HIS Timing: Perfect, Once Again

I wish I could plan things out as perfectly as God does.
Wish I had that knack for knowing exactly when to begin a thing so that details will fall into place just like they should, precisely when they're needed.
You know, like HE did with Mary? Causing her to become pregnant at just the right time so that when she and Joseph were in Bethlehem for the census "the time came for the baby to be born" (Luke 2:6). In that moment years and years of prophecy were fulfilled, according to every detail and God's perfect plan.
Anyway, I'd love to be able to plan things out perfectly like HE does.
Like He did today. Er, June 30.
I mean, I guess I don't know when He started this perfect plan.
But it delights me.
HE delights me!
See, the thing is, I just left part of my heart my son eight hours away from home. That is, Matthew is now living in Houghton, Michigan. A proud new student at Michigan Technological University.
Eight.hours.away.from.home.
No plans to be back in this neck of the woods until Thanksgiving.
The nest is empty.
My heart is working on acceptance.

And as God would have it, this morning my daily Bible reading was Leviticus 23-25:23.
I read about feasts and offerings, and the Sabbath Year.
All fine. Though nothing terribly inspiring or moving.
Until I got to the last verse for the day.

The land must not be sold pemanently, because the land is mine and you are but aliens and tenants.

Leviticus 25:23

Go ahead and read that again, and tell me if you hear what my mother's heart heard.
I heard, just as the land did not belong to the Israelites - rather to God - so my son is not and was not ever mine. He belongs to God. I am an alien in this land, and simply a care-taker of that precious human being whom GOD created. And if Matthew belongs to God, I can trust HIM to care for him always. Even when he's eight hours away from "home" and has no plans to return for three months.
That sentence - that "final word" for the day - absolutely blessed my heart.
And what made it even better was the consideration of God's hand in delivering it a just the right time. Two months ago I* decided to begin a chronological read-thru-the-Bible plan. I intended to get started on it July 1. But for some reason I* went ahead and began on June 30. Such that, on August 23 (after leaving my son at Michigan Tech on August 22) I would read Leviticus 25:23.
*Only God could move in me to arrange for such a perfect plan. I love that HE knew what I would need. And I love that HE worked it all out.

Whatever you're facing today, I pray you are approaching it with full confidence that God is working out every little detail.

I Have the Best Kids EVER!!!

My children absolutely BLESSED MY HEART yesterday.
Even though we're apart, and life isn't what we all wish it would be right now they "got together" and made this video.
Seriously, y'all. This act of love has my heart bursting with JOY.

For the Boys

Yesterday I washed the sheets and towels.
(Which I always do on Wednesdays.)
And I included the boys' sheets in the chore.
That is, I stripped their beds for them in order to wash their sheets, too.
(And I don't always do this.)
That is, my habit with Matthew is to remind him that it's Wednesday and I'm washing sheets - and if he wants his sheets washed, he should take them off his bed and bring them downstairs.
Except, yesterday Matthew was at work when I got home from work in the afternoon, so it was too late for me to remind him. At first I was tempted to reason, He knows it's Wednesday, and if he wanted his sheets washed he could have stripped his bed. But then I thought about the fact that I had left him a note in the morning asking him to order something for me with his Amazon Prime account. And when I got out of work, there was his text: the deed is done. And I reasoned further, Yeah. He knows it's Wednesday. He could have stripped his bed. But he did me a favor for me - which allowed me to not have to go shopping. I can do this favor for him.
So I laundered and folded his sheets and took them to his room.
But what about Josh?
Well, regarding Josh I simply reasoned, He's been living the bachelor life since January. Heaven only knows when the last time was these sheets got washed! And I immediately stripped his bed and loaded the washing machine. #OnceAMomAlwaysAMom

He Got Me

I remember when my children were babies and we had frequent back-and-forth moments when they cried to be picked up, then - after what felt like mere seconds in my arms - they wiggled and cried because they wanted to be put back down.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Finally, with a sense of exasperation, I would say, "Child! Do you want to be up or down???"

Then they turned into toddlers who would grunt and point at objects which I would pick up and put into their pudgy little hands. In the blink of an eye that toddler would throw the desired object onto the floor, and grunt and point. So I'd retrieve it again and give it back, only to watch it be thrown down again.
And, surely, the grunts would follow.
Eventually I got tired of the game and I would ask, "Alright. Do you want it, or not?"

When they became small children with more autonomy I was cut out of the game, but the yo-yo nature of things continued. However, this time the offense was the slamming door (If it got closed at all.) and the stream of snow or leaves or cut grass or mud - depending on the season.
You know what I'm talking about, right?
The contsant running in and out of the house by children who can't decide which location is more fun, who keep remembering new things they "NEED" to have with them, or who simply can't sit still in one spot for more than five minutes.
And I (After the hundredth time the door got slammed and the floor got more dirty.) moaned loudly, "Either you're in, or you're out. Make a decision!"

