Starting Our Urban Homestead Adventure

Over the past few years, I have tried to develop homesteading skills.... anything and everything from making yogurt, gardening, canning/preserving food.... making my own soaps, deodorants, toothpaste, lotions/balms...

My desire for 2016, is to put these skills I've learned into more every day practice. I want to can more this year, concentrate on the garden... stop buying toothpaste all together. Lotions and balms (and chapstick) take minutes! I just have to set aside the time to do them... so that is my personal goal and challenge for our family... to become more self-sustaining  - and the next chapter for this adventure.... is livestock.

Yesterday, we purchased chickens! We are now the proud owners of, six Bovan Browns! We assembled the coop and run a few weeks ago, anxiously awaiting their arrival! Here is the coop and run we purchased on Amazon:



We added a tarp over the rabbit cage (which we are using as a run) so their food will be protected from getting wet, and also allow them a little shade.... since putting this together, we also added bales of hay all around the outside of the coop, so they can have a little more insulation in the colder weather. The inside bottom of the coop has pull out drawers, so we can scoop the droppings out, similarly to a catbox.... and the nesting boxes are filled with fresh hay to keep them warm, and the eggs dry. The coop also has three levels of wood for them to roost (the ladies love it!) and I can access the coop from the roof, or nesting boxes, on either side... Over all - I am very satisfied with the coop & run... the run is actually quite roomy. I can fit in it (if I have to) to clean and replenish food, and for the six hens, it provides plenty of room to romp and explore.

Nesting boxes... with ceramic eggs

Tri-level roosts

Ceramic eggs (encourages egg laying)

Our lovely rescue chickens (Day 2)

Spinnie (L) and Ginger (R)

We debated for a while whether to buy chicks and hand raise them... or to buy adult hens from someone. We ended up purchasing six 15month old hens, from a guy on Craigslist. Now, I know Craigslist isn't always reliable... and the guy kept changing the dates the hens would be here; but he did so because of the weather and seemed genuinely concerned with their health. While he would not be delivering them personally (his co-worker/associate would); I did seem fairly confident the chickens were legit - he kept me updated on their progress, guaranteed the breed, and age... and called me several times to confirm pick-up times, location, and pricing.

When the lovely ladies, finally did make their way here, via a truck carrying hundreds from Arkansas... I was so saddened to see just how many were stuffed in the cages... hundreds and hundreds of them... piled all together, being taken out by a hook/prod, held by their feet, dangling ... and thrown into whatever crates and cages that belonged to their new owners... My hens were put into two cat carriers... three in each for the drive home.

When we got home, the hens in the first carrier were alert, awake and squawking. The second carrier, were all huddled together, asleep..... I think they may have fainted? Can chickens faint? Either way, they were exhausted.... We put the carriers in the backyard, on the porch... and I got some yarn, and scissors. I decided, JUST in case they escaped, I better trim their wings, so they can't fly away... so I had to take them out, and that's when I got a good look at the poor darlings... Wherever they came from... their life hadn't been pleasant. They're missing the majority of their feathers... one has a cracked beak, another has a wounded wing... they are bald on their back, most of the back of their necks and a few have bald necks -  so much in fact you can see the pouch where they store their food at the base of their throat. They were also; absolutely filthy. I grabbed them by the feet to coax them out, and once I did, I tried to sooth them, and hold them gently... but the three in the first crate, were just terrified.

So, one at a time... I tied a piece of colored yarn on the right ankle. They each got a different color, so I could identify them, until we get to know one another better. After that, I had the kids help me hold their wings up and out, so I could trim them. That's when I started seeing some with a few more injuries... needless to say, this process was difficult; they did not want to hold still. But we got it done one at a time - and placed them in the run, with the door to the coop open.

