Super Hungry

Well, I am without excuse. My husband went and figured out how to upload photos with Linux. I guess he's now officially the man.

Now, can anyone tell me how to change my profile photo?

They Grow Up So Quickly

"Hashish please."

-- Naiah, 15 months.
We think she meant 'candy,' which her siblings were eating at the time.

Magic Kingdom

On the Disneyland parking tram, at the end of the day.

Grammie: Well, Anna, which ride did you like best?

Anna: I loved the rockets!

Sarah: I liked the teacups.

Jonah: I love the tram.

Meet and Greet

Tonight, we're working with some old friends from college, as well as our new friends in town, to expand our borders.

It's the church's first ever block party.

The teenagers are passing out hundreds of fliers; the women are preparing mounds of potato salad, hamburgers, hot dogs, cookies, etc.; the band is on its way; and my husband is so excited I wouldn't be surprised to see him do a back flip.

What's thrilling me is how the teenagers, who are almost all brand-new believers, are showing a strong, new desire to see their friends and families come to know God. Two of the girls were over at our house yesterday, with their hands full of fliers, telling me all about their cousin, and their concerns and hopes for her to know Christ, as they do now. They've been talking with her about it during her visit here. (If you knew how these girls talked and acted a couple months ago, you'd be flabberghasted too.) They're hoping she'll show up tonight, and talk to me.

So we could use your prayer tonight. Much of the community thinks we're the same stodgy, old church that used to inhabit our building five years ago. We want people to see the new things God is doing in town, and have fun, and feel loved and welcome.

So pray the the band rocks out, and that the food is good and plenty, and that people see God in us.

And We're Back, Mostly

Here's what we did:

Saturday: Drive twelve hours to Ojai. Sleep.

Sunday: (A.M.) Hang out with everybody at the Ojai church; Get challenged to spend our lives on "the least of these." (P.M.) Jason shares about what's happening in the church plant-- for ONE HOUR. And nobody walked out. Wow.

Monday: Catch up with close friends over coffee and sugar. Catch up with another good friend during a hair cut, which prompts everyone who sees me to say, "Whoa. . ." and ten seconds later, "You cut your hair. . . " and ten seconds later, "It looks cute." (Yes, it's short, and I love it. It reminds me of college.) Go out for Thai food with my family, trying to forget it's my birthday. Shop for quilt fabric, for an "I Spy" boy quilt. So fun!

Tuesday: Disneyland! All day. John and Cristin (brother and sister-in-law) bring their seven-month-old, Caleb, who is an angel the entire day. Anna, Sarah and Jonah have a blast, make no complaints, and don't even seem tired. We stay till closing time.

Wednesday: Buy the girls a guitar for their fifth birthday. Have a burgers-and-cake party in the back yard with a few friends. Eat dinner at church and watch a Beth Moore video for the first time with the women. (We'll be doing her Breaking Free study here next month.) Love it.

Thursday: Say good-bye, load up, and drive twelve hours back to the mountains.

Friday: Try to clean house and bake for the block party. Become violently ill, worse than I have ever felt, except when I was pregnant with twins. Oh, happy thought.

Today: BLOCK PARTY! Must bake!

I can't wait to catch up with all of you. I've been having withdrawals.

Civil Disobedience

Grammie and Papa are here for a few days. Tomorrow, we all drive the twelve-hour drive down to Ojai.

This afternoon, Jonah had a runny nose.

Grammie said, "Get a tissue, Jonah. You need to wipe your nose off."

"No," said Jonah.

"Yes, it's yucky. You need to get a tissue and wipe it off."

"No," Jonah said. "Mommy said we don't take noses off of kids."

Pray for Aaron

Aaron Boydston was miraculously healed of a dangerous form of leukemia recently. Now he's undergoing follow-up chemotherapy, to make sure it's completely out of his system. He's starting a new round this week, and he already has a fever, which has yet to be explained. Please pray for him, especially as his immune system dies away over the next few weeks. He's feeling pretty down and crummy right now.

Naiah's Recipe for Happiness

"Cup, please. . . Kit (blanket), please. . . Puppy, please. . . Kiss!"

--Naiah, every naptime

Carbonara

This is Italian soul food, people. It's what Rachael Ray cooked to catch herself a husband. It's also my new favorite recipe.

