God bless America!!

Shep's first watermelon, July 4, 2003


Have a wonderful holiday

Girls

Almost six years ago, Walker and I were asked to participate in a pilot bible study at our church for couples on finances. I had just had a baby boy. Unbeknownst to me, I was also in the throes of postpartum depression. The fact that my stupid boobs wouldn't work right so that I could nurse my new baby, despite trying every method known to woman including waking up in the middle of the night several times to pump an hour for a measly two ounces - then spend another 30 minutes feeding him - was about to put me over the brink of sanity. Or maybe I had already gone there.

That night, at the end of this bible study, Walker submitted my breastfeeding trauma as a prayer request and then, of course, I burst into tears.

All the other moms surrounded me immediately with love and support, several with nursing horror stories that topped even my own. One in particular, a tall girl named Jenny, said, "I never had any problems nursing. But, I had about every other new mother problem that exists, so, I think I understand your misery."

And with that, a friendship was born.

Our husbands liked each other too. And we liked each other's husbands. Many of y'all will agree when I proclaim that when two couples all not only like, but really like each other, it is nothing short of a mariage miracle.

Several months later, I sat on Jenny's red couch while our little boys played, pregnant with my first daughter. We talked about how Jenny, the mother of two boys, had always dreamed of having a little girl. But Jenny is one of those who considers the baby stage what you put up with to get to the good part: toddlerhood. (I am the opposite, I love newborns, and suffer through the following couple years. Every time she and I discuss this it ends in sighs and looks of bewilderment at the other's oddness.) Considering her post traumatic colic disorder, Jenny had no desire to go the newborn route again. But still, she dreamed of a little girl named Rosemary.

Then I gasped and said, "You should get a girl from China! Oh! Chinese Rosemary!"

We had plans to adopt from China, and because I recruit company for all my endeavors, she was not the first to whom I had made this suggestion. But she was the first to respond with "that look." That wistful look, off into the distance, as her brain began churning and her heart began dreaming of a little Chinese baby named Rosemary.

I lamented the fact that Chinese girls were usually a year old before they were adopted, so I would miss those first months. Jenny considered that a bonus. We sighed and shook our heads at each other.

That was five years ago. Since then, I have been a blessed witness to all the roller coaster rides which adopting from abroad entail. We've seen obstacles melt away. We've traded books and blogs and articles about how horribly girl babies in China are treated. We've agonized as China has made adoptions more and more difficult to obtain. And last year, when the six month wait suddenly turned into six or more years, we prayed about letting go of the image of a healthy toddler named Rosemary and asked God if Rosemary was really a six year old little girl with scoliosis.

God affirmed that she was.
She always had been.

It was during this time that I began to realize that, for various reasons, my decade long dream of having my own daughter from China was probably never going to happen. I told Jenny that I believed that God gave me that desire so that I could pass it along to her, and while it broke my heart, I was okay with Him using me in that way. And then, of course, I burst into tears.

So, tomorrow, when my dear friend Jenny and her family go to an orphanage and meet a little girl who, before the Lord laid the foundations of the earth, He gave the name Rosemary Juen Johnson,


I know you will understand that while my body is in Houston, my heart is in Shanghai.

Jenny is blogging about this experience for the New York Times. You can follow their story here.

And the Get Over Yourself award goes to...

Okay, y'all are the greatest blog readers in the world, and I really mean that. I am not just trying to sound like Tina in PeeWee's Big Adventure (there's no basement at the Alamo!)

Your suggestions were so wonderful. I really can't wait to try SO many of them out. I mean, why did I never think to wash the car? That is brilliant fun in the form of very cheap labor. And freeze things in ice and let them work out their aggression by hammering away? Fun and therapeutic. I have a long list now to keep us occupied until August 17.

The saddest part is, have I mentioned I was a teacher? An elementary teacher? Who taught pre-k? Who has a specialty in, um, early childhood?

It's pathetic. Y'all should be asking me what to do. But any other former teachers out there, have you found that all your experience and ideas just turn utterly off when it comes to your own kids, or is it just me?

Teacher, teach thyself.

