I do not consider myself adept with a computer, but out of sheer necessity, I’ve decided to create a little blog. After all the effort I spend emailing friends, family, and miscellaneous cyber people with my thoughts, ponderings, musings, and not-so-asked-for advice, I thought (lightbulb moment) that if I just directed everyone to my blog you could all enjoy your flood-free email boxes a little more. Just visit my little place on the web when you get a spare moment for up-to-date food for thought and other ramblings about the tiny details of life. I can’t promise that you won’t be provoked, irritated, or challenged, but at least your inbox will have a little space for other people and spammers to get a word in edgewise.

Most of you know that we left our home to live six months in California, so we can be together as a family while my husband works on a project. Here are my reasons for celebration:

1. Valuable Legal Lesson Learned. Never, never, never enter into a lease or any other contract unless you’ve SEEN with your own eyes what you are purchasing. Pictures do not count. Nicely furnished models are deceptive; your apartment will NOT look like the one they show you. It won’t have the same appliances (or as in our case, some may even be missing).

2. Compulsive Habit Possibly Broken. I have the tendency to check on my babies several times a night to make sure all is well. Being in a tiny apartment, one doesn’t have to get out of bed at night to hear everyone breathing.

3. Exercise. When the laundry facilities aren’t in the vicinity of your dwelling and you have a family of 6, there is ample opportunity for daily cardio workouts. The parking spaces are also not near your door, so that $200 Wal-Mart trip is also cause for calorie burning. This all makes up for the advertised work-out facilities that never materialized. (The exercise room has been under construction since we’ve been here, but the not-yet-broken-ground fancy new leasing office is near completion.)

4. Valuable People Skills Being Honed. Having to call the management office on a weekly basis to report what has gone wrong now has helped me refine the fine art of motivating people. Offering the maintenance guy a caffeine-free Coke will not get him to return. When he says that he likes his caffeine, get the guy some caffeine.

5. No Need to Watch Reality Shows. When you are the prime witness to your upstairs neighbors’ every footstep, cough, door shutting, shower taking, and toothbrush hitting on the sink, why watch a reality show? Hey, why even watch TV when you can just listen to his?

6. Cultivating a Longing for Home. Yes, I miss my house in Florida. I look forward to returning. But why long for a temporary house when the Bible promises an eternal Home?

1 Thessalonians 4:15-18:

For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words.

Then, in Hebrews 6:19-20 we are told that this is a sure thing:

This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast and one which enters within the veil, 20 where Jesus has entered as a forerunner for us…

And finally, Hebrews 11:13-16 gives us this glimpse of the promise to come:

All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. 14 For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. 15 And indeed if they had been thinking of that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 But as it is, they desire a better country, that is a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them.

If you know Christ, you have this hope. And that, my friend, is a reason to celebrate.

I’ve always known that I’m in the minority. Have you ever witnessed a hunched-over teenager sporting pants that need hemming, belting, and a little patching (for the bargain price of my weekly grocery bill) and a scowl that in comparison makes Witch of the East look like The Good Witch? All in an effort to be different, he trades his birthright (and his money) for a little bowl of bland porridge. Mr. Teenager thinks he’s the cutting edge minority but neglects to notice that all the other kids in his class look just like him. No, I’m not in that minority. I mean that I am REALLY in the minority.

You will not hear the following statistics in the president’s upcoming State of the Union address, but you can find them in an article by Christopher Check in the January 2005 issue of Chronicles Magazine (you can also hear a more profound discourse on the subject at Buried Treasure Books):

From 1990 to 2002, the percentage of the adult population (18 and over) that is married has dropped from 61.9 percent to 58.9 percent. In 1960, 72 percent of the adult population was married.

Total fertility rate (TFR) has increased to 2.1 (just above replacement level), but 1/3 of births are out of wedlock, and marital fertility is below replacement level. As the median age of the population continues to rise, the TFR is expected to decline.

