Just Because

It's My New Favourite

Oh, Teething...You're So Much More Fun When You're Over

After spending the last three days in whining agony due to teething (the whining from Littles due to the teething, the agony from me due to the whining), we seem to have made a turn for the better. This morning, Littles thinks everything is funny, which is a great way to show off the four new teeth that came through this weekend. I've found that his good mood is rubbing off on me, in spite of the fact that I woke up in an unusually grumpy (for me) mood mostly brought about by the last three days of...you got it...whining agony. Let's put it this way: I went to bed last night at 8.30 in preparation for another day of ear drum shredding yowls. From the looks of it, though, God is not going to push me beyond what I can endure. Especially when I'm completely out of caffeinated coffee and will remain so until I make it to the commissary this week.

And on that note, I'm going to get up and start taking care of everything I've put on hold for the last three days while in Teething Survival Mode. I also need to rescue my cell phone from the Little Man who is probably busy running up my phone bill by calling his aunt in Yemen. What fun I have before me!

Creaking Tables

One of my favourite blessings
(he's since had a haircut, thank goodness)

My morning started out at the breakfast table with my two men. I'm not saying that the table was legitimately creaking, but it was a nice spread: banana bread, bran muffins, coffee, a gorgeous creamer/sugar set given to me by a dear friend, grapes, kiwi, and a bouquet of golden daffodils. I should've taken a picture. Still, it was the very act of sitting down to breakfast with the two people I love most in the world that made the moment, one that should be infinitely ordinary, so very perfect. It was gone in less than an hour as the Man headed off to work and Littles began his usual rampage by putting his jacket on over his pajamas (this is his new thing) and going into Destructo-mode. But I "treasured up all these things in my heart," if you will.

I was reflecting tonight (it happens when the Man is stuck late at work) on how the image of a creaking table is emblematic of my life right now. We have been so very blessed in countless ways--by friends, family, places to serve, a beautiful little home, a life that is full.... I'm thinking of this a bit more than usual, perhaps, as we received news that the military has plans for us elsewhere, in Oklahoma, actually. That, in itself, is a blessing as the job the Man has received is a step upward career-wise (I'm so proud of him!) and will also, hopefully, provide us with some much needed family time. But it has made me very aware of all the wonderful things--mostly people--we will miss about being here and the awareness has made me so thankful. As another writer once said: my cup runneth over.

We still have another four months before we head out on the next adventure, and I plan to use them relishing the creaking tables in my life. All of them.

Otters, Stars, and a Moonchild

Even a small star shines in the darkness.

Finnish Proverb

This morning I read the Little Man A Lot of Otters by Barbara Helen Berger. He made it to around page three before he jumped ship, but I found a new favourite. It's a simple book with beautiful watercolour illustrations that tells the story of the Moon who is weeping for her lost child. Her tears are falling stars found by a "lot" of otters who taste them and play with them until the light of the stars finally leads the Moon to her child who has been floating around in the ocean in a cardboard box. I already had a weakness for otters (the Redwall books did that for me), and now I may have to poke around for some more Berger books. Especially since she made the moon and her child obviously Asian. 

For inquiring minds that want to know, a group of otters is actually referred to as a bevy, family, lodge, or romp, or (if in the water) a raft. But I think "lot" should catch on soon. After all, it has the whole semirhyme thing going for it.

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?