I'm Not Cool Anymore. (not even a little)

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm an early thirty-something homeschooling Mom with three rowdy kids up in mah house. I haven't watched cable television in YEARS. (Downton Abbey doesn't count because it's PBS. Obviously.) THERE WAS NO iPhone AROUND the last time I carried a purse that wasn't filled with diapers, wipes, stale animal crackers and 37 random broken crayons.

I went to the mall about month ago to buy jeans and left feeling like I'd visited another planet. SOMEONE ACTUALLY CALLED ME MA'AM. I've been immersed in growing babies and birthing babies and nursing babies and teaching babies so much lately that a lot of pop culture has passed me by. It's left me realizing there's a lot nowadays that I'm too old for. 

1- Trampolines. 

I had three not-at-all-tiny babies in three short years. Things have happened. Gravity is not my compadre anymore. Boom. Motherhood.

2- Less than three cups of coffee. 

I have a lot to do everyday. Jesus and coffee help me get it done. 

3- Sleeveless shirts. 

Awkward. Next.

4- Jump Roping. 

(See No. 1)

5- Movies that start after 9:30pm. 

Unless you want to watch me nap.

6- Technology. 

I own a MacBook Pro (I'm currently typing on it. Hypocrite, I know.) and I can operate approximately 1.7% of the things on it. My friend Cindy thinks I'm pathetic, and I probably am. WHAT IS THIS 'CLOUD' THEY SPEAK OF??

7- Spaghetti O's. 

I tried some of those last year and y'all- GROSS. What was 8 year old Katie thinking? Now Funyun's and chocolate milk out the jug- THAT IS A DIFFERENT STORY ALL TOGETHER. Manna from heaven.

8- Gossip. 

Seriously, nothing tears people apart and ruins friendships and isolates women faster than talking about other people. We are better than this y'all. DROP THE HABIT. I clung to it in my insecure 20's. I'm beginning my 30's with confidence in myself without dragging others down AND IT FEELS AWESOME.

9- Cheap cream cheese. 

We live on one income and I'm a master at budgeting. I can scrimp and save and stretch our grocery dollars like nobody's business. I am a store brand believer, but DO NOT EVER THINK FOR A SECOND that I'm not gonna buy Philly. Treat yo' self, y'all. 

10- Sun damage. 

A couple of summers ago I bought a gigantic, gaudy red sun hat. That thing has an SPF of 50, a 27" brim and I wear it EVERYWHERE. It's ugly and I don't.even.care. 

11- Jumping jacks. 

(See No. 1 and 4)

12- Giving up my Birkenstocks. 

Part of my newfound confidence is proudly wearing my decades old Birks with everything. Florida only gets like 2 months of too-cold-for-flip-flops weather and my Birks have never let me down. Hooray for rocking feet that look like baked potatoes! 

13- Hip slang.

Because what on Earth does 'on fleek' mean?? Why should my eyebrows aspire to attain this description? Someone, help me. I'm lost. I'm thisclose to opening a permanent Urban Dictonary tab on my Safari browser- IF I ONLY KNEW HOW. (see No. 6)

Y'all, I'm sure that I'll think of other things to add to this list but for now, HERE SHE IS. I'm officially uncool, unhip and completely out of sync. I'm about two weeks from perming my hair, teasing my bangs into a curly donut forehead crown, throwing on a denim jumper (hold on- I think those are back in style now. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THE WORLD??!) and completely transitioning to the stereotypical homeschool Mom persona. 

Or maybe not. ::wink::

Whatever I decide, thanks for stopping by y'all. I'm gonna go pour myself some more coffee and get ready to start my day. I won't hit my 3 cup minimum today by just sitting around here typing. Be blessed and bless someone else! 

Defenseless.

I heard it before I saw it- and I knew it was going to be bad.

I was in my room when the noise of the crash reached my ears and I immediately knew who the culprit was: my oldest, Luke. 

When I turned the corner into my dining room, I saw just exactly what I feared I would: 5,723 seed needs scattered on the floor, an empty bead box amid them and a petrified little boy staring up at me with fear in his eyes. "I-I-I-I'm so sorry, Momma. I was just tryin' to put it back on that shelf and I dropped it. Please don't be mad with me, I'm sooooooorry." 