It was interesting to see that the two carriers of chickens, had formed two little groups... The Meanies (the alert hens) and The Niceys (the exhausted ones). The Meanies (White, Dark Red, & Green) were tagged and put into the run first... and by time I got The Niceys (Pink, Orange, & Purple) tagged and placed inside, The Meanies had went inside the coop, and The Niceys were too afraid to go inside... so I had the kids help me fill the feeders.... one with egg-laying mash (I am waiting on my co-op order, so we can make our own feed).... one with water... one with grit... and one with oyster shell. I don't think I saw any of them eat... they were so scared... and eventually, by sunset, they were all inside the coop; asleep... except for one... the one with the Pink tag. She was alert, awake, and trying everything she could think of to trot around the run and find an escape. I had my seven year old son climb in the run and try and corner her, so he could get her in the coop for the night... but she was relentless! He finally cornered her and got her inside the coop... and closed the door with a vengeance! She would stay put; whether she liked it or not! A few hours later, my husband and I went outside, and as I was telling him of our would be escapee... I turned on the flashlight, and looked inside... all of the hens were huddled and asleep in a nesting box, except one.. THE one with the pink tag... who was asleep on the floor, almost as if she had a good pout and put herself to bed unwillingly. We decided to name the one with the Pink tag: Ginger... from the movie 'Chicken Run'. If anyone has seen that movie, you will recall, how Ginger is the ring leader and helps instigate the escape of the chickens, from the farm...  And so ended Day 1 of our Urban Homestead Adventure... we had bought, tagged, and sorted six chickens... and even had to chase one and put it to bed.

Day 2: I woke up to get my daughter ready for school. As she was dressing, I went and opened the door to the coop. While the hens were awake enough at 7:15am... they wouldn't leave the coop! So I left them be, until around 10am... they were still inside... I decided to open the roof and shew them out, from the inside. Well it worked! They all ran for it! I closed the door behind them, so they were forced to explore the run.... and then they found the food! We let them eat and drink for about an hour... and then I sent my seven year old son in the run... he caught them all today... and one by one... we held and petted, and assessed each hen.

Pink: She was the escapee... She is now called Ginger. She is gentle, but feisty - when she wants down, put her down... otherwise, very nice

Red: My three year old boy named her Spinnie (I guess he has it in his mind she likes to spin, or maybe he wants to spin with her?) She is feisty - but tolerated being held - don't touch her comb or neck, that's when she looses it

White: My eldest son (the seven year old) named her Charlie..... Charlie is one of The Meanies... she finally gave in to being captured and held... but she was a pecker... she kept pecking everything - eventually settled down... but still liked to peck at anything new

Purple: Her name is Meatloaf... my daughter (6) wanted to name her some princessy thing, but made a joke about a chicken being called Meatloaf... so the name stuck. Everyone thinks its hilarious, not so much my daughter, though... Meatloaf is a flapper... has to flap, all the time... she got out of my son's hands and winged him in the face with her wings, kinda like a kitten scratch - she's nice enough, doesnt like being held much

Green: The one with the green tag is like, one of the sweetest ones ever.... her beak is broken, and it was hard for her to peck at mealworms, but she got the hang of it... My husband loves her. Her name is Nugget... My three year old broke the bag of mealworms so we just said what the heck, and dumped the bag in a bowl... we left it in the run and Nugget saw it and went to chow down! Broken beak or not, she liked the treat and was the first one in the bowl!

Orange: Gosh... she is speedy! My eldest couldnt catch her... and she is scrawny. She has almost no feathers on her neck.... We finally caught her and she was a doll, just kinda freaks out at the idea of humans. I suggested we call her Speedy or Flash... but my husband said he wants to name one. He thought of Ponyo... Chocobo... but we finally settled on 'Grande Pollo' or 'Pollo' for short... "Grande Pollo" is a family joke, and it's especially funny since Pollo is the scrawniest of them all!


We played with the girls today... got them used to us, and us used to them... it was nice. We even got a surprise... one of them laid an egg!

