The Bedroom Mess

My house is about to get whipped in to shape, one room at a time. This week's focus will be the bedroom, which is peppered with piles of stuff that I'd like to keep handy, but not in disarray.

This is my knitting and card-making pile. I lost all crafting supplies in the flood of 2006, but have slowly begun to re-accumulate some yarn, knitting needles, paper, and other crafty items. The only problem is, despite this accumulation, I have not established a system or a place for said items. I can't wait to get these things organized. I am much more creative when I can begin from a place of order.

This basket was supposed to hold my slippers. Unfortunately, it became a catch-all for reusable bags, clean towels, ski socks, stray skeins of yarn, and who knows what else. I'm almost scared to see what I will uncover in this pile. On the right is, oh, portraits that need framing, stray pieces of grant-writing work, and probably an unfinished work of fiction that will be published after my death.

And this is my home-office space. It is obviously out of control. I hate organizing PAPER-WORK. This will be the biggest challenge for me. I might enlist DR's help, as he is a whiz with knowing what I need to keep, and what I can throw away. If it were up to me, I'd just toss it all. Or set a match to it.

Okay, so talk about motivation. In my ultra-organized days I would have been mortified by any such pile in my home. Now they are everywhere! By Friday I should have photos of these same places...only they should look much different. You may not even recognize them. Extreme Home Makeover, here I come!

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The Winds of Change

I used to be organized. VERY organized. I was industrious, scheduled, and (no lie) a list maker. I was so efficient, so Type A, that I tended to prioritize "to dos" over "whos." I needed to slow down and learn to relax.

So I did.

But the pendulum has now swung too far the other way. Of this I am sure--since dear David is the one who sent me the memo. How did I get here? What happened to my drive? And is it possible to find a happy medium?

I found the answer to the "How did I get here?" question while visiting my parents last week. My mom, who knew me to be an industrious, well-organized person from the age of 6, suggested that I crossed the line from "laid-back" to "lazy" as a result of my thyroid disease. Don't you love it when someone close to you, who knows the details of your health AND personality, can shine the light of perspective on your circumstances? I think my mom is spot-on (as usual!). Battling low-thyroid levels for over a year sent me into survival mode; I had to forget the to-do list, and just put out the fires.

But my thyroid levels are finally approaching normal, and I now have the energy I need to start tackling the things that I have let slide for the past 14 months. The problem is, I have almost forgotten HOW. I am honestly having trouble figuring out where to start.

So I have been sifting through my memory tryng to remember my organizational techniques, but it is hard because when I was organized it came so naturally that I hardly realized I was doing it. A few things I remember doing are making to-do lists, scheduling a day to each week to clean house, and scheduling a day each week to run errands. This will be my starting point.

However, I have been so lax for so long, there are some places around the house that need a major overhaul. To tackle these bigger projects, I am going to focus on one room a week. You all are my accounatbility partners for this. I am going to begin with my bedroom. I will post a picture of the bedroom today (Monday) and then again on Friday. The change should be shocking!

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Dreams

In January of 2005, I had big dreams. I was convinced that God had something else for me, and I was determined to discover exactly what that "something else" was. I talked with David, I talked with God, and in the end, I decided that my "something else" was one of two things. I was either going to be pregnant or enrolled in Law School by September of 2005. That was my plan.

I committed my plans to the Lord, and set the wheels in motion for God to direct my paths. Confident that He was going to either give me another baby or give me a new career, I pursued both possibilities: I began fertility treatments (because by medical standards I am infertile) and I applied to Law School. By March I had been accepted to Law School, but even on Clomid I was not ovulating. It was beginning to look like God was pointing to the J.D.

And then I had the dream. A real dream...you know, at night, while I was sleeping. I rarely remember my dreams, but this one was vivid in my mind from the moment I awoke.


And here's where you might begin to think I am crazy.


But that dream stopped me in my tracks, and changed the course of my life.


I discontinued my fertility treatments AND I declined my spot at Gonzaga Law School.


And I waited. Because the dream didn't kill my yearning for "something else" it redirected it. But to what? Well, that was the big question, wasn't it?


Shortly thereafter, I forgot the dream, and I hadn't thought about it in years. And then a few weeks ago, in my Bible Study on the book of Daniel, there was a question that asked, "Can you remember your last spirit-striking dream?" I left the answer blank, because I could not remember any significant dreams, but while I was sitting in my small group discussing that chapter, the dream from 2005 came back to me with amazing clarity and detail. I think I know why God reminded me of that dream now, but first, I need to ask you a question.