Then those children became teenagers and a different door was constantly opening and closing.
The refrigerator door. (And this was particularly true with the boys.)
I cannot count the times I would witness them opening the refrigerator door, looking inside for several moments, then closing the door with a sigh and walking away. But it almost never failed that they would return to the kitchen less than 15 minutes later, and repeat the process.
Open refrigerator. Look inside. For a while. Sigh. Close refrigerator. Walk away.
Repeat, ad nauseam.
Until I finally put my foot down and declared, "New options are not going to magically appear in the refrigerator. Are you going to eat what's in there, or not???"

So, why am I thinking about these moments?
Well, because yesterday I was doing my workout downstairs while Matthew was in the kitchen.
For one of my exercises I ran up the stairs, skipping every other step.
Ten times.
Which means while Matthew was eating breakfast he heard clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp. Then he saw me appear in the doorway, turn around, and go back down.
And on rep number seven he met me at the top of the steps and asked, "Are you staying up or down?"
On my way back down the stairs I said, "I'll be up three more times!"
And I thought, Well played, son. You got me!

Like Father, Like Son

Sunday night I was getting ready for bed when my phone rang.
My first thought was, Gee. It's late. Who would be calling me at this hour? What if it's an emergency?? Oh, dear!!!
So I quickly dropped what I was doing and went to answer my phone.
As I picked it up, I saw that it was my son. And I thought again, Oh, no. What's happened?
So, as cheerfully as I could I said, "Hello!" and waited in anticipation.
Then I heard his voice. "Uh, yeah. I'm at Meijer and I'm looking for refried beans like you use when you make burritos..."
Relieved that there was no emergency, my mind immediately searched for that recipe - assuming Josh was going to make them for himself and was calling to ask about the rest of the ingredients.
But my mind was wrong.
Because the rest of his sentence went like this, "...but all I see are baked beans and black beans. Where are the refried beans?" I chuckled inside as I instructed him to move a couple aisles closer to the front of the store where the tomatoes and tomato sauces are.
"You'll find them in that aisle," I said.
"OK. Thanks. Bye," were his parting words.
Then I hung up the phone, shaking my head as I recalled the many times his father has done the exact same thing. Because, apparently it's easier to call me than it is to find a store employee when one needs help locating an elusive item.
Guess I should be honored that they think I know so much. *wink*

It's the Little Things

So, the other day I made a quick stop at the store on my way home from work.
(Just had to pick up a few things.)
When I got home I guess I made some noise as I set the bag and my purse on the counter - because Matthew came jogging into the kitchen where I was standing, taking the few items out of said bag.
I looked up, a bit startled by his sudden appearance, and saw an equally confused look on his face. He must have made a quick assessment of the scene and determined that I didn't need any help because he said, "Oh, you don't have more bags to bring in?"
At which point the light went on for me, and I understood Matthew's actions.
For many years I have tried to instill in my kids a mind-set for service. Such as, when I get home from grocery shopping it is thoughtful, kind, appropriate, and courteous for them to help unload the van. But sometimes when I come home from the store Matthew is in his room and doesn't hear me enter, thus I unload all the groceries by myself. He may then come into the kitchen when I'm bringing in the last bag, or when I'm putting things away and he always says, "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't hear you." And I know he regrets not helping me with the task.
So this time the keys I dropped, or the cans that clanged (or whatever noise I made) alerted Matthew to my arrival - and he jumped to action to lend a hand.
Only this time I didn't need any help.
"Nah, I'm good," I said. "But thanks for checking!"
And Matthew returned to his room with a small grin on his face.

In that moment I was so proud of my son, as I reflected back on the years. As I remembered frustrating days and bitter moments when I wondered if he would ever listen to me or learn to do the right thing.
As I considered the joy I've had in recent months watching him mature and make solid "adult" decisions.
I mean, I recognized that being at the ready to help bring groceries into the house really is a little thing - rather insignificant in the grand scheme of life. But the man behind the action used to be a boy who nearly had me at my wits' end, and I just wanted him to know I see and admire how much he's grown.
Even when it shows up in the little things.

Yes, Dear. That's What It Means.

