The Princess and the Cross

Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.  For if anyone thinks himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself.  But let each one examine his own work, and then he will have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another.  For each one shall bear his own load.  Galatians 6:2-5

    The first word burdens in the Greek is baros and is used figuratively for weight, load, abundance, or authority.
    The second word load or burden in the Greek is phortion (for-tee-on) which means an invoice (as part of a freight), a task or service.  It looks like "portion", but believe it or not, it is more similar in word form to the word "fortunate".
    The King James version repeats the same word in these verses:  "Bear one another's burdens.......each one shall bear his own burden"..... Sounds contradictory, doesn't it?
    Several years ago I had read my first issue of Voice of the Martyrs magazine.  After reading article after article about persecuted Christians around the world, I was grieved and ashamed about the simplicity of my own life.  I could not imagine my children being ripped from my arms, witnessing the murder of someone as close as a spouse or child, being denied by family, or experiencing the pain of physical torture as an attempt to force me to deny my faith.  I sat on my couch with the magazine clung to my chest, tears running down my face, and cried out to the Lord with a visual.
    I imagined a long line of Christians.  They were wearing torn and filthy clothing and were bruised and bloodied.  As I stood in this line, I imagined that both the persons in front and behind me and all those before and after them were greatly burdened with huge, wooden crosses.  They were hunched over and groaning and could barely shuffle along as we traveled.  I showed the Lord this line and then gestured to myself as I stood in it.  There I was, clean, upright, and strong.  I was wearing a beautiful, long, pink, princess gown and the only cross to be found was a shiny little necklace around my neck. 
"Oh, Lord!  Why do all these wonderful people have such horrible crosses and all I have is this little one?" 
He answered,
"Jennifer, if everyone had such crosses, who could help the others carry theirs?" 
  He then showed a visual of me in the line running to the person ahead of me and assisting with his cross.  I eased his burden and began to see relief on his face.  He was strengthened and able to go on.  I then ran to the person behind me and did the same.  There were so many people to help!  I knew that my dress would get soiled and sweat was sure to break out on my delicate princess forehead from such labor, but I couldn't bear to watch their suffering while my hands were free.  But even though the task of helping so many seemed so great, I was still overwhelmed at my easy lot compared to theirs. 
"Lord, how can I live like this?  How can I bear to be so adorned and blessed while others around me are so weary, burdened, and persecuted for Christ?"
He answered simply,
"That is your cross to bear." 
   Our Lord is a just God and as I grew in Christ, I realized that although I may have had a season of free hands, there would be times when I, too, would feel an overwhelming cross upon my back.
   To my relief, brothers and sisters in Christ ran to my rescue and eased the burden.  I have been lifted with encouraging words, common experiences, timely verses, much needed hugs, much needed checks, groceries and food delivered to my door, and a mighty caravan of Christians moving us from one home to another.  How comforting to have kind and gentle eyes look into yours and a voice that simply says, "I've been there too."  Most of the time, the lifting came with the realization that I was doing so well in spite of my circumstances because my brethren were praying for me.  Yes, I knew they were praying because there was simply no way I could have made it in my own strength.
   These experiences have also taught me that when I do occasionally find myself as the "princess", I must pay attention to those around me so I can even recognize when someone has an overwhelming cross.  This means I must look into the lives of others, ask sincere questions, study faces, build trust, and know my brethren well. The enemy will often try hard to preoccupy me with the busyness of my own life so that I am so insensitive to the Holy Spirit, the Lord has to fling a big cross on my back just to get my attention.  No bit and bridle for me, thank you.  I'd rather abide, listen to that Still, Small Voice and walk accordingly.  I must also be willing to roll up my sleeves and take action. 
   Does the Lord actually want me to inconvenience myself, soil my pretty dress, and do something physical like clean this person's home, babysit her four or more children, hold her hand at a funeral, go with her to chemotherapy, cook a meal, or give away my last ten bucks?  Yep.  Remember, faith without works is dead.  A pretty, perfect looking princess is no princess at all in His kingdom.  His princesses are more like Cinderella.  Serve your brethren without complaining and you get to live happily ever after with The Prince.  I don't ask if I should pray anymore.  That, I have learned, is a very silly question. 
   Does the Lord want my children to eat bowls of cereal for dinner each night while I deliver gourmet style casseroles to all the widows?  Does He want me to leave my husband alone with five children three nights a week while I engage in various "ministries"?  Does he expect me to forsake marriage, laundry, homeschooling, and personal hygiene so that I might leave for a six week mission trip with my more spiritually minded girlfriends?  Uh, no.  Do not get carried away, my sister.  There may very well be times when you go without eating to help someone else, but don't allow Satan to pervert your enthusiasm and hurt your family.
   As for those seasons when I unexpectedly and suddenly discover that a large, overwhelming cross has been placed upon my own back, I have learned to humble myself and ask for help when I need it.  Even the Lord Jesus had help with His cross and I am certainly not better than He.  My cross shall always pale in comparison to His, but so, unfortunately, will my humility.  It is ridiculous to imagine walking around trying to act normal and pretend that everything is just hunky dory when there is a three hundred pound, splintering cross upon your back; but, my friends, our brethren do it all the time.  Those in leadership positions are especially vulnerable to this temptation. 
   It is unfortunate, but true, that others may judge us for having such crosses.  After all, we might have deserved them.  This is the thinking that has kept me and others from confessing a need for help in the past.  I can't let these people know I'm depressed.  I can't let these people know I'm broke, my marriage is shakey, my kids are rebellious, I am wrestling with a carnal sin, I don't have my act together....... it goes on and on.  That is the risk we must take for the sake of truth and recovery.  How we underestimate our brethren the way we underestimate our God!  I have witnessed pillars - men and women at whose feet I would be honored to sit - have their reputations besmirched and their hearts ripped out by lying tongues.  Some brethren may very well judge you, but keep in mind, honest friend, God is a just and faithful Father.  Some of your harshest critics have humbling crosses waiting for them right around the corner.  When that time comes, roll up your forgiving sleeves for them as well and bring glory to your God!
  Inevitably, the one trying to make the perfect impression crumbles under the weight and the feared humiliation finally washes over him.  Either he receives help and recovers from the stumble, or he runs away.  This is persecution?  How does this even compare with the sufferings of those abroad who are dying for their faith?  Born again Christians die for their faith everyday.  There are two kinds of dying for Jesus.  You can literally die as a martyr.  You can also die daily for Him while you live.  Pick up your cross and follow Me...... We all must die in order that we may truly live.  It is a waste of time to compare your destiny with those of others.  You must simply live your destiny well.
    There are obvious attacks against Christians through flesh and blood as Satan attempts to grieve and wound our precious Father who loves us to death.  I am also convinced, however, that many of our satanically orchestrated circumstances are a form of persecution as well.  This is a wearing down of God's people who think they are immune to oppression, because, after all, we live in a free country.......
    Jesus said that those who try to live a Godly life in Christ Jesus would be persecuted.  Period.  If He said it, it will happen.  Sometimes my circumstances are a true persecution event, other times they are simply a diversion to keep me too inwardly focused to care about anyone else.  While you are in the pit, it is always prudent to pray for others while you are praying for yourself.  It is truly a selfless and noble act and God honors it.  Don't forget that.
    Eventually, each one of us shall stand alone before the King of Kings and our "load" bearing will be examined. Did we help others with their loads?  Did we overcome ours - not because we were supermen and women, but because we were humble men and women who asked and received help?  In so doing, by the way, others may receive their rewards from the Lord for helping us.......
    We must bear each others burdens.  We must not be too proud to give help and we must not be too proud to receive it.  We are each personally responsible for our choices and priorities and will ultimately have to bear the load of our consequences or rewards alone when we have them evaluated before our Ultimate Example.  Yes, He gives much grace, but alas, He also gives much warning.