AND HE SHOULD BE SORRY.

You see, I'd only just told him that he wasn't supposed to be carrying that box around. I'd only just reminded him that there were drawers in our school supply bookcase that were off limits to him.(For the like 47th time. Grrr.) I'd only just shooed him out of that room and away to play with other things because I'd only just finished vacuuming in between and behind and around and underneath every single one of my dining room chairs in preparation for his sister Josie's 4th birthday party. Because there ain't no cleaning like the cleaning you do before your Mom comes to visit. AmIright??

I walked away, into my bedroom to put clothes away when I heard the scattering crash and knew exactly what it meant: a mess. A large, wildly scattered, enormously aggravating task was going to await me in the one room that had just been freshly cleaned. WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAPPEN IN THE CLEAN ROOMS?? Mopping my kitchen is the No. 1 surefire way to guarantee that someone will spill milk or apple juice or an my entire 3lb. can of coffee onto the floor. And also y'all, those tiny seed beads can really travel. I'm pretty sure I found a few in my front ditch like a week after this happened. 

I stood there, in my formerly cleaned up, straightened up, everything-has-finally-been-put-back-in-it's-place dining room and my ears were ROARING. I felt my blood pressure rising by the second and my mind raced. I wanted to scream. Cry. Pout. Collapse. I'd been working on school in the mornings all that week and birthday party preparations during all the afternoons. I'd become busy and bothered and burned out. Seeing those teeny, tiny beads spread out like my last shred of fortitude, I knew this was it. The end. The nail on the coffin of my patience. The last chapter in the book titled: The Day I Shaved My Own Head In Despair. 

Only, it wasn't. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. And shout. And pout and shake and wallow in a big ol' pool of self pity. I wanted to yell. To scream. To holler at Luke for making a gigantic mess in my freshly cleaned room. But I didn't. Somehow, some way, some strange thing kept me together that afternoon. Kept me from falling apart and losing my temper and behaving in a way that I would have soon regretted. (Nothing is more humbling than having to ask your kids to forgive you for losing your temper. Trust me. I've done it before. Like 4,719 times.) 

Just that week, as I was finishing my daily Bible study in the date's corresponding chapter in Proverbs, I'd run across a verse that cut me to the quick. It punched me in the face and stuck out to me because I'm guilty. And ashamed. And defenseless. I've fallen in love with it and it's become a sort of "Mom-tra" that I've started clinging to. 

"Like a city that is broken into and without walls is a woman who has no control over her spirit." -Solomon, Proverbs 25:28 (gender changes mine, obviously.) 

I surveyed the mess and got to work. Out came the vacuum and dust pan and tiny broom that my kids love using. Luke and I talked, and instead of over reacting I was able to address the situation calmly and without losing my temper. (This may have been the first time that's happened y'all because I can sometimes have a flair for the dramatics. SHOCKING, I KNOW.) We worked together and the mess was cleaned up much quicker than I'd anticipated. We came away from the situation with cool heads, tear free faces and new lessons learned. 

That verse has taught me so much about how losing control of my spirit- my temper, my frustrations, my anger and my patience- about how allowing those to reign unconquered within myself is actually breaking me down and exposing me to attack. When I lose my temper and raise my voice at the kids, it becomes easier and easier to let it happen again. And again. And again. My fuse gets shorter, my patience thinner and my walls are weakened every time I snap. The more I yell, the harder I fall until one day, there will be nothing left to stop my anger and I'll be consumed by it. I'll be sitting around screaming "SERENITY NOW!" at the top of my lungs like a lunatic.

Controlling my spirit and asking God to abide with me as I navigate trying times helps me to rebuild my defenses. Taking time to begin my day in prayer and study and casting myself down before His throne allows me to let Him provide the brick and mortar that will be a wall and shield for me instead of trying to do it on my own. When He builds my walls they are hard to tear down. When I do, they crumble immediately. 

And when I think about it that way, the answer is simple. I need Him. 

I need Him every.single.day. 

Or I'm defenseless. 

It's Official. I Am Jessie Spano.

