It’s a good thing my commenting feature is a little persnickety. If you’re posting and it sends you to a spam site, it’s not intentionally personal. It’s getting worked on; new site quirks…

I’m getting a few unhappy private comments about my recent Feminism Scheminism post, and all I have to say is, “I don’t get it.”

Nobody called women weak, wimpy, or sub-intelligent. In fact, I can hold my own pretty well, too. It was only a year ago that I was sporting a little definition. (Pregnancy has a way of messing with that.) I’m a little feisty, and I just creamed five of my husband’s rocket science co-workers in a game of wit and strategy. Insert puffed peacock feathers.

But when women feel the need to flaunt their strength and wit, it often has the opposite effect.

Admiring men for the way God made them won’t make me less of a woman. God made men a certain way, and I frankly haven’t met one who didn’t enjoy a little stroking of his masculinity. Men like their egos. Priming your man will not diminish your value. Strong women like to make their men stronger. At some point, feminists must realize that the world doesn’t revolve around them and complimenting a man won’t devalue your womanhood.

And that’s why I have no problem admiring my man’s muscles.

Even if mine were stronger. ;)

I like three-year-olds.

We leave California for home-sweet-home in only two days, and what-do-you-know, the sun finally comes out. It was one of those days when the temperature is what it’s going to be in heaven: somewhere in the 70’s, light breeze, comfortable in either short or long sleeves. So, I take the troops on a nice walk to celebrate.

The older two debate how to say the third word in this sign: Not A Through Street. Baby Energizer relaxes in the stroller, not daring to fall asleep. But, it is the three-year-old that keeps me entertained.

“Mama, I want to hold your hand.” Anytime, honey.

“Mama, I bet you’d like to have those flowers if they were on sale.” Does she know her Mom, or what?!

“Mama, you have the bless-you’s.” I wipe my nose and thank the Lord for blessing me.

We pass some markings that used to be on the sidewalk and she notes, “It’s all gone because the rain rained it away.” I’m caught it in the sweetness of the moment but quickly brought back with, “Mama, you need to look both ways when you cross the street.”

The walk ends up covering a few miles over an hour and a half, and I barely want it to end. I’m busy reflecting on how much I enjoy the simplicity of it all, but I’m brought back with, “MOM…[stern face] we took the LONG-cut!”

On our walk yesterday, I crossed my ducklings at the crosswalk. (I am a law-abiding citizen.) An older woman impatiently tried to make a left-hand turn and inched closer and closer to my ducklings. I corralled my littles, turned around, and quacked, “Can you just WAIT?!”

She made hand gestures, yelled obscenities, and sped off around us.

Country roads don’t have cross-walks and mean folks.

Amy is clicking her heels and reciting, “There’s no place like home… [click, click, click] There’s no place like home…”

We exchanged our spacious Florida home for a two-bedroom apartment in California back in September. (Pardon the redundancy to faithful readers and people in real life.) My handsome rocket scientist already travels more than we’d like, so the children and I decided to join him for this project. My entire personality baulks against change, even more so when the change is difficult. And if I need any salt on my wound, now that I’m getting used to the change, it’s time to…change.

We’re leaving for home today.

I’d like to spend a few minutes musing on the lessons we learned while living without a yard to play in, a convenient laundry machine to wash in, and a few less square feet to breathe in—but my brain is buried under the boxes.

But I expect if I had to sum it up while I’m walking out the door, there are two things I wish I’d told myself from the beginning, “Self–lose the attitude, and smile when you don’t feel like it.” I’m not into psychobabble, but there’s something about behaving different that makes you feel different. I’m not into spiritual-babble, either, but there’s something about obeying God that makes enjoying God a little easier.

In closing, I’m reposting some old thoughts. See you on the other coast.

6 Reasons to Celebrate 6 People in an 888 Square Foot Apartment

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 “remodeling” since we’ve been here. It opened this week. Three days ago. Yes, we’re leaving today. Yes, this is the story of my life.)

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, 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. For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. And indeed if they had been thinking of that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return. 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.

[click, click, click…]

There are leaders, and then there are leaders. A leader will tell you to jump, but a good leader will inspire you to ask, “How high?” Then there are truly great leaders who not only get you to jump to their specifications, but they make you think it was your idea in the first place.

**********

We just returned from a fabulous evening with friends, the kind that you pick up where you left off yesterday, even though you’ve been on the other side of the country for the last six months. Everyone should have these kinds of friends.