I am not sure which hen laid it... and while it was a nice surprise... it was at the same time sad... The shell was so very thin... so fragile. These girls were not getting the proper nutrition or care; but that is going to change. I am excited about our rescue chickens. The gentleman on Craigslist, got them from someone... and paid someone else to deliver them... I have no idea where they originate; but I know now ... they will have a happy home, and we'll take good care of them! So stay tuned for future adventures; staring: The Okie Campbell Clan, Ginger, Spinnie, Charlie, Nugget, Meatloaf, & Pollo.

Shalom!

Being A Pastor's Friend

Trying out new churches is always an exciting and uneasy road... Will they be a Biblical church? Will the pastor keep you engaged and challenged to grow more? Are the people friendly? Is the congregation going to be cliquish? Will you be able to build Christian, Bible-based friendships and a community there?

These are just some of the questions, common questions that go through people's minds when they are searching for a church home and congregation to which they can belong... If they find a church they want to plug into and one where they feel they can call 'home'... they start to branch out and make friends. As a woman, I would often look to the Pastor's wife for help in this department... kind of like a den mother in a college dorm... perhaps she would be able to introduce me to people, be my friend in exploring this new community; help me find a place to fit in...

Some pastor's wives, do just that; they are very hands on with everyone, darting to a fro, like an angelic hostess of a party from long long ago... making sure no one is left out, that everyone is included. Others simply are pleasant from a distance, they have their established friends, and are kind to everyone but let the congregation do the work of inviting and engaging the newbies... While I have experienced all sorts of pastor's wives... some loud and energetic, other soft and still... I have never been a pastor's friend, or a pastor's wife's friend... I've been a congregant or an acquaintance, or had a family member be a friend to them... but I have never had the privilege of knowing a pastor on a personal level, outside of a Bible Study or service. That is... until now.

For ages, and from my limited point of view... the Pastor and his Wife, have always been "the standard" to achieve... they are always looked upon as the model of how our homes and hearts should be designed. They are godly men and godly women, who have a great responsibility on their shoulders and an unprecedented expectation of Christian Perfection. Sure, we all know they ARE human, but they must be so much more, right? When they get angry; they calm themselves... while they are tempted by things of the world, they are strong enough to not be swayed (but oh, when those pastors are... when they falter, how we are so quick to dismiss them as no longer men who have obtained a higher plateau of faith, but now... are muck beneath us)...

I must admit, I have been guilty of thinking these things about pastors (and their wives)... that because they have people's souls and households to help guide and encourage - that they must be above all reproach... that God must have given them such spiritual success and achievement that we can only hope to obtain... and those pastors who betray their God and their congregations should be shunned and dismissed for they failed... but how human, is a pastor (or his wife) allowed to be? At what point can their human nature no longer be tolerated? When does their humanity disqualify them to be respected?

I've always viewed my pastors (and their wives) from the outside; looking in... oh how perfect they all seemed, and even when they had rebellious children, they managed it all with such grace and dignity... I never saw the pastor lose his cool... and spit spiteful things at his wife and his children... I never saw his wife disrespect and humiliate him in front of a guest... I never saw the pressure of outside family matters swell him with despair and sadness so deep, he would fall to his knees and cry like a babe...

I never saw these things, until I became the friend to the pastor's wife. Being privileged to know her, as my friend, I have been privy to the beauty in their personal relationship... and the ugly. I've seen them fight, I've seen them repent... I've sat in awkward silence during an argument, and I've sat watching their marriage and family blossom before my eyes... I've seen the struggle to get dinner on the table, and get the schoolwork done with the kids... the chores and housework... I've seen the very same, and very real struggles in my own life and marriage, mirrored in hers. The fights with inlaws... the disagreements with adult children and extended family... I've seen all of it, the good and the bad...