Y'all. I really am.  

For all the people and all the pets and all the lesson plans and all the dishes and all the laundry and all the urine soaked clothes (BECAUSE POTTY TRAINING NEVER ENDS, y'all.) and all the things that need my attention every.single.day- there really isn't enough time for me to successfully and completely take care of them all. There just isn't. 

A friend asked me yesterday if everything was OK because she hadn't heard from me in a while. I met up with another friend at the park just last week for the first time in MONTHS. I have had plans to take the kids to story time at our local library since 2014. I am becoming a professional plan maker/canceler. It's almost a gift.

It's funny, this season of life I'm in. I'm the busiest I can ever remember being, but I accomplish almost nothing of consequence at the end of every day. (Unless you count keeping all three kids and the dog and the cat alive for 18+ hours. Which, on some days, I DO.) There are lesson plans that get pushed back and towels that get tumbled for the fourteenth time and there is currently a basket of socks sitting on the floor of my bedroom that have been there since LAST Tuesday. 
Sorry, Mom. I know I was raised better. 

I've heard the adage quoted to Moms like me who are feeling stretched too thin: "Just remember, God won't give you more than you can handle." ::cue my respectful and internal eye roll:: I know what they are saying, and I can appreciate the loving place they are coming from, because I too believe that God will never crush me helplessly beneath the stresses of my life. What I have to take issue with is the presumptive place a phrase like that puts me in. It's almost saying that by being overwhelmed and overworked and overtired, I'm discounting my faith or that it's not strong enough to carry me through. 

Ummm. NO. 

When people remind me that 'God won't give me more than I can handle', it can feel as if my faith is cheapened. As if to say that if I'd have a stronger faith, then everything would come up roses and I'd never burn supper or forget to pay the water bill or have three kids turn a sofa, four pillows and a dog bed into a trampoline-gym-set-bonanzaville. And y'all, this is where I have see a difference within that phrase. While I agree that God will never give me more than I can handle, I do believe He will sometimes give me more than I think I can. Do you see the difference there? 

I think that's the sometimes unseen benefit of the humility motherhood gives me. When the days are easy and the laundry gets folded while it's still warm and the kids act like angels- I BEGIN TO BELIEVE I CAN DO IT ON MY OWN. I get my act together, I vacuum my floors and scrub my toilets and teach my lessons and go to bed feeling rather smug and self satisfied. Accomplishing tasks and having a freshly mopped kitchen floor are nice and all, but when I allow completing them to take my focus off of my total dependence on Jesus- that's where the trouble starts. 

When the days are hard and the dishwasher is backlogged because I forgot to turn it on the night before (groan) and the towels sour for the second day in a row and the kids act like rabid wolverines- I BEGIN TO REALIZE I CAN NOT DO IT ON MY OWN. I fall to my knees, crawl into my closet, close the door and pray for mercy. I plead for patience and strength and forgiveness and can even still go to bed feeling drained and incomplete. Falling apart, losing my temper and having to face the emptiness that can reside at the core of my being is sometimes just what I need to remember how much I really require Jesus to complete me. 

So, during this Jessie Spano season I'm in- I'll still work hard, but I'll rest assured knowing that even on the days that I feel like a failure, there's still a blessing to be found within them. (And I'll try to get the kids to story time at our library sometime before 2017.) 

I'm Just Like Joseph

As I read through Genesis 39 this morning, the idea of God's continuous care for and rememberance of Joseph throughout his life really stuck out to me. 

Bad things, awful things, HORRIBLE things happened to poor Joseph this morning. He was sold BY HIS BROTHERS into slavery in a foreign country. Then, after overcoming that he was wrongly accused and thrown into prison for a crime he didn't commit! 