12 percent of all families in 1980 had 3 or more children. In 2002, it was 10 percent of all families. Nearly 1/4 of all families with three or more children are single-parent families. Only 3 percent of families have 4 or more children under age 18. More than half of all families have no children under the age of 18. When you use the word “family” to describe a mother, father and their minor children, that describes a minority of families today.

Of the approximately 30 million currently married women between 15 and 44, 41 percent have become surgically sterile, 19 percent use hormonal contraceptives and 17 percent use a device to prevent birth. People who do not use birth control or use natural family planning are less than 10 percent of this group.

Somewhere between 1-in-4 and 1-in-3 women alive today have had an abortion. [Amy here: I’m assuming this statistic includes chemical and morning-after pill abortions, “selective reduction” procedures and homicide in order to protect the unencumbered lifestyle– er, the “health”– of the mother.]

In 1970, 40 percent of married women were in the paid labor force. In 2002 it was 61 percent. Among women who have had a child in the last year, 58 percent are working. 56 percent of children ages 3-5 are in institutional daycare. Only 26 percent are cared for by their parents full-time at home. The percentage of children in higher income households who are in daycare is even higher: 62 percent from homes with an income in the $50,000 to $75,000 range; 75 percent from homes with incomes greater than $75,000.

One doesn’t need a crystal ball or even the gift of prophecy to observe these statistics are sobering and have profound implications for society. In addition to the above figures, it is also reported that the divorce rate among Christians is a little higher than among non-professing Christians. (Perhaps this is because those that claim to be Christians feel an obligation to marry instead of just shacking up until the next honey comes along.) But whatever the case, we are marching steadily on the Highway to Hell: living, eating, drinking, being merry, and enjoying our lives without being “encumbered by children.”

Carmon Friedrich sums it up nicely (you have to read it slowly): By following the philosophy of gathering rosebuds while ye may, many are getting left out in the cold when the seasons of life change, and the rosebuds disappear leaving just the cold, cold grounding of reality: loneliness and lost opportunity to plant and tend thriving gardens that will bloom for eternity.

Mother Teresa expressed, “How can there be too many children? That’s like saying there are too many flowers.” Cultivating children for the cause of Christ is work that will reap eternal rewards. I will stand before the Lord one day with my children next to me, not my spiffy house. Tending covenant children produces a fruit sweeter than apples picked at their peak. Hard labor? Yes. From Galatians 6, we are admonished:

7Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. 8For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life. 9And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some weeds to pull.

Mommy, these pants can’t fit me anymore because they grew smaller.

Such was the statement from my dear three-year-old, Annalise, just yesterday. In the mind of my young observer, who needs a little training in the Scientific Method, there must be something wrong with those pants, because the problem was certainly not her own growing legs. I marveled that she simply received this notion without any thought of personal responsibility.

No, honey. You’re just getting bigger. You’re growing now. You know you’re a big three-year-old…

[a little impatient now] Mommy, the pants grew smaller.

Perhaps she gleaned this manner of deduction from the adults (not me though) that go about blaming others for the cause of their own bad judgment:

11He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” 12The man said, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.” (Genesis 3:11-12)

Or perhaps she just thought the pants grew smaller. I don’t know; it’s a tough call…

5. You will not have to ask me redundant questions. When you pass me at church or in the grocery store, you will not have to say, “So, are you pregnant again yet?” As soon as we’re ready to announce, we will announce in this very spot. Readers of this site will be the first to know. You will have the privilege of “breaking the story” to the real world. Though, everyone will have probably assumed it already and announced it before you. [And, no, we are not blessed again yet!]

4. You will be privy to great information. For example, I’m going to tell you how to enter an underpublicized drawing for a FREE great book (but you have to enter fast—the drawing is January 15th). Excerpt from Challies.com: Total Truth is subtitled “Liberating Christianity from Its Cultural Captivity” ... [Pearcey] shows how Christians have adopted a worldview that is bound and influenced by our culture, so that we now understand Christianity through a secular worldview. Just click here to enter and use my referral code 20282 to get both of us a better chance at winning. Right now, my chances are 0.7%, so it’s not looking too good. However, this just motivates me to find other worthy sites so that you are not disappointed in the future.