Today I came across this devotional that some holier-than-thou know-it-all wrote a while back. And the prayer down at the bottom just - sigh. Right to the heart.

It's a special level of rude to be convicted by one's own words.

After I read it, and squirmed, I realized my basic problem is this: I don't want to clean poop off the rug. I don't want to referee arguments all day. I don't want to pop Barbie's leg back on for the sixth time. I don't want to sweep up Cheerios again and again and again.

I do not want to be a servant.

Which, conversely means this: I want to be served.

Which means this: I need to get over my sinful selfish whiny self and remember Who it is that I serve, disguised today as four short little people. And one six foot tall one.

So tomorrow, this will greet me in my (filthy) kitchen at the crack of dawn:



cause I'm gonna need to be reminded all day long. Cause I'm stiff-necked like that.

'Night.

God's servant must not be argumentative, but a gentle listener and a teacher who keeps cool, working firmly but patiently with those who refuse to obey. You never know how or when God might sober them up with a change of heart and a turning to the truth, enabling them to escape the Devil's trap, where they are caught and held captive, forced to run his errands.

2 Timothy 2:24-26 (the Message)

Happy Birthday Grandma Ruth! Praise be to God in his Sovereignity that he preordained that you be born on this day, 89 years ago

Tonight we went to celebrate Walker's grandma's birthday. Grandmama Ruth is 89 years old and sharp as a tack. She is the most stubborn Arminian in a family of predominant Calvinists and she will work herself into such a frenzy trying to convince us we are all blasphemers, I think that is the secret to her longevity - she gets a serious cardio workout every Sunday around the dinner table.

And don't get Grandmother started on politics. Well, as if you couldn't. Last year November Walker told her he was voting Democrat, and I told him that he better quit teasing her or he would feel really bad when she had a heart attack right there over her chicken a l'orange.

So tonight we celebrated the matriarch of the family. Walker's uncle Dan made an amazing gumbo and I decided that gumbo was the perfect excuse to make bread pudding.

Because nothing screams out for hot heavy dessert like a blustery 103 degree day.

Regardless of the season, this recipe was given to me by a sweet church lady named Sally from my First Methodist days, and you know sweet church ladies can cook. Especially Arminian ones, what with all those potlucks. Yesterday when I could not find the recipe I almost had a conniption so let me put it here so I will never lose it. Because it is The. Best. Bread. Pudding. In. The whole wide. World.

Trust me on this. It will change your life.

If you like crème brûlée - and who doesn't like crème brûlée?? - this will complete you.

Sally's Bread Pudding with Bourbon Sauce

12 slices French bread
1/2 stick butter
5 whole eggs + 4 egg yolks
1.5 cups sugar
pinch salt
5 cups half and half
2 t. vanilla
2 T. Grand Marnier or Orange Cointreau
1/2 t. nutmeg
1/2 cup golden raisins
powdered sugar

1. Preheat oven to 375. Melt the butter in a roasting pan in the oven. Pull bread apart into crouton size pieces. Toss bread in the melted butter and toast in oven until lightly browned. Meanwhile, heat the half and half in a saucepan until just scalding. In another pot, start boiling some water, about 8 cups or so.

2. In a large bowl, beat the eggs and yolks, sugar, nutmeg, liqueur, vanilla, salt and raisins until thoroughly combined. Stir in hot half and half.

*** Warning - Do NOT taste the mixture at this point. I repeat - do NOT taste it. If you do, you will be tempted to just pour a big glass of it and sit down and drink it. Do NOT taste the mixture! And quit eating the croutons. ***

3. Add toasted bread to the mixture you just tasted even though I said not to. Oh my word, was that not what heaven tastes like? That is what angels drink when they can't sleep. Sweet mercy.

4. Go ahead, try it all mixed together. Exciting, isn't it? It gets better.

5. Pour it all in a 2 or 3 quart souffle or glass casserole dish. Now here is the weird part. Put that glass dish inside a roasting pan or a 9x12, and pour the boiling water in the pan around the souffle dish. Be careful! It's hot! This is called a bain-marie - I learned that on Top Chef. Here's a visual in case you haven't had any coffee yet (before I poured in the water)


Now say a little prayer that you don't slosh boiling water on yourself and put the pan in the oven. Bake for about 45 minutes, or until a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean.

