There's Manna in Numbers

EIGHT -- the number on the clock that the little hand points to when I'm sitting at the soccer field on a Saturday morning.  On a Saturday morning.  Wait...did you hear me?  On a Saturday morning.  Whoever had that brainchild must be one of those weird morning people, and they probably do other stuff before the roosters like eat dinner...or...laundry.

ONE -- the number of tattoos that my cherub-faced stinker installed on himself while I wasn't looking.  Our family is all about some ink, but choosing to mimic thugists...not so much.  And I'll show you the picture...as long as you promise not to say, "Aw...he's so cute."  Because, y'all...he put the stinkin' thing on his neck.  The thing that holds his head on.  Which he obviously wasn't using when he inked himself.

SEVEN -- the number of nights that I've slept with the windows open.  Keep in mind that 3 of those nights were with the husband 239,382,392,823 miles away....and the beauty of sleeping chilled to the bone in the crisp fall air beat out the fear of the BoogieMan.  That's some amazing fall air, I tell ya.

EIGHT -- the number of months that it took our walls to get all dinged up from one too many hallway soccer games and swashbuckling pirate attacks.  We remodeled in February.  Today, I spent the afternoon repainting what we just painted.  

NEVER  -- the time in which the husband and I will finally be able to have nice things (and walls that don't get dinged up).  Dadgum boys.

SEVENTY-THREE -- the number of minutes that the offspring member of the red headed persuasion stared at his language book the other day.   He had to write four sentences about what he did this summer.  That's it.  Four.  And you would have thought that I asked him to translate the Gilgamesh epic into Latin.  On minute seventy-four, he caved.  Score = Mom: 1, Kid: goose egg.

FORTY-ONE  --  the number of Pez Dispensers in the oldest rascal's collection.  He wants to make sure that I clarify that the forty-one does include one giant talking Yoda Pez Dispenser and a box set of 8 Star Trek members, which leaves 32 individual Pez Dispensers.  You think I'm kidding.  I'm so not kidding.  I'm also not kidding about the Excel spreadsheet that is worked up on these said 41 Pez Dispensers.  Because we're wild and crazy like that....

SIXTEEN -- the number of days that I've eaten nothing but junk.  With the husband in and out of the country and baseball/football/soccer seven nights/afternoon a week, I've been ingesting mad amounts of fast food and frozen-food aisle edibles.  My innards screamed out for vegetables the other day, and I managed to wolf down a can of cold mixed veggies before heading out to the ballfield.  Go ahead...judge.  I'm sixteen steps ahead of you. 

TWENTY-FOUR -- the number of Words With Friends games that I have going on right now.  Because I have an infinitesimal amount of spare time on my hands.  What?  I'm not playing with you?  My user name is RascalRaiserAmb.  C'mon..you know you want to feed my Scrabbalized habit.

ONE -- the number of precious husbands that I have.  It looks strange to me that I just wrote the word "husbands"...plural.  Speaking of plural...have you seen that new TLC show, "Sister Wives"??  Bizarro.  I'll keep my one man all to my self, thank you very kindly. 

ENDLESS -- the amount of blessings that I feel and have felt from the onslaught of prayers, support, and love showered on us by our friends and family.  We've had some issues that have sneaked their way into the crevices of our lives and have pitched tents in some very uncertain deserts and valleys.  We've dealt with confusion, misunderstanding, and the unknown.  And yet, we remain remarkably at peace.  Because prayer is manna in the desert.  Support is manna.  A "just checking on ya" email is manna.  A facebooked "how ya doing?" is manna. 

And manna is FOREVER, friends.

So, Amber...What's Been Going On Lately That Is Affecting Your Cardiac Health?

Oh, I'm so glad you asked.

Here's the culprit:

That blasted four-wheeler that the husband built himself.  You heard me...he built that.

We can digress for just a second and discuss how amazed I am that he can construct something that actually runs/moves/and has more than a dozen pieces withOUT directions, because I struggle with a simple recipe on the back of a box (you know...the gourmet variations of already boxed food -- about as wild as I get in the kitchen). 

