My Thoughts on Our Daughter's Trip to Uganda

Elizabeth has given me permission to share this post.  Elizabeth took the photos featured in this post.

Elizabeth is back from her mission trip to Uganda.  A year ago, she stood in our kitchen as she contemplated the decision about whether or not to go to Africa.  She had just learned the trip would be three weeks, not two, as she had originally been told.  She was very concerned about leaving her family for that long.

I said, "Elizabeth.  I believe the Lord has called you to go on this mission trip.  Do I want you to go? No.  But I think we both know the Lord wants you to go."  She cried and nodded her head in agreement.  We both just knew.  This was God's errand, not ours.

As a mother, granting Elizabeth permission to go on this trip was difficult.  That's not to say it wasn't a hard decision for Matt as well, he just didn't have nearly as many emotions to work through as I did. You see, life hasn't always been easy for Elizabeth.  Things that other children seem to learn quickly, almost effortlessly, have not been effortless for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth has dyslexia.  Folks get upset when I say this about Elizabeth.  "You shouldn't label her," they say.  Dyslexia is not a label.  It's just a fact.  And the fact is that her father and I have signed Elizabeth up for programs, private tutoring, therapies and prayed countless prayers on her behalf for many years.  (And so have her grandparents and others).  And the truth is this:  dyslexia cannot be cured.  But, the person with dyslexia can learn coping mechanisms, which Elizabeth has done.

All that to say, this mama's heart was torn to pieces over her daughter going to Uganda.  Elizabeth's brain filters information differently.  She struggles with things that are ho-hum normal to most people.  I was petrified to send her to the other side of the globe where I wouldn't be able to help her process what was happening around her.  Where I wouldn't be present to remind her to take her malaria medication, to brush her teeth with only bottled water and to put a protein bar in her backpack everyday so that if the food out in the bush was unsafe, she would have a back up plan.

During Lent, Elizabeth had to get up one Sunday in front of the church and describe her upcoming mission trip to the congregation.  That week's Lenten soup supper's donations would be applied toward her expenses and she needed to let people know the details.  Elizabeth wrote the talk she gave. I edited it for her, but the words were hers.  Elizabeth got up, delivered that talk, made eye contact with people in the congregation and basically knocked it out of the park.  I sat in the pew and cried over the Lord's goodness.  I never thought that my girl would be able to get up in front of a group and deliver a talk that she had written and do it with such grace and poise.

In May, I attended my last Bible Study Fellowship class of the year.  I asked the women in my group to pray for my daughter this summer, as she was going on a mission trip.  I also briefly mentioned my fears regarding her going.  After class, one of the women pulled me aside.  She said, "Melissa, I have dyslexia, just like your daughter."  She told me that when she was about Liz's age, she had learned to put her ultimate trust in God, not in her family.  She knew God would help Elizabeth do the same. God spoke to my anxious heart that day through my BSF classmate.

Also in May, Elizabeth had her end-of-year homeschool testing.  The same Christian woman (who also has a PhD and who specializes in reading difficulties) has been testing Elizabeth for the past 8 years.  She was pleased with Elizabeth's progress.  She was tickled with her obvious growth in confidence and maturity.  She told Matt and me that we had without a doubt made the best possible decision in homeschooling Elizabeth and staying the course, even when we wanted to give up.  And when Elizabeth told this woman that she would be going on a mission trip this summer, she teared up.

In the weeks leading up to Elizabeth's departure date, God continued to confirm His plan for her. Last minute donations, texted prayers from friends, and suitcases that weighed 49.5 lbs each. (There is a 50 lb. weight limit.) Two days before Liz's departure, in my daily Bible reading, the Lord reassured me once more.  By God's providence, the passage of the day was in Joshua--the exact same verses the Lord gave me before we began this homeschooling journey.  This whole raising kids thing is the Lord's work.  It always has been.  He was reminding me of that fact again.