Something FabulousFriend said that struck me, “I wish I’d known earlier what I know now.” Original thought, I know. But it got me thinking…

When I married at the age of 20, there were a lot of ideas I held, that I look back on now, I realize were Biblical values. But I didn’t have the courage to hold to them because they were just…foreign. Why? Because I was conditioned to practice the opposite. It was my Christian duty to be a “wise steward,” to think with my brain. (Note that I wasn’t really thinking, but mimicking mainstream materialism.)

I exchanged Biblical principle for practicality. And it wasn’t even sound pragmatism.

For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men. ~I Corinthians 1:25

I was fed a steady diet of humanism, “me”ism, and feminism, and I swallowed it as a “Biblical worldview.” All you have to do is type “Christian” in front of it, and it suddenly becomes Biblical.

Not everything that is Christian, is [cough] Christian.

And that includes some of the ideas held by the mainstream Evangelical community. In a recent Barna survey (too lazy to link), Christian parents state that the most important thing to pass on to their children is a good education. No further commentary necessary. Walk into most pastoral pre-marital counseling sessions around the country, and you will find a lot of humanism passed along as Christian principle.

Humanism has crept into our thinking. We’re under the guise that we’re thinking Biblically simply because the Christian community sells, condones, and packages it.

Satan is a smart fellow. Remember the sign of a crafty leader: we think the leader’s thoughts after him, and then we pat ourselves on the back for being so wise and original. We jump; we jump high; and we think we’re the puppeteer, but we’re really the puppet.

So, what a relief to find in real life those saints who live Biblical lives, day-after-day, week-after-week, trusting God to be true, as they take him at His Word. I suspect that it’s more about having the audacity to obey, than just having the knowledge to do what we ought. Yes, “I wish I knew then…”, but I also wish I had some guts. Witnessing humble families living in real faith gave our family the courage to begin exchanging pragmatism for Biblical principle, foolishness for wisdom.

And to those doing just that, I say, Keep going. You never know who’s watching and taking courage.

Other than my children being “flagged” as potential national security threats, our journey home commenced without much commotion. After settling in for our long flight where they didn’t even pass out the customary bag of three pretzels, the flight attendant paced the aisle, asking passengers, “Where is the large family? The large family?” I ignored her because we only have six in our family. When she returned again, still looking for “the large family” to arrange seating (and perhaps glean more information on the Tigger backpack content threat), I acknowledged that the staff might be thinking about us.

They were.

Ha. They don’t know the meaning of large. (They also don’t know the meaning of small bag of pretzels.) Tonight I had the privilege to welcome a real-life large family into our home, that I’d previously only known online. Many of you might remember Diane and John, author of this post, from the interview I conducted with them several weeks ago when I concluded the series on Hope for a Tired Mama. They are a real-life family of 12 who believe God when He declares that children are a reward.

But tonight the reward was mine. I witnessed Cranky Baby being soothed by a sibling. And it worked. I enjoyed conversing with non-hunched over friendly and helpful teenagers. Very cool. The littles called me by my last name. (I thought we were the only ones who made our kids do that.) And our families enjoyed the familiarity that comes with being in the same Big Family, though we’d never met before.

When they drove away, my three-year-old spoke for all of us, “I’m going to be missin’ them.”

If you have kids of speaking age, no doubt you’ve dealt with the question, “Can we have a dog?” If all your kids still have trouble remembering to brush their teeth, no doubt you’ve answered with a resounding “no”, unless you’re insane, which would explain why you’re reading this site.

Humble Muse Tip #21: Wait until the kids are older before you choose Where the Red Fern Grows as the family read-aloud.

Why I don’t want a dog

1. Honestly, do I have to list the reasons? (Sincere humble apologies to Dave Black.)

Why I might consider a dog

1. Something else to blame nighttime noises on.

2. I’m thinking there might come a day when the kids don’t go wild when I walk through the door, and it might be nice to always have that kind of welcome.

3. A step-by-step “how-to” manual comes with a dog.

4. The kitchen floor after mealtimes. Enough said.

Even though all my kids are under the “age of accountability,” no matter your theological persuasion, that doesn’t mean that we’re not teaching our kids to practice self-control, remember to clean-up, and take initiative. Not only is it the path to obtaining some Biblical character, it’s also a good way to convince the parental figures to buy a dog. And every now and then, I see that the kids are learning responsibility. Take this picture.