I was sitting in Panera yesterday between appointments when my phone rang.
It was Matthew.
He said, "Uh, you know the fruit in the refrigerator in the plastic bag?"
I was well aware of the item to which he was referring. And I added, "You mean the bag with two knots tied on the top?"
"Yeah," he said. "Is that something you're saving that you don't want us to eat?"
"Yes, Matthew. You are correct. The two knots tied on the bag were meant to communicate that the fruit is being saved for something and you are not to eat it at will. You understood my message."
At my confirmation Matthew let out a disappointed sigh, and I let out a chuckle. Even as I promised he would be enjoying the fruit with dinner in the near future.
"OK. Good-bye," he said.
"Good-bye. Thanks for checking!"

Sometimes I write a note, but this time I decided to invite my hungry men to use their intuition and common sense. Glad it worked!

OK. I'm Saying It.

There are a number of things mothers-of-grown-kids said to me when my children were young, which I swore I would never say to other young moms when mine grew up.
Because - although the words had the best intentions behind them - they did little to encourage me.
And sometimes actually did the opposite.
I mean, now I totally see the wisdom behind their words because I've made it to the other side.
In fact, there have been times when I have been tempted to say the very same things.
You know, like, "This, too, shall pass."
When? Because I keep waiting, and it's still happening.
And, "We've all been there."
Oh? So I shouldn't feel this way, because I'm not the only one? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn't. Now I just feel guilty for feeling overwhelmed, irritable, tired, fill-in-the-blank.
Or, how about, "There will be a time when you'll miss these days!"
So not true. I still don't miss those days.
Oh, lots of the moments - to be sure. But not the entire day!!!
Indeed, those are among the statements I pray I will never say to a mother of young children.
But this past weekend I found myself thinking a thought I had when my kiddos were little, and recognizing that it may be helpful for me to verbalize it for a few moms of young 'uns out there today.
So, here goes!

I was outside cleaning the porch and washing windows. Partly delighted with myself for getting it done, and partly ashamed that it has taken so long. (Can it still be considered "Spring Cleaning" if July hasn't arrived yet?) Anyway, I was doing it. And I was astonished at how dirty the porch was.
See, the thing is, years ago Josh turned our porch and its immediate area into a bird sanctuary.
Several bird feeders fill the space and - up until he moved out several months ago - Black Oil Sunflower seeds consistently filled the feeders.
And something I've learned about birds?
They're messy and they don't clean up after themselves.
What that means specifically for our situation is that we have more sunflower seed shells filling the landscape than I could ever count. And in case you were wondering, mertyle doesn't grow well when buried by sunflower seed shells. Some of the weeds managed to push through, but the mertyle is being choked out. What once looked like semi-decent landscaping just looks like piles of shells now. With some languishing mertyl and weeds mixed in.
So as I was sweeping sunflower seed shells off the porch (Because they got all over the porch, too.) into the mertyl (Because, why not? It's dying, anyway.) and recalling all the times I had wished our porch entrance looked nicer, I remembered how much joy came to my son when he could claim that all the birds in the neighborhood liked our house best. Because no one else took care of feeding them with as much love and attention as he did.
Seriously.
This kid used his own money to buy the best bird seed - because he researched and found out what the birds really liked. He would fill the feeders every night, and only at night, because he didn't want to do it when the birds were around - so as not to frighten them. Josh would even adjust the curtains by the porch to give the birds more privacy in their feeders.
Is it any wonder they all flocked to our house day after day, season after season?
They had the best possible advocate and care-taker in my son.
And we?
Had a messy porch with terrible looking landscaping.
But cleaning up the mess and making plans for a nice front porch (Because Josh has moved out, the birds have moved on, and Brian and I want to create a beautiful space.) caused me to remember the thing I've heard (and thought!) so many times. "You can't have nice things when you have kids!"
And, you know? In many ways that's a true statement.
But as I reflected on my son's joy in caring for his birds - while cleaning the mess they left behind, even as I anticipated a lot of work in making the space beautiful again - I can honestly say, it's OK.
It has been totally worth it.
And if I had it to do all over again, I would still opt for a messy front porch - if it meant my son finding joy in caring for God's creation. If it meant my son could be delighted in learning about what birds like to eat, how they migrate and nest and survive, and caring for their little birdy needs.
Yeah. All that wins out over my desire to have a presentable front porch.
So, for what it's worth, mother of young children (especially boys!), don't worry about having "nice things" right now. For today, let your kids be kids and seek to find joy in seeing them finding joy.
Even if it means a messy front porch.

There. I said it!

