You could hire us to guard your property for you. We're that good.

Today, Ellie and I went to Oxford together, (along with our wonderful friend, Julia, who really deserves a whole post all to herself,) and when I dropped Ellie off at her house, I went to the door with her. Her family had been gone all day, so the house had been empty while we were gone. Empty, as in, nobody home. But don't worry! Eleanor totally locked the door when she left. HA! Or not.

Can you tell I'm building up to something here?

We walked up the back porch stairs, laughing and talking, (not quietly,) and to our mutual dismay discovered the back door standing wide open, with clothes and shoes spilling out onto the porch, and the laundry room, which we could see through the open door, a complete mess. Like, something, or someone, had been there.

Now, they have a rowdy, cute, evil little puppy who likes to bite toes and who acts like he's high most of the time. So, one would assume it was the puppy, right? But wouldn't he still be in the house, pooping in a dark corner, or eating stuff out of the pantry, or chewing Eleanor's best shoes... not cheerfully dancing around our feet, getting in a bite wherever he could?

What's the next logical conclusion? A break in, of course. And while neither of us really believed that to be the answer, we didn't want to be foolish and just go waltzing in while there could be a desperate villain hiding behind any chair. Ellie, who's twice as brave as her diminutive size would lead you to believe, grabbed Bro. Robert's large axe from beside the woodpile, and I grabbed the sledgehammer sitting beside it. Well, I didn't actually grab it, I more like awkwardly-heaved-it-up-on-my-shoulder, because dang, those things are heavy. All I've got to say is that lumberjacks must have massive muscles.

Inside we went, carefully peering behind doors and under beds, except for the bed in the boy's room, because believe me, nothing could hide under there, even a small rabbit. If there's ever a lego shortage, Dalton and Shafer have all their bases covered. (At least, I think it was mostly legos residing under their bed. I was more than a little rattled, so my identify-that-object skills were a little off.)

Meanwhile, Ellie got the Family Pistol from its hiding place, and we explored the rest of the house looking like agents from Mission Impossible. Except I'm pretty sure none of them carried sledgehammers while complaining about how much their arm muscles hurt. Yeah, I'm just waaay cooler than Tom Cruise.

Anyway, the good news is, we decided that owing to the amount of clothes and shoes strewn all through the house, and the lack of stolen property, it must've been their puppy, and not some vicious break-inner. Yes, "break-inner" is a word.

And the best news? Ellie and I are totally prepared for any emergency involving a possible break in. So long as there's an axe, a gun, and most of all, a ridiculously heavy sledgehammer available.

An opportunity.

Would you like a unique, beautiful gift for someone you love, (or a happy for yourself?) These handmade necklaces not only look wonderful, the money generated from the purchase goes to feed Ugandan children, and the necklaces themselves are bought from poor women who have no other decent means to make money for food.

Read about how they are made and who makes them here.

Don't just skim.

Read it. Soak it in. Think about being one of those poverty stricken women who had to sell her body to put food in her children's mouths, or who had to feed her little babies alcohol because there wasn't anything else. Think about that woman being your mama, or your sister, or your friend.

Horrible, isn't it?

Now, how much of a strain is it to spend $18 on a necklace, ensuring that a certain group of women wouldn't have to go to those awful lengths to feed their families again?

Not very much.

The necklaces would be a great graduation gift, a Mother's Day gift, a birthday gift, or a just-because-I-want-to-do-something-tangible-for-someone-else's-life purchase.

An attainable degree of perfection

"Give yourself up to God without reserve; in singleness of heart meeting everything that every day brings forth, as something that comes from God, and is to be received and gone through by you, in such an heavenly use of it, as you would suppose the holy Jesus would have done in such occurrences. This is an attainable degree of perfection."

-William Law

I don't know about you, but I shy away from the word "perfection" where it regards my Christian walk. As any good baptist knows, I realize that we cannot reach perfection while here on earth. But I often forget that we are commanded to be holy as our Saviour was holy. Does that mean I will be as holy as Christ? No, I'm afraid it doesn't. But there is an "attainable degree of perfection" to be had by saying and doing everything under the banner of what Jesus would do. ("What would Jesus do?" is such a cliche' phrase, but it really is an essential part of the Christian's walk with God.)

If we think that every day, every hour, let me tell you right now that there would be some huge differences in our lives. I don't just mean the "big things," (which we so often associate with "what would Jesus do?") would be different, but mostly the little things would be altered, like responding to that person I don't really care for with true love, or speaking lovingly to my little sister when I want to scream and pull my hair out with frustration.

Little things, yes - but they ultimately have big consequences.