6. Remove the souffle from the water pan. Turn the broiler on high. Sprinkle the pudding with a ton of powdered sugar and then broil it until it gets that good brown/black caramelized crispy glory on top. Don't take your eyes off it tho - broiling burns quickly, in case you have not already learned that the hard way.

Serve with Bourbon Sauce....

1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
pinch salt
1/4 cup water
1 egg, beaten
1/3 cup Bourbon
1/2 t. nutmeg

Melt butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add sugar, salt and water. Cook, stirring constantly for 2 minutes. Gradually pour mixture into beaten egg, beating constantly. This requires a little coordination, so don't be nippin' at the rest of that Bourbon. Slowly stir in the Bourbon. Serve warm drizzled over the bread pudding.

And if you just want to die and go to heaven right now, serve it with Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream.

Amen.

A sad and desperate cry for help

We have no activities this week - no MDO, no VBS, nada.

We are all together 24/7. Alldaylongeveryday.

And can I just go on record, just be the bad mom, and just go ahead and say it, just not be ashamed to admit that my kids are ON MY EVER LAST NERVE?

Oh my skull. The fighting. The bickering. The hitting. Seriously, the hitting? What makes you think you can just clobber a little sister because she snatched your playdoh? What are you, a sociopath?

The backtalk. The door slamming. The door leaving open. The whining. The tantrums. The asking repeatedly who Michael Jackson was.

On top of that, someone is having some issues, and let me just say, I feel like I am house training a puppy. Which is reason number 32,387 why I don't have a puppy. To avoid the carpet stains. Which I have been Folexing off a once pretty Pottery Barn rug all day today.

OH - AND - GET THIS - Maggie decided to drop her nap this week. Great timing.

It has been bad enough for me to have at least two tearful conversations with my baby daddy about how I am obviously a horrible mother because I have THE most unruly undisciplined children on the planet, and for him to very sweetly remind me that they are off their schedule, they are off their routine, they are actually kinda cute, and no we don't know any exorcists.

Part of the problem - a big part - is that we are trapped inside the majority of the day because THE HEAT INDEX HAS BEEN HOVERING AROUND 108 DEGREES.

So I am calling on you, Moms. Help a mother out.

Give me some new ideas.

PLEASE tell me what to do with these kids - indoors - before we all lose our minds!!

ps - did I mention I am pms'ing? Or was that obvious?

Oh for simpler, pinker times

When I was in college and taking all those Women's Studies classes I swore that I would never let my daughters play with Barbie. Barbie was an unrealistic modicum of beauty: tall, stacked and blond. She also lived in a dream house and drove a pink Corvette. I would not support her superficial, materialistic lifestyle because of the damage that it would surely inflict upon my future little daughters' future little psyches.

The fact that from the ages of about four to eleven, I myself spent an average of 7.8 hours daily as interior decorator, life coach and marriage counselor to Barbie - and turned out perfectly at peace with my short, flat-chested, brunette, duplex residing, old Chevette driving self - would not dissuade me from my convictions.

Barbie was evil. My professors had said so.

Then I actually had daughters. And alas, the Barbie boycott went the way of the licensed character boycott, among others. So, so many others.

There is one boycott I adhere to, come hell or high whining: In the Naptime household, we do not do Bratz.

Don't know who Bratz are?

Bratz are Barbie's Jersey relatives - on Ken's side, of course. The ones who, whenever they are in town, it always happens to fall on a weekend when, oh my goodness, Barbie is just so so busy, Barbie is booked solid for the entire weekend from Friday night straight through Sunday night, oh it is such a shame that Barbie and family can't see them! Oh, durn durn durn!

The truth is that Barbie does not want the Bratz anywhere near Skipper because, oh her skull, those girls dress like, well, like girls with reputations. If you know what she means. And I think you do.

Even though Barbie has sent them all giftcards to Ann Taylor on every single birthday, Christmas and graduation for years now, it hasn't done even one bit of good.

So, as one who was virtually raised by Barbie: if the Bratz girls aren't good enough for Skipper, why, they aren't good enough for Eva Rose and Maggie either.