My Sons are Making Me (Look Like I'm) Crazy

A few weeks ago I was startled when I went into our guest room and discovered that someone had been sleeping there. (The bed was "made" but not the way it had been when I last made it.) It appeared they had also taken a shower, as a towel was draped over the chair in the corner of the room. Honestly, I was a bit freaked out. It was obvious to me that someone had been in there, and I didn't know who, when, or why. My mind began to think irrational things about intruders, and somebody hiding out to get us.
Somehow, the situation didn't bother Brian as much.
He wasn't completely convinced the bed had been slept in. (I mean, seriously!!?? The pillows weren't in the right places, the pillow shams were to the side of the bed, and the decorative pillows were under them. Not to mention the comforter wasn't "square". How could he NOT see what I was seeing???) And I had already moved the towel, so that didn't impact his thoughts, either.
He kind of looked at me like I was a bit off my rocker.
Then last week happened.
We got home from our trip to see my parents on Monday, and on Tuesday I noticed the garage door opener was missing from the van. Elizabeth had used the van while we were gone and I wondered if she might have it for some reason, but I forgot all about it until I reached up to use it again on Wednesday. So I texted her to ask if she knew where it was - but she didn't. Hmmmm, that's odd, I thought, and I shared my conundrum with Brian.
Then Friday morning *poof!* the garage door opener mysteriously re-appeared right where it belongs in the van. And I told Brian about it Friday evening.
He just looked at me, with his eyebrows raised.
Then he asked, "Are you sure it wasn't there before?" And I responded with determination that I, indeed, was sure. I was NOT imagining the disappearance of that garage door opener!
Nonetheless, the look on his face said, OK, dear. If you say so. But in my heart of hearts I'm concerend about your mind. *kiss*

And now, I'll tell you the rest of the story!
Turns out a few Friday nights ago Josh's roommate invited friends over for a late-night gathering. Josh had to get up at 5:00 to go to work and, rather than putting a damper on his roommate's fun, he came over to our house at 11:30 (We were already sleeping.) and slept in the guest room. He got up at 5 and was showered and out the door by 5:30. Just forgot to leave a note or offer any other explanation about why the room looked "used". That is, until I asked him about it several days later - on the off chance that it might have been him. *ahem*
And the garage door opener?
That was Matthew.
Seems he decided to use it while we were in Florida visiting my parents and didn't remember to return it until Thursday night. Also didn't feel the need (or remember) to tell me he was the one in possession of the missing item, until I asked about it - on the off chance that it might have been him.

So there you have it.
Both of my sons doing unusual things which result in my husband thinking I'm losing my mind.
Granted, there was a time many years ago when I thought they were making me lose my mind, too.
But we're past that now.
And I'd like to think my sanity is secure. *wink*

Have I Really Arrived???

So, I saw an old friend in the grocery store Monday.
We used to work on projects together when our kids were in early elementary school.
Yeah. Like 13+ years ago!
I can hardly believe that much time has gone by!!!
Needless to say, we had quite a bit of catching up to do. And, of course, it centered mostly around our children and what they're doing now.

The funny thing about it was that Josh had just stopped by the house Sunday night - so I had a fresh story to tell my friend.
That is, he came over to get something shortly after the dinner hour (Intentional? Maybe!) and was happy to find left-overs in the refirgerator. (To which he even happily-er helped himself!) As Josh ate the dinner, he gushed about my cooking. Openly appreciated the food I lovingly prepared. Said that "frozen food" (the choice of bachelors!) was OK, but he missed my fresh meals.
And I just sat there soaking in the love. *wink*
After he finished eating, Josh had questions for me about grocery shopping. Like, What's the difference between different kinds of 'ground beef'? And, What do you usually buy? Cuz what I bought didn't taste the same.
And I sat there answering his questions, offering suggestions, and enjoying the fact that my son wanted to listen to what I had to say.
So, I was sharing these stories with my friend - and we chuckled at how life changes when our children grow older. As if we noticed it at the same time, we simultaneously commented that those 13+ years ago "older" women would tell us that someday would come. The "someday" when our children would appreciate the things we do for them, the labors of love involved in mothering, the often tireless days of doing-our-best when we just want to lay-down-and-rest.
And I gasped as I wondered, Is someday here? Have I really arrived???
Cause I'm telling you, 13+ years ago I didn't think "someday" would ever, ever materialize.