If you double it, it will feed eleven teenagers, two adults, and four small children. Trust me.

Carbonara

Ingredients:

1 pound rigatoni, spaghetti, or linguini
1/2 pound pancetta or bacon, chopped
extra virgin olive oil
4-5 cloves garlic, crushed and chopped
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes, a few pinches, crushed in hand
1/2 cup dry white wine or chicken stock
2 large egg yolks
3 tablespoons (2 palmfulls) grated parmigiano reggiano, or parmesan (the good stuff)
handfull fresh parsley leaves, chopped
a few grinds of black pepper

Directions:

Boil a large pot of water, and add pasta and salt. Cook to al dente, according to directions on package. Reserve 1/4 cup pasta water.

While pasta cooks, heat large skillet over moderate heat. Saute bacon in a drizzle of oil until brown. Add another drizzle or two of oil, plus garlic and crushed red pepper. Saute garlic 2 minutes. Add wine or stock to pan and reduce liquid by half, 2 minutes.

While bacon is browning, beat together egg yolks, cheese, and while whisking, add the 1/4 cup boiling pasta water to temper eggs. Beat in parsley and pepper and set aside.

Drain pasta. Add pasta to pan with pancetta sauce. Toss pasta with pancetta, then add egg mixture and toss 1 minute. Remove from heat. Continue to toss until sauce is absorbed by and thickly coating pasta. Adjust seasonings with kosher salt and black pepper. Serve with extra cheese.

Try not to eat seconds.

A Fall-ish Day's Ramble

It's going to freeze tonight. Literally. The other day it was eighty degrees. Today, fifty-five.

Down in Southern California, they're still waiting for the Santa Ana winds and the triple-digit September heat. I'm still waiting for my woodstove, and losing patience.

My yellow poplar is turning yellow.

My house is so cold I can hardly type. (I REFUSE to touch that propane-gorging central heat again, ever. $750 for two springtime months. No. Not touching that EVER again. Although Jason will probably turn it on the minute he walks in the door tonight. And by then, I'll probably pretend I don't care and leave it on.)

It smells like Christmas outside. Everyone is burning wood and baking.

I made soup for dinner. Second night in a row, if you count the chicken and dumplings from last night. Must have comfort food.

The cold air and changing leaves gave me a terrible compulsion to play with a new wreath. It's the first one I've ever put on my front door. It has leaves. It's very happy.

The girls wore tee shirts and skirts and hibernated under blankets all day. Jonah wore a jacket with his shorts. Naiah wore the fleecy outfit Mommy forced on her.

It rained on the new firewood. But only a little bit. I've never had to worry about rain on wood before.

Fall has been my favorite season since I was a little kid in Mississippi. But I wasn't ready for this one. It feels like an omen-- "The snow is coming. . . "

My Next Set of Twins

Naiah looked in the mirror and said, "Sissy!"

Snap

Please note that when I say, "snap," I really mean "s---." The thing is, my inner narrator (Don't make fun. I bet you have one, too. No, really.) can't stand punctuated euphemisms, because they have no sound; so I chose a completely unrelated proxy word instead, i.e. "snap." So there. And yes, I am aware that in some locales "snap" is slang, or used to be, but I don't care. On with the misadventure!

Jonah had to use the facilities at WalMart. (You can tell this is going to be classy, now.) As we walked into the ladies' room, I held the door for an older mom with a nine-month-old and a five-year-old boy. She asked if I needed the changing table, because I was blocking it. I said no, and joined Jonah in the end stall.

So I was standing there, trying to keep Jonah from making a mess, when the lady started changing her baby. And this is what we heard:

"Boo-boo made a stinky! Did Boo-boo make a stinky in his pants? Mommy loves Boo-boo. . . Oh my goodness! Boo-boo made stinky all over his pants! Oh, it's all over his wee-wee! And his tummy! Uh, oh! (To the five-year-old) Get me wipes NOW! I need wipes! (five-year-old rifles through bag) Oh snap! It's on my hand! Oh snap! Snap, snap, snap! Give me more wipes NOW! Did Boo-boo get all snappy? Oh snap, it's on his shirt! SNAP! Give me more! He's all snappy! SNAP! You're just all snappy, Boo-boo! Snappy, snappy, snappy! SNAP! I touched it! SNAP! . . ."

