Lydia's new best friend and almost constant companion since Christmas has been Mickey Mouse, a three-foot tall stuffed toy she received from Grandma Jane. As we readied ourselves for church this past Sunday, I made the final call--"It's time to be in the van!" The older kids began the mad dash, still throwing on shoes and coats and grabbing the diaper bag on the way out the door. I went to check on Lydia, who had received orders a few minutes prior to put on her church shoes. I found her on the floor of her bedroom, pulling on her shoes, with Mickey laying beside her, wearing one of Lydia's dresses. "See, Mickey's ready for church, too." So Mickey went to church with us and sat in the front row right beside Lydia with his ears peeking up over the chair for all behind us to see. Mickey was very reverent during the service. His "best friend" Lydia could take a few lessons from him.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Lydia's New Best Friend
Whoever happens to be with Lydia at any given moment is referred to as her "best friend." This might be Grandma one day, a little girl who comes over to play the next or the little girl she sat beside during the children's sermon at church on any given Sunday.
Lydia's new best friend and almost constant companion since Christmas has been Mickey Mouse, a three-foot tall stuffed toy she received from Grandma Jane. As we readied ourselves for church this past Sunday, I made the final call--"It's time to be in the van!" The older kids began the mad dash, still throwing on shoes and coats and grabbing the diaper bag on the way out the door. I went to check on Lydia, who had received orders a few minutes prior to put on her church shoes. I found her on the floor of her bedroom, pulling on her shoes, with Mickey laying beside her, wearing one of Lydia's dresses. "See, Mickey's ready for church, too." So Mickey went to church with us and sat in the front row right beside Lydia with his ears peeking up over the chair for all behind us to see. Mickey was very reverent during the service. His "best friend" Lydia could take a few lessons from him.
Lydia's new best friend and almost constant companion since Christmas has been Mickey Mouse, a three-foot tall stuffed toy she received from Grandma Jane. As we readied ourselves for church this past Sunday, I made the final call--"It's time to be in the van!" The older kids began the mad dash, still throwing on shoes and coats and grabbing the diaper bag on the way out the door. I went to check on Lydia, who had received orders a few minutes prior to put on her church shoes. I found her on the floor of her bedroom, pulling on her shoes, with Mickey laying beside her, wearing one of Lydia's dresses. "See, Mickey's ready for church, too." So Mickey went to church with us and sat in the front row right beside Lydia with his ears peeking up over the chair for all behind us to see. Mickey was very reverent during the service. His "best friend" Lydia could take a few lessons from him.
Christmas Blessings
One of the things Matt and I have been most excited about since living in this house is the ability to have people over more often. By God's grace, we were able to do exactly that over the holidays. We hosted half a dozen gatherings for friends and family during the week of Christmas and we loved every minute of it. The last get-together took place here last Saturday with fourteen aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmas and grandpas in attendance. We had a great time of feasting and fellowship. It all ended rather abruptly, however, when Lydia got "snapped up" in the folding chair on which she was trying to stand. She hit the edge of the table on the way down and ended up with a nasty cut on her lower lip and an even nastier owie on her upper gums. Thankfully, Dentist Grandpa Tom was here and after inspecting the injury, he assured us Lydia wouldn't need stitches. Most everyone who was still here left after the bloody/screaming/crying incident--it pretty much was a party-ender. Grandpa Tom stayed, however, and held Lydia on his lap and gauze on her lip. He kept saying, "No more talking, Lydia, we want this to stop bleeding." It was all to no avail. Lydia kept talking, but Grandpa Tom the Great was still able to get the bleeding to stop. Daddy and I were thankful we wouldn't be spending the night in the ER. Here are a couple pictures of more pleasant Christmas memories:
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Christmas Cheer
Last night we had our family Christmas present opening time. We started this tradition a few years ago. Everything would get so confusing and chaotic on Christmas Eve and Matt and I always missed the kids' reactions to the gifts we'd given them. So now we open our family gifts a couple of days before Christmas so that we get the full benefit of all the excited cheering, jumping and (sometimes) crying.
Lydia's reactions were so cute this year. I gave her a package of socks. When she opened them she jumped up and down and said, "Socks! Just what I always wanted for Christmas!"