Eva Rose has accepted this as a fact of life with me as her momma. Until yesterday. When she questioned me.

Oh, I do so hate it when they question me.

Eva Rose: Why don't we do Bratz, Mom?
Me: Because I don't like the way they dress.
Eva Rose: But why?
Me: Because they do not dress modestly.
Eva Rose: I don't even know what you meeeeeean.
Me: They show too much of their bodies, Sissy. The way that they dress does not glorify God.
Eva Rose: pause, then softly: But Mommy. They are so. fashionable.

My mind flitted back and forth between wondering how did she come to believe that dressing like a streetwalker is fashionable? to wondering how she does a four year old even know the word fashionable? to being rather proud that my four year old knows the word fashionable.

So much brain flitting precluded language. I just stared at her and blinked.

And envied my mother, who only had to worry about big boobs and pink Corvettes corrupting her daughter. Which, you know, might not be so bad after all.

Extreme Makeover - Maggie Edition

I guess this counts for seven thousand words

My brain is just running on empty. I have no words. So I thought I might do a photo editorial of the past week or so at the Naptime household.

Today the kids (sans Ike) and I met my friend Carol at Hermann Park for the Houston Symphony's Sounds Like Fun, where they have the "Instrument Petting Zoo."


Or, the "Greater Houston Bacteria and Virus Share-a-thon", whichever you want to call it.


Afterwards, we rode the choochoo



and then the kiddos rolled down the hill at Hermann Park, both of which are Houston kid traditions.

As is stripping down to just your Nemo panties and running through the water fountains. Right? No? Well, no one told Maggie that!

Speaking of, Maggie Belle's hair is so so SO in need of a haircut. It's time. It's beyond time. It is a rats' nest and there is usually a good bit of oatmeal or jelly stuck in it. But as I have a really difficult time taking my girls in to cut off their curls, and because Maggie looks like such a mess all the time anyway, I haven't been proactive about it.

I was finally ready to suck it up and chop it off.
And then I discovered Swiss Miss.


How stinkin cute is she with those braids? How can I ever cut it now?


The ragamuffin lives on.

This just cracked me up.


And yes, that is my very own Donny Osmond doll. Antique Donny Osmond doll. Who is evidently a big hit with the la-dies.

Speaking of, Shepherd is at the age where he is very into guns and policemen and bad guys and so on and so forth ad nauseum. To feed his law enforcement fascination, my mother bought him some toy handcuffs, which, of course, he never puts away after he plays with them.

Last week the housekeeper came. She cleaned our bedroom. And then she put Shep's toy where she evidently thought it belonged -


At the foot of our bed.

Now I just need to learn how to say, "Now Senora, we have too many little children to have that kind of energy, please put these in the playroom" in espanol.

I LOVE MY NEW LOOK!!


Jackie, thank you so so much!!!!!!!!

Mom to Mom - Encouraging our children's relationship with Christ

Preface here.

Sorry this post is getting up a little later than expected - Walker took today off so that we could have some fun family time. Which involved: a water park, a playground, Mexican food, and, um, a nap for me.

So. The question du jour is: How do we help to cultivate a relationship between our children and Christ?

Before we go there, I want to share some Courtney-wisdom. This is really good, so listen up, y'all.

Courtney told me once that as moms we have to distinguish between our desires and our goals. Goals are things we have control over. We can have desires for our children, but we cannot have goals for our children. We can only have goals for ourselves.

For instance: I can desire that my children go to college. But it cannot be my goal that my children go to college, because my children are their own "free agents" as Court would say and I cannot control them (which I learned on about day four of Shepherd's life.) My goals for myself can be: to encourage education, to help them with schoolwork, to save money for college, etc etc. But if they go to college or not is not my choice - and by that same virtue, if they do not fulfill my desire, then I have not failed as a mother.

The same applies to my children's walk with Christ. It is my strongest desire in the whole wide world that all of my children love Christ deeply. My prayer is, as Angela Thomas says, for them to have a boring testimony: "I just always knew Jesus, I always loved him, I always followed him, life was good." But it cannot be my goal for my children to love the Lord, because ultimately, I have absolutely no control over that. The Holy Spirit I am not.