3. You might make a friend. I often say that if you go through life and come out the other end with a friend that stuck by you, you are blessed indeed. Many of us have friendly friends, the kind that are with you during this season in your life; few have friends that remain once the event, season, job, location is over. I need this in my life as much as you do, so send me an email to meet for coffee when you get a minute.

2. I will answer the FAQ, “How do you DO it?!” This is most often asked by, but not limited to, fellow mothers passing me in the grocery store while my two carts are overflowing and my children are walking nicely through the two hour ordeal. Nobody ever posed the question during the baby’s meltdown. Perhaps they don Superhero Status upon me because they simply don’t KNOW me, but there are a few real-life people who ask this. So, this is my contribution, a la Titus 2, to furthering Christ’s kingdom. [For a primer on grocery shopping, read my good friend Molly’s advice at the LAF (Ladies’ Against Feminism) website. OK, so Molly doesn’t even know I exist, but I’m sure we’ll be fast friends when we meet.]

1. I might change your moment (or two). RC Sproul Jr. said, “Books change people’s lives. Blogs change people’s moments.” Far be it from me to prove a great and mighty theologian wrong, so I won’t argue. I’m writing this to replace the handwritten notebook I began for my children a few years ago. So far, I have more posts here in a week than entries there in a year. (Laptops are great.) I want my kids to know after I’m gone that I wasn’t only a mother who performed domestic duties, but that I loved them and Christ with all of my mind. Encourage one another daily while it is still called today. See you tomorrow.

1. I got a deal. OK, perhaps this is the most superficial of reasons, but we’ve all been guilty of this at one time or another. Have you ever returned home from an outing– bursting to show your newfound treasure to your husband so that he could add another tier to his “crown” (courtesy Prov. 12:4)–only for him to say, “Did you notice that it doesn’t work/can’t stand up/won’t fit in our house?” But this time isn’t like that!

2. It is seven feet long, which beats our recent dining accommodations. Have you ever noticed that stores only sell tables that seat 4-6? Eight seaters are ornate, glass-topped, nicely upholstered pieces that belong in the museum, err-I mean, formal dining room that NEVER gets used. Have YOU ever eaten in someone’s formal dining room? I truly believe that formal dining rooms are a conspiracy between builders who want to sell you more square footage and silk flower arrangers who need a market for their dust collectors.

3. It is a visual reminder of our invisible faith. My table has long, heavy benches so lots of bodies can squeeze in.Whether the LORD fills our table with more little wiggling bodies, fellow faith-filled sojourners, or strangers who has never tasted the Bread of Life, my prayer is that our table will always be too small. Here I stand before the LORD, arms heavenward, asking him to fill my cup to overflowing.

So, when are ya comin’ for dinner?

All the evils in the world come not because our desires for happiness are too strong but because they are so weak that we settle for fleeting pleasures that do not satisfy our deepest souls but in the end destroy them. The root of all evil is that we are the kind of people who settle for the love of money instead of the love of God. ~John Piper

The other day, my husband and six-year-old son, McGregor, drove to the park. Upon their arrival, McGregor’s friend spied him and announced, “Wow, you’re rich!” He was referring to the 1978 convertible Beetle my husband recently purchased. To fully appreciate the story, you have to know that the car broke down the day he bought it. My husband and I had a good chuckle over this six-year-old’s perception of wealth.

This morning my prayer is that my soul would find satisfaction in Christ—not pleasure, money, old cars, or even the joy of babies that sleep through the night. Thirst for pleasure is a good thing that only finds quenching in Christ. May we not “settle” today, and in so doing, miss out on true wealth.