When Daddy opened up his hot sauce he had gotten from Paul, Lydia jumped up and down and said, "Yeah, Daddy! Hot sauce for your food!"
Joel is still a bit young to "get" the whole present opening thing, so Lydia graciously helped him open his gifts. When she got the paper off of the little truck Joel received, she said, "Yeah Joel! A truck! A truck!" It was so kind of Lydia to provide her little brother her present-opening services as well as the appropriate reaction to the present.
In Lydia's defense, she had to watch everyone else open presents because we saved her present, the dollhouse, for the very last. First, she opened up the little Ty dolls that Grace and Elizabeth gave her. There were four dolls, all exactly the same. We found them at Goodwill so they were within the girls' budget. Lydia was delighted. Then we had Lydia open the furniture that came with the dollhouse. She was so excited she could hardly contain herself. We let her play with the dolls and the furniture for a few minutes and then I said, "Lydia, what do you think your dolls might need to keep them warm and dry?" As we all marched upstairs, Lydia said, "I know! Coats!" When we got upstairs we told her to take the sheet off of the big thing in the corner. After she removed the sheet and saw the dollhouse, she stood and stared silently for a brief moment. Lydia--at a loss for words--pretty amazing. Then she started jumping and cheering. The whole family got a big kick out of watching her reaction.
The biggest hit of the night, however, was a large magnifying glass that Grace and Elizabeth bought Paul at the dollar store. All the little kids loved it. Joel picked it up and looked through it and Paul said, "Look! Joel wants to investigate, too!"
As we were readying ourselves for bed Grace asked, "Mommy, when is it that you loose all the little kid anticipation of opening your gifts?" I asked her, "Why, did that happen to you?" "Yeah," she said. I went on to explain that it's hard to put a finger on it, but one year, when you're about thirteen, you realize you don't have all that wonderful anticipation anymore. Then you begin to get more enjoyment out of watching others open their gifts. That's why Mommy and Grandma are always last to open their gifts.
Today is our day to ready ourselves and the house for tomorrow. The septic has been pumped (more on that another day) in anticipation of the extra family we're expecting. Matt is going to pick up a birthday cake for Jesus at Dairy Queen because I didn't make a Red Velvet cake in my effort to "simplify." I'm going to try to get all the laundry done so I won't have to worry about it on Christmas. By tonight we'll have our work done and we'll cuddle up around the fire, finish hanging the ornaments on the Jesse Tree and remind ourselves of the greatest gift of all--the Christ child.
Lydia's reactions were so cute this year. I gave her a package of socks. When she opened them she jumped up and down and said, "Socks! Just what I always wanted for Christmas!"
When Daddy opened up his hot sauce he had gotten from Paul, Lydia jumped up and down and said, "Yeah, Daddy! Hot sauce for your food!"
Joel is still a bit young to "get" the whole present opening thing, so Lydia graciously helped him open his gifts. When she got the paper off of the little truck Joel received, she said, "Yeah Joel! A truck! A truck!" It was so kind of Lydia to provide her little brother her present-opening services as well as the appropriate reaction to the present.
In Lydia's defense, she had to watch everyone else open presents because we saved her present, the dollhouse, for the very last. First, she opened up the little Ty dolls that Grace and Elizabeth gave her. There were four dolls, all exactly the same. We found them at Goodwill so they were within the girls' budget. Lydia was delighted. Then we had Lydia open the furniture that came with the dollhouse. She was so excited she could hardly contain herself. We let her play with the dolls and the furniture for a few minutes and then I said, "Lydia, what do you think your dolls might need to keep them warm and dry?" As we all marched upstairs, Lydia said, "I know! Coats!" When we got upstairs we told her to take the sheet off of the big thing in the corner. After she removed the sheet and saw the dollhouse, she stood and stared silently for a brief moment. Lydia--at a loss for words--pretty amazing. Then she started jumping and cheering. The whole family got a big kick out of watching her reaction.
The biggest hit of the night, however, was a large magnifying glass that Grace and Elizabeth bought Paul at the dollar store. All the little kids loved it. Joel picked it up and looked through it and Paul said, "Look! Joel wants to investigate, too!"