Toes And Teeth

     I was hopping up our stairs the other day in a pair of my favorite fuzzy flip flops, when the tip of my flip flop "flipped" on a stair and my big, left toe "flopped" in the opposite direction.  Then I "flopped" onto the landing thinking, "Oooo, this one's gonna hurt."  My toe is now UUUUGLY and I'm not sure if it is just sprained or fractured, so I've decided to keep it elevated and stay in my bed like a princess for a few days.  I try not to look at it because it is DISTURBING, so I keep it covered with a blankie like it's deceased or something.
     Meanwhile, my youngest has been struggling with his VERY FIRST loose tooth.  For some reason, the first wiggly tooth has been a bit traumatic for all my kids except for Harrison (kid number three).  Harrison yanks them out if they even THINK about getting wiggly in hopes of a cash reward.  We do not do the tooth fairy thing, but my husband has been known to slip a kid a dollar in celebration when this event does occur. 
    My memories of children and the loss of the FIRST tooth include much whining and vacillating of, "Please pull it out... wait!  No!  Don't do it!"  My oldest, who is ironically terrified of the dentist, has been pursuing Joseph with many various and sundry methods for tooth removal.  She has offered to tie it to just about anything as a physics experiment.  Her favorite idea is tying it to a toaster and flinging it out a window.  See six year old's eyes widen. (Uh, NOT HELPING, Hayden!)  Her ichy little fingers have been dying to yank the little treasure out.  "I just want to SEE it, Joey!"  Little head shakes "No". 
    I finally resorted to the method I used with child number four.  I offered to sneak into the patient's room while he is sleeping and pull it out.  This was very easy with Sammy because he sleeps like his father.  Total surrender - mouth wide open.  I simply went in, tugged, and the kid didn't even move.  Joey, however, sleeps LIKE HIS MOTHER: like a soldier surrounded by the enemy.  Any little noise opens my eyes and I faithfully keep my mouth clamped shut in case any kind of spider wants to journey down my esophagus (could happen!).  I don't think I ever completely let go.  Each time I hobbled into the room (toe injury, remember), and attempted to pull out the little rebel, Joey would clamp his teeth together and turn his head away in his sleep.  I must have tried a half a dozen times that first night.  My husband tried it early the next morning and had the same response.  I have never prayed so hard about a tooth!  "Please, Lord, don't let it bleed.  Please Lord, let it not be traumatic.  Please Lord, don't let him swallow it!"  I tried again last night to no avail. 
   This morning, I woke up with Joey snuggled in my arms and Hayden, my oldest daughter, standing over us.  "Hey Joey, did your tooth come out?"  Joey quickly pulled the blanket over his head and spoke to her from underneath,
"It is coming out TODAY." 
"WHAT did you say?  I can't understand you under there!"
Head pops out.  I SAID, (head goes back under blanket)  "It's coming out to....AUGH!!!!!! (head pops out) "It's out, it's out!"
Joey is grinning triumphantly with a little bitty speck of a tooth cradled in the palm of his hand.  "Momma, you're my HERO!"
Momma is confused.  "Whaaaa?"
"When I crawled into your bed, you hit my tooth with your elbow while you were sleeping and you made it DANGLE!"
I had to laugh and delight in the Lord's sense of humor.  "Joey!  The Lord pulled a fast one on us!  I couldn't sneak into your room and pull it out while YOU were sleeping, so He had you sneak into my room and had me pull it out while I was sleeping!" I've been smiling all morning.  The Lord even knows how to handle uptight, recovering control freaks like us: with humor and great gentleness.  How I love Him! 
   Joey and I actually have something in common with my toe and his tooth.  And it's the BEST!  BENDY STRAWS!  Wooo Hooo!  I keep the bendy straws in my big first aid bin.  They are USUALLY only used for bedridden occasions.  I promised Joey he could use one through his new gap once his tooth was out.  And I, of course, am bedridden so I get one too.  Bendy straws always make things better.
     Meanwhile, I shall continue to teach school from my new "control" center: the bed.  I sort of like folks bringing me my meals while my foot is up, but it IS pretty boring and I am beginning to think my little darlings may be taking advantage of my situation.  They keep disappearing and I think I heard some air hockey going on this morning.  "Hey!  Are you boys doing your math?!  Emily, where ARE you? Alright, everybody bring your stuff into Momma's room.  Whoa, watch the foot!"
    The most DANGEROUS result of my injury is watching waaay too much HGTV.  Anyone want her house redecorated?  Cuz I GOT IDEAS.......

Transition

Baby number five (Joey) and I in 2005.

