Ethan...My Child Who is Anything But Plain Vanilla

It's difficult for me to believe that my middlest child, Ethan, is turning nine years old.  Tomorrow, actually. It isn't a mistake that I'm writing this blog post on the eve of his birthday because it was on the eve of his birth when God chose to make Himself so very real to me in that moment.  If you've heard this story, you'll have to indulge me one more time.  You'll probably hear me tell it again sometime too.  You see, I think God allows us to go through difficult times so that we can remember His goodness to us in times of struggle; and especially so that we can tell our story to encourage someone else.

To understand why the remembrance of Ethan's birth is still a sacred time for me you have to know a little about Jac's birth.  I wrote about Jac just a couple of weeks ago, but I purposely left out a portion of his story.  During the time I was pregnant with Jac Lindy and I owned two houses and three vehicles.  We had one enormous house payment and three car payments for two adults.  I won't go into the hows and whys of our circumstances--that's really a blog post for another day--but, needless to say, we were really questioning God as to why the house we were trying to sell didn't sell for 18 months and why we couldn't sell our third vehicle for nine months.  When it was time for Jac to be born and I had to wait ten extra days, let's just say that I was really feeling like God had completely forgotten about me.  I guess I could have written God off, thrown myself a pity party, and turned away from him completely (that's hard for me to even type with a straight face because it would be so completely out of my nature to turn away from God). Our circumstances could have also driven Lindy and I apart, but it only made us closer.  Everything difficult we've been through has only drawn us closer.  He's my lobster, what can I say?  But, three years later, after God had helped us sell our house and our extra car and given us our beautiful, healthy boy, Jac, I was on the brink of my due date with Ethan....

I can so clearly remember it as if it were yesterday.  It was Wednesday, June 26, and I was off work that day and at home with Jac who had just turned three years old.  It was around 9:30 in the morning and I clearly recall just giving God a long sigh and saying, "Please, God, it was so hard waiting last time for Jac to be born.  Would it be possible for Ethan to be born on his due date?"  It wasn't just the waiting for Jac to be born that was hard.  It was the package of circumstances going on in our lives at the time that just made the waiting that much more difficult.  The thought of waiting days for another baby brought all of those same emotions back to me again, so I was just longing for God to let Ethan be born on time.  Two hours later I was in a toy store with Jac when I felt as if a balloon popped inside my belly and a sudden rush of fluid started puddling at my feet.  This was no trickle, ladies.  This was amniotic fluid gone crazy!!  I was able to drive myself home--no contractions yet--and Lindy drove back home to Maryville, IL from St. Peters, MO to pick me up and race me to St. Luke's Hospital in Chesterfield after dropping Jac off in St. Charles.  If you're not familiar with the St. Louis area that's a lot of reckless and imprudent driving for a husband who is determined not to deliver his wife's baby in the car.  By the time we got there--around 2:00 p.m.--I still wasn't even in labor.  Ethan had not bothered to even drop into the birth canal.  I guess he just poked a hole in the sac and said, "I'm going to just sit tight for a while so that I can be delivered with a nice round head-- unlike my brother, Jac."  After a few hours of Ethan "laboring down" which was really just me sitting upright letting gravity and Pitocin help, I finally started dilating and got my epidural as soon as possible.  Thank God for modern medicine.  Anesthesia's going to make my newborn a little sleepy?  I'll take it!!  Getting to a 4 is painful enough.  I have no desire for natural childbirth.  Just my opinion.  So, just before midnight Ethan was ready for delivery and on the second push he made his way into the world at a tiny 7 pounds, 1 ounce and 21 inches long (compared to his brother).  His first act on this side of my uterus was to pee on the doctor's shoes which resulted in the first word he heard being a cuss word.  :)  (It was actually one of my doctor's partners doing the delivering and he did a fabulous job, cussing or not).  Ethan was born at 12:05 a.m. on June 27, 2002--his due date.  The doctor told me that only 5% of babies are actually born on their due dates.

This was my 30th birthday--Ethan was 20 days old.  Before I got pregnant I asked
God for another baby before I turned 30.  

Here's where I get to the God making Himself real to me part.  I didn't really sleep much that night.  Too much adrenaline and excitement.  Too much joy over being able to lie on my stomach after nine months. Some slight complications which turned out to be nothing, but kept Lindy and me awake.  But, it was during that night at around 3:00 a.m. when I remembered to thank God that He had seen in His infinite kindness to answer my prayer in allowing Ethan to be born on his due date.  God spoke to me and asked, "What time was Ethan born?"  12:05 a.m.  "Robin, I did that just for you.  I allowed his birth at midnight on his due date just to prove to you that I can work in your timing and to let you know that I never forgot about you all those times you wondered why I was so late in answering your prayers.  My timing is perfect and, once in a while, I can work in your timing."  Wow!!  Maybe you've never experienced that voice when you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it's God speaking.  Maybe you think I'm crazy.  I don't really care.  God is so real and He wants to speak to His children.  God's not just about religion and a bunch of "don'ts" or someone who is looking to condemn you and put guilt on you. What He really wants from you is a relationship--the kind of friendship where you can turn to Him when there's no one else.  He wants to give you peace and I've lived a life of blessed peace all because I've chosen to let Him be my Savior and the Lord of my life.  I may not be your average pastor's wife, but I am still a pastor's wife who wants everyone to have the freedom that can only come from accepting Jesus.

Well, I should move forward in my story of Ethan.  Nine years has passed since that day and this boy God has given me is so uniquely special.  I mentioned in the title of this post that Ethan is not plain vanilla.  Ethan is Mr. Personality.  He is polite and kind and quite a bit "outside the box."  He has loved to dress up in costumes since he was old enough to say the word "costume."  He's passed this trait on to his younger brother.

Ethan's latest obsession is with anything military.  He got a full camo suit for his birthday and real dog tags.

He has guns and holsters and has been to the gun range with his Dad and older brother.  Ethan has given me a lot of material to write about this year, so if you've missed out on some posts you might want to read the one about his ski accident and about his recent hospitalization.  Both of those will give you a lot of insight and will keep me from being repetitive.

Ethan is heading to kids' camp this week and I believe this is his sixth year to go.  Before he could go as an official camper he was going along with Lindy to hang out with him.  (Jac did the same thing).  Ethan is very independent--as are all my boys.  (I wonder where they get that from).  He's not afraid at all of being away from  home.