Will you and I seek after this attainable perfection in the coming week? Or will we nod approvingly at this quote and then live exactly the same as before?

The calm during the storm.

I'm never afraid of storms.

As I sit here, crunching my spinach salad, listening to the wind moan and howl like a possessed beast, watching the lightning turn the outside dark into an eerie, pale light, and hearing the thunder crash so much the windows shake, I'm reminded of exactly why I'm not afraid.

Ever since I can remember, Daddy would go out and sit on the front porch swing during a thunder storm. He'd just sit there with his legs stretched out, calmly admiring the glorious display of God's handiwork. I'd often sit with him, curled up close, feeling his strong arms around me, soaking in his peace. After an especially terrifying lightning bolt, or a thunderclap so fierce it seemed to herald the end of all things, Daddy would quietly say, "You know, this storm can't come an inch past where God says it can."

That simple belief was the foundation for Daddy's serenity in the storm. He didn't have peace because he was stupid or naive; he knew the damage and destruction a tornado or a single lightning bolt striking the right place could bring.

But his faith was in something mightier than the wind and rain and lightning - it was in the storm's Creator.

And as Daddy swung gently to and fro on the front porch, he taught me what it means to have no fear of what nature can do... for nature can do nothing without the hand of our kind Heavenly Father.

College Prep Time

Ever hear of this snazzy lil' creature called Writer's Block? (If you answered no, I don't like you anymore.)

Well, folks, I've been bitten by the Writer's Block Bug, and I'm suffering from a severe case of... you guessed it - Writer's Block! (Wow, brilliant sentence, Katie! No wonder you still have four pages of paper to go.)

In cases like these, the scientifically proven method of treatment is to stare blankly at the computer screen, fingers poised and ready for the oncoming flow of genius, until the blinking cursor mocks and jeers you into semi-madness. At this point, you check your email, hoping against hope there's some Extremely Important communication you need to take care of Right Then. There isn't.

Back to your document. Type two sentences. Erase one. Sit for a minute. Look up a word on wikipedia. Write another sentence. Erase whole paragraph.

Go to Yahoo and browse through the headlines. You'll find such inspirational news stories as:

-Giant Saw Blade on the Loose (I kid you not. Let's skip going to sleep tonight, 'kay?)

-Earth Day's Tragic Inspiration (Yeah, I'm thinking I'll not waste my brain cells on this one.)

-$100 Bill Gets a Makeover (Awesome! Wait, what did it look like before? 'cause I'm not really in the habit of taking out my multitude of $100 bills and looking at them. Oh yeah, because I don't have any.)

-NFL Releases its Schedule (REALLY!!!???? Be still my beating heart! The event I've waited for, longed for, hoped for is FINALLY here!)

-Why You Don't Need Laundry Detergent (followed by a much anticipated series on "Embracing Your Inner Pig.")

-Hairstyle Trends Men Like (Who cares?) (Okay, okay, so I read it.)

-Connecticut Mayor Donates Kidney to Facebook Friend (Wow, I'm so moved and inspired. Not.)



Go back to paper. Get amazing spurt of productivity and write a whole long paragraph without a pause. Feel like such an accomplishment deserves a reward. Go fix some ice cream. Come back. Discover that productivity spurt is gone. Bang head against wall.

(For those of you who are preparing to leap on my back via cyberspace about all the time I'm wasting writing here, let me clarify that this post was written in small increments over a space of two hours.)

I'm converting to Marshwiggleism.

I've been re-reading The Silver Chair, which is my least favorite Narnia book, but always makes me laugh because of Puddleglum, the Marshwiggle. Marshwiggles are described as tall creatures with webbed feet, long noses, and a decidedly pessimistic view of life. On that note, here are some of my favorite Puddlegum quotes:

"Good morning, Guests. Though when I say good I don't mean it won't probably turn to rain or it might be snow, or fog, or thunder."

"You could light the fire in the wigwam, and then we'd get all the smoke in our eyes. Or you could light it outside, and then the rain would come and put it out."

"Looks like we'll have cold weather for our journey. But you musn't let that make you down-hearted. Very likely, what with enemies, and mountains, and rivers to cross, and losing our way, and next to nothing to eat, and sore feet, we'll hardly notice the weather."

"And if we don't get far enough to do any good, we may get far enough not to get back in a hurry."

"Life isn't fricasseed frogs and eel pie."

"'You would feel more comfortable if only you thought how very much colder it would be later on and further north;' but this didn't cheer the children up at all."

"The bright side of it is that if we break our necks getting down the cliff, then we're safe from being drowned in the river."