    

     When I was pregnant with my first child, my husband and I attended Bradley Method birthing classes.  Natural childbirth.  No pain meds.  We had been coached for months and prepared the best we could for labor.  We had even prepared for the phase of labor when "you think you're gonna die" called transition.  This is the phase right before you get to push: the peak of the birth pangs.  After five births (three at home) and over six years to recover from my last birthing experience, the word transition still brings me a little flashback and I have to shake my head and marvel.  Transition.  Yep, ya think you're gonna die. 
    But you don't.  Somehow you make it.  Soon, there is a miracle in your arms and you forget the pain.  Soon you're crying with joy instead of agony.  Sometimes you just gotta HANG ON until it's time to push and then - sweet peace.  A miracle.  And that time before pushing?  Forget the dignity, man.  You're focused.  You want relief.  You'll ask ANYONE for help.  My mom used to joke that while she was having babies in the hospital, the door could have been wide open and the janitor could have walked by and she wouldn't have cared.  Forget the modesty.  I WANT THIS PAIN TO BE OVER!  That is the common attitude of "transition".
    No, I'm not pregnant.  But somehow that word has been popping up a lot lately.  I've heard it in the news.  First I witnessed Maria Shriver asking for counsel during her painful time of "transition",  I read an article about Billy Graham entering his "twilight" season of life and being referred to as being in a time of "transition", and then there was Cher's former daughter, now son, Chaz, promoting "his" book, "Transition".  You cannot attend a graduation without hearing the word in someone's speech.  And finally, today, I heard it in church as we prepare to place a new brother in the position of Elder.  We are to pray for a smooth "transition".
    When I sought this word in the dictionary, its meaning was far less loaded than the one it holds for me - far less painful.  It simply means a great change.  I suppose most people believe the nature of the change and its magnitude affects the level of pain involved, but I'd like to share a secret with you about that pain and how to reduce it.  Personally, my family has been joyfully recuperating from a time of transition.
    Since my last entry in October, we lost our home to foreclosure after trying everything we could to save it.  My husband had lost his job and though he found another one shortly thereafter and received a promotion within months, the raise would not materialize for another six months and by then it was too late.  We prayed and prayed and prayed - but it became clear that the Lord was moving us without delay.  Losing your home can be miserable enough - but MOVING - Sista, don't get me stahhhted.....
    I have two terms I use for the little random thingies you find under cushions, along walls and under beds.  If I'm uh, irritable (rare indeed), I refer to them as "lil' cruddies".  I might use this term while I am whittling an impaled Lego out of the arch of my foot, "No, this room is NOT clean. Pah-leese get the Lil' cruddies OFF OF THE FLOOR!"  There are other times, however, I refer to these tiny mementos with affection.  Then they become "lil' froo froos".  I might use this term when a good child has been working very hard, but I would like that one last detail. "Sweetheart, would you mind vacuuming up the lil' froo froos along the walls of your room?"  Transition often reveals cruddies you never knew you had: big, ugly, mutated cruddies. 
   My husband had to build a new chicken coop for our neighbors so they could adopt our twelve chickens, our other neighbor took two of our dogs, and I was overwhelmed by the accumulated STUFF in our unfinished upstairs.  The cruddies had been secretly breeding..........Ya just wanna cry.  Yes, it was unpleasant.  But strangely enough, it wasn't that bad.
    Our new church family moved us out and into storage within a weekend.  I had packed and cleaned and labeled.  I had vacummed every possible cruddy from under and behind every piece of furniture to prevent further humiliation.  After all the furniture had been moved out, I could see a DIRT RING encircling my livingroom walls where furniture used to rest.  My carpet was outlined with a lighter shade where it had been dutifully protected by couches.  Oh, the horror for a neat freak like me.  Yet, it still wasn't that bad.  Scott and I have a wacky sense of humor, but it was more than that.  We were trusting Him.  That is the secret.  And that is why we saw Him move in quite an amazing way.
    Through noble and faithful brethren, the Lord provided a home for us five minutes from our church in a fabulous neighborhood with an additional 1000 square feet of space and alas, finally, a two car garage.  I now have the hardwood floors I'd always dreamed of and a fireplace.  The den (uh, I call it a familyroom) is gi-normous.  We are in a neighborhood with paved driveways and sidewalks and I can drive to the grocery store without packing a lunch.  WE ARE SO HAPPY HERE. 
    We are still amazed at what the Lord did for us.  We originally resisted and fought through the transition He had ordained.  But once we recognized Him as the mover, we dutifully surrendered.  I state this not to pat ourselves on the back, but to encourage you.  Now we shake our heads and laugh and marvel at His plan.  Wow, it truly WAS to prosper us and not to harm us! Didn't we already know this?  Not always.  In the past, I used to dissect myself when bad things would happen.  "I must be getting JUDGED.  I am such a horrible sinner that God is taking  (fill in the blank) away.  God is PUNISHING me.  But what exactly have I done?"  Ah, the little cruddies that lurked within me and revealed my perception about God!  And so part of my pain was chasing my tail until I'd carved a nice pit for myself.  By assuming my Heavenly Father was always judging me, I, in reality, was actually judging (and greatly underestimating) Him.  I imagined all these cruddies that I must be getting punished for (I am a poor steward because I haven't clipped coupons in two weeks.  This must be because I splurged and bought that frappuccino.....).  Those are the froo froos with God.  The crud is the lack of trust.  I've discovered that is one of the things that really grieves Him.  That discovery occurred because of my experiences with Him during transition.  I rejoice not in my victory - but in His.  He is the Author of my faith.  Thank You, Dear Lord, for Spiritual progress.
     We try to prepare for testing and trusting when it's tough, but it's just like those birthing classes.  You convince yourself, I can do this!  I'm ready!  Bring it on!  And then those birth pains bring you to your knees and you cry, "Get this baby OUT!"  You forget the pride.  You are humbled and in the dust.  You ask for help and meekly accept it knowing that you'll NEVER be able to pay everyone back for being so wonderful.  My advice? Let the Lord have His way.  Our Lord was homeless and broken and suffered utter humiliation and agony.  We are to taste it now and then as well.  He tears down those walls and whistles for His church to put you back together because He wants a FAMILY.  And family is very real. 
    Ah, the sweet moment of miracle.  You hold it in your arms and rest for a little while.  You recuperate and delight in what the Lord has brought forth.  Hang in there, Friend.  Get ready to push and keep your eyes on the joy set before you.  How do you handle transition? Draw very very close to the One Who can truly bring you through it.  The more you trust, the less it hurts.  The more you humble yourself, the faster the rescue.  Our transition sounds bad in writing.  We lost our house.  But the truth is that it really wasn't that bad.  We trusted Him this time.  There is power and favor there. 
    Are you in sin?  Have you been ignoring the Lord?  Do you even KNOW Christ?  Well, then you may very well be getting judged.  On the other hand, if you are abiding in Him and doing your best, then it is very likely that the Lord is redirecting you as a loving Father and seeks to prosper you and not to harm you.
   Transition.  Birth pangs.  Jesus told us the entire WORLD was going to experience them (Matthew 24).  The Mommas know.  The pangs get worse.  They get closer together.  The Lord is birthing a KINGDOM.  That's a big baby.  If you aren't building on the Rock, you won't be "thinking you're gonna die" - you eventually, eternally, will.  As for my dearly loved brethren, keep your suffering in perspective and allow it to equip you for the days to come.  The time is coming when the church will be the midwife and not the patient.  If you're not His, you'd better get right.  If you are - trust Him.

