Most Radical, Most Awe Inspiring, Most Earth Shattering Thing Ever Put to Paper”:

Are you ready?

Wait for it….wait for it…

Here it is:

“Because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, "Abba, Father." So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, God has made you also an heir.” – Galatians 4:6-7

Read that portion of Scripture a few times, if you could indulge me. Let it sink in. Here we have the CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE, God Himself, telling the world not only does He consider us to be beloved children, children who are free to call him “Father”, but that we were also once slaves, but are now sons of this very same God.

NOT ONLY THAT, THOUGH, we are LITERAL CO-HEIRS OF ALL CREATION WITH GOD!!!!!

Talk about going from Zero to Hero.

What other thing could possibly compete with this? Not even any other scripture in the Bible!

If you were to analyze this quote in a comparative religion class at Harvard it would stick out like a radioactive pineapple hanging from the ceiling covered in glitter.

Galatians 4:6-7 is simply an unbelievable statement, and yet we can believe it, for God put it in the Scriptures for us to believe.

So, your turn.

What do you guys think is the most “” The Most Radical, Most Awe Inspiring, Most Earth Shattering Thing Ever Put to Paper”?


-Walker

If a tree fell in the forest, it would only provide a fraction of the paper required to bring an orphan home.

But I am thrilled to announce that I am ALMOST DONE. Hallelujah!!! The Dreaded Dark Cloud called Dossier is mostly complete. I am waiting for some people to mail me some things back and then I still have to get about five things notarized and get our reference letters and mail it all in and get our passports and draw a sketch of our home get the homestudy report and sheesh, it isn't sounding quite so done anymore.

But I am beginning to see the light at the end of the paperchase.

This is definitely a different experience from, you know, how we got the other kids. Ahem. New experiences.

Here are some things that I never had to do before to have a baby:

• Get fingerprinted for - y'all - the FBI. Now how cool is that? Certainly not how I spend an average Wednesday. I thought it would feel very Sydney Bristow but in actuality it felt more like I was being booked on Law & Order. Except the fingerprintees don't giggle on Law & Order. Nor try to hop up to peek through the tall window on the door of the cell next to the fingerprinting room. A cell which was unoccupied, fortunately, cause that mighta been awkward.
  

• Get fingerprinted by Homeland Security. To make sure this adoption is not really a sophisticated ruse to disguise our plans to smuggle plutonium into Ethiopia in Dr. Brown's bottles.
  

• Get tested for TB, HIV, hepatitis, and syphilis. Walker's test was significantly more invasive than mine. Heh heh heh. Still doesn't compare to even one childbirth but still - paybacks, babe, paybacks.
  

• Ask our pastor, neighbor, friends and family if they think we will make good parents, and if so, could they please put that in writing, and if they really think so, could that have that love letter notarized pretty please?

I also had to put together 10-12 photos of us as a family. I put this part off because I knew that it would be time consuming but relatively easy, right? Considering I take about 500 photos a month of us? Just pick a few good ones and do a little cut here and a paste there?

Well.

Finding snotfree pictures of the children without panties on their heads or pudding all over their faces was challenging but not impossible. But they also wanted a photo of just the two of us.

Just me and Walker.
Looking nice and normal.
Stable, and sane.
Like the sort of people you would want to give a helpless baby to.

Over the past year, we have taken a few photos together for me to choose from.

Perhaps this is a good choice to represent us to the government of Ethiopia:


or maybe Walker's stalker look would warm their hearts here


If they could get past Walker's jaunty kick, I think my martini would seal the deal in this one

come on Ethiopia, once you have octuplets and sextuplets, what's one more, huh?


I finally decided on this photograph that we took last week.



Just standing there. Smiling. Under a tree.

Like the nice, normal, boring, conservative parents we are.

A quick word from Walker

This morning as I was just getting myself comfortable within my cube at work I got a call from Missy on my iPhone. Frowning a bit, I picked up the phone and punched “ACCEPT”.

Walker: Hello?

Missy (sounding mad): Where’re my keys?

Side note: Last night I drove Missy’s car to move it out of our driveway. I remember dropping off her keys in the upper left-hand part of the cubby next to the driveway door. That is where they usually are when they are not being used to shuttle little children around.

Walker: They’re in the cubby.

Missy (still sounding mad): No, they are not.

Side note #2: I also remember that in the hustle and bustle of the morning chaos the kids and thoroughly TRASHED their cubbies in a mad-dash effort at finding matching shoes, finding their coats, finding their backpacks, etc. Maybe the keys had got lost in the shuffle?

Walker: I distinctly remember putting them in the cubby, babe.

Missy (still mad): I looked the in the cubby. I looked in your Man Box (my vanity). Not there.

Walker: Are you sure?

From the phone I hear Missy rooting around in the cubby area.

Missy (still mad): They are not there, Walker! I looked!

Missy (a little less mad): Here they are.

Walker: Awesome.

Missy (for some reason getting mad again, a gathering storm): Next time, could you…

Walker (to himself): Oh, no…what could it be? How in the world was putting Missy’s keys where they go 95% of the time be “my bad”?

Missy: (sigh)…BYE! (click)

That was it? I guess it was!