After Elizabeth boarded the plane to Uganda in June, Matt and I left the airport shaking our heads. Matt asked, "Who would have guessed that we would send our Little Bitty to Uganda?"  Only God would have guessed.

By God's grace, we were able to have regular contact with Elizabeth through Face Time while she was in Uganda.  This was an unexpected blessing, but I believe it was a planned mercy of the Lord's. He allowed me to see how Elizabeth was doing on a day-to-day basis.  And Elizabeth did great.  She remembered all of the things I was concerned she wouldn't remember.  She loved her mission team mates, the people of Uganda and the country itself.  Her ability to see and interpret events on a deep spiritual level blew me away.  She wants to go back to Uganda again!

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen. Ephes.3:20-21

**I'd like to personally thank Pastor Goodfellow and Martha.  Through God's providence, we got to know you before we ever even knew you'd be taking our daughter with you on this wonderful adventure for God's glory.  I'd also like to thank Mrs. Kim F. and Mrs. Alice W. for your care for Elizabeth's welfare beyond the check boxes and stanine scores.  And of course, Elizabeth's grandparents, who've been in the trenches with Matt and me all these years.  To Uncle Keith, who has always offered Elizabeth opportunities to grow.  And to the Lord Jesus Christ, who saw fit to give us such a beautiful gift in our daughter, Elizabeth Jane, our Little Bit.**

Elizabeth is in Uganda

For those interested, you may follow her trip through her Instagram account.  Her handle is:  lillittlebitty.

The New Normal

Chaos reigns.  At least that's what it feels like right now.  It's not really true.  It's just I didn't expect life to speed up. I thought it would slow down.  In fact, I was planning on it.  I kept thinking to myself, "If I can just make it to summer, I can catch my breath."

Then I got brave enough to look at the summer calendar.  With all three big kids gone and/or working much of the summer, it looks like life will not be slowing down much.  No big kids means I'll be the mom of mostly littles again.  It feels like I'm starting over.  Yet, I'm not.

I have kids that are getting ready to launch, but I still have one that needs to be potty trained.  I was telling a friend not long ago, "I have a 2 year old and a 20 year old who are crying."  I'm providing both adult and toddler counseling--sometimes within the same hour.  At times I feel like I'm losing my marbles.  I long for the simpler days when the kids and I went to the park, read books and played outside in the backyard.  Funny, back then I thought life was hard.  It was hard, just a different kind of hard.

In the midst of the chaos, I took time out to help Joel
spray paint his older sister's outgrown bike.  It was transformed
from a feminine purple to a decidedly masculine hunter green.

It's not that the kids don't play and read--they do.  I just don't have as much time to do those things along with them.  Gone are the days when I set the schedule and mapped out activities for all of us. My new normal is more like being an air traffic controller.  "You have permission to take off and go there."  "Someone is approaching the runway, but only long enough to snarf down dinner before taking off again."  "You, get him in the bath and wash off all the mud and chicken poop."  "Did somebody feed the dog?"  "Practice piano." "Do your school work." Sometimes I feel like my head might spin off.  

How do I combat the crazies?  I do a lot of praying in the night watches.  I read my Bible every morning (sometimes only getting through 1 chapter).  I listen to hymns--a lot.  When I find myself getting spun up, hymns calm me down.  I concentrate on the basics--food, clean underwear, Bible (personal devotion time for all readers) and math.

I'm also trying a new system of writing down the "have-to-dos," for the day first thing in the morning. These are the items outside of the basics (listed above) that still need to happen.  I write down the "have-to-be" places for the day on this note as well.    I stick the note to the cabinet and check it throughout the day to keep myself on track.  I have Grace write her work schedule for the week on a separate Post-It so that I am more informed of her comings and goings.