And I realized something... I am in a place of great honor. I not only have the pastor's wife as my friend... but I am honored to be privy to those moments behind closed doors, where their humanity is revealed and their character is seen most clearly. Pastors and pastors' wives  are people... and while we subconsciously know they are human, I think a lot of us, myself included, look at them with rose colored glasses... and when that humanity pokes through - we often look away disgusted or angry... and we shouldn't. We should instead view them with great sympathy and encouragement. They are facing the same struggles we are... the same temptations... the same marital problems, the same child-rearing issues - all of - and I think, sometimes more... I think they are scrutinized and idolized more than we realize. And we, are doing it to them....

If you are privileged to be your pastors friend, then you know what I am talking about... if you are a congregant or an acquaintance, I pray you would cut them some slack; and remember they are human too... Encourage them whenever you get an opportunity. Pray for them.... show them grace and love as you would like to be shown...

Being like your pastor should not be your goal... for they are as equally flawed as you. Instead, continuously striving to be more like Christ, should be the common goal you and he (they) share; on a road together; a journey of sanctification. And I am honored, to be on that same road, as my friend the pastor... and my friend, the pastor's wife....

Conflicted; Thorny Vines of Despare Crowned With A Bloom Of Hope

Conflicted am I, of how to respond...
Once we were lovers.
You kept me safe and warm.
Our love was a garden,
With a few weeds here and there -
Normal, quaint, secure, and beautiful;
It lacked all malice and didn't require much care.
But then a fire, sprang to life.
It destroyed all growth and happiness.
The ashes left only anger, pity, strife...
Within the destruction, we tried to sow anew.
A few blossoms flourished,
But weeds of bitterness grew...
For you were the one to start the fire.
And it was difficult to forget;
Your responsibility to the end of our sacred place -
Now only home to regret.
And as the thorny vines of hatred,
Crept towards the fresh blooms,
They choked out all hope,
Once again, making our garden only a tomb.
For then it dawned upon me,
That while the spark you did light -
I had planted the weeds, and created the kindling
That fed the fire that night.
And when you did repent, and tried to plant again -
I let those vines grow back.
The fault was mine that our garden did end.
Years since, we've tilled the soil,
In the hope that life returns...
Day by day we prune and trim - slowly
Trying to regrow love, among the scars and burns.
With patience, and tender care -
Forgiveness has blossomed,
It's sweet scent rides upon the air.
Love flows like rays of sunlight;
Kissing every inch with warmth.
Life has returned upon this place -
It has become the center or our home and hearth.
But conflicted am I; that is the weed of the hour.
It has such hateful thorns,
But a crown of love, like a flower.
For while our garden is springing back to life -
You've started playing with matches again -
The sparks of betrayal cut like a knife.
For you know how easily sparks can start a fire.
You've seen the pain they have caused -
And yet, to rid yourself,
You seem to lack the desire.
When will the fire stop burning within your soul?
When will they be put away from your sight?
Do you not see, that our garden;
Is at risk for a wild fire tonight?

More Nightmares; Of Wolves and Lions

When I was little, I had horrid nightmares. And a lot of them were reoccurring. I wont go into too much detail, but let me just say, they were gruesome, and when I have shared them with people, their faces become quite a shade of pale not often seen.

The past two months, I havent slept well, and these nightmares from when I was a child, have come back - but this time - my subconscious is  aware of what will happen within the dream, and no matter how I change my actions, in order to change the outcome within the dream, calamity still hits... horror still strikes like a venomous viper at one's heel.

But last night's nightmare... it was different. It was the same as when I was a child, but with a few tweaks...