His biggest desire at the moment is for his own room.  He has been campaigning for his own room for months.  He has taken to sleeping in the guest room most of the time and has slowly been moving his stuff in there.  The wall behind the bed is covered with his posters and Paper Jams guitar.  Eventually, we might give in, but for now it's still "officially" the guest room.  Ethan is a pack rat and is very sentimental about the minutest item.  I have to regularly force him to part with stuff.  He acts like he's gotten too big for his Mom to kiss and hug on him but it doesn't take much encouragement to get him to sit on my lap.  When I hug him he's never the first to let go.  He can't fool me.  He's fabulous at being the middle child.  He can keep up with Jac and still play Legos and Play Doh with Gavin.  He's quick-witted and sarcastic beyond his years; and will get his feelings hurt if you don't think he's funny.  He doesn't need a lot of discipline because he has a gentle spirit and a contrite heart.  My Ethan is a one-of-a-kind child.  While the other two take after my side of the family in their physical features, Ethan is Little Lindy--in looks and behavior.  Maybe that's why he's special to me, because he's a replica of my love.  I love all of my boys equally but each one of them is special to me in their own way.  Ethan and I have a food connection.  We are the chocolate lovers.  We are the only two who eat tomatoes, black olives, and cantaloupe.  He loves chocolate so much and I learned just how much when I was home with Gavin on maternity leave.  I was cleaning one day and happened to look behind my china hutch.  What should I find but candy, candy wrappers, and scissors.  He was only three years old but it was kind of like a Mom finding her kid's drug stash and paraphernalia.  Chocolate was his drug and he had the scissors stashed with it in case there was a wrapper he couldn't open by himself.  Busted!!  He still loves sweets and I had to cut him off the other day because I realized he had eaten 8 chocolate chip cookies, a fudge bar, and two popsicles in the span of one afternoon.  He had no sweets for the rest of the day or the next.

Ethan is my little blondie who gets blonder during the summer.  He says, "Hi, Mom" or "Hi, Dad" every time we walk in the room--even if it's only been five minutes since he's seen us.  He loves his dog, Piper.  Piper's middle name is "Joe-the-Plumber," in case you weren't aware of that.  Middle name courtesy of Ethan.  Can you tell that we got Piper during the excitement of the 2008 Presidential campaign?  If you are friends with me on Facebook you might know that we had the St. Louis area "dog whisperer" at our house this week.  Ethan was going to be the broken-hearted one if Piper didn't turn from his wayward activity.  He is successful so far--or we are as it turned out that Lindy and I needed leadership training.  Can you believe that?  A pastor and a professional with 15 years management experience and we needed leadership training for our dog.  I'm going to leave it at that and let Lindy comment since he'll have a different opinion on the "we" part.

Just like my post about Jac, I can't seem to ever say enough to convey how much I adore my boys.  I hope they always see my face light up when they walk in the room.  I hope as a mother of boys that I'm everything I need to be to help them be the men God will shape them to be...and the husbands of beautiful, stylish women who will love them more than life itself...and the fathers of children who will look up to them as examples as they've looked up to their father and grandfathers.

Ethan, my living testimony of God's kindness toward me, I love you very much and always will.  You're my favorite eight-year-old boy...until 12:05 a.m.

I'm Sure I'm Partial, But I Think He's the Best Dad Ever

I wrote a blog post about my Mom for Mother's Day and you can read that here if you missed it.  Obviously, I would never write a post about my mother and then not write one about my father.  Just like they don't play favorites with my brother and me, I can't play favorites with them.  Last fall I wrote a post about my brother where I mentioned that my Dad used to ask me when I was a child if I could only choose one person to say hello to if I was on television, "Who would I choose?"  My answer is in the blog post about my brother.

I thought in this post, since I didn't mention it in my post about my Mom, I would tell their story of how they got together.  I'm sure my Mom will leave a comment and clear up any details that I missed or got turned around.  My parents met in Bible college at Southwestern in Waxahachie, Texas but my Dad had lived a lot more of life than my Mom when they met.  My Mom was 18 and had actually been out of high school for a year before going to college, but my Dad was 26 and had spent four years in the Navy, then a couple years working as a draftsman before God changed the direction of his life.  He was an excellent draftsman and had worked on drawings of fighter planes and was being considered for a lucrative career in that line of work.  Prior to deciding to go to Bible school he had been offered a full-ride scholarship to Washington University in St. Louis.  (He grew up in East St. Louis and was working in downtown St. Louis at the time).  He told his boss "thanks, but no thanks" and left to pursue the call of God on his life.

Here's my Dad all buttoned up in a suit and tie at Southwestern.  Is that my brother, or what???

Here's a picture of my Dad in the Navy.  Is he not soooooo handsome?  No wonder my Mom set her eyes on him.

Back to the story of how they met....  So, they were both at Southwestern and my Dad was known far and wide on campus.  He was head of the Missions Club or something like that, which was apparently an enviable position for other students.  The story goes like this.  My Mom was a young, blond, freshman cheerleader and she was sitting on a bench with her friend.  Who should come walking by but my Dad.  My Mom said to her friend, "You see that guy?  I'm going to marry him."  Her friend basically blew her off and said "No way, Paughnee.  That's Bob Bornert.  He's engaged to a girl at home."  (Engaged he was, to a girl with the nickname, "Babe," no less).  My Mom told her friend that engaged or not, she knew she was going to marry him.  I'm not sure of all the details at that point, but I believe my Mom decided she would start going to the Missions Club meetings and letting my Dad know she was interested.  He ended up breaking things off with "Babe"--who's name was really Velma.  (Wouldn't you go by "Babe" if your name was Velma?  Can't blame the poor girl).

So began their courtship and a boy from East St. Louis married a girl from south Louisiana.  My Dad used to tease his friends and tell them that his future mother-in-law wrestled alligators.  If you knew my grandmother you knew that she had just the sort of daring, tenacious personality who might actually give it a try.  She didn't, just in case I've led you to believe that she did.

One summer  when they were dating but apart my Dad sent my Mom this picture:

I guess he wanted to make sure she knew that he wasn't all "suit and tie."  Ha ha.  He might not be too happy with me for including this picture because I thinks he wants other people to think that he is all "suit and tie."  He isn't.  He may have been a preacher for the last 50 years but he can also design houses, build houses, plant gardens, write poetry, draw, play the piano if I beeeeeegggggg him to do so, and a host of other things.  He's brilliant but doesn't want you to know it.  We'll keep your secret, Dad.

My parents got married on September 9, 1961.  Here are a couple more pics of them from college:


Don't you love how my Mom was gazing adoringly at my Dad and how he has the biggest grin on his face.  So in love, and they still are after over 50 years.