Now my days may not be as bad as Joseph's (HALLELUJAH), but they can still have their low moments. My kid may get cavities and my coffee pot may explode onto my kitchen counter at 5:07am. My school plans may completely flop and leave me feeling like the worst homeschool teacher/Mom on the entire Gulf Coast. My daughter might spill the last third of a gallon of milk into my freshly mopped floors right on the heels of the 17th potty accident of the day that just so happened to occur on top of a freshly folded basket of laundry. 6:47pm may come and my husband may still be three hours away from coming home, leaving me to feed all the mouths and floss all the teeth and say all the prayers and clean up all the things BY MYSELF for the third night that week. I may unknowingly wash and dry a fabric markered Tshirt with my big kid's laundry without heat setting the ink and then therefore stain EVERY SINGLE THING with smears of purple and orange and navy blue ink smears. (By the way, "No heat setting required" is a big, fat, gigantic lie. Thanks for nothing, Tulip.) 

I may not be in a prison wrongly accused of a crime I didn't commit, but I am sometimes trapped in a house filled with three kiddos who can get into enough mischief, madness and mayhem that makes me question my sanity and my serenity and my salvation. 

(Not really my salvation. But almost.) 

I love how Moses was inspired to remind us of God's continuous remembrance of Joseph.  

(I saw that clearly in verses 2 and 21. Those were my jam, y'all. They are underlined with all the ink.)  Moses tells us of Joseph's injustices, of the unfair deck that was stacked against him, of how everything seemed to be turned against him, how dark these times were for Joseph. BUT THEN, in the very next breath, Moses gives us  hope. He reminds us that God never forgot Jospeh. How He never NOT saw his suffering. His pain. His abandonment. His loneliness. As isolated as Joseph seemed in the moment, he was never outside God's plan. His vision. His sheltering wing. 

I NEEDED TO REMEMBER THAT. 

"Now Jospeh had been taken down to Egypt; and Potiphar, an Egyptian officer of Pharoah, the captain of the bodyguard, bought him from the Isaelites, who had taken him down there. And the LORD was with Joseph, so he became a successful man." -Genesis 39:1-2

"So Joseph's master took him and put him into the jail, the place where the king's prisoners were confined: and he was there in jail. But the LORD was with Joseph and extended kindness to him..." -Genesis 39:20-21

These verses were such a refreshing reminder for me. They were a balm to my soul, washing over my lonesome spirit like how that first sip of my morning coffee fills me with warmth from the inside out. Staying home, while the biggest blessing I could have ever imagined, has also left me feeling surprisingly isolated sometimes. Surrounding myself with a small army of kids that I created can come with its fair share of battles. The benefits I glean from staying home are innumerable, but the cost can be high. And, during those  lonely times when all I have are Sofia the First, Little Einsteins and Curious George for company; when I actually welcome the call from the windshield repair company because it means that I'll actually have an ADULT to talk to for even a few minutes- it's good for me to remember that I'm just like Joseph. Because while I may be lonely, I'm never alone. 

A Clean Toilet and A Cleaner Conscience

Ok, so here's the thing- it's late January already and like (hopefully) most of the rest of y'all, I'm already struggling to keep some of the resolutions I made for 2016. 

Except for daily yoga/exercise. I MADE A POINT not to resolve to increase my levels of physical activity this year, BECAUSE TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE. I know that right now, in this season of life I'm living, waking up even earlier than I already do to do yoga on my cold living room floor or staying up late to do a YouTube "Dance Your Pounds Away" channel is not, and will not be happening. So instead of making unattainable goals for myself that I'm doomed not to achieve and thus feel massive amounts of guilt about, I decided to break with the "Get Fit This Year" tradition and only set goals for myself that I MAY ACTUALLY WANT TO ACHIEVE. Maybe 2017 will be the year I can finally touch my toes while doing a basic forward fold, BUT IT AIN'T GONNA BE NOW. Namaste, y'all. 

Before I set goals for this new year, I thought about what I wanted 2016 to be for me that maybe 2015 wasn't. And the main thing I pinpointed was peace. I live and teach and work in a house that's filled with three rowdy young kids. IT CAN BE STRESSFUL. I'm amazed at how quickly things can disentigrate when a kindergartener, preschooler and toddler join forces. It can happen at lightning speed. They've got a gift for losing toys and breaking crayons  and covering flat surfaces with unidentifiable sticky substances. 