For the record, Josh stopped by again Monday - late afternoon. Seemed happy when I invited him to stay for dinner. *smile*

Words Roll Better Now

I remember when my kiddos were little and they would say something they really didn't mean.
Like when I made something new for dinner - and before even taking a bite one would declare, "I don't like it. It's yucky!" I'm pretty sure she/he meant, "That's something I haven't had before and it looks/smells different. I am not sure what it is, and I don't feel like trying anything new right now. Cuz, what if I don't like it?"
They just didn't have the vocabulary to appropriately express their feelings. Yeah. That's it!
Or, one of the hundreds of times when I forbid a child from doing something they wanted to do (You know - play in the street, run with scissors, eat a gallon of ice cream before dinner, or *gasp* go to bed without bathing or cleaning up toys.) and was told in no uncertain terms, "You're the meanest mom in the world!!!!" At times like that I imagine what she/he was really trying to say was...
Oh, who am I kidding?
They thought I was the meanest mom in the world.
And they had precisely the vocabulary they needed to express their feelings.
The thing is: whether, or not, they truly meant what they said - whether, or not, they even understood what they were saying - part of my momma's heart broke when I heard those words. Because I was trying so hard to do things well, to make good decisions (and meals), and to lead them on right paths. I was in a world of not-knowing-exactly-what-to-do, trying to make my way - while not ruining my kids.
And some days I felt like I wasn't going to succeed.

Which is why yesterday afternoon I found it rather ironic that it didn't even phase me when my youngest son said another thing which (I hope!) he didn't mean.
That is, Matthew was bemoaning the number of notifications Facebook sends to his phone. (Apparently the number is LARGE.) "I mean," he said, as he read from his phone, "here's one that says, 'Karen Sheaffer Hossink posted a link.' Why'd they send me that???"
"Ummmm, because I'm your mom?" I proposed.
He exhaled with notable exasperation, "Like I care!!??"
And I wondered, 'Like you care' that I'm your mom? Or, 'like you care' that I posted a link?
Without spending too much time on it, I decided he cares that I'm his mom, but not that I posted a link. And I moved on with my day, happily and peacefully. (If only I'd had the ability to let words roll off my back those many years ago.)
Ahhhhh, but thanks be to God for His grace and patience which carried me through those moments and days and years. Thanks be to God for growing and protecting and shaping my children in spite of my best efforts. Thanks be to God for His wisdom and mercy in leading us through the hard times. May you find yourself carried by Him today, as well.

Gettin' my "Grandma" On

Monday afternoon I had the fun opportunity to babysit a couple of young boys at my house while their parents attended parent/teacher conferences. My guests were ages 4 and (almost)8. And, I'm telling you, it's been a while since I've had that much energy and noise in my home!
I put aside my chores (That is, getting dinner ready.) so I could play with the boys - and in the short 90 minutes they were here, those little guys nearly wore me right out.
First, I taught them how to play Foosball. OK, I didn't teach them "how" - as in they learned the rules and proper techniques. I mean, I taught them "how" - as in we crowded around the table and they grabbed at the handles and spun the guys around and sometimes actually kicked the ball, and once or twice even scored a goal. But mostly they just yelled and laughed and ran around having fun.
Then they got interested in the work-out equipment they found downstairs. Especially the 90-lb dumbbell. "Wow! That's heavy!" they said. "But I bet my dad could pick it up!" they said. And they rolled the medicine ball around on the floor to each other. Ahhh, who am I kidding? They're boys. The truth is although I suggested they roll it, the ball somehow found itself with quite a bit of air time. But that was OK. They were excited to see something new, and they were having fun.
Soon enough, they were finished with the basement and wanted to go outside. So we got our coats on and went out to play.
The swing on the deck was good.
The swing on the tree branch was better.
But their favorite thing was raking leaves to jump in. Seriously, I was with the younger one on the deck swing when I saw the older one with a rake in his hand - actually raking leaves. And I'm all, Hey! If you want to rake leaves (If you don't realize that is a job NOBODY around here wants to do!) let's do it!
So "4" and I joined "(almost)8" and we got a pile of leaves going. When the pile got nice and big (to a 4-year-old) the proclamation was made that it was time to jump in them. And I kinda questioned it because the leaves were kinda wet and I thought, Hmmmm. Would Mom approve? But then I reasoned, Ahhhh. They're having fun. And we'll only be out here for a few more minutes. They aren't going to catch a cold from getting a little wet. That's an old wive's tale!
So I joined them in the leaf pile.
After a short time we found ourselves back inside, downstairs playing with the medicine ball again. And one of the boys discovered a jar on the countertop with Hersey's Hugs inside.
You know what happened next, don't you?
He wanted to have one. And it was almost 6:00, and his mom would be back soon to pick him up, and I knew if I let him have one his brother was going to want one. I also knew they'd be having dinner as soon as they went home. So I asked, "Would your mom say it's 'OK'?" (I didn't really expect him to say, "no". *wink*) So when he said, "Yes," and I reasoned a little tiny Hersey Hug wouldn't ruin their dinner, I said, "Yes," too.
So I gave them each a Hug, and we went upstairs because Mom had just arrived.