We’re presently on the road right now, heading to this conference, and I noticed a Tupperware container on one of the seats. Then I observed that it was buckled in. I assumed it was just more junk; you know, miscellaneous stuff jam packed into the van on a long road trip. Until I took a closer look 300 miles later, and saw this:

This is Fuzzy the Caterpillar, found in the yard a couple days ago. I often tell the kids that the only pets they can have are the ones that they can catch themselves and don’t cost money to maintain. Mean mom. They always kill the pet within a day or two anyway, so I don’t worry too much about sunk costs.

Well, the kids remembered poor Fuzzy, didn’t leave him home alone, made sure he complied with local seat belt laws, and spared his life beyond a mere day.

Maybe it’s time to start thinking about a dog.

Nah…

Someone asked in yesterday’s post why my van was so clean.

I like to give credit where credit is due: it wasn’t me. Actually, I went to grab some coffee with a friend right before our trip, and I parked my van in their driveway on purpose. Her meticulous husband hates when I do that because he thinks my dirty van lowers his house value. I left the keys “just in case” and returned from my outing to a sparkling, shiny van. Thanks, Bryan.

Now, I’d take a picture of the inside of our van, but I can’t find the camera. I know it’s in there somewhere.

Oh, and we can’t find Fuzzy the Caterpillar either.

Good thing my friend’s house is on the way home; I think she needs some coffee. ;)

I usually sing pretty loud in church, but silence overtakes my lips during the third verse of the hymn, More Love to Thee. I don’t sing this part:

I like comfort.
I like ease.
And I like to be holy without the grief and pain.

…We are currently moving into the category of “extremely large family” as we just found out we are expecting twins–#12 and #13. I’m 45 years old and have a wonderful family (children ages 1-22), but this has struck fear in my heart. :) However, we don’t get to quit being obedient when it gets hard or inconvenient.
~Email from Charlotte in Oklahoma

Convictions aren’t really convictions until the hard side of the coin lands face up. Whenever I quote, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord,” I’m usually emphasizing the former part. I like the Lord giving me stuff. And when I hear the message of the cross, I like to glory in its saving power and not in its call to “take it up.”

It is not that God is in heaven, delighting to bestow double-edged “gifts” upon his children as a cruel cosmic joke; His gifts are always good. (Matthew 7:9-11) But sometimes the method of his good grace is by means of practical and painful sanctification. It is Him showing Himself strong in our weakness, enabling us to live out our convictions with resolve and guts. It is Him showing up when we feel like bowing out.

When we affirm that He is good, let us not be fair-weather friends. Acknowledge that He is right and true when our preferences line up with His and especially when they do not.

Let us accept all things from His hand, knowing that His promises are more sure, more real than momentary discomfort, and that when we embrace His messengers, we are really embracing Him at the same time. Children bring short-term grief and pain–yes, but they are also God’s long-term covenant blessing upon us.

He is good.
He has a plan.
And He is building His kingdom.

Thank you, Charlotte, for living out your convictions while the rest of us just muse about them.

Presentation makes a few things more palatable. My husband will eat anything as long as it’s covered in cheese; the children will eat anything as long as it’s dipped in sugar. And for me, the meals I prefer are the ones that I don’t have to prepare.

We’ve been on a little excursion. I’d like to write an entire log of our week, but I’m afraid that the presentation would be unpalatable. That is, even a humorous presentation on the facts of our vacation would barely be digestible. “Hey, do you have three hours to spare while I break out the home videos?” [Friends begin to hear their mothers calling…]

Which is why I’m copping out and deferring the task to my newly acquired friend, Valerie, whom I met this past week. She is as witty in person as she is online; in other words, it doesn’t take her two hours to think up intelligent quips, acronyms, entertaining vacation stories, contest entries, and Biblically sound encouragement like some of us. Valerie wrote on her week (scroll down), and since I was there for a lot of it, I’ll just let her tell you about it. She also has some good lecture notes, as does Meg.

You already know that I’m a lazy blogger.

We also had the privilege to meet three women that I correspond with by email and a few other onliners: Meg, Christo and Lindsey, Rick Saenz, and a nice country pastor (who incidentally wrote about eating breakfast, or not, after I’d composed this post…grrr). We’re tired, but eager to head home, grateful for a week of full hearts, minds…and stomachs.

I ate a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.