Do you believe that God still speaks through dreams? He did it in the Old Testament. He did it in the New Testament. He had never done it for me before,and He hasn't done it since. But I think maybe once, God used a dream to speak to me.


Do you want to know what I dreamed? Here it is:

David and the boys and I were on a road trip, and we made a pit stop at a very familiar Circle K in Umatilla, OR. I told David that I needed to use the restroom, and headed for the dingy door in back with the handwritten "Ladies" sign. Up until this point everything in the dream was familiar in real life, and fairly normal. But as I pushed open the bathroom door, I entered a large and luxurious tiled bathroom with three stalls. Each stall was a full bathroom, complete with sinks and showers. So I immediately decided that I wanted to take a shower, and walked to the first stall, but as I looked in, I saw something repulsive. Right in the middle of this beautiful shower was a large pile of poop. (I just dreamed it, so don't blame me if it's gross!) I back out, stunned and disgusted. Now I really needed shower! I went to the next stall, anticipating the warmth and cleansing, but as I tried to enter the second stall, I saw someone in it. A janitor with a friendly smile was in that stall, making it sparkle and shine. He did not seem the least bit surprised to see me, but almost like he expected me. He said, "I'm still working here, but you should use the next stall, I've already cleaned it." Encouraged, I moved on to stall number three. As I opened the door on the third stall, I realized that this was the was the best one. I couldn't really see all of the way in, but right inside the door was a woman behind a desk, ready to hand me a fluffy white, warmed, towel, and a bathrobe. She, too, seemed to be expecting me. And while I had a sense that I was about to have the best shower of my life, I was told that I would have to wait just a minute before entering.

And then I woke up. Never seeing fully in to the third stall, but convinced it was the one for me.

I told David my dream, and we both felt like it was speaking to our circumstances. The poop shower represented Law School--something that appeared appealing at the onset, but upon closer look, would not be satisfying to me. The shower with the janitor represented my desire for another baby--something that was a good thing, but not a part of God's plan for my life. We did not know what the third shower represented, we only saw as a confirmation that God did, indeed, have something else for us, but we could not see what that was at the time--2005

So, fast forward to 2009. When this dream was brought back to my mind recently, I had a bit of an epiphany. I think, perhaps, FRANCE is the third shower! Going to France to share the love of Jesus is my big dream. My something else. That thing that God had planned in advance for me to do (with David and the boys, of course), but had not yet revealed.

So, I'm just wondering. Do you believe that God still speaks through dreams? Because I would not want to ever suggest that a concoction of events from my subconscious mind is a word from the almighty Creator of the universe if it simply isn't so. On the other hand, I would not want to dismiss a message from the King of Kings as a bad burrito.

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Helpless, but not Hopeless!

It was Sunday evening--our weekly time for family prayer. Graham had been sick for about 5 days, so his health was on our list of prayer requests. In an effort to get a full grasp on his condition, I asked a fairly clinical question: "Are you having diarrhea?" Only I forgot that in my house you can't say the word "diarrhea" without someone breaking into song. Last night, Chandler began "When you're sliding into first, and you feel a sudden burst: diarrhea, diarrhea." Graham shook his head, trying not to laugh. I (I can't believe I'm admitting this) joined in the next verse "When you're riding in your Chevy and your pants are feeling heavy: diarrhea, diarrhea."

Meanwhile, dear David tried to reel us in. FOCUS. Only Chandler, Graham, and I were laughing so hard at this point that we were crying. No, I do not really find the diarrhea song all that funny. I think we just needed a good laugh. Or a good cry. For reasons beyond our control, it's been a LONG week!

Finally, David reigned us in, and began to lead us in prayer. Despite our depravity (or maybe because of it) the Lord graciously heard our prayers and filled us with His love, His grace, and His hope. It is moments like these that cause me to relate so completely to the words of the Hymn, It is Well:

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,

and hath shed his own blood for my soul.

My helpless estate: I laugh at vulgarity, I giggle at prayer time, I let the circumstances of my week take a toll on my redeemed soul. And yet, Christ shed His blood for me. I will never cease to be amazed!

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Bye Bye Baby

Today Graham had two teeth pulled. His last two baby teeth were stubbornly refusing to give up their oral real estate; meanwhile, the adult permanent teeth were pushing ahead, crowding around the predecessors in their way. The dentist decided those baby teeth had to go.

