From Dread to Delight

On Wednesday I got one of those phone calls that puts a pit in your stomach.

"Jennifer, this is Carli Robinson from Southside Christian School. I was wondering if you could come in tomorrow at 2 p.m. We need to make you aware of some issues that we've been having with your sons."

"Both of them????"

"Yes, both of them. Can you come in at 2 tomorrow?"

Gulp. "Yes, I can be there."

It was my annual call from the teacher. Once a school year I get a call like this. To the boys' credit, it is never exactly the same issue twice and after the one meeting the issues are usually resolved for the remainder of the year. This is because the boys fear me (a little) and David (a lot). This is a good, healthy kind of fear. The kind of fear we should have before God. The kind of fear that is bathed in love and rooted in a deep desire to please Dad. For the most part, the teachers know they will have an ally in us, and that just alerting us to the problem is more than enough to make our boys get serious about solving it.

Here is the really twisted part: though I dread these parent-teacher conferences, I always come away from them feeling deeply grateful for my children, proud of who they are, and confident that that God is hard at work in their lives. The "issues" are never big surprises to me and they are things that would not even be addressed if my boys were in a public school setting--the teachers always make a point of telling me this. Through these conferences I get a glimpse of my boys through the eyes of the people to whom I entrust them for almost 7 hours a day, 5 days a week. While there are the "issues" to deal with, the other things I hear are so affirming. They love Graham's dry sense of humor. They delight in Chandler's enthusiasm. They go on and on and on about how smart they are--almost as if they need to convince me (they don't). They speak of leadership abilities, gifted writing abilities, evidence of integrity. I smile inside, bursting with pride.

In the end, I am thankful for teachers who genuinely love my boys and want them to experience God's best. And I am thankful for two boys who want the same thing.

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I'm a Quack!

I buy eggs from my neighbor, and they are SO much better than grocery store eggs. And prettier, too, don't you think? These eggs often have double yolks and the yolks are always a deep, rich yellow. As a breakfast lover, fresh eggs are one of my favorite things. But my neighbor has recently added ducks to her laying line-up, and as the ducks are quite prolific, I am getting about 4 duck eggs in every dozen. I didn't think this would be a big deal, I mean how different can they be? However, the other day Graham made himself a fried egg with a duck egg, and he had such a hard time choking it down. He thinks it was more the idea of it than the taste of it that was causing him pause. But why? On one hand, I totally understood his hesitation, but on the other hand, neither of us could rationalize why it was any different from a chicken egg. So I wonder, would you eat a duck egg? I could just use them in baking, but they are considerably larger than the chicken eggs, so I worry that they would mess up the recipe.

These are the moments when I realize that no matter how I try to be a "country girl," when it comes right down do it, I have "city slicker" written all over me.

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Not Well

Poor David is sicker than a dog. He worsened over the weekend, and plans to get in to see a doctor today. His cough sounds painful, he is now sporting a low grade fever, and he really isn't much fun. Will you pray for him? And me. I'm not very good at this nurse Nancy thing. I much prefer David taking care of me, and actually so does he. Which means we are both out of our element.

We are leaving for our Greater Europe Mission Orientation in Monument, Colorad0 this coming Saturday. This is our THIRD scheduled orientation...something has always seemed to get in the way of our going. Last week I would not have imagined that David could possibly still be sick by the time we were supposed to go, but now I am concerned.

I suspect this could be more than just a nasty bug. Please pray.

***update***

David has a sinus infection, and is now on antibiotics. I anticipate a full recovery by the time we depart for Colorado! Thanks for praying.

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Training

For the past 10 years I have run 3-4 miles 3-4 times a week. It is a routine I started in an effort to lose the baby weight from my pregnancy with Chandler. For the first three years it was a dreaded task--every single time I went. Then it became a tolerable ritual--I still didn't like to do it, but I liked how I felt because I did it. Eventually, over the last two years or so, running had actually become a beloved habit. I no longer HAD to run, I WANTED to run.

But in December Spokane got 70 inches of snow--and it was veritably impossible for me to run for about three weeks. At first, this was crazy-making. My running had become an addiction, and I felt downright fidgety when I couldn't run every other day or so. I am certain that my running hiatus contributed to a major flare up of my insomnia, a two-week battle with constipation, and the TILT reading that registers when I step on the scale. But despite the negative side effects of my abundant inactivity, my body did finally adjust to a sedentary life. I could have started running again about three weeks ago, but I had been lazy long enough that the urge to run had completely escaped me.

So while I am once again sleeping and, well, "regular," the bonus pounds from the holidays are still hanging around, limiting me to the larger sizes in my wardrobe and creating a overwhelming desire to shower blind-folded. I realized it was time to dig out the running shoes from the bottom of my closet and hope that my now snug running pants didn't offend my neighbors.