I can see myself in both of my parents, but I really see my brother and my oldest son, Jac, in my Dad.

You might wonder how I ended up so blonde with my Dad and his dark hair.  His eyes are bright blue and my three boys and I all got my Dad's blue eyes.  All of my Dad's siblings are dark-headed with darker coloring as are most of their children.  But, when my grandmother was pregnant with my Dad his grandmother prophesied that the baby was going to be born blonde (which would be highly unusual in their family) and he was going to grow up to be a preacher.  He was and he did.  He was blonde until he was about two years old.  My brother was blonde when he was young, but his hair grew darker before most of it grew out of his head.  :)  I often felt a little odd with both sides of my family because most of the cousins on my Mom's side aren't blonde and fair either.  I might think that I was adopted if I wasn't an exact duplicate of my mother.

Let me tell you something I've often told my parents.  It is difficult being a combination of the two of them, not in the way of looks, but in the thought process and personality.  Opposites definitely attract because my parents couldn't be more different and they couldn't possibly be more in love--even after 50 years.  My Mom is spontaneous and my dad is cautious and thrives on security.  I am both of those.  My Dad is very analytical while my Mom is more emotional.  I am both of those, with a leaning more to the side of the analytical.  One of the things I got from both of them that I'm passing on to my children is the most important thing of all.  A love for Jesus that surpasses anything else in our lives.

As a child I had a difficult time with the fact that my parents were older than my friends' parents.  It seems kind of silly now because so many people have babies later in life, but my Dad was 40 years old when I was born.  That's just the way it happened which is a story for another day.  Now I realize what a gift it was to have a father with such wisdom and so much insight to share.  I didn't always appreciate it when I was growing up but I certainly do now.  My Dad is the person I know who most has the gift of thinking before you speak.  My brother runs a close second, but I honestly don't recall a hurtful word ever coming out of my Dad's mouth about anyone.  He and my Mom have been through some painful times in ministry but they protected my brother and me and never spoke ill of any situation.  My Dad is very patient.  I can be telling him something important and he can be wondering what it is and when I'm going to get to the big announcement/point of my story, but he never interrupts.  He never tells me to get to the point or "Headlines only, please."  He gives great advice, but only when solicited.  I can only remember him being mad at me four times in my life.  Once, when his mother died and I didn't want to go back in the funeral home to select a plant to take home.  Second, when I stayed out after a piano lesson to go to Taco Bell with a guy right after I got my driver's license.  (He grounded me for three weeknights for that one.  I know, he was really tough on me).  Third, when I ran up an $80.00 long distance phone bill one summer when Lindy was in California right after we started dating.  (This was before cell phones and free long distance).  Fourth, when I bought a new car the fall after I graduated from college when he was traveling and wasn't involved in the process.  He didn't think that his 22-year-old daughter could get the best deal by herself on a new car and he wanted to help me buy it.  I was living in Tulsa at the time.  He called the dealership on Monday and talked them down a few hundred more dollars so I think he felt a little better about it after that.  That's it...four times that I can recall in my entire life that my Dad has been mad at me about something.  I doesn't count little things from childhood, but I don't even remember him getting upset with me very often then.  I know I got some spankings, but usually just a cross look did the trick with me.

My Dad will be 80 years old in November and we are heading to the beach in a couple weeks to spend a week in a beach house.  He'll be driving there and enjoying spending time with his family.  He'll probably go deep sea fishing and take some books to read and enjoy just seeing my Mom have the time of her life because she's the beach person, as am I.  One other thing I got from both of them is a love of reading.  Jac is starting to catch the reading bug too and I'm thrilled about that.

This post would be as long as a book if I tried to explain all the wonderful things about my Dad.  He really is amazing.  He's an example of a changed life, the power of prayer and faith in God, and an enduring example of love, tenderness, and compassion.  I couldn't be more proud to be his daughter and I wouldn't trade him for all the world.

Love you, Dad.  You've always been my hero and it was quite a task to find a husband who would begin to measure up to everything you are and always have been.  I think I did a pretty good job and I know you would agree.

Happy Father's Day (Your card's in the mail.  You know some things never change).  :)

My Baby Jac is Turning Twelve

My firstborn is turning 12 years old.  That seems impossible.  I know to women who have been mothers for 50 years, being a mother for 12 years is nothing to write home about; but it seems momentous to me at this time.  As I'm writing this I'm thinking back to my "watched pot" period that occurred between June 1 and June 10 twelve years ago.  You see, Jac was due on June 1 but he didn't make his appearance until June 10 and those were the longest ten days of my life.  Today happens to be June 4 and it was on that date that I had a "failed induction."  Honestly, I can probably count on one hand the number of women I know who have been overdue with a baby and have been sent home to percolate some more after having a pitocin drip running for 16 hours.  Failing at childbirth, especially when I'd never been through it before, was not my proudest moment.  Turns out Jac was having a little trouble entering this world because he was so enormous.  It was a difficult delivery, when it was finally time; and he arrived weighing in at 8 pounds, 12 ounces and measuring 23 inches long.  It was kind of surreal.  I had always imagined having a little baby that could be easily cuddled.  Jac was so big that when you held him his legs dangled over your arms.  There was really no swaddling to be done with my overbaked baby.  He was never able to wear baby booties--feet were too big and he couldn't wear his cute little 0-3 month feetie pajamas--legs were too long.  I guess I could have forced him to wear them but I didn't want his little toes to stay permanently curled under just so that I could see him in his cute little jammies.  I know that's surprising to some of you.  You would think I would sacrifice Jac's comfort for his cuteness, but I did not.

He looked like Mr. Magoo and he had a cone head due to the vacuum being used to extricate him from his comfortable home.  I was one push away from a C-section, my friend.  When they showed Jac to me, I secretly thought, "This is the baby that Lindy and I made???"  Later on, I found out that Lindy was thinking the same thing.  Trust me, he was much cuter on Day 2 or 3.  In fact, when Ethan was born we commented that Ethan looked like Jac on Day 2 or 3.  Ethan was a much easier delivery and the doctor said that Jac had paved the way for him.  I wish I had some pictures handy to post of Jac as a newborn but he was born before we were fully engulfed in the digital age and I don't have any that I can easily access.