So here are my goals for myself to encourage my children to develop a loving relationship with the Lord.

And - first off - I am not batting 100 on these. Not a bit. SuperMissy would do all these things every day. ForRealMissy has good days and bad days.

1) To get my own self in the Word on a regular basis. Because when I am reading it, I am thinking about it, talking about it, and sharing it with my kids. For instance, last week I was reading the story of Korah. Now, I studied Numbers in BSF - and I was a leader too so I must have done my homework (ahem) - so I know I must have read this before. But I did not remember the story of Korah for the life of me! As soon as I read it, I thought, "I cannot wait to tell this to Shep!" And indeed he was so blown away that he asked for paper and markers so he could draw it. He and his sister both shouted "tell us more stories about Moses!" and because it was fresh in my mind, I could rattle off the water from the rock, the bronze snake, and so on. (The Pentateuch is a little boy's best friend: car chases + blood and guts + bugs and snakes.)

The Word of God is contagious, that is just all there is to it. And I want to be a threat to public health.

2) To get the Word in my kids. I won't go on and on about Seeds Family Worship again, except to say Seeds is quite possibly one of the greatest things in the history of mankind and all. If you don't believe me, listen to this. Or this. Or this. Or this.

Another way that my children have memorized scripture is by reading through a book called My ABC Bible Verses: Hide God's Word in Little Hearts by Susan Hunt. They love the stories that go along with the verses. One of the characters is named Missy, which can be a little convicting at times.

And this, The Jesus Storybook Bible. Oh, how I love this bible. The story of the Fall is told so beautifully, I can't read it without crying for what was lost.

3) The catechize them. The catechism was used for hundreds of years to teach children the truths of God, but unless you are Catholic or Presbyterian, you may have never heard of it. The catechism is a set of questions and answers about God and the bible. It's a drill, basically. A Jesus drill.

I love it because I think that in order to love God, we need to know as much about him as possible, and the catechism gets holy truth ingrained in their little heads as surely as their times tables and ABCs. They learn the answers to questions they never even thought to ask.

I also love it because I learn the answers to questions. Both the big kids have starting asking me some real toughies. Now when one of the kids says, "What does God look like?" instead of hemming and hawing, I easily rattle off "God is a spirit and has not a body like men." And we go from there.

It's an antidote to mommy brain.

We use a book called "Big Truths for Little Kids: Teaching Your Children to Live for God" also by Susan Hunt. It has the Westminster Shorter Catechism and also little stories throughout, and my children really love these stories. I sit at the table at breakfast and call out the questions, and whoever answers correctly gets a tictac. Minty fresh and spiritual, too!

There are many versions online that can be printed. If you practice infant baptism, look here or here. If you practice believers' baptism, here is a Baptist catechism.

There are also some CDs by Holly Dutton that set it to music. I don't have these. Yet.

Nikki just left me a comment about these CDs too, and if I could do a backflip, I could. But I can't so I will just say I'm REALLY EXCITED TO FIND THEM. And now I can quit bugging all my friends who can sing to make me a catechism CD.

You can start this early - when Eva Rose was 11 months old, if you asked her "Who made you?" She would point her little pudgy arms up and shout, "God!" Don't let the big words scare you. I am telling you, kids get spiritual truths easier than adults do.

We are up to about question 20, although Shep gets a little stuck on "The Bible was written by holy men under the in...in...insucha...tion of the Holy Spirit." It is so cute!

4) Pray. A lot. For everything. Especially when we can't obey. This is a huge part of heart-based discipline, which I promise I will write about. But the gist is, to always point them back to the cross, the remind them that they can do no good thing apart from the work of the Holy Spirit.

The rewards of seeing this play out are so amazing. The other day Eva Rose came to me crying about something. When I asked her what it was, she told me she felt guilty about a sin she had committed (I didn't think it was a big deal, but I wasn't going to argue with her conviction.) I pulled her into my lap and said, well, let's pray about it, and she said, "I already did. I already told God I was sorry but I still feel so bad!" That launched into a beautiful discussion about how God had forgiven her because of Christ's work on the cross, and now she was as white as snow, and she no longer needed to feel guilty about it because God had scattered her sins as far as the east is from the west.