I was the witness this week of the following scene:

Johnny, come on! It’s time to go!
Little Johnny runs the other way.
John—NEE!
Little Johnny plays on.
1….2….3….4… Now, I frequently wonder what the magic number is that moms count to, because they always change tactics before they get to THE number.
You don’t want TIME OUT now, do you, Johnny? John-NEE? John-NEEEEEEEEEEE!
Little Johnny carries on until Mama starts heading his way. Uh-oh. Time to make a break for it. Little Johnny splits as fast as he can, but his little three-year-old legs are shorter than Mama’s. Mama catches him. Sweet Johnny falls prostrate on the ground and begins a full-on tantrum. Mama looks around sheepishly to see who’s watching and mumbles an embarrassed apology to all the gawkers. Johnny is carried off to the car kicking and screaming.

Score: Johnny=3; Mama=zippo.

I thought about this scene as my seven-month-old, Rebekah, was playing on the floor last night. There were 14 baby toys around her, but she scooted toward my husband’s laptop and reached for his wireless card. My husband, being the wise patriarch that he is, removed her sweet little fat hand and said, “No.” Now, before you flood my email box with hate mail, you should know that Rebekah stopped, pulled her hand back, and smiled. Training begins early in our house, and Rebekah’s time had come.

After the initial reach-and-grab, she paused, looked at her hand from all angles, and reached again. My husband, still wise and patriarchal, removed her hand and said, “No.” We stared at her in wonder, seeing that her brain was processing all of this. Rebekah again reached out for a third time, but this time, she put her hand under, over, and next to the wireless card, but not on. She looked at me. She looked at Dad. Then, she pulled her sweet little fat hand back onto her lap…and smiled.

There were 191 visitors yesterday at my site, but only 11 of you introduced yourselves. What do I have to do, bare my soul?? OK, here goes: I am 10 pounds overweight. Do you know a woman in real life who will discuss her weight with you?! In my endeavor to lose my last 10 pounds after the birth of baby #4, I’ve tried a myriad of things (except diet and exercise). So I’m always on the lookout for the latest gimmick.

Now, before I get to the latest secret I found, I have to tell you that I have tried diet and exercise. After the birth of baby #3, I found myself 40 pounds overweight. Drastic pounds called for drastic measures. For the first time in my life, I began exercising and watching what I ate (as I ate it). I did 3 miles of cardio exercise 5-6 days a week and alternated upper and lower body strength training 5 days a week. After a 1-2 hour workout, the diet part was easy. All you have to do is look at a cookie, and think, I ran 3 miles today, and it will all be for nothing if I eat that one measly cookie. Depressing, I know.

I dropped 25 pounds in the first three months and the remaining 15 pounds over the course of the following year. I hadn’t weighed that much since high school. As I’m sweating and wishing that the torture session would end, I kept thinking, Keep going, Amy, one day you’ll actually enjoy this. That day never came. Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed the way I felt; it was an awesome feeling. I even began to get good at what I was doing, and people stopped me all the time to ask me to share my secret. But, the exercise part was never anything short of torture.

So, without further chatter, here is the latest research on losing weight (that I ripped off from Donna who ripped it off Kate who ripped it off someone else):

1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.
2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.
3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.
4. The Italians drink excessive amounts of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.
5. The Germans drink a lot of beers and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.

CONCLUSION: Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.

Adios’, amigos!

The other day, my husband arrived home and asked, “Anything going on today?” I replied, “Didn’t you read my blog?” He replied, “Uh….no.” [insert mumbling about being busy] So, if I can’t even get my own husband to read this….

Now, my husband is a great guy. Today is our eighth wedding anniversary, and I feel so blessed. Where can I find a guy who goes along with every crazy scheme, idea, or latest angle that I come up with? I’m not saying he buys into it all, but he entertains each scheme. (or more appropriately, is entertained by them) He leads our family in daily worship. He works hard and is the best friend anyone could ever have—loyal, wise, funny, insightful, quick to apologize, super intelligent, and a great listener. And he likes kids, which is good. Whenever I want to rearrange furniture, knock down walls, tear up the landscaping, he happily obliges. When we bought our second house, he was working a lot of hours, and I remember him working outside at midnight planting my topiaries. I asked him to “get in here; it’s late” but he told me that he wanted me to have my flowers. That’s the kind of guy I have. And I’m so grateful.