And as we bid the boys farewell, Brian looked at me and chuckled. "Look at you, gettin' your 'Grandma' on!" And I'm all, "Wha????" And he says, "Come on! You've gotten soft. You know you wouldn't have given our kids candy before dinner. You're going to be such a good grandma!"
And I joined him in the laughter, because as I considered all the little things I'd let go over the past 90 minutes I realized he was right. Something about getting older and having grown-up kids does cause one to soften up a bit. *grin*

The Tale of the Missing Shoes: A True Story with a Real Lesson

It was Saturday, October 13 at 8:45 in the morning. (I know, because I just checked my phone!)
I was at the church, ironing a bride's maid dress, thinking all was right with the world.
Then my phone rang.
It was one of my sons, calling to ask if I knew where my other son's shoes were. And I'm all, "I don't know! Ask him. They're his shoes..." But, as it was further explained to me, the reason for the calling son's call was because the other son had no idea where said shoes were to be found. And he thought I might know. My only response was, I hadn't seen them since we bought them. (Remember the really great story about the amazing deal I got on the boys' suits? Well, that was the last time I had laid eyes on the shoes. I figured they went to my son's room with him when we got home.)
And with that, our phone call was over.
The next half hour involved three more calls (from the son-missing-shoes) wanting to know if I was sure I didn't know where they were, and what should he do if he couldn't find them? I held back on my desire to ask why this son had waited until the morning of the wedding to get his things together, but I did manage to offer an answer he didn't like, anyway. When he asked, "What do I wear???" and I said, "I dunno. Tennis shoes?" he, uh, hung up on me.

In the end, he showed up to the church looking great. The gray tennis shoes were hardly even noticeable in contrast to his nice suit and amazing good looks. *wink* And the rest of the day went off without a hitch. (OK, the photographer lost an SD card which contained all the pictures taken before the ceremony, but apparently that has been located. So, it's all good.)
HOWEVER, we still had the unanswered question of where those shoes were located. I admit, when I got home I began looking for them, too. And continued with the alertness for days. Eventually, I determined that in the middle of the busynes of buying suits and ties and stuff - and considering we were checking out as the store was closing (so there was a bit of an added hustle) - we must have inadvertantly left behind the package with the shoes in it. Oops!!!
So, the other day I finally got around to calling the store to ask if they *might* have an extra pair of shoes in their inventory. Ya know, like the shoes somebody bought four weeks ago, but didn't miss until TWO weeks ago, so they got put back on the shelf, maybe? The manager with whom I was speaking told me to just bring in the receipt sometime (Because I couldn't decipher the codes to tell her over the phone what item number went with the shoes in question.) and they would "take care of it". I didn't know how they would do it, but if bringing in the receipt would solve my problem, I was all for it.
And that night I took in the receipt, and my embarassing little story of not realizing for two weeks that we didn't bring home everything we purchased.

The rest of the story goes like this: The manager on duty graciously listened to my tale of woe, and proceeded to enter each item number on my receipt into the computer - to find out if the missing shoes were in the store somewhere. And, when he got to the end of the list we discovered the shoes weren't on the receipt at all!
Apparently, in the hustle to get us through check-out and out of the store that fateful night, the shoes in question never got scanned, bagged, or paid for. And since a certain son of mine didn't care to care for his packages that night (or any time between then and the wedding...) the missing (never-purchased) shoes went completely unnoticed.
Probably got re-shelved the next morning. *exasperated sigh*

Annnnd, the moral of the story is, uh, two-fold, really.
1. Always check your bags.
2. Don't wait until the last minute to get your stuff together.

When Boys Get New Clothes

So, I think you know we have a wedding coming up in the family pretty soon.
What you may not know is that neither one of my sons have clothing which even resembles something-nice-that-you'd-wear-to-your-SISTER's-wedding. Thus we have been talking about the need to go shopping someday to get my guys some new duds.
Annnnd, last Friday was that day. Matthew informed me his schedule was open, and I'd better take advantage of the opportunity while I had it. So, we got in the van and went to Penney's. (Because that's where Google told me to go and they were having a sale on men's suits.)
Finding the right stuff was an adventure but we succeeded. Then we found out at check-out that we could save an additional 45% if I opened a Penney's card.
OK, typically when these offers are made I politely decline - because I really don't need another credit card, and because the offer is usually for 10-15% off. But this offer was 45%.
FORTY-FIVE PERCENT!
And the deal-finder in me just couldn't say "no." So I didn't!
Oh, but it gets better. When we were finished, the cashier told me the 45% thing was good for 24 hours.
As in, I could bring Josh back and get him suited-up for huge savings, too.
And that's just what I did.
Oh, but it gets better, still.
Matthew came with us to pick out Josh's suit, and the two of them had quite a bit of fun together. Sometimes I just stood back and watched. And felt all the feels.
Then it came time to pick out their dress shoes, and one of my sons (who shall remain nameless) put on a hilarious show of "walking the carpet" - at which time I was having flashbacks of a similar thing he used to do at about age 5. Warmed my heart right there.
And thennnnnn, we got home and I found my boys enthusiastically telling their soon-to-be brother-in-law about their new clothes. The three of them started comparing notes and joking about making fashion statements and all the things.
And I? Stood back and watched again.
I fully enjoyed their camaraderie. I didn't mind the noise, rather, I reveled in it. My heart delighted in the friendship and fun I saw playing out before my eyes. And I thought, Who'd have figured new clothes could produce all this???