Homemade Walls

Train:  To direct the growth of; to form by instruction, discipline, or drill; to teach so as to make fit, qualified, or proficient; to make prepared      

      For many years, Scott and I were involved in children's church ministries.  The Lord pulled us out almost a year ago and told us to place more focus on our own children and marriage.  It took the Lord several months to convince me that it was truly Him and not the devil telling us to leave these ministries.  Why would God tell us to stop teaching His children at the church?  Wasn't that a good thing?  God responded that we had been doing a good thing - but that His plan for us to leave was better than good.  Since then, I have experienced an entire paradigm shift in my feelings about children's and youth ministries, education, and about why many of our children and youth abandon their faith once they leave home. 
     I am convinced that many Christian families today are more influenced by our American culture than by the Word of God.  As a result, many parents don't train up their own children anymore - either academically or spiritually.  Women and men have lost their way in our androgynous society.  Mothers are convinced they must leave their homes to survive financially when the Scriptures clearly tell them to be homemakers (Titus 2:5).  The men are convinced their wives must leave as well.  Are there exceptions to God's Word when the economy is bad?  On the contrary, we are to expect testing.  Can God set a table in the wilderness? (See Psalm 78:19).  Beware of panicking in disbelief!  There is no orderly haven at home anymore.  Everyone is gone, busy, preoccupied.  No one is nurturing the children.  The spouses are too exhausted to nurture each other.  Christian families are falling apart.
      "Train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it." (Proverbs 22:6)  Most Christian parents have memorized this verse - and yet they allow the world to train up their children - and as the Scripture promises - their children are faithful not to depart from serving the world that trained them.  Forty hours a week, thirty-six weeks a year, thousands of Christian children are receiving intense teaching and modeling from strangers in the public school system.  And now there is a chance that school time is going to increase.  There are some Christian children who have been educated in the public school system and have remained in their faith, but they tend to be more tolerant of behaviors and ideas that contradict the Scriptures because of constant exposure and erosion.  I remember debating with a group of them at our Wednesday night teen discipleship class at a former church about whether or not it was okay to marry outside the faith.  Despite being shown the Scriptures, the kids just wouldn't accept that "being in love" wasn't enough.  They also had blurrier lines about what was considered "modest", dating issues, and acceptable language.  Simply put, they were "worldlier".  There are Christian parents who have their children in public school who strive to remain in constant communication with their children, provide home studies, and prayer; and see this as a great opportunity to reach the lost, but the focus of academics is much easier for your child (and you) if he is not bombarded with temptations and false teaching all day.
     To be fair, there are also children who have been homeschooled all of their lives who have abandoned Christ and fallen terribly.  In these situations, it is important to examine the other areas of these children's lives.  Not all Christian homeschooling families are healthy.  Just because Christian parents homeschool does not mean their children are being trained, nurtured, protected, and prayed for in a Christian environment.  Academics is only one component (albeit a major one) of your child's training.  I encourage both parents to prayerfully seek God's best for your children, but don't be surprised if the Lord tells you that you are what's best.  I taught public school for ten years and pursued a future as an administrator.  My father was an elementary school principal.  The fact that I am even homeschooling is an act of God.  Less than ten years ago, the idea of homeschooling was appalling to me. But as I continued to feed on God's Word and grow - and listen - the Lord changed my heart. 
     Pray for and with your child daily and specifically.  Don't just pray for safety and good behavior.  You must pray that the Lord will reveal Himself to your child personally so that a relationship will develop between your child and God.  Your child will never feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit and be led to resist and repent if he never develops this relationship.
     But my child will be a light to all those unsaved children in his school.  I want my children to relate to those who need to hear the Gospel.  These are major arguments of proponents of public schooling Christian children.  Unfortunately, they are not Scriptural.  Jesus didn't start His ministry until He was thirty.  I am not suggesting that our Lord wasn't mature or capable enough of beginning His ministry at a younger age, but the Bible states that Jesus is our example.  The Lord sets the timing for the ministries for which He calls us and He prepares us before sending us out.  Jesus was tested in the wilderness immediately after His baptism, Moses was sent out into the wilderness for forty years before he was sent back to deliver Israel, David was pursued by Saul in the wilderness and tested before stepping up to his position as king, the apostles walked with Jesus for three years before He ascended, and 1 Timothy states in 3:10 that all deacons must first meet specific requirements and be tested before being allowed to lead.  Our children are simply not ready to be thrust out onto a battlefield before training and testing.  The war is for their very souls and we greatly underestimate the wiles of the enemy until it's too late.  It isn't until our children leave the church that we ask, "What happened?"  We must train.  We must protect.  We must interfere and rebuke.
     Desiring for your child to relate to the lost will happen as he grows in Christ in God's timing.  Kids are born sinners, but the conviction of his own sin has to make its mark before he can discern what behaviors from his peers are acceptable for modeling.  Being immersed in various and sundry behaviors via school, the Internet, or television and video before one has a clear picture of right and wrong is confusing and promotes that sin is "not that big of a deal.  Everybody does this....."  It is written, "Do not love the world or the things in the world.  If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him." (First John 2:15) The ministry of the apostles was powerful (especially when the fear of the Lord came on everyone - see Acts).  Jesus dined with, taught, and ministered to many steeped in sin, but these were ministry encounters.  He was not being taught by these people, nor was He becoming good friends with them.  The good friends He regularly dwelt with saw Him as the authority.  The teachers in your child's life are the shepherds, and your child is the lamb.  It is dangerous to place your child under the authority of an institution that refuses to welcome God into the classroom and practice His ways.  It is also unwise to immerse him in a peer group where he is largely outnumbered by those who are not interested in pleasing the Lord.
     Some feel that their children must "experience" sin in order to be a convincing witness. This is ridiculous.  Though a virgin Himself, Christ was followed by former prostitutes.  We must walk in holiness if we are to make an impact, and still find sin utterly sinful and shocking, so we will see it, grieve, and intercede like we should.  We must remain salty.
     When speaking of the Messiah in His childhood, Isaiah stated, "Curds and honey He shall eat, that He may know to refuse the evil and choose the good."  (Isaiah 7:15)  If you want your child to choose the good and refuse the evil, train and protect him until he is a "wall".  The Song of Solomon describes two types of young brides, "If she is a wall, we will build upon her a battlement of silver; and if she is a door, we will enclose her with panels of cedar." (Song of Solomon 8:9)  Children, especially teenagers, can be doors.  They let in and let out.  A wall doesn't move.  When the bride is a wall, she is ready for battle.