It was a beautiful, sweet mommy moment.

And the whole thing happened while I was sitting on the toilet.

Where at least half my major motherhood moments happen.


Those are just a few of my goals.

What else ya got, Mommas??


(Mr. Linky and I are working things out - for now, please leave a comment. I will add you later.)

A little Wednesday link love

Mom fights off cougar to save toddler from attack
That's what I'm talkin about!

Every momma of little ones needs to read this. Really. Now.

Shopping for kids bedroom furniture? Get ready to get starry eyed.

My new friend Ashley. I leave her blog open just to listen to her playlist. Seriously, I need her to make me a mixed tape. And girl has bow-training down.

This is what happens when you you send the wrong size pjs to your mother-in-law - who has a blog. Oh well, he got some cute new ones from Target out of it. Hmmm...she said deviously.

Jackie is working on my new blog layout! And I am so excited that I have to resist bugging her every 10 minutes to ask if it is done yet.

Rosann always sends me emails like this one: "Remember rocker-chic "Leather Tuscadero" (Suzi Quatro) from Happy Days? Here is her 70's soft rock alter-ego. Aww, what a cute couple they make." Between her and my husband, I am blessed with an almost daily bizarre and random youtube.

And, just in time for Father's Day - beautiful.

Guilty and blessed

On Sunday, my husband and I rushed down to the Apple store and bought ourselves some new iPhones. The next day I sent an email to all of our friends announcing with pride and joy that we had added two new members to our family.

I have been intending to blog about how in love I am with my new iPhone. About how it is about the most exciting thing to happen to me in recent memory that did not involve an epidural. About how I actually risked being struck by holy lightening today when I said, "I can do all things through my iPhone which strengthens me."

But then tonight, I started clicking around on the internet and came across this post and felt incredibly, incredibly convicted.

Because, you see, I have been intending to sponsor a child through Compassion for months now. I have started the process several times and then for some reason or another did not follow through. Then the economy turned south, then it looked like Walker might lose his job, then then then then then.

Walker (with a lot of wifely input) even wrote the scripts for some commercials for Compassion, including this one. (Notice her name.) Still didn't sponsor.

But the minute that we found out that a $99 iPhone 3G had been released, we raced our behinds to the Apple store, economy be darned.

Two iPhones cost as much as six months of sponsorship. Not to mention the monthly fees, which I don't even want to think about.

So today, I, a selfish sinner saved by grace and convicted by the Holy Spirit, would like to tell you about the true newest members of our family.

Oliverio is from Guatamala. He was chosen because he was born on the same day that Shepherd was, only worlds apart. He likes to play games.

Tahili lives in Mexico. Eva Rose picked her out. Tahili just turned five on Saturday. She likes playing with dolls and running, and she has no father in her life.

Thank you, Father. May we be a blessing in your children's lives.

Bonus - no epidurals necessary for these new babies either.

Add that to the list

It is already midnight and due to the fact that there has been some kind of drama between my laptop and my printer, who despite my best counseling attempts are still not speaking to each other and thereby enabling me to print off my grocery game list, I am still up. So I might as well blog, right?

Invisibles, get this. Tomorrow (later today, actually) all my children will go to Mother's Day Out.

All of them.

ALL my children.

All FOUR. Of MY children. Will be gone. All day. All of them. Gone. To MDO.

For the first time in almost six years, I will be (exhale) kidless. Not only tomorrow, but Wednesday too. And - ARE YOU SITTING DOWN?? Thursday too.

I am seriously just so beside myself, I don't even know what to do.

What will I do, y'all?? How will I fill the time between 9am and 2pm for THREE days in a row?

Well, to keep myself from sitting on the floor, staring at the clean silence with a big goofy grin on my face, wiping (my own) saliva off my (own) chin, I made myself a mighty long to-do list, oh yes I did.

First off I am going Krogering, I am going Krogering in the broad daylight, alone. All alone.

(I also need to go to Costco, but I put that off till Wednesday, so as not to overstimulate myself.)