When "Tough Love" Works

I try to be a compassionate person, and a graceful listener.

I really do.

But sometimes I have to draw the line. *ahem*

What I mean is, sometimes - under specific circumstances - I won't listen.
Like yesterday, when one of my sons was bemoaning his work schedule and school schedule and how much stuff he has to get done.
The full story is this: His employer has been scheduling him to work more hours than he wants (and really more than he should be working with his class load) but as of Monday afternoon, he hadn't told the scheduler to lighten up. (Even though I told him in previous days he needed to speak up and let someone know that he didn't want to so many hours.)
He kept going to work, struggling to try to fit everything in.

So yesterday, our conversation went something like this:
Son: Lamenting a 30-hour work week, admitting that - no - he hasn't talked to the scheduler.
Me: You know - and I have this same deal with your dad - if there's something wrong, and you could do something to correct the situation - but you don't? I won't listen to complaining about it.
Son: Awwwww. Walks away (over)acting dejected.
Thirty minutes later...
Son: Passing quickly through the kitchen. Look at me! Going to work early to take care of my problem!!!
Me: Thankful he listened, even if it was behind a veiled threat. Yay, you!!!

Ah, yes. Sometimes my efforts to teach personal responsibility are successful. *happy sigh*

When I Impressed My Son

Are you familiar with this dance? I mean, I can't do it. But I know what it is.
The first and second graders in my VBS class this summer got me all educated on the "Floss".

So, anyway, the other day Josh was telling me about a fishing technique (of which he does not approve...) called "Flossing". Part-way through the explanation Josh realized he had previously told me about this approach and stopped mid-sentence. He said, "Oh, you know what flossing is, don't you?"
I smiled and said, "Yes," as I gave a half-hearted attempt at the dance.
Josh rolled his eyes at me first. But then he said, "Actually, Mom, I'm impressed you know that."

And I did a little happy dance inside.
(Not the "Floss" though. I just can't get the timing down. Even in my imagination. *wink*)

Respecting Systems *ahem*

Ahhhh, systems.
They're so useful.
When they work.
That is, when people follow them. They always work if people follow them!
I know this for a fact, because I have a great system in place for keeping us from running out of essentials. It's easy, really. If you use the last of something (toilet paper, honey, soap, napkins, mayo, whatever!) write it on the list which is on the refrigerator so that I know to buy it the next time I go grocery shopping. Totally simple, and oh - so effective.
But not fool-proof.
It must be followed by everyone in order to work! (And sometimes it isn't. And I *might* get a little irritatated when the system isn't followed.)

So, with that bakground you certainly understand my respect for not messing with or misusing somebody's system. Right?
OK, then. You'll be with me on this one.
When it comes to laundry around here, whenever I do it I check in each person's hamper for dirty clothes. And, if they're in there? I include them in the wash I'm doing. Most often, though, when I go into Matthew's room his hamper is empty but there are lots of clothes laying in various places on the floor. And I don't touch them. Cuz, they aren't in the hamper and, well, that's my system. *wink*
On more than one occasion he has come home to find me folding clothes and he lets out a sigh, expressing disappointment in having missed 'laundry day'.
And we typically have the following conversation.
Me: If your clothes had been in your hamper, I would have washed them.
Matthew: But I never know when you're going to do the laundry, so I don't know when to put my clothes in there.
Me: How 'bout you put them in the hamper after you take them off your body, instead of just throwing them on the floor?
Matthew: Because they might not need to be washed. So they don't need to go in the hamper.
Me: Ahhhh. Then why don't you fold them and put them away, rather than just throwing them on the floor? (Have you noticed my theme?)
The last time we had this conversation, Matthew said for the first time: Oh, Mom. I have a system. You wouldn't understand.
Me: *grin* OK.