Even if he doesn’t read my blog.

There’s quite a ruckus going on at Carmon’s blog because she posted a picture of James Dobson’s son, Ryan, sporting a little biker/cutting edge look. From the onset, I knew there’d be feather ruffling, so I decided to sit back and enjoy the discourse.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that if I encountered Rockin’ Ryan in a dark alley, I’d probably quickly gather my chickadees to my bosom and tighten the clutch on my purse. I might even just throw my wallet at him and advise my children to, “Run!” Although you can’t judge a book by its cover, well, sometimes a little low-key marketing doesn’t hurt.

Now, before you imagine any stones coming from this glass house, let me say your conclusion is a little premature. It’s nearly impossible to look at the discussion without biased opinion. I happen to like my ankle-length attire, and all I’m missing is a head-coverin’. We humans like things to be black-and-white, and for that matter, sometimes when devising our standards we inadvertently set up a god in our own image. Yet, what we, as Christians, wear is not immaterial; it matters.

I’m not digressing with my story here. My six-year-old son, McGregor, had some sage advice for his 29-year-old unwedded aunt. He said, “I know who Aunt Jacqui should marry—someone who loves God with his whole heart and doesn’t bow down to idols.” We are in the process of studying Exodus during family worship, so this admonition didn’t come as a surprise. However, as I reflect on what he said, I think the kid has a good point.

What we 21st century Christians wouldn’t give that Christ would come back and set it all straight. Still, the children of Israel had fresh manna daily and didn’t even have to interpret the Words of God through a cultural glass, yet they rebelled, set up idols, and went on their own merry, pagan way. They had the complete, ultimate “how to” book, and still deliberately set up gods in their own image, stone idols to replace God-breathed law.

I venture to hypothesize that even if we had a list of “do’s” and “don’ts” for how a 21st century Christian should look, we’d still rebel. The same sin that dwelt in them, is alive and well in us. We are all sons of Adam and daughters of Eve: living, breathing, working, lovin’, and yes, even dressing, in a sin-stained world. To wit, I don’t toss out this Scripture flippantly: Man sees the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart.

The Rockin’ Ryan dilemma centers on how far we should go to become like those whom the Lord has called us to reach. And it is probably a discussion that will go on and on. It is good that we ponder, pause, and pontificate the matter. Let it continue.

But in all our ramblings, let us remember that the ultimate culture-mesher was the God-Man: Jesus Christ. God Himself condescended, took on human form, and became flesh so that we, in turn, could inherit eternal life. When the depth of this truth is internalized in our mortal hearts, then we will know which shoes to wear when we walk out the door.

Now, go love God and don’t bow down to idols.

If I haven’t returned your email, this is why. Due to limiting circumstances, the blog is out of order today. Please check your local listings, and try your call again. Or ask an operator to help you…

The rain and cold is constant here, so you’ll forgive me for slipping into a moment of desperation. I took my crew to the McDonald’s playplace for lunch yesterday.

Now, the 10 times that I’ve taken them there, they’ve returned home 10 times with a cold exactly three days later. I reasoned away my apprehension with the fact that school was in session and the germs from the previous night had probably since fettered away. I figured that if I was going to chance it, now’d be a good time.

I was wrong.

Apparently, it was Mothers of Pre-school Twins Day (who all, incidentally, had various forms and consistencies of “stuff” oozing out of their eyes and noses). But before I could make a last-ditch sales pitch to try boring-ole’-Wendy’s-that-doesn’t-even-have-a-playground, we were in. I placed our Happy Meal order and cursed my memory for not remembering to bring reading material. I thought it was going to be a lonnnnng two hours.

I was wrong.

There was plenty of entertainment. For starters, there was a nice assortment of soccer moms chatting within earshot. I was able to educate myself on what the voting public considers “moral values” without even having to watch an episode of Oprah. I like economizing my time. It was kind of like Dr. Phil, minus the commercials.

Before long, the mom’s were completely engrossed in swapping juicy husband-bashing stories, so the kids were left to themselves. Not a good thing. Even my friend, Johnny, from a previous blog, was there. He was the one rolling on the floor licking it.