As we were readying ourselves for bed Grace asked, "Mommy, when is it that you loose all the little kid anticipation of opening your gifts?" I asked her, "Why, did that happen to you?" "Yeah," she said. I went on to explain that it's hard to put a finger on it, but one year, when you're about thirteen, you realize you don't have all that wonderful anticipation anymore. Then you begin to get more enjoyment out of watching others open their gifts. That's why Mommy and Grandma are always last to open their gifts.
Today is our day to ready ourselves and the house for tomorrow. The septic has been pumped (more on that another day) in anticipation of the extra family we're expecting. Matt is going to pick up a birthday cake for Jesus at Dairy Queen because I didn't make a Red Velvet cake in my effort to "simplify." I'm going to try to get all the laundry done so I won't have to worry about it on Christmas. By tonight we'll have our work done and we'll cuddle up around the fire, finish hanging the ornaments on the Jesse Tree and remind ourselves of the greatest gift of all--the Christ child.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Christmas Miracle
Last year at this time, I was in the middle of a wrestling match with God. I had spent Monday of that week in the ER in extreme pain. First I was told I would be having some type of surgery that day, then I was told I was miscarrying. "Go home and ride it out."
I didn't ride it out. I argued with God all week. "You asked me to trust You, and now this is happening." That Sunday, our pastor showed us pictures of the time when he was living in Jerusalem. I probably was the only one crying at the showing. To see where Jesus actually walked, knowing that He left His former glory to walk amongst us in the dust and filth and our sin, it all hit me afresh. I was completely humbled. I prayed right then and there, "Lord, you bought me for a price payed with Your own precious blood. Do with me as You will."
The next day, which was Christmas Eve, I got a call from my doctor. He told me that he thought things were going to be alright. My hormone levels were going up as they should and that I should come into the office in a couple of weeks for an ultrasound. I told him that he had made our Christmas. My first thought after I hung up the phone was, "How great are the mercies of the Lord, they are new every morning." I was ashamed of the cantankerous attitude that I'd had all week and repented of it right then and there.
Here is a picture of that baby boy, named Jude because Jude means "praise." His middle name (also his Daddy's middle name) is Christopher, which means Christ-bearer. Jude is thriving. He smiles and coos and is tipping the scales at sixteen pounds. That's right, he's not yet four months old and he's wearing 6-9 mos. clothes (the cute little outfit he's wearing in the picture was given to him by our dear friend Eleanor).
I read the following in the book of Daniel this morning: "For He is the living God and He endures forever; His kingdom will not be destroyed, His dominion will never end. He rescues and He saves; He performs signs and wonders in the heavens and on the earth. He has rescued Daniel from the power of the lions." And He has rescued my baby Jude. What wonderful plans do you have for this boy, Lord? Worthy is the Lamb, worthy to be praised.
I didn't ride it out. I argued with God all week. "You asked me to trust You, and now this is happening." That Sunday, our pastor showed us pictures of the time when he was living in Jerusalem. I probably was the only one crying at the showing. To see where Jesus actually walked, knowing that He left His former glory to walk amongst us in the dust and filth and our sin, it all hit me afresh. I was completely humbled. I prayed right then and there, "Lord, you bought me for a price payed with Your own precious blood. Do with me as You will."
The next day, which was Christmas Eve, I got a call from my doctor. He told me that he thought things were going to be alright. My hormone levels were going up as they should and that I should come into the office in a couple of weeks for an ultrasound. I told him that he had made our Christmas. My first thought after I hung up the phone was, "How great are the mercies of the Lord, they are new every morning." I was ashamed of the cantankerous attitude that I'd had all week and repented of it right then and there.
Here is a picture of that baby boy, named Jude because Jude means "praise." His middle name (also his Daddy's middle name) is Christopher, which means Christ-bearer. Jude is thriving. He smiles and coos and is tipping the scales at sixteen pounds. That's right, he's not yet four months old and he's wearing 6-9 mos. clothes (the cute little outfit he's wearing in the picture was given to him by our dear friend Eleanor).
I read the following in the book of Daniel this morning: "For He is the living God and He endures forever; His kingdom will not be destroyed, His dominion will never end. He rescues and He saves; He performs signs and wonders in the heavens and on the earth. He has rescued Daniel from the power of the lions." And He has rescued my baby Jude. What wonderful plans do you have for this boy, Lord? Worthy is the Lamb, worthy to be praised.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Firewood
We've been thoroughly enjoying our new (to us) fireplace insert, especially with the temperatures dipping into the single digits here lately. We used up all the firewood I insisted Matt bring over here from the old house. The prospect of Christmas without a fire seemed unthinkable, so Matt ordered a cord of firewood.