So, yesterday I was gathering dirty clothes to put through the washer and, as is the usual, there were only a few items in Matthew's hamper. But, oh, there was quite a bit laying near the hamper, and by the bed. And under his desk, too, I think.
Which is where they all remained.
Alas, later in the afternoon when I brought a singular pair of shorts to Matthew's room from the load I had just finished he said, "Aw, man. You know what's funny?" (Only, he didn't mean 'funny' like something to laugh about. I think he meant 'funny' like ironic.) "I was just thinking about figuring out what clothes needed to go in the wash, so I could do a load." At that moment I acknowlegded the piles of clothes on the floor and said, "Yeah. I figured these were dirty. I could have included them in the wash I did today. But I didn't want to ruin your system." And I smiled, and offered my best you-should-have-listened-to-mom-and-put-your-dirty-clothes-in-the-hamper look.
I still haven't determined whether his response in the form of a timid laugh was because of conviction or contempt. *wink*

No. Not Tears!!!

I know I have mentioned previously that my girl is in the throes of job-seeking, and building an adult life.
There was that thing on Monday about praying for her to remember to turn her eyes upon Jesus.
It continues daily as she applies for jobs, goes to interviews, and searches online for more opportunities.
And it got more tender yesterday as we sat together at the table, each working on different things. Elizabeth asked my opinion about a job (and sounded kind of despondent in her delivery) so I paused and looked up from what I was doing. Just in time to see a tear drip from her cheek onto the table.
Then another.
And another.
And my momma's heart nearly burst.
Because I do not like seeing my girl cry!!!

Oh, how I do NOT miss those days of searching and wondering and not knowing what the future holds. (Er, I guess not much has changed. *ahem*) Anyway, I don't miss being a young-twenty-something trying to figure out who I am and what I should be doing.
If I could, I would step in and take over this phase for her - just so she could avoid the struggle.
Because I really don't like it when my girl cries.
How I wish I had all the answers - and could tell her just where to go and exactly what to do.
If only there was a way for me to make her journey seamless. So she wouldn't go through hard times and she wouldn't have to expend so much effort. So there would be no more tears!
But I know the only thing I can really do for her is pray.
And when I pray, I am reminded that God uses the struggle. He grows us through hard times. Our efforts are not wasted by Him.

And He holds every tear.

So I will continue to ask my Father to lead my children. (I'm including my future son in that prayer!) I will persist in encouraging my girl to seek His face. And I will keep trusting that He knows what's best and He'll do what's best in the time that's best.
Even if that process involves a few more tears.

In the Fridge

With my crew, I do whatever is necessary.

No joke! One of my "crew members" opened the refrigerator last night and said, "Are these rubber bands meant to keep us out of this container, or are they here for another reason?"
Elizabeth replied, "Read the note!"

What Are You Worth?

I walked into the kitchen to find Phil and Elizabeth sitting at the table - both on their computers - diligently seeking jobs and filling out applications.
And as I listened to them talking, I began praying.
Not, however, the usual, LORD, please lead them to the jobs You have for them. Please guide their steps and provide what they need...
Rather, this time my prayer was for their hearts. For their sense of worth. For their identities to be solidly founded in Jesus Christ and His love for them.
Why, you ask?
Well, because I heard discouragement and doubt in their conversation.
I heard questions like, "Am I qualified?" "Would they want me?" "Can I do this?" "Do I have enough experience?" "Am I right for this job?"
To me, those questions sounded an awful lot like, "Am I good enough???"
And it didn't take me long to relate those thoughts and feelings to similar ones I have had in the past. Yeah, every year right around tax time I am tempted to doubt my self worth, to question my contribution to society. Because I have to add up the dollars I've earned over the previous 12 months - according to how many times I have spoken and how many books I've sold - and report a number which is all too easy to tie to how much I matter. The bigger the number, the greater my importance - and the smaller it is, the less difference I am making in the world.
Am I good enough?
It is such an arbitrary measurement - the world's standard of our worth, and reading over those words makes the situation sound ridiculous to me. But at the time the feelings are very real.
And as I listened to my two job-seekers questioning their worth in the eyes of a possible-future-employer, I realized how apt they might be to tie their qualifications for the job to their overall worth as human beings. Like I sometimes do at tax time, I imagined they might be tempted to sit in feelings of self-deprication. And for a moment, I wished for those days teens of years ago when I could simply say, "You're wonderful, sweetheart, and I love you!" - with confidence that Elizabeth would believe me and skip away, smiling.
Ahhhh, but adult doubts are not so easily convinced. So I drop to my knees and I ask Jesus to lift these kids up. I ask Him to convince my job-seekers that their worth is in HIM. I pray that their resumes, their cover letters, their applications and their lists of qualifications would not hold weight in their hearts, only JESUS and His love for them.
And, I add, could You remind me about these truths again at tax time next year?

How do you measure your worth???