It did occur to me that my fitness level might have decreased, since the most strenuous workouts I had endured in six weeks were carrying laundry and kneading bread dough. I did not, however, expect to be completely out of shape. I ran ONE pathetically slow mile, and I thought I was going to DIE. I was winded, nauseated, and exhausted from a very short run on flat terrain. It probably didn't help that I had eaten half a pound of Jelly Bellys just before I went. After ten years of running, it took only six weeks for me to lose any endurance I had built.

While I was catching my breath (which, honestly, was like an hour long process) I began to think of how often the Bible likens our spiritual training to physical training. When I am in the habit of seeking God everyday, it goes from being something I "ought" to do to something I "want" to do. I even begin to feel disjointed and restless if I have not been in the Word. But when I let the habit slide, when I move from accepting grace for a missed day to embracing excuses for missed weeks and months, I wonder how drastically my spiritual fitness is compromised.

Right now, as an American, I can survive as a pretty fat Christian--spiritually speaking. But there may be a day when I am called to give an answer for the reason for my hope. I may one day need to stand firm in the face of tremendous temptation. I may even be called to withstand pain or persecution for the sake of Jesus. When that day comes, I don't want to find myself gasping for air, stumbling from weak spiritual muscles. I want to be strong.

Strength doesn't happen on accident. Strength cannot be achieved overnight. Strength is the result of consistent training, day after day, week after week, month after month, and finally year after year. Building strength, in body or spirit, is a long-term commitment--an effort that becomes a joy.

Weakness takes no effort at all.

Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.

I Corinthians 9:25-27

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This and That

In modern slang, something really super cool is called "sick." Today David is sick, and let me just tell you, it is NOT really super cool. Be thankful that you are on that side of the computer, because I think I risked my life sharing a bed with my sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching stuffy-head, fevered husband.

On a lighter note, I have recently started using eye-cream. At what age does a woman begin this daily regimen? For me it was the year that some girlfriends decided to GIVE me eye-cream for Christmas. Subtle hint? Perhaps. But I LOVE it. Eye-cream is my newest passion. It smells slightly medicinal, it feels soft as silk. I use it religiously.

By the by, how often should a family have a family portrait made? Taking photos for our family has not gotten better as the boys have gotten older. I still must drag all three of them kicking and screaming, throw in a bribe or two, and reward them with food. So I avoid this ritual like the plague. But someday, will I regret not having more family pictures? Should we endure the torture annually? Every other year? Truly, I need to know.

And as the Oscar nominations were announced today I realized that I must be the most out-of-it person on the planet. I have not seen ANY of the movies that were nominated. Not ONE. This should not surprise me, since I think that the last movie I saw in the theaters was Alvin and the Chipmunks---which, to my knowledge, did not win any awards (though I found it totally entertaining). I am just about to give up on Hollywood altogether. I can't even go in to a regular video store without feeling like I have somehow compromised my integrity. Sad. I used to love going to movies. Over the past few years the entertainment industry has gotten looser in their moral standards, and while I did not intend to get stricter in mine, I have lost all tolerance for filth. As Graham used to say when he was a toddler, "I can't like it."

I finished my knitted bag, but I don't think it felted like it was supposed to. I washed it three times in the hottest water possible, but the fibers didn't meld together like I thought they would. Does anyone know what I might have done wrong? It is still cute, but it doesn't look like the pattern picture. I have so much to learn!

We have snow in our forecast for the weekend. I'm ready for a fresh coat.

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History

President Obama has assumed his position as the leader of the free world. As a politics junkie, I have a sense of the great historical importance of this event. But my emotions are a mixed bag. I am grateful that President Obama carries himself with the demeanor of a true statesman. I am frustrated with the media, which always describes our country as "deeply divided" when a republican is in office, but seems to sense a "spirit of unity" when a democrat wins. I am confused by the overwhelming confidence that the masses seem to have in such an inexperienced, unknown politician. I am captivated by the beauty of the Obama family and the genuine love they seem to share with one another. I am nervous about the direction that President Obama wants to take our country.

I spent the morning with some amazing women of faith, and we prayed fervently for President Obama. Despite my roller coaster emotions, I have tremendous hope in the sovereignty of God. Daniel 2: 21 says:

He changes times and seasons;
he sets up kings and deposes them.
He gives wisdom to the wise
and knowledge to the discerning.

God has allowed Barack Obama to rise to the office of President of the United States. God will use his presidency to accomplish holy purposes. God does not even need President Obama's cooperation. God is, and always has been, in complete control. So yes, I have the audacity to hope.

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Precious Moments

Yesterday we went skiing again, and it was a huge blessing. Spokane was socked in with heavy fog, but on Mt. Spokane it was sunny and clear. Our boys progressed in their abilities to the point where they could tackle some of the intermediate slopes. We had a beautiful day enjoying God's creation, healthy activity, and family relationships. As I rode the chair lift with Chandler for our last run, we were discussing all of the delights of the day. In the midst of that moment, he turned to me, gazed deeply into my eyes, and said, "Mom, your mustache is back."

Thank you, son.

I scheduled a wax.

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