   It was a big evening carnival, with family, friends, and church family. We were all at an amusement park, playing games, having snacks... someone had the brilliant idea to play football, but since we couldnt find one, we used a tennis ball (yes I know it's not foot ball, but it sure made it a lot more fun, and more difficult to grab in the air, and then when it rolled away, people trampling each other to get this tiny greenish yellow fuzz ball, was just hilarious!!) I would like to say, the very first difference in the dream, was that I used to be a child in it, but now... I was an adult, partaking in the adult fun... before, as a child, I was alone, sitting and watching all the joy and chaos, and no one was around or would pay attention to me feeling like I was being watched...
   This time, in the middle of playing and tackling someone, I had the same strange feeling - something wasnt quite right. I turned to look around and thought I saw something over by the roller-coaster support beams. Something small, but I couldnt quite make out what it was. So in typical horror movie fashion, I let someone know I'd be right back and went to check on this thing by myself.
   This figure moved from behind the support beams, to inside the cabin area where all the controls for the ride, reside. The lights went on, and then suddenly, began to flicker - after all - this was an old roller-coaster, and an old theme park. By time I got to the control room, I was shouting as I went, "Hello? Is everything alright?" - and then I heard this giant smash! I jumped, did a sort of tuck and roll, and then ran into the cabin thinking someone needed help... but no one was there, just broken glass, and tuffs of fur.
   I started to touch a bit of fur, and investigate the weirdness of the scenario, when the hairs on the back of my neck started to rise... I heard a growl - so deep and dark it felt as if the belly of the earth was in murderous rage.... cowering below the broken window in the control cabin, I saw a large, massive, dark figure of fur and malice walk past the shattered window. It was a lion; but unlike any lion seen at a zoo or safari. If I were to stand up (and I am 5'8'') my head would barely hit it's shoulder blades... it's face was tattered and scarred, as if it had wrestled with death and was now death's master... the eyes were soul piercing black and when they met your gaze, could swallow all innocence inside of you. His claws pierced the ground, and left destruction wherever it went... This was no ordinary lion. It as dark, evil... and out to devour. As a child, when I met this lion, I would hide and try to stop breathing so it would pass by... I was so small and clumsy - every attempt to sneak out of there and run away, it would find and hunt me down... but I was just small enough to hide under a beam, or duck out of the way - but now... I was no longer small, now I was no longer nimble or fast... still clumsy, but fat, slow... and a much bigger target at 5'8'' vs 3'6''....
   The lion turned the corner, and went out of my vision. So I stood, up silently and crept out of the control box... until my foot crushed a piece of shattered glass. That growl, and snarl came swiftly. I panicked and ran, the lights flickered this way and that, and all the while I could hear the lion on my heels. The choice came upon me to either run back to everyone else, or to keep running and try to find a place of safety. But there was no place of safety, there was no where this lion could not follow my scent, there was no place his talons could not pierce. I decided to run, back inside one of the larger rides... the kind where they loop you around and around, like a hall of mirrors, except you're in a wooden maze. That was my choice. I hoped desperately I could loose this thing, hoped I could live long enough to warn the others.
   It worked... I had lost the lion, or it had lost me... I waited a bit to be sure it was gone, and when I was confident, I ran back to everyone else. I tried to interrupt the game - I tried to tell everyone that this thing was out here and we had better get to a place of safety, or weaponry... something, anything, other to sit and play around like dogs fighting each other over a ball, or bone. As a child, there had been less people there, this time as an adult, there were many... as a child, a small few would console me, but I'd still be ignored... as an adult, I was quickly passed over or made fun of for trying to cheat or end the game by telling ridiculous, exaggerated stories. But that growl... it came back, and shook the ground beneath us all. We had been found, and we were not found at the ready; but found vulnerable... found splintered, found bickering... and lacking in unity. We were lacking in all direction and order.