     But Timothy was young and Paul told him not to let anyone despise his youth.  Paul wrote, "Let no one despise your youth, but be an example to the believers......" (1 Timothy 4:12).  Flip over to second Timothy 1:5, where Paul refers to the faith of Timothy's mother and grandmother.  Timothy was not being trained by a public institution.  He had been reared by Godly women in his life and was being mentored by the Apostle Paul himself.  Timothy wasn't your ordinary teenager.  And if you train yours Scripturally, yours won't be either.  Timothy had not only been trained by the best before being given authority, he had also been ordained. (1 Timothy 4:21) Most of all, Paul was exhorting him to be an example to the other believers - not a high school.        
     When you feel confident it is time to pair your child up with another teacher, mentor, etc., be selective.  Not only is it important for your child to be accountable to others, but there are wonderful teachers/parents who share your values, are trustworthy, and have more knowledge or skills than you in a particular subject area.  It is your responsibility to protect your child in extracurricular activities as well.  I am not promoting isolation by any means.  I am encouraging more parental leadership and discretion.  "Do not be deceived: Bad company corrupts good character" (1 Corinthians 15:33).  It matters who your child's friends are and the company he keeps.  You are expected to evaluate and even interfere with his social circle until his choices consistently reflect wisdom.   Eli and King David refused to interfere with their sons, and there were terrible consequences.
     In addition, many young Christians today are allowed to have "boyfriends" and "girlfriends" in a dating style relationship.  I encourage you to seek the Scriptures on this one.  This is a worldly behavior.  Opening this door before the age of marriage is asking for trouble.  No one needs to "practice" marital intimacy in this way.  A child who is starving for affection and love will be far more determined to seek outside satisfaction too early - so prevent that hunger!  Other reasons your teen may be overly interested in seeking a girlfriend or boyfriend may simply be because his/her peer group expects this behavior.  In addition, a teen may also have his curiosity stimulated through exposure to pornography.  It is a myth that teens feel an innate need to couple up.  These desires are often stimulated from an inappropriate outside source.
     In addition to your child's training in academics, it is also extremely important to evaluate your child's training in the church.  Many youth leaders come to the position with a teenager's perspective instead of a parental one.  Those "teenage friendly" leaders will be more likely to provide entertainment for you child rather than discipline and sound counsel.  Many are frequently trying to be a friend with your child instead of being a mentor.  I remember a time when the Lord had rebuked me and I cried out to Him, "I thought You were my friend!"  His reply was, "I Am, but I'm your God first."  Friendship is secondary to a leader's willingness to rebuke and even remove a contentious teen from a meeting.  (Yes, this Scriptural!)  Paul spoke of himself as "being in childbirth" and John referred to the church as "my little children".  Mentoring and leading any part of the church is a form of parenting.  We are the Bride of Christ.  The bride is the Mama. I'd like to pose a controversial question.  Should we even be having all of these youth activities?  Once again, to whom should the primary responsibility of the spiritual training of these kids belong?  Should our children even participate?
     There is a clear difference between supporting one another in training up our children (as Sunday school teachers, etc.) and being the primary source of that training.  Unfortunately, these intended positions of support often become the only consistent training many children/youth in the church are receiving.  The Lord made it clear to me that the seed I was scattering in my efforts to train up the children of others in various church ministries wasn't bearing as much fruit as I thought it was.  I'll never forget the morning I asked my Sunday School students to share what they had read in their Bibles that week and not one child had read it - and this was during a church wide push to get the congregation to read the entire Bible in a year. (I was still shocked that so few had already done so).  Although I was passionately encouraging my students to read and pray, there was no one supporting this the remaining six days of the week.   It is no wonder that so many Christians are more influenced by the culture than by the Bible.  They're not reading it! 
     I could see that my own children were losing their focus on the Lord and His Word as they were being led - yes, led by the church to be more connected and intimate with their peers and youth leaders than to their own parents.  I had asked a youth leader if my husband and I could attend his Sunday school series on finances with our daughters so we could follow up at home and do this as a family.  He actually discouraged us to attend because he feared parental input during his teaching. 
      My young sons were becoming more and more excited about seeing their friends and attending "fluff" events.  Their behavior began to resemble that of unchurched, undisciplined urchins.  The Lord had my attention, and after seeking Him about this, He told me there was a better way to bear fruit - at home.  "Bear fruit that will endure.......pour into your own children instead of hopefully pouring into the children of others and enabling their parents to continue in their disobedience....."  I am well aware that new Christians need to be discipled and are often clueless as to how to train up their children in the ways of the Lord, but the church is not teaching these new believers how to train up their children and encouraging them to do so - they are attempting to do it for them - and exhausting healthy families in the process.  Although some parenting classes exist, they are not made a priority in the church and the efforts to train them are undermined by offering options to escape that responsibility.  
     It is only the older women (not those with children at home) who are exhorted to teach in the Scriptures - and then they are only supposed to be teaching other women. (1 Timothy 2:12)  The Bible even explains what they are supposed to be teaching.  They are supposed to be teaching the women to stay at home! (See Titus 2 and 3) Even then, those younger women should not be spending so much time in their support groups and classes that "their feet never stay at home".  I speak from the experience of being a very enthusiastic volunteer from everything from teaching Sunday School to AWANAS to vacation Bible school.  In my sincere desire to serve, I was actually being disobedient to the Scriptures and was neglecting my family.  I was no longer my husband's helpmeet.  He had become mine. When my household began to fall apart, the Lord showed me my mistake.  Those families (like ours) who have already been discipled are not passing the torch to their own children; they are dropping them off in classrooms taught by others and the disconnect is growing larger.  In our case, we were having other people teach our kids so we could teach theirs!   Despite the genuine concern and silent disapproval we felt from the brethren we truly loved, we pulled away - not from attending church - just from attending all the crazy busyness that was consuming our time and keeping us too stressed out to "be still" and really hear God - as a family.
      My husband and I sought a more quiet, focused approach.  We pulled the kids out of all the "events" and "clubs" and collaborated on how we could take back the reins of our own family, become less scattered as we sought the Lord together, and model our family life after the Scriptures rather than after all of our peers.  We began "Humble Tuesdays" - a day devoted to prayer and committed our Thursday evenings to family Bible study/worship.  We continue to homeschool the children and started attending a very conservative church that does not have a youth "program" and strong worldly influences.  Although I feel that we have grown during this time, I can see the danger of becoming too inwardly focused and yearn to continue some type of outreach.  This blog is one of the ways I try to do that.
     My husband and I know now that we have not been called out of children's ministry, but more deeply into it.  It is called parenting.