Needless to say...that thing is his baby. 

And for some reason, the husband has determined that the children were responsible enough citizens to take possession of the wheel, and so they have taken to cruising through our hay fields in the baby. 

I'm not especially fond of this arrangement, but there just comes a time when you have to pick your battles, and I had begun to decide that my aversions were probably just city/jungle girl hangups, and that I needed to release my babies to the inner workings of the redneck lifestyle.

So Tuesday wasn't much different.  The husband was at work, our school work was finished for the day, and Keaton came in flashing his pitiful face begging to call dad to see if he could ride the four-wheeler.

Please say no.  Please say no.

Ugh.  He said yes.

So I head out in full pajama glory and sans shoes to take my position on the back deck to watch them do their thing.

First Keaton zooms through the hay with Tate. 

Weeeee.  This is fun.

I give the motion to switch partners....I want to get back inside. 

Sawyer takes the passenger side and off they go. 

Zoooom... Wind blowing through their overdue-to-see-the-barber hair.

Around and around they go. 

I give the motion for one more lap.  It's time for mama's nap.

And then I saw it.

As they were making their turn around the patch of trees in the middle of the field that is their turn-around, I saw the two driver-side wheels lift up.

This cannot be happening.

(Insert a sundry of onomatopoeia here such as CRASH. BOOM. And other wreck-related noises.)

(Insert full our panicky scream and look of terror.)

(Insert me running full blast in my jammies and no shoes across the prickly hay field.)

(Insert more screaming.  And more onomatopoeia.)

Turns out the boys were fine.  Praise the Lord.  The baby wasn't as lucky.

I guess in all of Keaton's inexperience as a driver (ahem) he hadn't ever realized the consequences of turning super sharp corners while maintaining full speed.  The four-wheeler rolled a couple of times (Praise Jesus for roll bars) and then landed on its side.  Sawyer was thrown from the four-wheeler and face-planted in the middle of the hay, and since Keaton stayed in the vehicle, he landed on the ground when the four-wheeler did.

Um....Heart Attack much?

I don't know that I have ever been so frightened in all my life.  The reality of what could have happened that day has kept chills shivering up my spine for 2 days now.  In a matter of seconds, our lives could have been forever changed.

Still brings tears to my eyes and my knees to the ground in thanksgiving to the One who offers protection.

Jesus is obviously not finished with those two boys yet. 


Epilogue to the Drama:  The husband came home and wept over his baby.  The boys are now terrified to go anywhere near the baby.  And the husband and I are both content with that arrangement.

Wanna Know Something?????

My God is freakin' amazing.

Know how I know?

Because there is this person running around my house like a banshee.  He's fighting with his brothers and dog-piling his daddy.  He's watching too much Spongebob and not brushing his teeth when I tell him to.  He isn't putting his dirty clothes in the laundry room, and he spent yesterday afternoon in trouble for pinching his little brother because he didn't make the first putt with the toy golf clubs.  He's knocking the pictures off my walls by throwing balls in the house, and when he cleaned his room yesterday he just stuffed everything under his bed.  And today he threw a Montana-sized fit over doing 4 math problems.

And my God is freakin' amazing for every last second of it.

My sweet friends, a miracle has taken place.  I'm sure that someone will try to explain it away with medicine.  And diagnoses.  And science.

But I choose to just praise Jesus.

Because my redheaded ragamuffin is as ornery as ever.

And I wouldn't trade a second of it for all the quiet moments in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just a brief update:  Sawyer is doing UH.MAZE.ING.  He even was cleared by his doctor to play in his baseball tournament on Saturday.  SawDog played 3 games and rocked it.  He's a champion, for sure.  We will be going to Children's Hospital this Thursday for an appointment with his neurologist, and we are just trusting Jesus for more good news and an excellent prognosis!  Thanks again for your prayers!  Oh how they were heard!

Good Stuff. Good Good Stuff.

I've walked through many seasons of my life.