Graham was a trooper throughout the process, despite his inherited disdain for dentists. As we awaited the elevator after his appointment, he pulled a small box from his pocket and said, "I'll go ahead and throw these away." He opened the box to look at his two teeth, then he threw them in the garbage, aware that there would be no visits from the tooth fairy tonight. We have never played that game with our children, not that we're anti-tooth-fairy, it just hasn't been a part of our family culture.

I don't save my children's teeth either. My mother-in-law saved all of David's baby teeth, and I have heard of many other mothers who do the same. Not me. I am squeamish, I am the antithesis of a pack rat, and I am not very sentimental--a recipe that results in a mom who simply throws away teeth for which the body no longer has a use. I would no sooner save a tooth than I would save the hair I pull out of my hairbrush.

But as Graham threw those teeth into the garbage, something in me wanted to cry. There in a public trash receptacle were the final pieces of anything about Graham that could be called "baby." I was suddenly sad we had them pulled, thereby forcing the last remnants of babyhood from my first-born son. Let the adult teeth wait! Give the babies just a few more weeks, or days. I'd settle for hours....

But alas, the adult teeth were not waiting patiently beneath Graham's gums. Rather, they were surging ahead, marching to the drumbeat of time and keeping pace with its relentless tempo. My thirteen year old has moved one step closer to adulthood, and while I rejoice in the young man that he is becoming, I am a little sad to be losing the baby boy that he was.

Today I pampered him a little. I was eager to indulge him, and he quite frankly didn't know what to do with me. He kept telling me that I did not need to do everything for him, that he is quite capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much. Still, I couldn't help myself. Something in me had a high need to mother today--not smother, just mother. And Graham, though reluctant to admit a need for anything, mercifully decided to humor me, for now.

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Rock and Worship Tour

I'm not sure who was more excited about the concert we went to last night. David and I, who honestly could not remember our last live concert, or Graham and Chandler, who were about to experience their first. As we waited in the line outside the Beazley Coliseum as WSU, David snapped these photos of me with the boys. Typically, Graham was reluctant to have his picture taken, and Chandler was a little too eager!

It was an awesome line-up of Christian Artists: Addison Road, 10th Avenue North, Hawk Nelson, Jeremy Camp, and Mercy Me. All in one location at the bargain price of $10 a seat.

Above is Hawk Nelson, the up and coming Montana based band which was without a doubt Graham's favorite. David and I were feeling pretty hip, on our feet, rockin' out, earplugs with us, but not in use. But when I went to the bathroom and saw some 19 year olds primping, it hit me that those girls were half my age. How is it possible to feel so young and so old all in the course of one evening? I guess the spandex that David was wearing dated us as children of the 80s.

Mercy Me (pictured above) sings bunches of my favorite songs. They did not disappoint. But the best part of the concert was that the focus stayed continuously and unapologetically on Jesus Christ. He was present and He was praised throughout the evening. The following is a video clip that David shot of Jeremy Camp singing There Will be a Day. There will be a day when we see Jesus face to face. Nights of worship, like last night, give a glimpse of eternity, when we will praise His name with great joy FOREVER.

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Mystery Birds

Last Sunday on the way to church we had the funniest conversation. It began with David describing a flock of migrating birds.

"They were white, but they looked like Canadian Geese. I think it was like a whole flock of albino Canadian Geese."

I was skeptical in my response: "I don't think it is biologically possible to have an entire flock of albino anything. Maybe they were just white geese, you know, like the kind you see at the park."

"No," David said, "Those geese have orange beaks. These birds had black beaks. Besides, I've never seen those fat geese from the park take flight. I don't even think they can fly. I think they were albino Canadian Geese."

I was stumped. But by this time we were at church, and we just had to let it go.

The next morning I had arranged to run to friend's house--six miles away. My friend was then going to drive me home, so that I did not have to run both ways! It was a lovely day, and a great run through the Eastern Washington Palouse. Did I mention it was six miles? Anyways, when I arrived at my friend's house, she warmly welcomed me with a fruit smoothie in hand. What a friend!

But I was barely in the door when her husband asked, "Jennifer, did you see our swans?"

These friends live up on a bluff that overlooks a wetland. Sitting serenely in their marshes was a beautiful flock of white birds with black beaks that were about the same size as Canadian Geese.

Migrating Trumpeter Swans--an endangered species, just passing through. Mystery solved!

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