I am gonna make some phone calls that I have been meaning to make for, oh, a month or so now.

I am gonna return some library books that are, um, like two weeks overdue. Three? Maybe it's three. Two and a half. Whatever. They're late.

I'm going to get the chicken out of the freezer to defrost for Wednesday's dinner. Oh snap! That's why they call me SUPERMOM.

What else will I do to occupy my time??

Hmmmm. Let's just take a stroll around the Naptime house and see if anything needs to be done...


Well, that, of course. There's always that.


Oh, joy. I can make toys magically disappear!!


Those Target bags. I bought that stuff at Target. And set the bags on the table to unpack later.

That was about three weeks ago. Maybe I could do that now.

See the flower baskets next to them? Do they look a little festive? I got a fantastic deal on them. Right after Christmas, I got a fantastic deal on them. Maybe they should go up in the attic now.

Only, if they go, they will no longer match these:


The beautiful Christmas wreaths still hanging by the fireplace. Maybe I should take them down. But maybe not? I mean, Christmas is only six months away! (The big one is real, y'all. Very impressive.)

I guess I could also do something about those bags on the hearth that are full of maternity clothes. Since my baby is, you know, two.

If I got through all that, I could start on the stack of mail in the foyer.


Hmmmm.
Feeling a little overwhelmed.

Did I mention they are going to MDO next week too?

Maybe tomorrow I'll just take a nap.

Next Mom to Mom - developing your child's relationship

Many of y'all have heard a rather famous and incredibly wise proverb of Josh McDowell's regarding parenting that says this: Rules without relationship equals rebellion.

If you are like me, you have witnessed many relationships, probably within your own family, where this maxim proved painfully true. Meet me at Starbucks, I bet we could swap some tales.

Of course, as with all things parenting, this is not always the case. Wonderful, perfect parents can still produce rebellious kids. (Take Adam and Eve, for example.)

Nonetheless, "rules-relationship=rebellion" is a rather reliable formula. As is the converse: Rules with relationship equals respect.

Recently it occurred to me how these truths play into our relationship with our Heavenly Father, the same as they do on Earth.

Those who do not know God - who have no relationship with him - have no desire to honor him. Those who do not honor God rebel against his law. They see God's rules as arbitrary, unjust, random, prejudicial, and perhaps even cruel. Outdated. Ridiculous.

Like a recalcitrant teenager, they rebel. And in the process, they hurt themselves deeply - as our old pastor used to say, "We do not break God's law, God's law is unbreakable. We break ourselves on God's law."

Those who love God, however, cry out, like David, "Oh, Lord, how I love your law!" I think David could have added, (as I know I have) even when I don't like your law, even when I have been backslapped by your law, oh Lord, how I love your law!

The deeper my relationship becomes with the Lord, the more I love him. The more I love him, the more concerned I am with pleasing him. How do I please him? Obedience.

Not because I am scared of him, or scared of the consequences, no - I want to please him because I am so overwhelmed with adoration for what he has done for me, by pulling me out of the miry pit, that my greatest desire in life is to be in his will.

And, once we try on the obedience thing, hallelujah, it works. Obedience leads to joy.

Which all sounds velly similar to the heart-based discipline I try to use with my own children.

So as I'm pondering all these deep thought one morning last week over the background noise of Curious George, I began to wonder, how do I foster this relationship with God that leads to respect that leads to love that leads to honoring that leads to obedience that leads to joy in my babies?

Y'all got any ideas?

Oh, I know you do!

So here is the specific question: What can we as mothers do to encourage our child's relationship with the Lord?

Chew on that, mommas. I'll hook up Mr. Linky on Thursday.


If you are new to It's Almost Naptime, we do these mom carnivals from time to time. To see the old ones, click on mom to mom below. Unfortunately, Mr. Linky is experiencing some serious technical difficulties, so all the old links have disappeared - grrrrr.

Picnic table winner!

Random Integer Generator

Here are your random numbers:

8

Timestamp: 2009-06-14 00:26:05 UTC

Deirdre from Stream of Consciousness!!

Okay, I am SO HAPPY that one of my dear friends won the kids bedroom furniture! Yea!!