Seasons of intense faith with eyes fixed forward on The Word. 
Seasons of valleys that were narrow.  And hard.  And cold.  And dark.  With a blindfold the whole way.
Seasons of middle ground.  No mountaintops.  No crevices.  Just middle ground.  Me and God.  Doing our thing.

But let me just tell you that I have been hurled head first into unknown territory this past week.

I've never been surrounded by so many prayer warriors in my life.  Let me rephrase:  I've never been surrounded by so many prayer warriors that were praying for me and for my family.

Up until now my walk with my Jesus has been just that:  MY walk.  A walk that Jesus and I shared together and we would sometimes involve the husband or a friend here and there or my family.  But never has my walk with Jesus been joined by heaps and mounds of Jesus-lovin' folks.

Our church family has extended their love to our family like nothing we've ever experienced before.  Our friends are genuinely concerned, not just Lee-Press-On-Nails concerned.  And the knowledge that there are people on every corner of this globe praying for our precious Sawyer through this blog and some of my other web-related connections is enough to make me do the ugly cry.

I stand of awe of my Precious Jesus.  He's healing my redheaded rascal, without a doubt, because we asked Him to.  Because YOU asked Him to. 

He is Jehovah Rapha!  The God Who Heals!

And my socks are blessed off that you walked this road with us and are able to be a part of such an amazing miracle.

Thank You isn't enough for what your prayers and thoughts have meant to us. 

I'm praying heaps and mounds of blessings are dumped all over your noggins, my sweet friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Update on Sawyer: 
~~ Our little man had a really good night last night.  He responded fabulously to the new pain medications that the doctor prescribed, and he was able to rest peacefully and comfortably.  Today the mobility in his neck has increased ten-fold and continues to show vast signs of improvement.  We are just beside ourselves with the evidence of healing miracles!

Sunday

Sunday

Because my Jesus is Beautiful.

Sunday

Real Crazy or Crazy Real

I used to think people were crazy.

You know, the people. Who hooked up on the internet.

I had no understanding of how true meaningful relationships could come through a keyboard and a screen. How lives could mesh together through motherboards and circuits. How lives could be changed for the better by a few cables and wires.

But now I get it.

100%. Get it.

Now, don't get me wrong. I totally understand that their are weirdos and creeps out there who take full advantage of innocence and prey on victims who are unsuspecting and naive. I get that. I think that it is heinous and disgusting and fully believe in internet safety and cautiousness and vigilance. But that's not what I'm talking about. No weirdo speak here.

I'm talking about bonds. And friendships. And connections.

And they happen. Every.Single.Day.

Blogging and "social-networking" (I hate that word because it seems so sterile.) used to confuse me. I viewed it as a bunch of housewives who had WAY too much time on their hands, so they used their minutes between donning rubber gloves and scrubbing toilets to voyeuristically peer into other people's personal lives. It seemed like another take on those celebrity gossip magazines....only minus the celebrities. And then to find out that not only did you LOOK into their lives, but you COMMENTED on their lives....well, it just all seemed absurd.

And then I did it. Because I'm a follower and someone told me to. *wink*

And my life is changed.

Forever.

Because now I have a circle of friends that stretches from coast to coast. Friends that pray for me and my family. That know my children by name and can remember details about their small lives. Friends that snort giggle with me and weep with me. We've been through births, and deaths, and job losses, and surgeries. We've been on vacations together, and we've sat in each other's living rooms watching our favorite tv shows together. We discuss dinner plans, the latest coupon finds, and the joy of the flip flops we found on clearance. We do what friends do. We just happen to live states away from each other.

And now I get it.

I completely get it.

Because I know how significant those one-on-one conversations are when you reveal deep dark secrets. Because I understand the power of prayer warriors when your family is the midst of crisis, even if those prayer warriors are hundreds of miles away. Because I know what it is like to want to meet one of your sisters face-to-face because it is just time to wrap your arms around them.

Because it's real.

And I don't think it is fathomable until you experience it. I don't think it makes sense until you walk miles with the women that you are now bonded to for life. I don't think it registers as even possible until you accept that God's plan for relationship isn't bound by skin...that it can exist through wires and cables.