The Ticket

Leviticus 4:13-14  If the entire Israelite community sins by violating one of the Lord's commands, but the people don't realize it, they are still guilty.  When the people become aware of their sin, they must bring a young bull as an offering for their sin and present it before the Tabernacle.

     A couple years ago I was driving my oldest daughter to a concert.  As I turned down Ladson Road, I realized I had not gone that way in awhile and wondered what the speed limit was.  Noticing the newly expanded, multiple lanes, I figured it must be 55.  Comfortable with my decision, I chose that speed and chatted with my daughter as I continued to drive along.  Within minutes, a police officer shot out of a subdivision as though he was waiting just for me.  I quickly pulled over.  To my horror, I discovered the actual speed limit was only 40 miles per hour on that particular residential section of Ladson Road.  I had been clocked going 57.  This was 17 miles per hour over the speed limit.
     Even though this was bad, I was fairly confident I would just receive a warning.  I honestly did not know I had been speeding and the Lord knew I never exceeded the speed limit when I knew what it was.  He had convicted me of speeding years ago.  In fact, I had never received a speeding ticket before in my entire life.
    When the police officer asked me for my proof of insurance and registration, I had difficulty locating it, because I didn't know what it looked like.  The officer went back to his car and started writing, and writing, and writing.  My daughter slowly began to sink down into her seat and smiled weakly.  I called my husband on my cell phone.  When the officer returned, I received a ticket for $180.00 and a warning for not having my paperwork.  Although I had located it with my husband's help, it was too late.
     For days I grieved and fumed at the injustice.  How could this happen to me?  It wasn't fair!  In fact, I had just reminded my husband to slow down on a 35 mile per hour road near our house only days before.  The Lord knew I sincerely tried to be careful.  He knew I was obedient to the law.  This must be the devil, I decided.  While I convinced myself I was being persecuted, I was interrupted by the Lord. 
He simply stated,
"You think I'm unfair." 
I became very quiet and listened. 
"I gave you that ticket, Jennifer Wand - not the devil." 
"Why, Lord?  You know I'm innocent.  You know I never speed.  Why on earth would You give me a ticket?"
"Were you driving the speed limit, Jennifer?" 
"No Sir, but I didn't know the speed limit." 
The Lord repeated His question. 
"Were you driving the speed limit, Jennifer?" 
"No Sir." 
"Then you are guilty of speeding.  Was the speed limit posted, Jennifer?"
"Yes Sir, but I didn't see the sign." 
"Did you look for the sign, Jennifer?" 
"No, Sir." 
I began to feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit.
     I had not checked the sign because I had felt comfortable with my choice.  I had believed my speed was reasonable.  I then began to think of all the unsaved friends and family I knew who were not interested in reading and obeying the Bible because they felt comfortable with their choices.  God showed me that my ignorance was chosen.  The signs were posted, I just wasn't looking for them.  Chosen ignorance is no excuse with the Lord.  I was still guilty of speeding.  
      I went to court in hopes of having my ticket reduced.  I repented to the Lord and prayed for mercy.  I became a very careful driver.  As I sat before the judge, I thought about Jesus and all the people who would have to stand before Him.  I looked at all the faces around me.  I listened to others talk to the judge.  I listened to excuses of those who were convinced they were innocent.  They too, believed their tickets were unfair.  I looked above the head of the judge and felt a surge of delight as I read "In God We Trust" in large letters above his head.
      When it was my turn, I walked up to the judge and pleaded guilty.  The judge simply asked me if I was polite to the police officer.  "Yes, Sir", I replied.  The judge smiled and said that he was reducing the speed on my ticket from 57 to 47 and changing my fine from $180.00 to $65.00.  Instead of taking four points off my license, he took two.  I was so grateful!  When I left the courtroom that day, I rejoiced because although I was guilty, I had received mercy from the judge!
       Now, more than several months later, I realize that I haven't been as concerned about the speed limit as I was several months ago.  It is only now, as I write this, I understand the importance of reliving events so I can remember the lesson of the ticket and drive accordingly.  I must also review and obey the signs and warnings the Lord has written in His Word.  When Jesus took the bread and cup, He said, "Do this in remembrance of Me."  I know that in order to walk as a Christian in a way that is pleasing to God, I must also relive and remember another far more wretched night - the night when Jesus paid my ticket.