I like to know the plan and I like to know it ahead of time, thank you very much.  God, in His grace, continues to teach me that I don't have to know the plan (not even the plan for the next hour).  I have to learn to roll with the punches.  My days no longer follow a predictable pattern.  Monkey wrenches are now the norm, not the exception. Matt will sometimes ask me with a smile on his face, "Can you roll with it, Melissa?"  I'm learning to give a tentative, "Suuurre."  God is teaching me to ever rely on Him and slowly, but surely I am learning.  And I'm pretty sure He is pleased with the new normal.

Instagram: My Thoughts So Far

I started using Instagram last Fall.  I  wanted to follow a few of my favorite bloggers on Instagram.  I used my handle, "Broodmoma," which is the name I've used for several years to obtain Internet coupons.  I hardly ever checked my Instagram account.  It was something I mostly forgot about.

Then, I began checking my feed more and I started commenting on a couple of other people's Instagram accounts.  I was weirdo-no-profile-stalker "Broodmoma."  At the same time, I was getting increasingly frustrated with my lack of time for blogging.  That, coupled with the fact that my photographer had become a full time cosmetologist, left me even less enthusiastic about blogging. Not only was finding the time to write difficult, but once I had a post written, I often waited days for Grace to have time to take and upload some photos to go with it.

 Soooo, that lead to my light bulb moment--starting a real Instagram account.  I loved Instagram right from the start.  It's like short hand blogging.  So easy and so convenient.  It was great to finally get some of the many pictures I was taking off my phone and into some sort of venue. Instagram is kind of like a mini-journal.

I like the fact that because of Instagram, I'm actually more thankful for the little daily moments of life.  It just takes a few minutes to document a cute pic of one of the kids with a few words for a caption.  Those moments aren't just passing by and then quickly being forgotten.

The thing I don't like about Instagram is the Pavlovian response I have to the orange alerts.  I love to see the likes and comments on my posts.  I find I check my phone more often, which I don't like about myself. That's something I'm working to correct.

My big girls had to alert me to the fact that hashtags help other people find your Instagram.  Since, for the time being, I have a public Instagram account, I have largely dropped hashtags as I don't want complete strangers following me.  Even so, some hashtags have been hard to resist.  I've gotten to be a pro at blocking followers.  I've figured out the ones that are just trying to get more publicity for their own accounts/blogs/products.  Block, block, block.

So far, nearly all of my followers are family.  It's neat that the grandmas, grandpas, aunts and uncles can see what the kiddies are up to.  Daddy and big sister can check their accounts when they're away for the day and see what they're missing at home.

Dad and I (Grace) were here for this one, just to let ya'll know.

As Grace assures me, "There are no obligations in social media."  But if you'd like to follow me on Instagram, you'll find me there more frequently than you do here.  Instagram is easy to set up on any smart phone (if I can do it, anyone can).  My handle is Broodmoma.  As I mentioned before, you don't have to follow me to see my Instagram account.  You can simply come here to the blog and click on the "Instagram" icon in the upper right hand corner.  Then click on the picture to see the caption and comments, if there are any.

Fear Not

For the first time in months--scratch that--years--our family is not going through or dealing with some sort of crisis.  I'm fully aware that the Lord uses our trials for our good and His glory.  He has proven that to our family time and time again, but for the first time in a very long time, we're not "in the thick of it."

When people ask how we're doing, I say, "Good . . .blah, blah, blah."  It's not that it's untrue.  Life is good.  God is good.  But the past seven months have been a struggle.  I mean STRUGGLE.  

We're studying the Revelation of Jesus Christ to St. John this year in Bible Study Fellowship.  As an aside, I've been very pleased with how deftly BSF has handled the book.  No theological strong-arming.  Just the book as it was recorded, concentrating on victory and The Lamb.

Of course, one can't study Revelation without learning about satan.  The enemy of our souls is alive and well.  He's a deceiver and one of his greatest deceptions is that he is simply not that dangerous.   Satan would like to keep on deceiving, to keep under wraps who he really is and keep us believing that he is not that formidable of an opponent.  So when we learn what he's truly made of and the depth of his evilness, he doesn't like it.  I believe our family has been battling satan this year. 