My overdueness was really my only issue during pregnancy except for what my doctor eventually termed "impressive swelling."  Let's just say that my feet grew from size 8 to size 9 1/2 and I had to wear stretchy canvas shoes at the end of the pregnancy.  I called them my "Gilligan"shoes and they went in the trash soon after returning home from the hospital.  The benefit of having a half grown baby was that he ate good and he slept good.  He slept through the night not long after coming home from the hospital and when it was chow time he was ready.  I have to give him a little credit for helping me to lose every last baby pound in 2 1/2 weeks.  You read that right--2 1/2 weeks!!  I would encourage you to be envious of me if I had been able to repeat that rapid weight loss after baby boys 2 and 3; but, alas, it was not to be repeated.

Jac was a good baby and had an outgoing personality from the beginning.  He didn't object to anyone holding him and he was pretty low-maintenance.  He was a great baby for a first-time Mom.  Lindy was much more skilled at this baby thing than me because his sister, Cayla, was born when he was 14.  The first month--especially the first week--was really difficult for me and I remember wondering whether I had done the right thing in becoming a mother.  Even though Jac was a good sleeper there was still quite a bit of sleep deprivation on my part.  If you've ever breastfed and lain awake at night wishing your baby would wake up so you could get some relief, you understand what I'm saying.  I will spare you from any further explanation, but nursing Moms with babies who sleep well at night will understand that this doesn't always equate to Mom getting to sleep well at night.  Apart from that, my first month of being a mother was not all butterflies and sunshine.  I've heard other new Moms express the same feelings, but no one really remembers anyone warning you about this dark side of motherhood.  When you're expecting your bundle of joy you only want to focus on all the wonderful parts.  It definitely gets better as they get older, but now I'm trying not to listen to the people who say that it gets easier until they get to be teenagers and then it gets harder again.  Bottom line is that motherhood is riddled with the good and the bad and everything in between.

When Jac became a big brother right after he turned three years old, he came home from visiting Ethan at the hospital and he expressed to his Mimi his concern that Ethan had no arms and legs.  Ethan was tightly swaddled and, apparently, looked to Jac as if he had no arms and legs because all Jac could see was his head.  He had to check out Ethan's movable limbs the next time he visited.  I'm not sure what Jac expected out of a baby brother but he asked me repeatedly when Ethan was a newborn when Ethan was going back in my belly so he could have a baby sister.

The video was created by Lindy right before Ethan was born when Jac was almost three years old.  The background music is the song Lindy wrote and then sang at Jac's dedication when he was three months old.  He had a friend help him with getting it recorded with piano and then he used it as the background when he made this video.  Watching the video is something none of us have ever been able to do without tears in our eyes--even Jac.  In fact, when Jac's brothers want to get him riled up they will start singing the song to him because they know it makes him cry.  What are brothers for if not to torture you with singing?  So, if you ever hear Ethan or Gavin following Jac and singing, "You're my ten favorite words..." you'll know what that's all about.  (If you want to give my husband trouble about something, please tell him that he needs to write songs for the other two boys).


Jac's first day of kindergarten was a major event for him and for me.  Here are a couple pics.

Is he not the cutest thing ever?

He had never spent one day in preschool but he could tell you everything he would be doing in school from the time he was three years old.  He could say his ABCs with the exception of the letter "J" which I found interesting.  Fast forward three years and when Ethan started kindergarten he also left out the letter "J."  Weird.  Jac took to school quickly and has always excelled academically.  A lot of things come easy to Jac and sometimes it's difficult to convince him to put forth his best effort if he can succeed without really trying.  He's been placed in advanced math (pre-Algebra) for 7th grade and I'm starting to have flashbacks of my junior high and senior high years.  I did a pretty good job at convincing my parents that I was one of the smartest kids in my regular classes but the dumbest in my honors classes.  I was also the best clarinet player out of all the kids who didn't actually practice at home--and I was proud of this.  In other words, I didn't think it was worth it to put in the extra hours of study or practice if I could still succeed.  I've learned since then that it's important to have a spirit of excellence no matter what you set out to do while at the same time recognizing that you can't be the best at everything and you have to decide in what areas to focus your attention and best efforts.  I hope that, eventually, Jac will come to the same conclusion with a little guidance.

Jac has always been a very compliant, contemplative, sensitive child.  With the exception of Ethan, he is always concerned about other people.  He does have his own measure of concern for Ethan evidenced by his reaction to Ethan's ski accident and his recent hospitalization but he seems to possess a much greater capacity for patience when it comes to other people.

When Jac was younger--around 1st and 2nd grade--if you asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up he would say, "Lifeguard."  (He took diving lessons for 2 years but eventually decided he didn't want to pursue it any longer).  For the last couple years he has told everyone that he wants to be a pastor, but most recently he's changed his occupation to "astro-pastor."  This is, apparently, an astronaut who is also a pastor--a title he came up with on his own.  Let's just say that it's a good thing that he's going into advanced 7th grade math if he aspires to greatness as an astronaut.  He also is very involved at church, serving wherever he can and being mentored in children's ministry.  God has blessed us with this wonderful child who is growing into a young man more rapidly every day.  He's by no means perfect and we're doing our best to keep him humble, but he is a wonderful son, nonetheless.

His biggest challenges in childhood have centered around keeping teeth in his mouth.  He knocked out his two front teeth right after he turned five when he got a new bike for his birthday, and he was front toothless for three years.  Here's a pic of the day he lost those teeth.

I was so glad he had been to the dentist before this occasion because it was not a pleasant experience.  He had actually broken off one tooth and fractured the other one so they had to be removed at the dentist.  I spent much of the time in another room with my head between my knees.  If you know me well, you will know that this is not surprising for me.  Jac handled it like a champ and the dentist gave him Cardinals tickets for a game that night.  Lindy was also traumatized and went out to buy him a new glove prior to going to the game.  Here's a pic of Jac with his new glove that same day.

He proceeded to knock out another tooth later on while riding a neighbor's electric scooter.  He came in the house screaming with blood pouring down his chin, holding the tooth.  Lindy shoved it right back up in the socket where it stayed for about a year until Jac knocked the same tooth out again--I think playing with a rope at his grandparents' house.  While Lindy was shoving the tooth back in the socket, where was I?  Well, lying on the couch, of course, trying not to pass out.  He also knocked out another tooth at church when he and Ethan were goofing off and he ended up knocking his teeth against a tile countertop and knocking one of them out.  I think I remained upright during that incident, but it has led me to have the need to immediately inquire about a child's teeth or ask to see their teeth any time any child comes to me crying.  If we are friends and I have ignored your child's skinned knee or goose egg on the forehead to first inspect his or her teeth, I apologize.  It's just second nature to me to ask about the teeth.  Jac will be getting braces soon--for the second time--and we have promised him that eventually he will have a perfect smile.  Adding to this challenge is the fact that he's missing some permanent teeth, which is the one and only negative thing that he inherited from me.  (I threw that in for Lindy because he always gives me a hard time about that).