I don't really know how long she went on with her snappy monologue, because we ran away as soon as Jonah finally finished. But we didn't really escape. When we had almost finished shopping and were passing through the cereal aisle, Jonah let loose a single, emphatic, "Snap!"

Hide and Seek

The kids were playing hide and seek in the house yesterday. (It's become the ONLY game they play, ever since the teenagers taught them how to follow the rules.) Anna and Sarah took turns being It, and Jonah hid with them.

Suddenly Jonah said, "I want to be It! It's my turn."

"You can't count to thirty," said Sarah.

Anna said, "No, Sissy, it's his turn. Now Jonah, stay here and close your eyes and count." And they ran away from him.

Jonah shut his eyes and buried them in his hands. "Dear God, thank you for Maggie and Abbie and Superman. And Jesus loves me. Amen. . . Ready or not, here I come!"

The Freedom in a Tiny Chinese Kitchen

When I met Jason, my worst fear was becoming someone's wife.

Especially if that someone happened to be a pastor, or worse, a missionary.

I couldn't stand the thought of missing the action, keeping silent while someone else shared the Gospel, cooking dinner while he was off teaching a Bible study, trapped in "Church and Home Outreach," as our denomination likes to call it. I desperately wanted to be the one out in the streets of the Sudan, proclaiming Christ with a gun to my head, which did not commend itself well to matrimony.

I went to college with all the preacher boys, whose choices seemed so much broader than mine. I competed with them ruthlessly in class, trying to prove to myself that God could do the same things with me that He could do with them. But I was petrified that He wouldn't, especially if I were a wife.

So that night, the first night of the semester exchange in Hong Kong, when I met Jason, the big, Texan ministry major, I wasn't interested.

He befriended me as the weeks passed, despite my best efforts. He showed up at my door every day at lunch, even when I politely asked him to stop it. He refused to let me explore the city alone, and followed me everywhere, at all hours. He taught me guitar. He partnered with me in missions, on campus and on the mainland. He sat outside, praying, while my Chinese roommate gave her life to Christ.

I began to trust that he had no intentions of shutting me up in a box.

An American couple took interest in us. Roger was a religion and history professor, and Sue taught language classes on campus for free. They were in their late thirties, vibrant, and very intentional and passionate in leading their Chinese students gently to Christ.

I don't remember how we met them. I only remember that first time, in Sue and Roger's tiny apartment, getting ready to welcome a horde of students to an Easter party, where we would share Christ. I remember Sue taking me to the kitchen, assigning me vegetables to cut and tea to brew. I remember not being the least bit frightened that I would be trapped in the kitchen all night, doing "women's work," missing all the excitement, because I trusted that she was just as anxious to go to work as I was. I trusted that the time we spent there was important. Sue showed me that the vegetables and the tea were part of the evangelism. That the welcoming and the serving and the honoring made way for the Gospel. You do your work in the kitchen; you set your table well; and then you point to Christ.

That night, and many nights following, I saw God use Sue in the same way I wanted Him to use me: proclaiming the good news to the lost. He did it through her marriage and her home, and not in spite of it. I had nothing to fear.

That, more than anything, enabled me to trust God enough to marry.

Now, eight years later, God is using some of those preacher-boy classes on church planting movements and missiology. But the most useful lessons are the ones God taught in that narrow kitchen, laying out food, welcoming guests. God lets me be the wife and the mom, so that I can share the Gospel with those who haven't heard, like Roger and Sue are probably doing tonight, welcoming people to Christ with real-world hospitality. And that has proven such a joy.

Off the Wagon

My sink is not shining. I don't want to shine it. It's 10:00 at night. I just walked all over town in the dark. I'm tired. I'm beginning to wonder why no one else ever shines it. Or the table. Or the counters. I'd like to take a shower and go to bed.

BUT. . . tomorrow afternoon at least six hungry teenagers will be in my kitchen expecting a meal and a clean house to hang out in. If my sink is shining tomorrow, I can focus on more important things; I can enjoy the cooking and the chatting and the welcoming. I like that idea. So I shine my sink. Man, sometimes blogging really helps.

