I promise...

...that I read more than one book this month.

I just never got around to blogging about the other books I read. And honestly, February is such a short, insignificant month that I get a free pass, right? Especially since our entire family spent at least half of the month sick...

This weekend, a friend lent me Woman to Woman: Sharing Jesus with a Muslim Friend by Joy Loewen. I read the book in around twenty four hours; it was excellent. If you have a Muslim neighbor or friend and want to learn more about how to share with them the Greatest Gift, take some time to read through this book. If you don't know much about Muslims or think that they are all terrorists, please: read this book. If you just want to learn more about Jesus and other cultures because you don't know how or where God wants to use you, go read this book. Not only was it a challenge for me, but it was an encouragement! It called me to prayer and to a fervent desire to share more earnestly with the Muslim women I know (even though evangelism is not my strong suit).

I grew up in a large Muslim country, so Muslims have always had a special place in my heart. As children of Ishmael, the one that God heard, I know that He loves them too and has a purpose and hope for them. If you don't have the time to sit down and read all of Loewen's book, take a look at her blog and maybe learn something new that can get you started. Either way, take the time to pray for those who are trapped in the legalism of a sad religion that promises no truth, hope, or grace.

It's a Good Day

I woke to the sound of rain sending me morse code messages through the window. And this is what the rain said to me:

Wake up! Wake up! Come nestle down in the recliner and watch me bounce across the window screens in jubilation! Bathe yourself in words of truth and beauty. Kiss your husband goodbye as he leaves for work. Have a cup of coffee, an English muffin, and some kiwi with your son. Revel in the giggles of a toddler playing ball with his feline best friend. Enjoy the sound of the washer, dryer, and dishwasher all running at the same time, knowing that you are "subduing the earth" with a 21st century flair. Take the time to say thank You for the blessings that have been given: for the quality and quantity time, for the side-by-side growth, for the enlargement of your heart, for a quiet Friday morning rain. Wake up and know...

I thought the rain gave very good advice. So I got up. And it was so.

But then I went to go intervene on the behalf of a library book that was about to be shredded by the aforementioned toddler/son, and I think the cat got my coffee. I do brew a good cup every now and then.

Watery Response

I was not a big crier in my past life (as in, before the last couple of years). I'm not saying I was stoic or that I never cried or even that I rarely cried, but that I can count on one hand the number of movies that made me tear up. Maybe even one hand minus a few of the unimportant fingers. Let's use that as a guide for the rest of this post.

People (people being the Man, mostly) told me that would all change when I became a mother. The problem is that my entrance into motherhood coincided unfortunately with the Man's first deployment so I'm unsure if I can blame the waterworks that is now me (on occasion) on the baby or on the military. For example: this morning I was reading a friend's blog. She writes gorgeous pieces that vary spectacularly from the tear jerker to the laughter inducing and never overplays her words so as to land awkwardly in the cheesy-mush that so often swallows up less adequate writers. Best of all, she takes incredible photographs. Beside the point. Three weeks ago her husband got back from his fifteen month deployment with the Army, and she's been writing about how she and her two pre-school sons are readjusting to the joy of having daddy home. So I'm reading through her blog this morning as Littles and I are eating breakfast, and all of a sudden, I notice that tears are just streaming down my face, tiny salty rivulets splashing off my cheeks and into Little's yogurt. No lie. Well, I don't think I contaminated his yogurt, but seriously about the whole crying thing. There was no sniffling. No sobbing. No conscious decision that I needed to cry about what she was writing. It was just an automatic reaction: my eyes deciding to pour forth and let it rain.

So here's my question: am I crying because I am a military wife who has had an emotional reaction or am I crying because I'm now a mom and, evidently, that's what moms do? It is so hard to know! I understood the whole crying while pregnant thing (even if it was crying over an Animal Abuse Awareness ad playing on the Jiffylube TV), but this whole weepy thing needs to stop eventually... Right?

Triple Threat

This is the face of sickness:

I was smiling then. Not so much now. All three of us have been taken down by the Black Plague. We've spent a lot of time sleeping and whining and cuddling (that one's for Little--the Man and I are so gross, we don't even want to touch each other). And then the movie we'd been saving for the weekend turned out to be scratched. We had to laugh. And then proceed into a fit of fevered coughing. 

I have so many other things to do, but everything comes to a halt until healing descends upon us and I get this house disinfected. The poor Man still has to go into work since he's "no longer contagious". I guess there are benefits to being a SAHM.

Debating

You know that awkward moment where you might have enough time to shower before you need to go somewhere, but you're not sure, so you debate whether or not you have sufficient time until you realize that you now definitely don't have enough time and should probably go ahead and get dressed and put a hat over your nasty, unwashed hair while spraying on lots of body spray? Yeah, I'm in that moment. But still in the debating part. How long does a shower's effect last for? At least forty eight hours, right? So long as you don't indulge in any form of sweat-inducing exercise...

Have I mentioned before on here that 1) I procrastinate and 2) I oddly dislike getting in the shower? I like the actual act of showering, just not the process of getting there. It's like going to the bathroom: you feel better afterward, but it's just one of those things you have to do. Guess I should jump in now so that I don't subject the women in my Bible study to this... but only after I take care of a couple things first. I've still got, what, twenty minutes? That's totally enough time.

EDIT (08.02.2011): I did make it in the shower yesterday (15 minutes total to get ready, and I had time to spare). And my dad's response to this post was: TMI. msf