In spite of Jac's dental challenges, we're going to keep him.  :)  I love that Jac is close to his family and adores all of his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.  When he was about four years old he thought the closest relative you could have was a cousin and there was a particular girl who he asked if she could be his cousin.  He thought that would be the best way to make sure they stayed close.  I can't believe my sweet, sensitive, intelligent, compassionate, generous, open-hearted, competitive, polite, almost-as-tall-as-me boy is turning 12.  I'm very proud him and his brothers.  Speaking of the dentist--and we go to a different one now--not too long ago I was at her office with all three boys.  After they had gone back for their check-ups one of the front office ladies came out to talk to me.  I looked up from my book and wondered, "Oh no, what have they done, and then immediately, what's wrong with their teeth?"  But, instead, she had come out to compliment me on my boys.  I had lagged behind Jac and Ethan coming into the office as I was getting Gav out of the car and collecting all of our stuff.  The lady told me that the two older boys came into the office, stated their names, said they had an appointment, made eye contact, answered any questions asked, and sat down to wait for me.  She said that coming across boys who are so polite and well-spoken is unusual nowadays.  I told her thank you and explained that their father is a pastor and they are well accustomed to being around adults and that's exactly how we expect for them to behave.  I was really touched that she thought so highly of them to tell their mother how well-behaved they were.  I was proud to be their mother and realized that maybe they are actually listening to us once in a while.  Like I said, they aren't perfect; but we have hope that we are instilling in them the manners and values that one day will serve them well.

Jac may read this post so I just have to throw in for him one more time before it's too late that he is my favorite 11-year-old boy until he turns 12 and then he'll be my favorite 12-year-old boy.  He was just my favorite boy until Ethan came along and I had to think of a way to tell them they were each my favorite in some way.  So, they fully expect me for me to tell them frequently that they are my favorite ____-year-old boy.

Love you, Jac.  Your Dad and I are proud of you and we will always love you no matter what.  We don't expect perfection, we just expect your best effort.  More than anything, we pray you will stay close to Jesus and keep the tender heart you have always possessed.  Great things are in store for you and we can't wait to see all the miracles God works in your life.

Hope Yet For Joplin, Mo.

Ever since Robin asked me to write this post, I've been reluctant.  I don't think there is any way to describe the aftermath of an EF-5 Tornado ripping through a city like it did in Joplin.  The pictures even on TV can't describe the horror we saw as we entered the part of town hit by this killer tornado.

In addition to that, it's hard for me to process it all.  My mother's family is from Joplin and many still live there.  I had one cousin whose home was blown away.  I had several friends with homes that are now non-existent.  So writing this is a little difficult.

The first thing I noticed even before I saw the greatest part of destruction was the smell.  We arrived there just three short days after the event and already the smell of mold and mildew was almost enough to make one choke.  This was the greatest surprise initially.  I felt as if I had to breathe a little deeper just to get enough air.

The first thing we did that day was pick up several truckloads of food and water to take out to the neighborhoods.  It was devastating to see what I can only describe as similar to the pictures I've seen of Hiroshima after Truman dropped the atomic bomb.  Governor Nixon said in a news conference that this was "a slow moving tornado" and that it looked "like it tried to screw itself into the ground."  That is probably the most accurate of descriptions.  While most tornados rip through quite quickly, this one took it's time, hovering over the ground for 45-60 seconds before moving on.  The aftermath, to me, felt mean, like it purposely was out to destroy.

The next two and a half days I spent with Nathan, our youth pastor and my brother-in-law Joe Gabbard at the Convoy of Hope Disaster Relief Headquarters at E 7th and S. Maiden, just blocks from St. John's hospital.  We organized a drive through where cars could drive in and pick up supplies such as water, gatorade, non-perishable foods, paper products, camping gear, etc.  In doing so, I didn't realize upfront that we would be hearing stories of survival, death, loss and etc. the entire time.

To be honest, I am normally a coherent, articulate writer.  However, I am having great difficulty trying to write this blog.  It's like everything is still jumbled up in my head.  I was not prepared for that.  I saw people walking around or riding in cars that came through for supplies that looked, for lack of a better word, catatonic.  Pure shock.  Some couldn't speak, others couldn't shut up.  Everybody deals with it differently when it comes to trauma.  I wasn't there when it happened, but just spending four days there as a volunteer threw me for a loop.  I didn't realize it till I was in church on Sunday.  I broke down.  Thankfully it was during the music portion of the service so no one could hear me balling my eyes out.  I can say now that I have a better understanding and deeper compassion for those who go through these kinds of disasters and trauma.  I heard a doctor on the radio yesterday who was in the hospital when it hit.  It was hard for him to speak, to articulate what he wanted to say.  I get that now.

I can't go into the details of the stories I heard.  I just can't.  If you want to hear them, you can go to Sunday's podcast of my message and listen to them.

With all that having been said, there is still hope for Joplin.  Not only are people in Missouri quite resilient, but these people have a faith unlike I have ever seen.  When the cars would come through for supplies, I would ask the people if they would like for me to pray with them.  In four days, I had only one person say no... she was too busy.  I prayed with hundreds and hundreds of people.  I held their hands, I listened to their stories, and I don't remember one person saying that they weren't going to make it.  Everyone had a faith that God was going to help them rebuild.   It was truly inspiring.

Would I go back?  In a heartbeat.  In fact, we are planning to take a trip back to Joplin again this coming Monday-Wednesday to volunteer again with Convoy of Hope.  If you are over 18 and would be interested in going with us, email me at pastor@myrestorationchurch.org.  We will have accommodations for both men and women.  If you would like to donate to Convoy of Hope, the premier Disaster Relief organization, you can make a $10.00 donation by texting "CONVOY" to 50555 or by going to their website.  If you would like to donate non-perishable foods, bottled drinks (non-water), paper goods, or personal hygiene products, you can drop them by our church at 7450 Mexico Rd. in St. Peters.

Please continue to pray for the people of Joplin.

Pastor Lindy

Nothing Else Seems to Matter at the Moment

This week I have thought about different topics I could blog about but, truly, the only thing that has been on my mind is the devastation and suffering being experienced by my fellow Show-Me-State citizens in Joplin, MO.  Since I don't feel equipped to write about it since I didn't experience it or see the effects first-hand, I am going to ask my husband to be a guest writer on my blog for the next post.  He, our student ministries pastor, his brother-in-law, and some other men from our area spent Wednesday through Saturday there helping out with the amazing efforts of Convoy of Hope.  Lindy can give a much better description of and tribute to the people of Joplin than me.  I'll ask him to work on a blog post right away.  I have a little pull with him, after all.