And just let me say that this delightful outlook is much like my own right now, as I enter the home stretch of this abominable paper. I have found that the homestretch is often the hardest part, because you feel as though you've said everything that you want to say, but you still have five pages to go.

think about this:

"There is nothing that God hates so much as sin. And nothing in Creation that God has loved so much as the sinner."

-John Snyder

I laughed my flip-flops off.

A friend sent this video to me, and I was really mad at him for a few seconds during the middle, but then it was just hilarious.

We didn't, but maybe we should have.

while in Wal-Mart looking for my hair product they have cruelly discontinued:

Elderly Lady to her friend, both of whom are also looking for something, apparently unsuccessfully: "I just hate it when they don't have what I usually get!"

Me: (because, yes, I enter into conversations with total strangers in Wal-Mart) "I hate it, too!"

Elderly Lady: "Honey, let's just scream about it! Maybe they'll hear us and give us what we want!" ::pointing to her friend:: "She and I will scream if you do, okay?"

my brain is dead. almost. and it still has a tremendous amount of work to do.

I want to walk through a wardrobe into Narnia and have tea with Mr. Tumnus.

I want to dance at a Meryton Assembly with the Bennet sisters.

I'd like to go strawberrying with Frodo...

or cross a river with my clothes in a bundle on my head like Caddie Woodlawn.

I want to spend an afternoon with Sherlock Holmes, smelling his pipe tobacco and being astounded at his genius.

I wish I could go ice-skating with Jo and Laurie, (but not fall in and nearly freeze to death.)

I'd enjoy playing baseball with Charlie Brown and Lucy and Snoopy and Linus, (he's my favorite,) because they're no good at baseball either, and I might actually have fun instead of feeling like a fool. (In case you didn't know, I'm horrible at sports. Especially sports that involve balls. Oh, wait - that's every sport, pretty much.)

I want to go on a picnic on the Big Hill with Betsy, Tacy, and Tib, pretending all the while that we're riding on the clouds.

I want to go sleuthing with Nancy Drew, wearing the same kind of awesome clothes she has, (and which the books describe in full, making me terribly jealous,) get into a super scary situation, unrealistically escape by the skin of our teeth, solve the mind boggling mystery and get the unique reward she always receives. (Because she never accepts money for her solutions. Because she's rich.)

Good grief, I'd even like to pay a visit to Miss Bates with Emma, because...

I'D RATHER BE ANYWHERE ELSE THAN SITTING AT THIS COMPUTER, WRITING THIS TWELVE PAGE THESIS PAPER!!

okay. enough. you get the picture.

i can go back to writing. stopping. checking reference. adding footnote. adjusting footnote. writing. erasing whole sentence. write some more. another footnote. add a quote from somebody wise who cares a lot more than i do. plus, long quotes take up space, which is good, because DID I MENTION THIS PAPER IS TWELVE PAGES LONG?

well, it is.

the end.

Villain!

Laura: "I squash fairies and eat 'em for breakfast."

His mercies are new every day.

Tonight, AnnMarie went to bed normally for the first time in several days. God is so good, and I am so thankful.

my heart is full and my words are weak.

As some of you know, AnnMarie, (and for the few of my readers who don't know my family well, AnnMarie is my special needs sister,) has been having some real issues lately. Things that have never been a problem before, like drinking her water, the ceiling fan being on, swinging, and going to bed have suddenly become huge deals, and she loses control very quickly. (I don't know how to describe it well, so that'll have to do.)

She did much better today and tonight, thanks, I am sure, to the multitude of prayers that are being raised on our behalf by our dear friends and family.

But two nights ago, when it came time for bed, she really lost it. And I tried to deal with it. By deal with it, I mean that I tried to fix it. How hard could it really be? She's been going to bed by herself without a murmur for the past ten years or more, so this new, I-don't-intend-to-get-in-that-bed-by-myself thing is surely overcomeable. (No, that isn't a word. Yes, I still used it.)

So I began.

This was my intention: to get her into bed, turn off the light, walk out, shut the door, and her stay put. Like always. I was fairly confident that with a heck of a lot of stubbornness on my part, it would work.

Thirty minutes and countless cycles of putting her in bed, her getting up immediately, crying loudly, me soothing, putting her back in bed, her getting up, and on and on, I ended up lying down beside her. She stopped crying. (And I'm using crying here because I can't think of a better word. It's more like yelling-while-sobbing.) After several minutes, she fell asleep and I quietly eased up, walked to the door, opened it a crack, at which point she woke up and began to cry loudly again. Back in bed. Repeat the whole thing ten minutes later. Then again. And again.