It does sound crazy.

But it's not.

Because it's real.

So very real.

Just like the change for the better that is me. Because of this. Because of these women.


To all of my dear precious friends.........Thank you so much for the gifts of grace, mercy, patience, kindness, and love that you extend to me every day. I truly do see Jesus in you.

Sunday

4th Grade Math Scares Me

Overwhelmed doesn't even begin to cut it.

Reality is beginning to set in, and I've found myself neck deep in emotions that are ranging from just plain giddy to sheer panic.

We've been a homeschooling family for almost two weeks.

Two weeks.

That's it.

In just two short weeks, everything about my life has been completely turned upside down.

The way that I view my home. The way that I view my children. The way that I view my husband. The way that I shop. The way that I clean. The way that I cook. The way that I eat.

Everything.

Has changed.

And although I can't wipe the silly grin off of my face, I, on most days, am searching the house frantically for a paper bag because I'm about to hyperventilate. (On a side note....I still don't understand what good a lunch sack is, but I've seen it in in the movies, so it must be an accurate remedy.)

Because now I HAVE to make this work.

I HAVE to get over myself and see this through.

And though I've been an educator for the past 10 years, I have always taught other people's kids. And there is just something about teaching someone else's children that isn't quite as intimidating as teaching your own. Weird, huh? Should be the other way around. But it's not. I can't explain it. I just know it's true.

But though I know that I HAVE to make it through this, I know that I WILL make it through. Because I feel with everything in me that this is where we're supposed to be.

That home is where God would have me and boys right now.

So I'm anxious.

But it is a good anxious.

Because I know GOd must have something amazing up His sleeve for my little rascals. And I'm feeling so blessed that He's letting me be a part of it.

Now. If God can just get me through 4th Grade Math. Oh dear.

Spots

"Stop staring at him!"

I want to scream it to the world every day. To the man in the trucker hat at the gas station. To the little black lady at the grocery store. To the lady who has perfect hair at the nail salon. To the little boy wearing Spiderman swimtrunks at the waterpark.

"Just stop staring at him!"

I haven't spoken about this before online.

So this is new territory. For most of you.

But, it is something that is frustrating me to my very core. And I feel like I need to voice my feelings, as well as just ask for prayer.

If you have been hanging around these parts very long at all, then you know this little guy.

Meet Keaton. My 9 year old (in 3 days). Counting the months I held him in my belly, I have known this little person for close to a decade. Unbelievable. A decade full of precious laughs, smiles, and tears.

And my precious Keaton is perfect to me.

So my heart breaks for him. Because of this.

You see, Keaton has Vitiligo....a skin disorder which basically boils down to the fact that some of his pigment cells don't produce pigment, therefore leaving portions of his skin white.

This disorder is not harmful; it is purely a cosmetic issue, which we praise Jesus for every day.

But.

But my heart breaks for my child. Because he has an imperfection....that is only skin deep.

I hate it when people look at him and their eyes drift immediately to his leg. I hate that people stare. I hate that kids ask him if he has a disease. I hate that sometimes adults are even more cruel than that. I hate it that in his prayers he asks his Jesus to take the spots away. I hate that his child heart is fearful that the spots will spread to his face.

I hate feeling like Keaton was cheated. Like I was cheated. Because I know that as I type this there are mothers who don't know if their children will even live through the night. And that there are mothers who are grieving the fact that their children will never live a life that will be filled with what we all call normal. And that there are mothers whose hearts are heavy because they haven't yet been blessed with a child to call their own.

But I can't not voice my feelings any longer. I feel selfish. And insensitive. And greedy. But I made a promise to always be transparent and real on this blog, and I'm lying if I say that I'm okay that Keaton lives every day with questions as to why God made him have spots. And I'm lying if I tell you that I'm okay with being the mom of a kid with spots. I'm not.

It hurts that my child is the one that others stare at.

It hurts that the doctors can't tell me what causes it.

It hurts that there is nothing we can do.