On this Memorial Day, as we remember all of the service members in our armed forces who gave their lives for our freedom; I hope you stop and appreciate the freedom for which they fought.  Freedom of speech, freedom to worship, freedom to come and go as we please, freedom to bear arms (in some states), freedom from search and seizure...the list goes on and on.  I haven't even scratched the surface.  The freedoms we enjoy today would not be possible without those who fought for them.  If you're a veteran reading this post, I say "thank you."  Words cannot describe all that your sacrifice, and the sacrifices of your fellow service members, have meant to our country.  We love and appreciate you.

I'm leaving you with a You Tube video that Lindy and Nathan made while they were in Joplin.  It's just a sneak peek into what I'm sure will be a touching blog post by my better half.  The sound isn't very good due to the windiness at that time, but you can see and feel what they are experiencing all around them.  I hope you and your family and friends have a wonderful Memorial Day and amidst the BBQs and swim parties you stop to remember the purpose of celebrating this holiday.

  

Fashion Advice--According to the Girl Who Wears Pink and Orange Together

Well, after a succession of serious blog posts which recounted all of my recent drama and paid homage to my mama; you might be wondering, why oh why, would I now write about something as meaningless as fashion.  The obvious answer is that I am just that multi-dimensional.  The less obvious answer is that a sweet girl, my cousin Cara, requested that I write a blog post on fashion.  She said, "teach me something."  Here's a picture of Cara from her wedding:

Now, I know what you're thinking, "this girl is asking for fashion tips?"  Is she not as cute as can be?  Cara's actually my second cousin, or maybe she's my first cousin once removed.  I always get that mixed up.  She's my first cousin, Ray's, daughter.  All I know is that we share the same maiden name, I'm so glad we share some of the same genes, and before she was a bride she was my flower girl when I got married.

So, here it is, just to humor Cara.  I should give a few disclaimers first.  First, my advice is my opinion only.  I didn't do any research on the topic.  If your opinion differs and you disagree with each piece of advice, then more power to you.  These are only my opinions and advice I would give to my darling, now-grown-up-and-married cousin.  Second, if you're my husband and you're reading this you might as well stop now.  You will not be impressed and you'll think it's a wasted risk of carpal tunnel syndrome.  Third; Nathan, if you are reading this you will definitely be turning in your man card.  You can request it back at the end.  (You really might want to read it though, especially the last one, for the benefit of your students.  Fourth, as the title of this post pointed out:  I am a girl who wears pink and orange together.  You will have to decide whether you're willing to be subjected to taking fashion advice from me.  Either way, here you go:

1. This one is really on my mind right now since it is spring and summer will be here before we know it.  Buy white pants whenever you find a good pair that fits you well.  I love love LOVE to wear white pants or white skirts in the summer; however, nice-fitting white pants don't come along every day.  When you find them, snatch them up because white pants don't stay white forever even if you dry clean them.  What do I mean by "nice-fitting?"  Well, to me that means white pants that give you enough coverage that they aren't see through.  My sister-in-law, Ronnin, was shopping with me recently and we were talking about white pants.  She said that she tries to find white pants that have pockets because they give you more coverage.  So true.  I also like to find ones that are lined, whenever possible.  I currently have about five white pairs of pants in my white pant wardrobe.  Before you think I'm a little over the top with white pants, you should know that they are all different--one cropped jean pair, one cropped linen pair, one long dressy linen pair, one polished cotton cropped pair, one very old white linen pair that can hardly be considered white anymore.  I think the polished cotton pair are on their way out too.  They've just been washed and dry cleaned over and over.  I'm bleaching them today so we'll see what happens.  Cross your fingers.
2. This piece of fashion advice is directly linked to number one.  Wear appropriate undergarments--especially under white pants.  Listen, it's not easy finding the exactly perfect undergarments to wear under white pants.  They should be skin-colored.  Why this isn't obvious to everyone, I'm not sure.  Please don't wear white unmentionables under white pants.  Go with the skin colored pair and you'll be glad you did.  Everyone else will too.  This same bit of advice goes for all other clothing items as well.  Back when I was a "real nurse" and I worked in inpatient oncology/neurology we were required to wear white.  I had a friend named Bindu who was Indian--dot, not the feather.  I told Bindu that my Indian name for her was "Bindu Black Bra" because she would wear all kinds of different colored bras under her white uniform.  She honestly didn't care about appropriate undergarments, and since we were friends she got a kick out of her Indian name.
3. If you're still French-rolling--or tight-rolling--your jeans, I just have to say "Welcome to the 21st Century.  We're glad to have you, just don't be surprised if you get odd looks."  Not too long ago my close-in-age friends at church had their jeans tight-rolled just for fun prior to band practice on a Wednesday night.  Their tween and teen children were mortified and begged me not to join in when I arrived.  I had to, of course, but we were just playing around.  I had a boyfriend in high school, Kelly, who could tight roll his jeans as if his very life depended on it.  It was an art.  That was then, this is now.  Please don't do it.
4. Accessories can make the outfit.  If you have some "trouble spots" you're trying to hide or detract attention from, accessories can do that for you.  This is one of the tricks up my sleeve which I collectively refer to as "smoke and mirrors."  I love scarves.  Let me say that again:  I love scarves.  One year for my birthday all the girls at work had on scarves and bright lipstick just for me.  I have short scarves, long scarves, silk scarves, sweater scarves, winter scarves....  One category I don't have are neutral scarves--except for a couple black and navy ones.  I'm honestly not a neutral person.  Give me colors that pop and let me wear them together.  Just for fun, and because I was curious, I counted my scarves for the purpose of this post.  Are you ready?  I have 62 scarves!!  Seriously??  I have 62 scarves?  Even I'm shocked by that.  I must mention that scarves are not an item that I ever weed out.  I have scarves back to my high school days.  There are a couple that my grandmother gave to me when she was alive and a couple others that my Mom gave back to me that I had given my grandmother as gifts.  Mau Mau and I shared a love of scarves and her sense of fashion has definitely been passed down and made an impact on me.  Here's a picture of me in one of my favorite scarves:  

         This is the "souvenir" I bought for myself in St. Maarten.  I challenged myself to wear it with as many different combinations as possible and at last count I was at nine.  My friend Melanie N. saw this pic and said it looks like one of those paparazzi photos of celebrities doing normal things.  Ha ha, that's funny.