By this time, I had been crying for a long time too, my face a puffy mass of scratchy heat, held against the pillow so she wouldn't hear me and get roused up.

And as I lay there, rebelling against the situation with every bone in my body, a conversation began in my mind. It sounds cliche' to say God was speaking to me, but I don't know any other way to put it. I want to share it with you, because I saw Christ's mercy and love, always present but not always acknowledged, so clearly in the "conversation" and the evening that followed.

"Surrender."

Me: "Okay, okay, of course I surrender. I can't do anything else."

"No, surrender all the way. Not just with words."

Me: "But I really don't like this. This messes with so many things I've held as my right. (MY evenings, MY comfort zone, etc.) And who knows where it'll end? What will she do next? How can we do this? I know You're with us, but I don't feel it."

"Trust Me."

Me: "I am trusting. It's just that I want to fix this. I want it to end. I'm praying, and I haven't gotten an answer."

"You're only praying for what you want to happen."

Me: "Yeah, I guess, but what I'm praying is best... really, it is! It's the easiest way for everyone."

"Surrender."

Me, thinking in my heart: "Surrender is hard. Surrender means giving up any control you think you have. Gladly. Trustingly. I don't think I can do it."

And that was the end... sort of. I managed to get out of the room without AnnMarie waking up, and I went and sobbed in Mama's arms for what seemed like a long time.

A little later, I picked up one of my Amy Carmichael books, Thou Givest, They Gather, which I've been meaning to read but never made time.

I opened it up randomly, and the first place it opened to was this chapter:

"Think It Not Strange" - 1Peter 4:12

Amy went on to talk about this quote,
"All that grieves is but for a moment,
All that pleases is but for a moment,
Only the Eternal is important."

She said, "A trial comes. It will pass. In a few days, or months, or years, we shall have forgotten it. The way we meet that trial- our inner attitude towards it - belongs to the things that are eternal. It will matter ten thousand years hence whether we conquered or were conquered by that temptation to impatience or faithlessness or worry which came when the trial rushed upon us. ... There is a verse in the bible: 'He gave them their request, but sent leanness into their soul.' Let us ask that this word may never be true of us."

There were so many good things in this chapter that were directly applying to my heart's rebellion at this small trial of right now, and I was overcome with the love of my kind Heavenly Father, Who had orchestrated for that book to be in the right spot at the right time and to open at the right place. Everything in the chapter was such a sweet promise, a tangible reality, that He was caring and would care for me, for Mama, for AnnMarie, and I was ashamed beyond telling that I had doubted Him.

Does that mean I'll never doubt again?

Of course I will doubt again... and again, and again.

But my hope and trust have a sure foundation, one which will never fail, and these past few days I have been allowed to test that foundation and have found it not lacking. Sufficient. Enough. Good.

And I'm so grateful.



Please, continue to pray for AnnMarie - not only for her behavior problems, but for her heart. She can't understand things the way we can, but I want her to know the love of Jesus, and I believe that He can take away the stony heart of an autistic girl with a genetic disorder and replace it with a heart of flesh just as easily as He can for a "normal" girl.

obviously, my obsession with hot tea has spread to all inhabitants of this house.

Last night, as I was sitting cross legged on the floor, writing and sipping my cup of hot tea, I looked up from my page just in time to behold a spider hurtling towards my cup and saucer. It wasn't a very big spider, in fact she was a little spindly, but it was the single fastest spider I've ever come across, and she was heading straight for my tea.

I rescued my tea and killed her at the same time, because I have major skills.

And then I began to wonder - why was she headed straight for my tea, instead of for my leg, to chomp it? (Which is why spiders usually come out of hiding, in my opinion: to chomp legs.)

Was she a suicidal spider? Had I killed her husband and she decided it would be very fitting to have revenge by drowning in my beloved hot tea? (Her revenge would have been complete had she carried through that gruesome plan; I can't imagine much more traumatizing than watching a dead spider float about in my wonderful tea.) Did she have a large family of small spiders who had been stressing her out all day and she thought if she could just drink some life-giving nectar she'd be okay? (While I whole-heartedly agree with the "life-giving nectar part," the "large family of small spiders" kinda freaks me out, so I'm choosing not to give any credence to this theory.) Or was she just a creature without the capacity to think, who was just acting on an impulse, (or whatever it is they act on,) which unfortunately got her squished with a kleenex?

You decide. (And if you're not going to be able to sleep tonight with curiosity as to my opinion, personally I think it was the first option.)

Look what I picked out of my belly button today!

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Gotcha.


Wait, you believed that I was about to show you what I picked out of my belly button?

Honestly?

You have a weird mind.

Anyway, happy April Fool's Day.