And most of the time, things like this happen when I'm distracted. OF COURSE. When I'm on a phone call with the dentist  or paying bills or unloading the dishwasher- they spring into action. Toys are dumped, skirmishes are fought and somehow the dog gets locked in a closet. These are distractions that are a normal, natural, necessary part of my day. I can, and should, and do manage to handle them appropriately. It's the unnecessary, unimportant, frivolous distractions that become my Achiles heel. 

I'm talking about Pinterest. And Instagram. And Facebook. And texting. 
::gulp:: 
GUILTY. 

I recently lost a valiant battle with a frozen turkey that has left me sporting a stylish air cast boot and a foot that throbs constantly by 3pm each day. I've been trying to stay off it as much as I realistically can, and to elevate it on the couch while I teach Luke, and when I can stop and take breaks to get off it, it does feel better. But sometimes, taking breaks is the LAST thing I need to do. Because sitting down for 10 minutes, turning Netflix on for the kids and reaching for my phone is the worst possible thing I can do for the (mostly) peaceful climate in my house. 

Because the second I sit down and distract myself with Pinterest, I'm not 100% focused on what's going on in my living room, right in front of me, five feet from the end of my air cast boot. I get sucked into links to fifteen different crock pot recipes I know I'll never cook and tune out to the fact that my youngest who is 2, just uncapped 17 Crayola markers. What should have been a 10 minute break somehow turns into two back-to-back episodes of Curious George and has left me flustered and frustrated and frazzled with my kids. I've wasted time looking at mason jar bathroom organization while my kids have emptied our toy chest and dumped out every box of Legos we own. The two oldest are fighting over who-knows-what, and my youngest has covered my coffee table in black and green and red washable (hallelujah!) markers. I slam my phone down and start barking orders, cutting down defenses and mowing through the mound of crying kids and scattered princess accessories. I'm left feeling angry and hot tempered and guilty over the way I've lost my temper yelling at the kids about the mess they've made. I HATE THAT.

I shouldn't be like this. And Paul knows all about it. In his first letter to Timothy, he talks about how widows/young wives should conduct themselves. 

"...and at the same time they also learn to be idle, as they go around from house to house; and not merely idle, but also gossips and busybodies, talking about things not proper to mention. Therefore, I want younger widows to get married, bear children, keep house, and give the enemy no occasion for reproach for some have already turned aside to follow Satan." Paul, 1 Timothy 5:13-15

When I sit down and become needlessly distracted and my kids turn my living room upside down and then I lose my mind about it, I'm giving Satan a foothold in my house. I'm willingly allowing a climate of stress and strife to grow instead of working hard to produce peacefulness and brotherly kindness. 

How much better my days run when I purposefully park my phone on top of my planner AND LEAVE IT THERE on the bookshelf from the hours of 7:00am-7:00pm. When I take a 10 minute break to put my foot up but use it to snuggle the kids and read a book or play the 1000th round of Spot It. When I devote those spare few moments of idle time to wiping down bathroom counters or matching up socks or picking up lost blankets. Bedtime rolls around and the sinks are toothpaste free, the floor of the living room is ACTUALLY visible and there are no last minute, tear filled, frantic searches for Lamby or penguin blankets or stuffed kittens. 

I'm grateful Paul's warnings against idleness. I see it as a reminder that Satan can try and use any weakness to expose me to sinfulness. That, as a distracted and stressed out and hot tempered Mom I am working against all the qualities I should be instilling in my house. If 'keeping my house' is going to keep me out of trouble, then I can see how cleaning a toilet or scrubbing dried peanut butter off a kitchen chair or refilling soap dispensers is a holy exercise. It keeps me focused on the things that are most important, my home and the souls that live within it. 

And that's a resolution worth keeping. 

My Closet Throws Up On Sundays

Y'all know what I mean. 

Every other day of the week, the embarassingly large amount of clothes that hang in my closet are completely and totally fine. They sit there on their hangers grouped by color family (Because I've got a touch of OCD and I'm not afraid to admit it. My friend Tamra will wholeheartedly agree. She understands the need for order and organization and perfectly stacked cans in the pantry. It's a little like Sleeping With The Enemy in our houses but without the rated "R" psychological thriller part. Obviously.) and appear normal. Innocent, even. They're sort of stylish, sort of cute, sort of out of date but still- they never fail me. 