Traveling The Wand Way

     I'm driving.  Scott is sitting in the passenger seat with his laptop at his side, ready to work on spreadsheets for work while we travel.  Our children are seated with electronic games and books resting in their laps.  We say a prayer while I pull out of the driveway.  We're heading to North Carolina to visit my brother and his family.  Our sons share a birthday and we are going to celebrate it together.  Only a few weeks ago, his wife gave birth to their third child, a girl, and we can't wait to see her.  The Wands love babies.
     We're so happy.  We love road trips too. The first stop is going to be at the gas station 'cause the Wands can't travel without snacks.  On the way, we pass a large cemetery.  And then it begins.  "Do you know why there is a fence in front of the cemetery?" asks my husband.  Heads pop up.  "Because everybody is just dying to get in!"  Groans.  "Do you know how many dead people are buried there?"  Silence.  "All of them!"  Giggles.  I give my husband a slightly amused look.  Jokes.  He is turning into his father.  Scott is grinning.  I think of an excited puppy with his head hanging out of a pick-up truck window.  Scott especially loves to travel while I am driving. 
     We pull into a Mom and Pops style, rural, convenience store.  Daughter number two walks in with us while the rest of the herd waits in the van.  My husband wanders over to the back and begins to fill his arms with various bottles of orange soda and Sierra Mist while I look around for a cappuccino machine.  I can smell smoke and I see a lady sitting at the back of the store working in books while a cigarette dangles from her lips.  She looks up and nods at me.  The entire place has a musty smell. I can't find a cappuccino machine and then notice a diner attached to the back of the store.  I order a small cappuccino and am handed a rather large Styrofoam cup filled to the top.  I take a sip and it is really good.  
       As we climb back into the van,  Scott begins passing out drinks.  This is exciting for my children.  They are only allowed to have one glass of decaffeinated soda on Fridays.  This is a Saturday and each child is receiving his own little bottle.  The sound of "psssstsss" from all the tops opening happen simultaneously.  I barely pull onto I-95 when Scott pulls out a bag of caramel "Bulls-eyes".  He begins throwing them to the kids like a fireman in a parade.  I shake my head.  It is only 9:30 in the morning. 
        I glance at Scott and still see his laptop on the floor next to him.  He pops in a Disney CD and begins to read the newspaper.  I am sipping my cappuccino (this is a treat for me too - did I say it was really good?).  "Lion King!"  My husband blurts out after the first few notes.  The music continues.  Scott smiles at me triumphantly.  I smile back.  He always does this.  He is playing his own little game of Name That Tune.  Game shows.  Did I mention that he is turning into his father?  It is a good thing that I happen to really like his father.  "Tarzan!"  He shouts without looking up, still turning the pages of his paper.
        The "Pedro" signs for South of the Border begin to appear as we draw closer to North Carolina.  The laptop is finally opened.  Scott is deeply engrossed in his paperwork.  The song on the CD is from Mulan.  "Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?" he sings along.  He is oblivious to the fact that he has been singing several princess songs in a row and this line finally makes me burst out laughing.  He looks up and starts looking around for what I am laughing at.  Pedro continues to call to me from the road, the CD is now turned off, and Scott comes up with another way to entertain himself.  "You need a GPS", he announces.  "A Yoda GPS."  He begins his Yoda impression.  "Turn right, you will", he commands me in his Grover-like voice.  I am tempted to just let go of the wheel and use the force to teach him a lesson, but I manage to resist the temptation.  After about ten minutes of this, Scott receives a warning look and turns the "GPS" off and the radio on. 
         A bag of peanut M&Ms is opened.  Daddy counts out little piles of five candies for each child and passes them back to the kids.  Daughter number two quickly devours hers and I see her ever so carefully slip her little paw into the M&M bag for more.  She knows I can see her and is peeking at me hopefully in the rear view mirror.  The Mama is sneaky too.  I grab her wrist unexpectedly and startle her.  This convinces Daddy that everyone needs another handful.  Three cheers for Daddy!  Eager hands reach from the back of the van.
          We pull into my brother's driveway.  The side door of the van slides open and three little boys spill out and land on top of each other on the the front lawn.  They scramble to their feet and race to the door.  "Don't ring the doorbell!" I yell as I race ahead of them to the entrance.  "There is a baby here, now!"  We briefly compose ourselves until the three boys begin hammering on the front door with all of their might.  My brother's twelve-year-old sister-in-law opens it, and my sons run past her to excitedly pounce on their cousins.  While introducing myself to my brother's mother-in-law, I hear a little commotion behind me.  "Is the baby in here?" child number five excitedly questions while grabbing the doorknob to the master bedroom.  Child number four is at his side.  I  fail to stop them in time.  The door flies open and reveals my sister-in-law, Regina, sitting in a rocking chair breastfeeding little Clarissa.  Luckily, she is well-covered, but my boys are undaunted.  They crowd up to her and try to move the blanket away so they can see the baby.  I block them.  "I remember those", my five-year-old announces while pointing towards her chest."  (He does?  Then I recall that it was only two short years ago that he had stopped nursing.)  I shepherd the boys from the room, cross my eyes at Regina, and manage to shut the door.  My brother arrives.
      Regina's mother, Josie, is only five years older than me and speaks very little English.  She leads me into the kitchen to show me our lunch, "Filipino spaghetti".  The pots on the stove look like something from the back of a restaurant.  They are huge.  A large platter is placed on the table and we gather, bless, and devour quickly.  The spaghetti is tasty.  My sister-in-law translates the ingredients to me as her mother tells them to her.  Ground pork, a mysterious sausage, chopped onion, two heads of garlic (not cloves), a large can of tomato sauce, salt, pepper, soy sauce, and two bottles of banana sauce.  There is a familiarity to it, but I can't place it (a Chinese restaurant?, a stir fry?).  My mother and step dad arrive.
    Later, there is a snack of "sweet rice".  Josie pulls out an enormous wok-like pan and boils two cans of coconut milk until they reduce.  Meanwhile, in a separate pot, she adds a little water to "hard brown sugar" purchased from an Asian grocery and melts it down to a caramel.  I sample a piece and it tastes like  molasses candy.  She adds the rice to the syrup and coconut milk, and just when I think it is almost over, the work really begins.  The tiny little woman with two large tools begins scraping and tossing this heavy, rice mixture for about an hour, until it becomes a large, caramel-colored sticky mass of goodness.  Daughter number two is hovering over Josie.  She is a fan of rice pudding and is anxious to sample this.  Finally, the treat is spread into a serving dish for all to enjoy.
    My step dad, brother and I make a run to the Wal-Mart to purchase one more birthday present and dinner.  As we stand at the counter of Poppa John's, the cashier refers to me as my brother's wife.  Kris and I look at each other and exchange an "Ew!" expression.  I then enunciate very clearly that I am this man's older sis-ter.  My brother begins chatting with the cashier.  He is explaining to her how he handles women.  "Let them think they are always right."  She smiles at him politely and looks at me.  I read her face.  "Is he for real?"  I smile back.  "Don't fall for it."  As we leave, I ask my brother if there is anyone left on this planet that he has not offended with his torments.  He has to think about that one.  We pile five large pizzas next to my step dad, who has graciously insisted that I sit in the front seat.  My brother teases me the entire way home by responding to everything I say with, "You're absolutely right, Jenny."
    Two little birthday boys are anxious to open their presents.  We sing, open gifts, and eat ice cream cake.  Eight children, a baby, and and seven adults scatter around my brother's house engaged in various activities.  My now eight-year-old nephew is playing with his new "Sorry" game in a corner with his twelve-year-old "auntie" and teenage female cousins; while my now nine-year-old son is playing with his new Star Wars flight simulation game thingy on my brother's humungoid television.  There is a small line of boys and two grown men waiting for their turns at the game.  The women are cleaning up from all of the eating and chattering in two different languages.  Baby Clarissa is being continually passed from person to person - the best new toy of all.
    Bedtime.  The bathroom lines begin.  Kids are running through the house in jammies, the sink seems to be continually going, and Regina and I are arranging blankets and pillows all over the family room floor.  When preparations are complete, my mom and step dad are in the guest room, and Josie and sister-in-law are sharing bunk beds with my brother's birthday boy.  My brother, Kris, and his wife and baby are in their room, the Wand kids and one escaped cousin are scattered on the floor, and Scott and I are surrounding them on the couches.  Little six-year-old cousin and my five-year-old are inseparable and way too silly for bedtime.  The lights are off and cousin keeps getting up and pretending to bump into furniture because it is dark.  My son finds this hilarious.  I use my nicest, firm warning voice, and get them back down.  But now they are thirsty.  I climb off the couch and two shirtless boys in their practically matching Star Wars jammie bottoms patter behind me into the kitchen.  I give them each a plastic cup, fill them with water, and scoot them back to the floor.   Finally, the giggles and squirming subside and the sound of gentle snoring drifts into my ears from various locations of the house.  It takes me awhile, but I finally doze off.
     I wake up first and use the opportunity to read and shower before the bathroom line begins.  Afterward, I begin waking up my kids one at a time and have them do the same.   Soon, the rest of the family awakens and Regina and I begin breakfast.  I crack about two dozen eggs into a couple of bowls with a shot of milk and a bag of cheddar cheese while Regina pops biscuits into the oven.  We work as a team to scramble the eggs, place them in a large serving bowl, and then rip into two packs of bacon.  While Regina begins sausage gravy, I flip the bacon with tongs in two large frying pans.  I look behind me and see Josie leaning up against the sink watching me.  I start to laugh.  I point the tongs at her.  "You are lost!" I tease while Regina translates.  She is a Filipino Mama and someone else is in the kitchen.  "My tongs!  My pans!" I tease. I do a little victory dance in front of the stove.  I offer to let her hold a spoon to make her feel better while I cook.  She giggles, but does not move from her spot.  I suddenly begin to feel self-conscious.  I try to turn the bacon as professionally as possible.  I reheat my leftover cappuccino from the gas station while my step dad spikes his coffee with chocolate powder. 
      My brother enters the kitchen.  He is a man who is used to being in charge.  He is an Army Major who will soon be attending Lieutenant Colonel school, and when he uses his military command voice, his sons rethink whatever it is they were getting ready to do (and so does everyone else for that matter).  He is inspecting the sausage gravy.  He clearly adores his wife and his voice is gentle as he tells her how to multiply the gravy with a can of cream of mushroom soup.  His directions are very specific.  "Stir the gravy at twenty second intervals.....(in the microwave)"  He repeats them about three times when I threaten him with my tongs and chase him out of the kitchen.  He walks out backwards, still reviewing the directions......
      After breakfast, the family begins searching for Nerf suction cup darts that go with my son's new over sized gun.  Three are still missing.  The darts have been stuck everywhere from the doors to the foreheads of all the boys (and some of the girls).  My brother finds two protruding from the front door and my oldest son finds one in a plant in the backyard.  Soon, the van is packed, and kids are sitting on the couch posing for a picture.  Regina announces, "Everyone say Filipino spaghetti!"  The kids obey and pictures are taken.  We are given a cooler filled with leftovers and begin the journey home - right after we stop at the gas station.