Then, there was the nice ole’ Grandpa who gave his granddaughter a quarter to work the elaborate Happy Meal Express machine that smokes, lights up, and spits out a handful of M & M’s all for the price of a mere quarter. I admit that I was surprised that you could get anything nowadays for a quarter, but alas, it was a smokescreen. The thing didn’t work, so Grandpa sacrificed another quarter to the contraption. (Kinda reminded me of our government…) Of course, the machine wasn’t going to produce without a fight, so Grandpa shook, kicked, and punched the thing until four M & M’s plunked into his hand.

Now, my three-year-old, Annalise, was standing nearby to watch the show up close, and Grandpa opened his hand, offering her a piece of the spoil. She looked at him like the ax-murdering, child-abducting, kid molester that we’d taught all our kids to view strangers who offer candy. It was a proud moment. She didn’t take the bait.

So, next time you’re tempted to need a little TV for entertainment, hop down to your local McDonald’s playplace where hours of happy, fruitful, and productive play can be found. You can never have enough precious, plastic Happy Meal toys, you know. And, while you’re there, send my regards to Johnny.

[Update: it is now three days later, and my six-year-old is laying on the couch coughing. Sorry, McDonald’s. Next time we’re going to boring-ole’-Wendy’s…..]

I’m a little competitive.

Now, if you know me in real life, you’ll recognize that as the understatement-of-the-year. I heard through the rumor mill that the churchwomen were relieved this past year when I didn’t show up at the Annual Ornament Exchange. They held it on a day when I was out of the state. They weren’t taking any chances after the previous year, as it seems I’ve garnered quite a reputation for myself.

It all began at a game night with a few of the church folk. We were playing Pit, and they didn’t know me well enough to suggest a non-grabbing game instead. Now, don’t get me wrong, I will win at any game: grabbing, non-grabbing, strategic, bluffing-based, and the kinds of games with spinners. The only games I won’t play are the kinds that are pure luck—er, providence. (Don’t worry; my kids are growing up just fine without Candy Land.) So, it really didn’t matter what game the poor souls would have suggested; I would outwit, outplay, and outlast. However, it would have been better for their physical well-being if they’d decided upon a non-grabbing type of game.

The first few rounds progressed without commotion; I was able to stake my place in the game without violence. When my opponents began to realize that I was stiff-competition, they took up arms and set out to defeat me. Of course, now I had to make some bold moves. My biggest challenger sat across the table from me, and grabbed the bell before I did. Not willing to go down without a fight, I flew across the table to take back what was rightfully mine and landed on….

The pastor.

This was not one of my stellar moments, and the account completely blew out of proportion the following day. I am competitive, but not entirely brutal.

All that to say, when my new friend Dave over at Revenge of Mr. Dumpling let me know that I was on a short list of nominees for an award, my interest was piqued. Powerhouse Evangelical Underground is hosting the First Annual Contest for Evangelical Blogs. I checked out the categories, and lo and behold, there I was– listed under the category, “Best New Evangelical Blog.”

Wanting to know what I was up against, I visited the other competitors above my name. After clicking on two of them and getting an error message, I was quite encouraged. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all. After visiting the whole list, however, I got rather discouraged because they have spiffy graphics and their own domain names while I’m wallowing over here too cheap and lazy to invest anything into my site. I have a house to run, you know.

After adequately sizing up the competition, I settled on my biggest threat, The Happy Husband. It’s a great site, plain and simple. After enjoying a little time there, however, I burst into jubilation. I found a kink in his armor. His site is a year-and-a-half old!

So, click here, and tell Evangelical Underground that I deserve my nomination for “Best New Evangelical Blog” so that I can make it to the finals. If I’m not the “best”, well, at least I’m “new.”

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**Kudos to Reformed Jedi for the step-by-step Dummies Guide to Getting Images in Your Sidebar, and extra bonus points to faithful reader, Todd at Five Children, for making it link. Now, who wants to write for me?