Many things have happened in these last months which I don't write about on the blog or talk about with friends or even family.  It's just been a battle.  A real one. Spiritually, this has been a very difficult year for us.  Matt and I have discussed it many, many times.  Temptations, fears, doubts, persecution.  We've experienced the gamut, it seems.  Through it all, the Lord has held us close.  He's never once let us slip or fall, even though we felt like we were outnumbered and hanging on by a thread.

One thing I've been battling lately is fear.  I woke up in the middle of the night a few days ago.  I was absolutely petrified.  The current presidential race, coupled with the recent events involving ISIS had me thinking, fearing, about the future.  Specifically our kids' futures.  More specifically, I began to imagine a world war and a military draft in which all five of our boys would be at risk and in harm's way.  I cried and I prayed.  I cuddled up to Matt and eventually fell back to sleep.

Then, in the morning, during my devotional time, I read this passage from Psalm 32:

Therefore let everyone who is godly
    offer prayer to you at a time when you may be found;
surely in the rush of great waters,
    they shall not reach him.
7 You are a hiding place for me;
    you preserve me from trouble;
    you surround me with shouts of deliverance.

Just when I think I can't take it anymore, God comes.  He sees.  He knows.  He reminds me of His sovereignty.

We are nearing the end of our study of Revelation.  Sometimes, when you've studied a book of the Bible for many weeks, you forget where you started.  But Sunday at church, I was reminded of the beginning.  One of the readings of the day was from the first chapter of Revelation:

Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands,  and in the midst of the lampstands one like a son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest. The hairs of his head were white, like white wool, like snow. His eyes were like a flame of fire,  his feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and his voice was like the roar of many waters.  In his right hand he held seven stars, from his mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and his face was like the sun shining in full strength.

 When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand on me, saying, “Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades. 

Pastor gave his sermon from this text.  He talked about Jesus and about how He is trustworthy, faithful and true.  He ended his sermon with this quote:  "It's only when Christ is seen for who He really is, that we can see anything else as it really is." 

Christ is The Lamb.  He is victorious.  And He says, "Fear not." 

Update: Lydia's Bees

It's been almost a year since Lydia got her bees.  So far, so good.  The bees survived the winter and have managed to escape the many scourges that ravage beekind.  I've repeatedly reminded Lydia to be grateful to God for His mercy in sparing her bees.  That may sound dramatic, but every time I hear about someone else's bee problems and/or losses, I learn a little more about how tricky beekeeping is.

It's a task that requires vigilance, an eye for what problems may be present and a knowledge of how to treat those problems quickly and effectively.  Lydia is either super confident or naive.  Probably both.  She never seems to be worried about her bees.

Each month, Lydia attends the local bee club meetings with her beekeeping mentors, Roger and Suzy. Lydia is not technically a member of the club because she hasn't paid any dues.  However, because of her good attendance and participation in the meetings, they've given her a name tag anyway.

Every week since the beginning of January, Lydia and I have had a date with the allergist.  She gets a bee antigen shot and we wait together in the office for 30 minutes before the nurse checks Lydia for a reaction.  So far, Lydia has not had any significant reactions, so we're on track to finish this process sometime in the next couple of years.  Honestly, when I first learned of Lydia's bee allergy and what it would take to treat it, I wanted to throw in the towel.  Get rid of the bees.  Call it a day. But Lydia was heartbroken at the prospect. So I take her to get the necessary treatment.  It's what mamas do.

Lydia plans to harvest her first batch of unadulterated honey after Easter.  Her very first batch of honey was made mostly from the sugar water that she fed the bees when they were first getting started. We've eaten that honey, but it's not proper to sell it.  So hopefully Lydia will have a batch of salable honey soon.

Lydia has informed us that the bees are likely to swarm this spring, which is what bees do when the hive gets too crowded.  So we need to get another hive very soon.  She has her heart set on a top bar hive ($$$!).