We Start School Next Week and Snuggling Ain't Always What It's Cracked Up To Be

     I'm bathing baby number five and washing his hair with dishwashing liquid because I am out of shampoo. We've just finished our discussion about "which body parts you should wash first with the same washcloth", and now I am patiently waiting while he hovers over the edge of the tub dripping in his towel. We are waiting for most of the water to go down so we can watch the "tornado" swirl around the drain.  Just as I'm starting to get into it, he tugs on my arm and says, "I think it's over, Mom."
     His clothes are waiting on the bed and he inspects the Huggies body lotion (we still have some luxuries in stock). "Mom, is that the cucumber and green tea one or the other one?" "It's the cucumber one." "Good. 'cause I like that one." (Me too. I've been using it since I ran out of my Olay Body Quench). After I run a brush through his hair and part it the way he likes it, he scampers off into the living room. Uh oh. He's crying. The floor rug tripped him up. "My leg is broken." "No it's not." I lift him up and sit him on my lap. We examine the leg and soon he runs off again.
     My iron is low and my head is aching.  I had gone running this morning so I'm feeling really pooped.  Everyone seems to be occupied.  I pull the afghan from the foot of my bed and try to sneak a five minute break. Wham! The door bursts open. Remember Lenny and Squiggy from Laverne and Shirley? "Hel-lo!" That is what Scott and I say to each other every time our door flies open with boy number four (He's blond, so he's Lenny) or boy number five (He's brunette, so he gets to be Squiggy). It doesn't matter how many times we remind them to knock gently.....
     Lenny climbs up next to me and starts rubbing his cold feet all over my legs. "You're so warm, Mom!" Actually, I'm not because he stole my afghan. Squiggy comes in carrying his stuffed ducky toy and hops in on my left. His elbow digs into my stomach. They begin a tug of war with my blanket. Squiggy gets an epiphany. "I'll get another one!" As he abruptly hops off the bed, I am catapulted into the air.  He quickly reappears with another afghan, flops back onto the bed, and rolls himself into it like a burrito. Lenny pulls the original one all to himself.
     I start to close my eyes when I feel Lenny's breath on my face. "Mom?" "Hmmmm?" "Did you know your teeth are crooked?" "Yes."  Pause. "Your nose is kinda big. I mean, not your nose - the holes in your nose." Now I feel Squiggy's breath on my face.  He wants to look up my nose too.  I open my right eye and peek at Lenny. "Those are called, nostrils." I'm beginning to feel like the Big Bad Wolf.  (My what big eyes you have!)  "Son, would you like it if someone said something like that to you? Can't you make some nice observations?"  Pause. "Well, your eyes are kinda pretty." I am about to thank him.... "But not that pretty. I think your eyelashes help 'em out a lot."   
    "You know, boys, I think I might be warmer if I had some socks." I look at Squiggy and he obediently hops off the bed.  He opens my sock drawer and begins to rifle through it.  "WOO HOO!  What is this?"  He dangles a tank top.  "Put that back!"  He bends down and reaches his little arm into the farthest corner of the drawer where my socks from, like, high school, have been stashed.  He victoriously pulls out a pair of red socks and a pair of pink socks.  He throws the red pair to Lenny and begins to pull the pink pair onto his feet, heel side up, all the way to his knee caps.  "You're right Mom, that's better."  I'm lying there, staring at the ceiling, with cold feet and no blankie. 
      I close my eyes again.  Lenny leans over and calls to Squiggy.  "Hey, can you do this?"  He begins to cluck with his tongue.  "Cluck, cluck, cluck."  "Sure!"  Hollers Squiggy.  He clucks back.  "Cluck, cluck, cluck."  As the boys lean over toward each other, furiously clucking their little tongues in a newfound competition, spit is flying from their little faces and landing on mine.  "Boys, that is ENOUGH!  It is time for you to GO!"  "We'll be good, Mom!"  Both boys flop quickly onto their backs like dead men.  For about twenty seconds.  Squiggy leans over, plops his stuffed ducky on my stomach, and loudly whispers, "Hey, do you know what my duck's name is?"  Lenny leans over me, "No, what?"  "It is, DUH-UH-KEE-MO-MO!"  Lenny sings back, "DUH-UH-KEE-MO-MO!"  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  I am about to yell when, the door gently opens.  Daughter number one quietly whispers (she's been trained for sixteen years), "Mom?  Do you mind if I watch a movie?"  "No, go ahead."  "Movie?!"  The boys spring off the bed and two afghans settle on me.  The door slams.  I grab a pair of abandoned, faded, red socks from my right and slip them on.  Life is good.