I've developed a deep and abiding love for my classic SAHM homeschool uniform: jeans, Tshirts, and cardigans. My stylish love language could be comprised of a headband, comfy jeans, loads of ridiculous string bracelets, funny/quirky/homemade tie dye Tshirts, all topped off with a cardigan, bare feet and toe rings. (Toe rings. I KNOW, don't judge.) If there were a capsule look that would define me in my early 30's- this would be it. I'm sure Josie is going to look back at pictures of me and be absolutely blown away by how stylish her Mom was when she was a little girl because that's exactly how I feel when I look back at my Mom's awesome perms and homemade fabric painted sweatshirts. And it's obvious where I get my incredible sense of style from. YOU DID YOU, Mom. So am I. 

I said all that to say: My clothes are usually comforting. UNTIL SUNDAY ROLLS AROUND. Getting dressed for Sunday morning worship is probably one of the most stressful things I do all week. NO LIE. Then, it's as if my entire closet stages a mutiny against me. Every single thing I go to put on looks terrible and awful and makes me nauseated just looking at it. WHY DO PANTS NOT FIT ON SUNDAYS?! I will go through outfit after outfit and try different shirts with different bottoms with different hair and just about the time I'm seriously considering wearing my bathrobe to worship, I throw my hands up in surrender and hope that whichever child I'll be happening to hold on my hip will mostly cover whatever awful ensemble I've managed to put together that day. 

(There's a small voice that tells me I'm being psychotic and self centered and obnoxious. But it's reeeeally hard to hear over my unnecessary whining. My husband has the patience of Job, y'all.) 

I was reading through 1 Peter this morning, and I came across those verses in the third chapter that we, as women, know all too well. But today, the first part of verse four really struck a chord with me. 

"...let not your adornment be merely external- braiding the hair and wearing gold jewelry, or putting on dresses; but let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of God."
 -Peter, 1 Peter 3:3,4

I may feel insecure as I get dressed on Sundays. I may dislike all four (or fourteen) outfits I try on. But, when my focus turns more to my Pinterest boards than it is to my purity of heart, I'm not doing my job. I'm being sinful. Sundays are for worshipping Christ, not my cute outfit. They are for fellowshipping with my church family, not for focusing on myself. The hidden person in my heart is the one I should put my time into preparing as I get ready for worship. I need to humble myself more and look at my reflection less. If my heart is pure, then the rest of my ensemble is complete. When I get stressed and frantic and self centered on Sunday mornings, I'm taking away from the One who really deserves it. I'm putting myself up on a pedestal where He belongs. 

 I've made myself a goal to hang up ONE Sunday morning outfit for myself on Saturday night. It'll be an easy, tried-and-true ensemble that I know I'll be sure to like in the harsh morning light that only Sundays bring. I'll hang it up before I go to bed, find BOTH of my coordinating shoes, lay it all out together and BE DONE. Then, when Sunday morning comes, I'll drink my coffee and read my Bible and get myself dressed for worship without turning my closet info a heap of jumbled clothes that I'll have to spend 20 minutes rehanging on Sunday afternoons. 

These verses may find a home on my bathroom mirror sometime soon. And when my Josie gets old enough to feel the Sunday Morning Stress for herself, I'll make her a copy too. 

Be blessed today, y'all. I'm going to get dressed. 
(After another cup of coffee. OF COURSE.) 

When Love is Crazy: A Story About A Couple Of Chickens And A Cup Of Coffee

I dropped a 22 pound frozen turkey onto my left foot Saturday night. 

2016 has firmly introduced itself in my house, y'all. 

My husband Matt's birthday was Sunday (Happy Birthday, Boo!) and his all time favorite meal is turkey. With creamed potatoes. And his Mom's awesome sweet potato casserole. With spicy corn and a pineapple upside down cake. 

So, BECAUSE BIRTHDAYS y'all, I found myself wrestling through my chest freezer to unbury one of these prized poultry products. And, since it's practically unSouthern to NOT have multiple frozen Butterball turkeys in your freezer, I found myself having to play my own icy version of Tetris as I resituated my freezer after I chose the bird whose valiant sacrifice we would pay homage to on my man's very special day. 