The guy showed up with the load right after quiet time today. I naively thought he'd stack it where I wanted it. No, he just threw it on the driveway. He insisted that it would only take an hour or so to stack, but that I'd better get on it because the snow was starting to fly. My naivete also extended to not knowing how much wood is actually in a cord of wood. It's a lot. I started stacking while Paul rearranged the pile in the driveway. By the time Matt got home from work, I had the job two thirds completed and then he and Paul finished it for me.
Matt was pleased with my idea of stacking the firewood on the front porch so that it would be easier to bring into the house. However, I had the idea before I actually saw how much wood there was. So now our house looks like we're expecting Old Man Winter to produce weather like that found in the Swiss Alps. Oh well, it's better than a moldy pumpkin.
Goodbye to an Old Friend
(I wrote the following not knowing that my dear husband had already posted about his truck. For those desiring a more detailed account, read this post. If not, skip it.)
Matt sold his pickup truck this past weekend. That '66 Chevy served him well. He bought it when he was in high school. He replaced the transmission (twice) and made many other improvements, including installing an ignition switch so he didn't need the key to start the truck. Matt's most frequent passenger in those early years was his Golden Retriever, Roscoe. When I arrived on the scene during Matt's last year of college, I took Roscoe's seat beside Matt and Roscoe was relegated to the back of the pickup. Roscoe passed away, but the truck, she kept going.
That truck made many trips back and forth over the mountains to and from college. After Matt graduated, it took him to work everyday. It brought all our wedding gifts to our first tiny apartment. It transported my Grandma's piano to our first little house. Gracie was just two weeks old at the time and she made the journey North and back with us. The truck hauled loads of junk to the dump and countless loads of bark, sod, dirt and brick. She saved Matt (and our black lab, Abby) from terrible injury on icy roads one early January morning when she rolled, but landed upright with Matt and the dog safely inside. Matt and a friend banged out the dents (as best they could) and Matt continued to drive the truck to work for the next two years.
The truck never really recovered from the rollover, though, and continued to fall into disrepair. In all her lifetime she never was converted to use unleaded gas. The pickup needed a new radiator and had numerous other ailments. Yet, she took her biyearly trip to the dump and was even able to transport Matt's riding lawnmower to our new house this past summer. Alas, though, her time was done. She had served her owner well for many years. The truck was sold to a man who seemed to have high hopes of repairing her. Maybe she still has the capability of providing a another batch of memories to the new owner, a man who will have the time to love her the way Matt always did.
Matt sold his pickup truck this past weekend. That '66 Chevy served him well. He bought it when he was in high school. He replaced the transmission (twice) and made many other improvements, including installing an ignition switch so he didn't need the key to start the truck. Matt's most frequent passenger in those early years was his Golden Retriever, Roscoe. When I arrived on the scene during Matt's last year of college, I took Roscoe's seat beside Matt and Roscoe was relegated to the back of the pickup. Roscoe passed away, but the truck, she kept going.
That truck made many trips back and forth over the mountains to and from college. After Matt graduated, it took him to work everyday. It brought all our wedding gifts to our first tiny apartment. It transported my Grandma's piano to our first little house. Gracie was just two weeks old at the time and she made the journey North and back with us. The truck hauled loads of junk to the dump and countless loads of bark, sod, dirt and brick. She saved Matt (and our black lab, Abby) from terrible injury on icy roads one early January morning when she rolled, but landed upright with Matt and the dog safely inside. Matt and a friend banged out the dents (as best they could) and Matt continued to drive the truck to work for the next two years.
The truck never really recovered from the rollover, though, and continued to fall into disrepair. In all her lifetime she never was converted to use unleaded gas. The pickup needed a new radiator and had numerous other ailments. Yet, she took her biyearly trip to the dump and was even able to transport Matt's riding lawnmower to our new house this past summer. Alas, though, her time was done. She had served her owner well for many years. The truck was sold to a man who seemed to have high hopes of repairing her. Maybe she still has the capability of providing a another batch of memories to the new owner, a man who will have the time to love her the way Matt always did.
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