Flattery

Jason: Weren't those awesome pancakes, guys?

Anna: I loved the syrup!

Sarah: I loved the butter!

Jonah: I love giants!

Out of Commission

Since I still have a hole in my arm (see below), which LEAKS and prevents my hand from functioning properly, Jason retrieved the baby from her crib this morning.

As soon as he picked her up, Naiah said, "Mommy, please."

Flesh Wound

Knight 1: Your whole arm's off!
Knight 2: Merely a flesh wound.

--Monty Python

Puncture wounds are entirely devoid of drama, apparently. When Jonah lacerated his chin, he got several shots for pain, and six stitches, which he slept through. That was a satisfactory amount of medical attention, to my mind. Address the pain; sew up the hole; send him home.

So today, I go to all the trouble of stabbing myself in the arm with a ten-inch piece of pointed glass, and, naturally, I expect a little hoopla when I arrive in the emergency room. I had all sorts of exciting symptoms like tingling, burning, numbness, inability to move my fingers. . . As far as my puny lay mind could discern, this was something of a big deal. Hello? There's a hole in my arm over an inch deep! Blood! Gore! Fix it!

You know what that doctor said to me? Soak it in epsom salts twice a day. Clean it with peroxide. Change the Band-Aid.

Dude. My grandma could have told me that. Sew up the hole!

So yeah. For all my trouble I got a lousy Band-Aid on my arm. And it hurts to type. And I feel like a big hypochondriac baby for making Jenn come over here and watch my kids while Jason rushed home from work. (Oh, and incidentally, she cleaned my house and cooked for my family while I was off getting soaked and bandaged. Yes, she is my friend.)

Scary Smart

The girls were working through some new addition cards, using counters. I demonstrated how to line up the counters and find out the sums. The first card I gave to Sarah was '9 + 3.' She just looked at it.

"Use your counters, Sarah," I said. "Remember how we lined them up?"

She didn't budge. I started to get another card, to show her again. Then she said, "It's twelve."

". . . Um, yeah. . . How did you know that?"

"I just thinked about it."

Alrighty then.

The First Day of School

Today I formally started to homeschool the girls. I guarantee you, you have never seen two four-year-old girls so stoked about anything in your life! We've been doing it sporadically since they turned three, reading and adding and writing, as they felt the urge to do so. But today was a day to help me realize that it's time to get down to the business of scheduled, planned, purposed schooling.

So last week, I set up half of the office with a bulletin board, bookshelves (stocked with all our supplies), and a white board. This morning we added the table and chairs, and voila! instant classroom. I think it's pretty cute. If I knew how to make Linux download pictures off of my camera, I'd show you. (grumble, grumble, Linux. . . )

Our schedule was simple. It went something like this:

Reading and Writing: 30 minutes
Math: 20 minutes
Journal: 10 minutes

We started with prayer, and went to work. They took turns during reading and writing time. For writing, they worked alone on word problems in a basic 1st grade skill book. For reading, they did the first lesson in a 1st grade primer. For math, we used manipulatives to prove all the ways to add to 10, using whole numbers. And for journal time, they wrote a sentence about their first day of school.

I LOVE THIS. This is so much more fun and relaxing than teaching a classroom full of junior highers who don't care a whit about Spanish, and whose parents are less concerned about it than the kids. The girls are working at their own pace, having a blast, and begging for more.

I'm sure it won't always be this easy, but now I can't imagine doing anything else.

P.S. Anna called me "Teacher Mommy." :)

Trackers

The kids and I went walking in the woods today, down a wide, dusty trail, covered in animal tracks.

"Those are deer tracks," I told the kids.

"Let's follow them and find the deer!" said Anna.

"Yeah!" said Sarah.

We walked a little further.

"These are raccoon tracks," I said.

"Let's follow them and find the raccoons!" said Anna.

"They're probably sleeping right now," I said.

"Oh. . . Hey! I see a bear track!" she said.

"Maybe we shouldn't follow that one," said Sarah.

* * *

Note to concerned readers: The bear track Anna saw was actually human. I haven't heard of bears coming up here, although I suppose it could happen. Oh, and we found three young deer.