It hurts that there are kids who are cruel enough to exclude him because he is different.

I've cried many a tear over those darn spots. I hate them. I have screamed "Why?" more times than I can count.

Because those spots matter.

They matter to my baby's heart. They hurt his feelings. They hurt his esteem. They hurt his heart.

And I'm doing everything I can to reassure him of his Father's love for him so that those darn spots don't hurt his faith.

Because when you are 9, God is supposed to answer prayer.

And so far, God hasn't answered his.

Because the spots are still there. Every morning, they are still there.

My bitterness is still fresh. My tears still flow freely. And my frustration and anger is still very close to the surface. I'm doing my best to not show Keaton my hatred of his spots. To make our lives normal. To pretend like the stares at the swimming pool don't bother me. To not weep when he prays to Jesus that He won't let the spots get on his face.

But, I ask you for prayer. Prayer for healing, sure. But even more than that, prayer for Keaton's heart. That he will find himself drawing close to the One who created that perfect skin of his. To the One that knows those spots inside-and-out. And to the One that loves Keaton more than even this mama does.

Overwhelmedness

I'm at a loss for words tonight. No funny anecdote. No crazy story.

I'm just in a state of overwhelmedness. And gratefulness. And happiness.

I'm overwhelmed with the blessings and gifts that have been lavished upon me. My Jesus has found me somehow worthy enough to be placed in charge of 3 of His most precious possessions. I will never understand His reasoning, because I find faults in myself that run deep and wide. But I choose to just be thankful. And grateful. And overwhelmed at His grace. Because these 3 babies are just that.




Grace.



I'm also overcome with awe that this guy is mine.



It's been a lot of years. A lot of years that have felt like minutes on one hand and millenniums on the other. We've gone through seasons where we couldn't stand to even be in the same room as each other, and we've gone through seasons where we couldn't get enough of each other. Marriage, for sure, isn't a cake walk. But it's great. And through all the frog-kissing and garbage I've walked through, my Jesus gave me a prince. Overwhelmed, I tell ya.


Overwhelmed.



I also stand in amazement of my extended family.



I have caused my parents some serious heartache and crazy pain through the years, but, oh, how I thank my Jesus for giving me to them. He knew how much I needed them. I can't even begin to describe my parents to you. They are just that amazing.




And then there are the in-laws. I have terrific in-laws. Another set of parents that love me just as their own. They are genuine. And real. And just really, really good people. They are kinda quirky, but that works for me. Because quirky is where I fit in best.





I have a sister that has walked a lot of miles with me. Mich and I just get each other. A lot goes unsaid between us, because it can. Because we just know. There is seven years difference between us, but I swear we're twins. We get on each other's nerves like crazy, but are each other's loudest cheerleader and biggest fan. I heart her something fierce.




I have nieces and nephews that make my heart smile. These girls and boys are like water to me. I love their smiles. I love their personalities. They just make my world sweeter. And better. And I would do anything for them. I heart them like crazy.





I have friends that are nothing short of angels.

Stephanie...she inspires me. To be better. I've never met someone as genuinely concerned with the well being of others as this girl. She is the hostess with the mostess. And she makes me laugh. I'm tempted to say that I've never had a friend like Steph. She knows me....and she still wants to hang around. If that ain't love and friendship...I don't know what is! Love ya, Steph.

There's Leanne. You want to talk about a Proverbs 31 woman....you need to meet this girl. I want to be like her when I grow up. 'Nuff said. I love her down to my toes.

And Lisa. My smart-friend. One day she is going to get tired of my calling her that, but until then, her pet name will remain. This girl is incredible. She's funny. And crazy. And daring. And willing to take a chance. She'd dance in the rain with me if I asked her to, and she'd explain the newest taxation plans to me if I asked her to. Who knew we'd end up so close (if you know our story, you are grinning right now), but I love how God works. And how he fits people together. Because my Jesus is just that cool.