   Some of us ran, and were consumed by the darkness surrounding the edge of light that had encircled us... other charged head on to this lion and were swiped out of the way by his ferocious paws, almost as if we had been nothing more than a fly to a swatter. Some huddled in groups but singled themselves out from everyone else and made themselves easier targets... some, including myself, ran to find places of safety - perhaps back under the beams where I found refuge as a child, and could possibly find it again now...
   Those who stayed were consumed, and those who stayed to fight, fell... those who ran for safety, scattered and became easy pickings - falling to this beast, one by one... I nestled beneath the support beams, and felt incredibly child-like again... before I had a sensation of fear, but I was too young to actually grasp the gravity of everyone else falling around me. Now, I not only had great fear, but great, immense sorrow... what could I do.. I had no weapons, I had no long term hiding place... most of the reinforcements I would have relied on, had died. I thought of my family. I couldnt leave them alone, I had to find them... stay together. I fashioned some crude arrow-like spears out of some rusted iron pieces I found, and some old wood.
   The park had become quiet; unnaturally still. The wind billowed about, but even that seemed; unearthly and strange. I walked up higher and higher, around and around, through the wooden maze of the coaster... Some mesh was covering a repairman's ladder  entrance to the side, but it was torn and billowing in the wind. The moon's light sparkled against the black of the mesh and I cautiously opened it... nothing. The snarl and snap and growl was back from the lion. I could hear him; so very close! I jumped on the other side of the mesh, and prayed he would walk right by.... he did. He prowled right by me, I was hidden for a moment... The lion walked down the wooden pathway; I made the unfortunate mistake of leaving my place of safety before he was fully gone. The wood creaked; he turned, I was in his gaze. My back was against the balcony I had no where to go, except jump to my death, or fall to this lion. He crept towards me, his mouth salivating at another death. He leaped, and pounced; pinning me to the wood - his claws pierced my flesh - deeply into my shoulder - I had no escape. His jaws opened to snap off my head in one foul swoop and crunch - this is when, as a child, I would wake up.... but not last night, last night, as the heat of this lions breath was upon my face, and his jaws opened to consume me....
   Another Lion's roar was heard! A bright light, so piercing and blinding it made my bones ache from exposure to it's rays, accompanied the roar! The heavens burst open, and shook... the ground beneath broke free and the air became so oxygenated my lungs almost burst with renewed breath! This other Lion was twice as big as this first, it's muscles rippled beneath the fur and skin, in such a way, you could see each individual working muscle move with each step. It's mane was of pure gold - it's teeth, were like ivory needles... the claws were diamonds, fashioned to shred all enemies to dust. This Lion, grabbed the first by the throat, and threw it off me with one blow! The battle was on. Each lion knew victory could only be obtained by the defeat of the other...
   I rode the golden Lion's back, down to the ground for safety... and it charged the other lion away. When I was on the ground, and the golden Lion had me behind Him, guarding me... I could see all the fallen brothers and sisters, friends, family... on the ground... but they didnt look like they had previously. Some were dead wolves.... some were dead lions... The golden Lion roared, and out of the park, came more lions... all at His side... I myself became a lioness ... The first dark lion roared, and out of the shadows came a legion of small lions, like him... twisted, full of malice and hate... with an urge to destroy. Both lion prides stood their ground, the first lion's claws dug into the earth as he took his pouncing stance.... The golden Lion growled back and rolled His shoulders... preparing to attack.... Then, I woke up.