1.  Well, this is actually #5 but I'm not Mac-savvy enough to keep the numbers from starting over.  Wear clothes that are appropriate for your body type.  If you aren't sure, then ask a friend who you know will tell you the painful truth.  My Mom is that person for me.  She's more than willing to tell me if something isn't "working" for me.  Try to avoid "muffin tops" at all costs.  If you're not familiar with that vernacular a muffin top is when you buy clothes that are too tight and cause your belly to spill over your pants or jeans.  If your jeans are too tight, then wear something loose-fitting on top or a scarf to draw attention away from the area.  See, smoke and mirrors.
2. Always dress for the occasion.  I have to tell you that after living in Missouri all these years and seeing what people will wear to weddings it was refreshing to go to my cousin Ellen's wedding in Baton Rouge, LA.  She got married Labor Day weekend directly after Hurricane Katrina hit, and no matter the craziness of the weather, these girls pulled out all the stops.  It was lovely.  I didn't see one girl in pants, no guys in jeans; but I did see linen, pastels, and flowy dresses.  Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air.  Even a few hats thrown in.  Here are a few pics as evidence:  

I threw this one in for Lindy, even though he's long since stopped reading his post.  He loves this one because
I had that "pregnant glow."  I was 11 weeks pregnant with Gavin and politely declined a third go round as a
pregnant bridesmaid.

Sweet Ethan wearing a fru fru outfit passed down from Jac--perfect for a southern wedding.

My beautiful mother is on the right, her equally stunning sister is on the left and that's their dapper brother,
father of the bride, in the middle.

Me with my cousin John's sweet wife, Brenda.  Isn't she gorgeous?

1. Numbers starting over again--sorry.  Don't be afraid to take risks but use common sense.  Fashion is all about exercising your individuality, but sometimes you have to be careful with what that can look like.  I read not long ago a statement that went something like this:  "Once you take that step of getting a tattoo on your face, you're really saying to the world, 'I really don't plan on going any farther in life than where I am right now.'"  Now, I don't think the group of people who read my blog have plans of getting their face tattooed but you never know.  The real thought here is one that I utilize all the time in all different situations, "If in doubt, don't."  If you're not sure don't wear it.  This especially goes for work attire.  I've definitely missed the mark a few times as happens when you're willing to take fashion risks, but I still try to work my way back to the middle.
2. Skip the hosiery unless you're wearing a suit or it's required for your job.  Obviously, my opinion on this one has changed a lot since I grew up in the 80s.  Believe it or not, girls, back in the 80s you weren't dressed up unless you were wearing white pantyhose or some other odd color.  We did it, we all did it; but we don't have to do it now.  Since I'm not your average pastor's wife, I used to be concerned about this one.  "What will the ladies, older ladies especially, think of me since I choose to not wear hosiery?"  I finally just had to accept that they were going to have to take me as I am--without hosiery.  (Tights in the winter are not included in this hosiery ban).  If you're of the opinion that you look better with hosiery, then by all means, go for it.  Just please don't wear them with sandals or open-toed shoes.  Ladies over 70 are exempt from this fashion tip.
3. OK, last but not least, and I think this one is the most important one--especially for young girls trying to find their way amongst trends and peer pressure.  Just because you can doesn't mean you should.  Just because you can wear that top cut down to your navel with the girls hanging out, doesn't mean you should.  Just because you have fantastic legs doesn't mean you should wear that skirt or dress that barely covers your hiney.  Trust me, all girls younger than me, it will get you the kind of attention that you don't need or deserve.  You want to be appreciated for who you are on the inside not the outside.  If you think that it's not fair for people to judge you by the clothes you wear instead of waiting until they get to know the "real" you, then I have to tell you that life is unfair.  You will be judged.  That's just human nature.  People will form opinions about you just based on how short your skirt is.  Men might ogle you but women will pity you.  Sorry to share the painful truth with you.

Well, that's all that has come to me just off the top of my head.  Obviously, since books are written and lives are dedicated to giving fashion advice, this is not an exhaustive list.  Just my opinions, take them or leave them.

Love you, Cara Beth.  Hope you enjoyed it.

My Mother

Well, it is Mother's Day in just two days so what else--or should I say 'who' else--would I write about?  I've been blessed with a wonderful mother.  I know a lot of people say that, and probably most of them mean it, but I can't imagine having a better mother.  There is a lot that I appreciate about my Mom and I can't possibly cover all that is wonderful about her in a simple blog post...but I'm going to at least make a feeble attempt.

As I type on Lindy's laptop I am sitting outside on my patio basking in the gorgeous sunshine.  My mother and I both live for days like this.  If she were here she would be sitting close by reading a book and drinking a glass of iced tea.  We would be absolutely content.  If it were a perfect day for us we would have already been shopping and out to lunch.  If it were a really perfect day there would have been time spent on the beach at some point.  

There are some things about me that I know disappoint my mother.  The first one would probably be that we don't live close to each other and don't get to spend time together on a regular basis.  My Dad preached my grandmother's (my mother's mother) funeral almost 12 years ago and I remember a part where he said my grandmother told him some time in the past that he was getting paid back for taking my mother away from her.  You see, my mother married a preacher and followed him wherever the ministry took him.  I did the same thing and my grandmother told him, mostly in jest, that he was reaping what he sowed for taking her daughter far away.  Not being close in proximity disappoints my mother, but I know she understands because it's the path she also chose.  I know that it also disappoints her that I don't call often enough.  She would also prefer that I was a little better at hand-written letters and cards.  This is important to her and I should do better at remembering that.  We now have an additional way to stay in contact and she's become very adept at texting.  There are probably many other things about me that disappoint my mother, but overall, I know she would say that she is proud of this person she helped to mold and shape.

I've come to realize that you have such a different perspective in regards to your mother when you become one yourself.  There are many things that I appreciated at the time, but now have a deeper sense of gratitude as I remember my childhood.  I remember that my Mom would always put aside her book to talk to me, no matter what.  I recall actually testing it once.  I was about 13 or 14 years old and I went to talk to her and she was reading a book.  She put the book down and talked to me.  Then, we just sat in silence for a while and she went back to her book.  A few minutes later I said something else and she put down her book again.  It was nothing important that I was talking about but this went on for several minutes.  Me sitting in silence, then talking, her putting down her book and patiently listening to me, her going back to her book....  She never knew I was testing her but this minor event stayed with me.  I knew without a doubt that I was important to her, more important than whatever else she happened to be doing.