And there's all the other women in my life that have walked this crazy road with me. They've made me better, because they have taken the time to love me and my family. I'd be here until Thursday telling you all about each one of them. But my Jesus has worked drops of perfection into my life with these friendships, and I'm so grateful. Awestruck grateful.

And then there are all my friends in this crazy blogosphere. I never ever ever in a million years imagined the friendships and kindred spirits that I would discover behind the wall of this computer screen. People can scoff at us all they want, but our stuff is real. I may never have met some of you face to face, but I feel like I've known you for ages. You are now my family. And I heart you. Oh so very very much.

So.

I'm happy.

Truly happy. I've smiled all day. And I've laughed some.

But today wasn't about being funny. Or witty. Or wearing sass on my sleeve and sarcasm in my flip flops.

It's just about being grateful.

Because sometimes it is just time to fall down at the foot of the throne of my Jesus and thank Him for gifts undeserved, and praise Him for loving me enough to bless me in spite of myself.

Hope

Today is a huge day for those of us who have a personal relationship with a Man named Jesus. Well, not today...but what today represents. Today represents Resurrection Day. Easter. It is what makes our Jesus worth knowing.

I'm not a theologian. I'm not a preacher. I'm not a Biblical scholar. And I'm not religious. But I am a follower.

A follower of a God that is alive. I follow Truth. Because I know It's True.

One day when I was teaching at a Christian school, a student in my Bible class asked me what was more important -- Good Friday or Easter Sunday. We were very cautious as teachers of Bible classes to speak truth, but handle doctrinal issues with care, because so many denominations were represented in the school where I was. I remember turning the question on him (as all good teachers like to do!!) and asking him what he thought, before answering for myself. I remember him telling me that he felt like Good Friday was the most significant, because without it, we would be dead in our sin. Another student, who was listening to the conversation, piped in and said that he agreed with that.

I remember moving on to another topic without really giving my opinion, giving a blanket answer of, "Both days are significant for our faith, both giving meaning and hope." And then going on with class.

I have thought about that numerous times since that day several years ago, posing the question to myself. Which day is more significant?

Again....I'm no Biblical scholar....just a daughter of a King that is alive.

But every time I pose the question to myself, the cross is vivid in my mind, but then my mind drifts to a rock on a hill that is rolled from its place of permanency....because the One who was supposed to stay permanently in the hill, rose up and left.

My life is one that is littered with sin happenings and stumblings down roads I had no business traveling. I've made mistakes that will have lifelong earthly consequences for me, and there are some days that Satan beats me to such a pulp with guilt that I feel like I can't even get off of the floor. But then I am picked up. And the memories of my sin are replaced with joy. And my burdens of consequence are made lighter.

Because the One who lightens my load, and replaces my shame with joy, and picks me up off the floor is the One that did that rising and leaving.

What Jesus did for me on the cross makes me weak in the knees. I weep at the thought of his nail-pierced hands. I tremble at the image of his crown of thorns. I know what the cross represents. I can feel it in the very core of who I am. I'm different because of what my Jesus did that day. And I can't even wrap my head around his massive awesomeness.

But what I do know is that it didn't stop that Friday at the cross. God the Father never planned for Calvary to be the end. Because we weren't created to be in relationship with a god that is dead. To love a god that would take death away from us, but then have to remain dead himself.

No, it didn't end on the cross that day, because my Jesus is big. He is bigger than me. He is bigger than my sin. And He is bigger than death. And He is bigger than the one that tried to hold Him there.

So do I hold the cross dear? Absolutely! Because the cross gave me my freedom.

But do I hold the tomb dear? For sure! Because that tomb gives me my hope.

My Jesus is Alive. He isn't housed in shrines or temples. I don't have to visit a grave to offer gifts of thanksgiving. I don't have to build a statue to remember him by. Because He's Alive.

And because He's Alive.....I have Hope.

And Hope is good. Very, very good.

I hope you know my Jesus. Because He is just that awesome! If you want to know more about my Jesus, email me....and I will be happy to introduce you to Him! He already knows you....He's just been waiting for you to want to meet Him!

Have a Blessed Resurrection Sunday!