On That Day Ministries -

The Lion's Path 4.15.2015 - Wolves and Lions

  

For The Mama With Small Children; I Feel For You...

I went to a large gathering this weekend. A church gathering of people from the two closest states near me. We all meet together once a month, if we can make it... have fellowship and discuss scripture. I honestly love going. We havent been in so long due to life getting in the way. But I was so excited to see all the faces I havent seen in such a long time...

As I was chit-chatting with a dear friend, her daughter was darting to and fro as we spoke. Her daughter is two; and just the sweetest thing ever! About half-way through a sentence, her mother saw her reach for someone's things... "A! Don't pilfer through other people's things!" She grabbed her daughter and put everything back as best as she could. Suddenly my mind wandered as I watched this mother and daughter...

About a year and a half ago; my son, almost two... pilfered through someone's things. He ran through a crowded room, reached into a lady's purse and grabbed her glasses case. I caught him before he could do much else... but what was the reaction of the people around me? It wasnt a simple pause in the middle of a conversation, as it had been with my friend. With my son, it was a show stopping experience. The pastor's wife let out a screech and exclaimed those were her sister's glasses and if he broke them, it would be hundreds of dollars. I apologized and said they were undamaged, but if they had been... we would of course pay for their replacement. (I have glasses; and am blind as a bat without them, so I understand how important those are.) I also understand that my son, at the time, was almost two... and was as curious and determined as a Capuchin monkey. (He still is, but has thankfully learned some restraint.)

What saddens me is; in this little fellowship/church, my son was not treated as a two year old, but as a bothersome, destructive hoodlum. And I was so thankful and glad to see my friend's daughter (and her mother) treated with kindness and grace by passers-by. While I was pleased and happy to see such kindness on display; I couldnt help but be slightly bitter to my own treatment, and that of my son over a year and a half ago. I've suffered numerous callous remarks and disdain for my small children in predominately older adult fellowships. It's been a constant tight rope, trying to balance between making sure they arent a bother, but at the same time, are allowed to be children. Trying to take the time and opportunity to correct their behavior, but have the grace and patience to weigh out their ages and levels of understanding. ...

So, when I see mothers with young children, in situations where there arent any other young children present... and it is quite obvious their children are the ones making noise, their children are the ones misbehaving... their children are the ones causing a distraction... My heart goes out to you. And I want you to know, you have an ally. I've been there. I spent the last two years going to a place every week where my children were the youngest ones, where they made 3/5 of ALL the children attending... where if crying or blabbing or normal child behavior was occurring, they were probably the ones doing it. Where all eyes would turn and gaze at them... I want you to know I've been you. And if ever I see you need a helping hand, I will offer one. I will offer assistance instead of rude stares and snide remarks... I will try to share my best advice with you - my experiences.

And I want to tell you something: Do not be embarrassed. Do not be ashamed. Raising children is the hardest thing to do... and if they are having a bad day, or if you are having a bad day.... if you can't seem to calm them down... Do not be afraid to ask for help. Seek a mother you trust to ask for guidance or a helping hand...

Titus 2:3-5
…Older women likewise are to be reverent in their behavior, not malicious gossips nor enslaved to much wine, teaching what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored.…

I want to tell you older, capable women (older capable mothers) in the fellowships and communities I've been too in the past two years, the women who have NOT helped me, the women who have gossiped, glared, snapped at mothers with young children; that your time is better served by being gracious and kind to young mothers with young children in need... Shame on you for not helping them, for not training them on how to calm a baby, or offering to rock a child in the back row, while the mother gets a break... or offering to help tag-team with them because their hands are full and they are clearly stressed. Where is your compassion, and grace? Where are the memories of your hard days caring for your young children? What nuggets of wisdom can you share with young mothers who are right in the thick of it?

For those mothers, and fathers (and friends), who have been a help; thank you. A thousand times: THANK YOU. Thank you for not treating my children (and other small children) as second class citizens. Thank you for not minding they come sit on your lap during service ... or not minding them playing with your shoe strings during questions and answer time. Thank you for being a light, and encouragement, and a helping hand... Thank you for showing me (and my friend and her daughter) that not everyone is a prickly, cold, callous person... By you showing kindness, and offering to help in stressful situations, you are helping train the younger generation to do the same for the generation that comes after them. Thank you for being such a wondrous example of Jesus's (Yeshua's) Love.

To the Mom with small children... things will get better. Take things a day at a time. Find a community where the people around you, encourage you... where they show love and compassion... a place where, when correction is needed (to either yourself or your children) it is done so in a gracious, thoughtful, Biblical, and kind manner. Even when you feel alone, or singled out... remember: You are not alone... Millions of mothers have been in your shoes, and are in them right now. Be encouraged, and dont despair.