It was all going well until I got to my last turkey to reshelf. It was the biggest one in my freezer, so I should've known it would give me the most trouble. As I hoisted it up and seemingly into my freezer, the nylon looped strap gave way and it came crashing down unceremoniously onto my bare.left.foot. 

THERE WERE SO MANY STARS SEEN IN MY GARAGE I THOUGHT IT WAS INDEPENDENCE DAY. 

The shock blinded me from any immediate pain (I love you, adrenaline!) and I somehow managed to hop/limp/shuffle ungraciously into my living room where I collapsed into a heap and began to whimper and then continued to alternate from quietly moaning to silently sobbing until sometime Sunday afternoon. 

My Bible Class was covered by my back up, morning worship was skipped and I stayed virtually immobile for what felt like 63 straight hours. (It was only about 18 but it felt SO MUCH LONGER.) Matt, AKA The Most Amazing Husband/Dad That Ever Lived took all three of the kiddos to church BY HIMSELF ON HIS BIRTHDAY. While there, my precocious Kindergartener Luke managed to tell anyone that would listen (Sorry, visitors!) about how his Momma "dropped that big ol' turkey on her foot". Mercy. 

It wasn't long after services were over that the calls and texts started flying in. It's a story that I have to laugh while telling because WHO DROPS A FROZEN TURKEY ON THEIR FOOT?? I have the best friends, and there was no shortage of people that offered to come by and fold my laundry or mop my floors or buy me groceries or wash my car or give the dog a haircut. Just hearing the offers and seeing the willingness of my friends and church family to help out was enough to bless me immensely. I declined the offers of help, because really and truly, I'm fine. I've got mobility in all my joints and I can stand on it now for a while without it hurting. (But then the throbbing starts again and I've got to ice it. Hooray for homeschool from the couch! #silverlining) It's turning a nice purple color and I'm sure that in a week or so it'll all be history. I hope. ::wink::

But I had some friends who were just crazy enough, who loved me from that "there-are-no-boundaries-in-our-friendship" kinda place that didn't take no for an answer. This morning around 11:00, my doorbell rang and the sweetest, most gracious, most loving couple from our church was  standing on my front porch with WalMart bags in their hands. Bro. Don hugged my neck then bustled his way into my kitchen with a trailing call of "You're hurt! We brought you chickens!" as his wife Mrs. Cora laughed and explained that when they'd heard about my predicament they decided to just come on over and bring us sustenance. THEY ARE SAINTS,Y'ALL. If they'd called and asked if there was anything they could do, I'd have told them no. BUT BECAUSE THEY ARE CRAZY, they bought the chickens, showed up, ignored my unwashed hair and rowdy kids and messy house and dropped off supper. Hallelujah. 

My friend/neighbor (bonus!) Cindy called me this afternoon to inform me that she's coming over to mop my kitchen tomorrow. I told her that it was completely unnecessary. She ignored me. I countered with asking her to simply  help me move my breakfast nook chairs off the tile so I could mop and she ignored me AGAIN. She proceeded to tell me in no uncertain terms that she WOULD be coming by tomorrow and that she WOULD be mopping. God bless her servant heart because my floors are disgusting and I could weep at the idea of having them dog hair and peanut butter and chocolate milk free. As if that weren't enough, she upped her ante by walking over not twenty minutes later with a freshly ground, freshly brewed cup of Starbucks RESERVE BLEND just.for.me. Because coffee is our lifeblood. 

And I think that's how the church should be today because I think that's how it was back then:  With big hearts and blind eyes and willing servants and eager hands. I can't wait to pass their crazy love onto someone else soon. It's blessed me more than they know and taught me that sometimes, it's OK to ignore the 'No thank you's' so you can become the 'God bless you's."

Who knew I'd be itching to buy rotisserie chickens for someone?? 

BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT MARTHA WOULD HAVE DONE, bless it. 

Now go and find someone you can spread that crazy kind of love to, y'all!

As for me. I'm going to ice my foot. Again. ::wink:: 

Thanks for stopping by, y'all!