I questioned Lydia the other day on the subject of swarming.  "So, if we get another hive, will the extra bees just transfer over to it?"  "No," she said, "They'll still swarm.  Then you've got to go find them and get them back."  Alrighty then.  That sounds easy.  Or, apparently, the bees can be separated before they swarm. "That's why we need Dad to build a hive this weekend," she said.  It's all so very simple.

The Kids: Joseph

Joseph Athanasius.  (You can read more about my pregnancy with Joseph here.  You can read about Joseph's baptism here.)

This child has given us a run for our money.  The only one of our eight children to sleep through the night before eighteen months of age (in fact, he was sleeping through by the time he was 6 months ), I came to the early conclusion that Joseph would continue to be a dream child.

However, Joseph  has outclassed all of his siblings in the toddler department.  This kid finds trouble our other kids didn't even know existed.  Climbing and standing atop dressers and counters, running the microwave and turning on the faucet by himself are only part of his repertoire.  My friend says he has an "impish grin."  Elizabeth calls him "that devil baby."  One might wonder how in a house with this many people someone wouldn't see Joseph when he commits his acts of mischief.  I've wondered myself.  I have no answers.  The kid is a piece of work.  Yet, he's completely adorable.  He melts our hearts and makes us laugh every single day.

Joseph does not look like his four older brothers, who all take after their daddy.  In fact, I've been told the boys are all "clones" of their father.  All except Joseph.  He is almost a dead ringer for my baby brother, Jacob.  Since I was fourteen years old when Jacob was born, I remember a lot about him as an infant and toddler.  Joseph's mannerisms are almost exactly the same as Jacob's.  He also appears to be left-handed, just like Jake.  He observes what people do and then does the same (like running the DVD player or iPad, etc.).  Jacob was the same way.

Joseph still speaks very few actual words.  My brother, too, was mostly non-verbal at this age.  That's not to say that Joseph doesn't communicate.  He communicates very well.  His use of sign language and his own made-up gestures tell us exactly what he means.  If Joseph sees that his older siblings are headed outside to play, he points very forcefully to his feet to let me know that he wants shoes on so that he can go outside, too.  When he's found some sort of trouble and I catch him in the act, he waves both hands and says, "Uh, uh."  Translation:  "Don't punish me!"  When he eats something he really likes, he gives the "thumbs up!" sign.  I have no doubt that Joseph will begin talking more soon.  My brother started talking when he was three years old.  He spoke in full sentences and has hardly stopped talking since. (I love, you, Jake:)

Joseph is also a lot like my dad, in both looks and personality.  He doesn't like it when his hands get dirty.  My grandma tells me that my dad was the same way at a very young age.  He is very organized in his own little way, just like Grandpa.  Let me explain.  Every night, we have to clean out Joseph's pockets. Each pocket is full of the things he has collected throughout the day.  Each pocket has similar items in it.  For instance, rubber bands, marbles, Lego heads, buttons, pennies or bouncy balls. Always multiples of the same category and the categories are never mixed.

Joseph likes to pretend with his older brothers.  He is especially fond of playing cowboys.  Much to his delight, his big brothers always let Joseph think he's the sharp shooter who never misses his target. He shows great concern when one of his brothers gets hurt.  He tries to lend comfort by giving the injured party a hug.  When I pick him up, he looks me in the eye, gives me a huge grin and then proceeds to give me a big hug, complete with back pats.  When I ask him for a kiss, he presents his cheek to me so that I can kiss it.

Joseph is still in love with his blue blankie.  In fact, I had Grace make a duplicate in case THE blue blankie ever got lost.  Joseph knew we were trying to pull one over on him.  He would not accept the counterfeit at first, although he now prefers it over the original.

We can't wait to see what God has in store for the littlest guy in the family.  I wouldn't be surprised if it has to do with taking things apart:)