1 Timothy 4:12
Let no one look down on you because you are young; but in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity, show yourself an example to those who believe.


Matthew 19:14But Jesus said, "Let the children alone, and do not hinder them from coming to Me; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."


Matthew 18:3And he said: "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Press Pause; Then Play

I truly wish there was a pause button in life. Oh, how I would use it over... and over... which is probably why there isn't one... Just think how that button would be abused! But that doesn't stop me from wanting one...

Not only would I use the pause button to savor those precious once in a life time moments; but I would also use it to just stop the hectic parts of my day... the parts of my life that make me feel as if I have been running a marathon and am out of breath.... I feel like that now.

I love spending time with my children... and I enjoy watching them learn and grow... but it's just so much work, in and out, every day.... How do I find the time to just breathe and process? Parenting is exhausting.

I find writing helps calm me; helps give me a momentary perspective of my life and goals.... needs vs. wants... but finding the time to actually write when the desire hits, is non-existent... I really should keep a notepad with me at all times so I can jot down exactly what I am thinking, and expound upon it later. Wouldn't a pause button be nice for that? To never forget a thought; to pause all the things around you, focus on that one thing quickly, and resume as normal...

If you're anything like me; perhaps you are having tea/coffee with a friend - he/she says something to you and SUDDENLY; you interrupt with an off-topic remark; and then apologize and hopefully resume the conversation, sans rabbit trail.... all because if you didn't blurt it out, you would forget it forever... or remember at 3am in a panic.... when it no longer matters. *SIGH*

C'est la vie, no?

I really need to start carving out, an hour... thirty minutes to myself. Just so I can refocus and gain some clarity during the day. If only every afternoon could be as calm as mine is today  - I suppose I can dream, right?

Waiting For Your Call

"Oh, you're so sweet! Thank you very much!
I'm sorry I haven't called, I've been busy.
But let's make sure, we stay in touch."
Smiling at your seeming warmth, I pleasantly reply,
"Sure thing, absolutely." And then we say good-bye.

"Hey! How are you? I'm still waiting on your call...
It's been forever, I'd love to hear from you..."
I anxiously await.
But there is silence on your end,
Nothing at all.

Eventually I get a reply, much like the first.
"So sorry dear. Life is nipping at my heels.
I'm busy with the children, work, planning meals...
When I have time - I'll call. Maybe later in the week?"
"No problem - absolutely. I understand."
It's only friendship I seek...

Life also has me running ragged -
Darting to and fro.
Yet, I still make an effort...
Carving out the time...Waiting for the call,
We both know isn't going to show...

Have I offended you? Does my presence repulse?
You say how sweet I am, how generous and kind...
Words like honey flow from your lips, pleasant and sublime.
And yet, there is no girth to support the words you say.
For no actions follow them - and I wait, day by day...

If friendship truly existed, as you say it does -
Then why no effort on your part to stay in touch?
Why the silence? Why am I ignored?
If there is a bond between us, worth anything to you -
Then take the time to save it! I don't require much...

I simply want transparency... Honestly and Truth.
Enough time, maybe an hour or two...
For some prayer, reflection - soul sharing...
Is that sum too great a price to pay -
To ensure the survival, of the friendship from our Youth?

And if, perhaps, we've simply gone
Down two different paths - where neither one can follow...
Where is the respect we once shared?
Will I find it in your call, "sometime tomorrow"?

Have the decency to say to my face,
There are too many differences that you cannot ignore.
Don't hide behind seemingly sweet words,
Plastering your disdain with them,
Giving the illusion I am adored.

I am no longer able to play pretend -
Aren't you tired of this facade?
I can no longer adorn myself with the pageantry of "friends"
My desire for true grit, is much too high...
Either be real with me, or don't bother saying good-bye...

Support the words you speak with action -
Or don't bother saying them at all.
I am no longer going to sit and pine for you;
I am done waiting for your call....







~ Me