My Mom was at home with me until I started second grade.  At that point we moved to Springfield, MO from Searcy, AR and my Mom had to go to work.  I never really appreciated the significance of this in her life until much later.  I took it in stride and don't recall being emotionally scarred by having a working mother.  I believe it had a much greater impact on her.  She was a secretary and she hadn't worked outside our home in a very long time.  Years later, she told me that there were times she would be so frustrated by having to recall all she knew to be able to do her job and had so much angst about going to work and not being home for my brother and me that she would lay her head on her typewriter and cry.  (That's right, I said typewriter.  We are old).  In spite of her frustration, she never brought that home from work.  It was around this time that my Dad started traveling and he was gone about ten days a month.  He was also pastoring a little church and when he was gone my Mom would preach.  So, my Mom often tells me that I am crazy for trying to fit so much into a summer, a month, a week, a day, an hour; but she's forgotten all the craziness that her life was when my brother and I were growing up.   She worked full-time, had two kids and all the activities that they could scrape by to afford, a house to clean, meals to cook, and a church where she covered for my Dad when he was gone.  Who's crazy???

Since my Mom worked full-time I don't remember there being a tremendous amount of baking around our house.  When my Mom did bake something that wasn't going with her to work or to church I was so touched.  I know that's a little loo loo, but chocolate chip cookies speak to me.  I also remember that she was into making rag dolls for people at one time and when she gave one to me, I cried.  I'm not sure why I was affected by that, but just knowing that she had made one for me was a big deal.

When I was in high school I was in marching band.  We had band practice every morning at 7:00 during marching band season.  For two years my Mom got out of bed every morning, bright and spunky as always, and took me to school early before she came back home to get ready to go to work.  She never once complained.  My parents encouraged me to be in marching band so it would not have been her way to complain about something that was a requirement for what she had encouraged me to do.

If you've ever wondered where I get my fashion sense, you only have to look as far as my mother.  When I was growing up, my parents didn't have much money.  I was a "free lunch" kid and didn't know it meant we were without means.  I thought it meant I was a princess and they gave me my lunch and morning milk for free.  Delusional, I know.  But, in spite of not having money we always looked nice.  She learned from her mother that "looking good is half the battle."  My grandmother would also point out families with filthy kids, dirty clothes, etc.  and say, "no pride, no pride."  You don't have to have money to be clean and look nice.  My Mom made a lot of my clothes and you can just imagine what kind of duds she set me up in.  She was scared of Vogue patterns but once in a while I could convince her to attempt it.  Everything she made always turned out fabulous.  I also had really long hair growing up and she fixed it different for me every day.  One year, I think it was 4th or 5th grade, we decided to see how many days through the school year we could go with me wearing a completely different hairstyle.  I think we made it through the first quarter.  Not bad.  Through the years, my parents exercised a lot of discipline and wisdom in their finances and they had greater means.  This translated to me as more clothes in my closet.  I attempted one year to see how many days I could go to school without wearing the same ensemble of clothes twice.  (I really need a hobby, I know).   This was encouraged by my mother and she taught me how to accessorize during this time.  We still love to shop and it's pretty much a standard with the ladies in her family that if we've been under the weather, and we're back out shopping again, we are on the road to recovery.  Shopping is our barometer.

My mother is really beautiful and always has been.  She's modest about it but I know she was a knock-out in her growing-up years since she still is a gorgeous woman.  I feel a little guilty saying this because so many people say we look alike, but she has much better cheekbones than me.  I have better lips, so we're even.  When I was a little girl and would go to visit her at her work I would be on the elevator and people would automatically know I was her daughter because we look so much alike.  I've included a recent picture of her at Gavin's birthday party--and I did not photoshop it.  She still is classically beautiful and has the best fashion sense of any woman I know. 

Much greater than all the lessons about outer beauty were the lessons she taught me about character.  She taught me to treat others the way I want to be treated; keep an open heart and don't expect for others to have an ulterior motive; marry a man who loves Jesus, loves me, and loves his mother.  She also told me my life would be much easier if I married someone who shared my values and beliefs and if I remembered that marrying the man also meant marrying his family.  I took that to heart and married the best family I could find.  I did well to listen to her because I benefit from the closeness I share with Lindy's family.  She also taught me about patience--I'm still trying to learn that one--and about how a wife should treat her husband.  I guess I should listen closely to that advice since my parents will celebrate 50 years of marriage in September.

Unless you've been hiding under a rock, or you've just not read my recent blog posts, you already know that I just experienced a miscarriage.  Why would I mention that at this point?  Well, here's where I come to the transparent part.  You see, I have three boys who I love dearly and wouldn't trade for all the world, but my dream of having a girl has never been fulfilled.  I have come to terms with that over the years.  I really have.  This pregnancy ended before I was able to know if this baby was to be a boy or a girl.  I was talking last Sunday to some dear friends named Joe and Wendy.  Joe encouraged me to pray and ask God whether the baby was a boy or girl and to name him or her.  He believed that God would give me that answer.  I don't doubt that, but as I prayed about it I realized that I don't really want to know whether the baby is a boy or a girl.  Here's why.  If Lindy and I decided not to pursue having another baby and I felt God telling me this baby was a girl then I would be even more devastated.  One of my main motivations in my desire for a girl was so that I could experience the same type of wonderful relationship I've had with my mother.  Boys love their mothers, no doubt, but it seems that as they grow older and marry they eventually gravitate toward the girl's family.  There are exceptions, but as a rule, it's true.  I also wanted to see the kind of woman my little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl would grow up to be.  If I knew the baby that was never meant to be was my final opportunity to have a girl, I know there would be great disappointment for me.  It's good enough for me to just accept that my "baby" is in heaven and I will see him or her again one day.  Here's where I encourage you to read the book "Heaven is for Real" if you haven't already.  You'll understand why after you read it.

Well, Lindy asked me if I was writing a book while I've been sitting here.  This blog post is long enough but still falls short in conveying what a wonderful blessing my mother is, and has always been, to me.  We won't be together this Mother's Day.  Remember, we both married pastors??  I will be preaching this Sunday at our church.  If you haven't heard me before, just know that, according to Lindy, I preach "like a woman."  I'll take that as a compliment.  If you don't have a church home and want to come, I can almost guarantee that you will cry and laugh and probably cry while you're laughing.  Hopefully, you'll leave different than when you came.  If you want more logistical information you can go to www.myrestorationchurch.org.  

Love you, Mom.  I wouldn't be who I am today without you in my life.