Help us name our boat

It has recently occurred to me that perhaps it is time to name our boat. (Mostly, because people continue to ask what is the name of our boat?) We have tossed around a few names, but our conversations always deteriorate into “Wouldn’t it be funny if we named it …” and other geekiness. In researching boat names I have learned that the name we pick should a name that reflects our hopes, dreams and passions.  And according to Pat of Pat’s Boating the name of our boat is what we will become. What we will become! Oh, brother! Too much pressure for me. 

Still our boat needs a name. We are part of the Unknown crowd, right now.  All of the “Cool” people at the lake have named their boats.  Names like “Billy’s Baby” and “Nora’s Toy”  and “The Getaway” and my personal favorite “SHEBROKEUS”.  But we are not cool, not even a little, so what are we supposed to name our boat? 

Feel free to leave a suggestion.  Just remember to keep it PG! 

  

Wife Beater

Zeke has a new passion.  A shirts.  That’s right.  Those articles of clothing that are manufactured to be worn under shirts, also affectionately know as “Wife Beaters”.  You know what I am talking about…if not watch an episode of COPS.

For months, I have fought him on this.  He has begged, pleaded and even found pictures of these shirts to convince me that is exactly what he needs.  I was repulsed by the notion.  I grew up in small, rural town in the late eighties and early nineties.  These shrits were the signature apparel of the uneducated and underprivileged.  I know that things are different now, but still, I can only think of them in this context. 

A few weeks ago, I found myself standing in front of the toddler sized A-shirts with Zeke.  Once again he was pleading for the ugly shirts.  (If you are an avid fan of wife beater shirts, if you would not consider going into public without one on, if they are a staple of your wardrobe, I apologize for my disdain. It’s not you, it’s me. Really…)  ”Why do you want those shirts?” I asked.  For some reason, it had never occurred to me to ask this question.  “Because Daddy has them.  I want to be like Dad.” Ouch, busted. 

Two years ago, Greg bought a package to wear under his uniforms in the summer.  Two years ago.  Zeke would have been two, almost three at the time.  He remembers everything.  This should not have been surprising. 

His reply just melted my heart.  He thinks his daddy is cool!  Of course, I bought the shirts.  He does look cute in them.  Scrawny little arms poking out.  Tiny pot belly stretching the fabric.  He is adorable.  That’s what I tell myself anyway. 

The shirts came home with a condition.  He cannot leave the house if it is visible in any way. It was a good compromise.  He is so proud of the way he looks.  I can tell because he checks himself out in the bathroom mirror.  ”This is a really nice shirt, Mom.  Thanks for getting it for me.” he’ll say  while smoothing down his shirt.  It is so obvious that he thinks he rocks that shirt.   I think he looks like a miniature Kevin Federline.    

Whatever Happens

What ever happens…GOD is good. 

Our whole lives hinge on this simple phrase.  Hinge on what we believe, what we know, to be true.

What we do believe, we shout out by our actions and reactions.  If we truly believe that GOD is good, it shows.  In our words.  In our relationships.  Our lives. 

When “whatever happens” happens, what we believe about the goodness of GOD, will define our entire lives. 

 

Be careful what you ask for…

On our way to the lake today, we realized (With much horror on my part) that a quick stop at Wal Mart was in order.  We we all dressed for the lake and looked strangely sweaty. A bit shiny. Not a pretty sight.

I have relaxed so much in the area of “dressing for the public” that I didn’t think anything about heading in “as is”.  As we started the long walk into the store, Greg looked pained.  “Zeke doesn’t have a shirt on.”  My reply,”He’ll be fine.” continuing my walk.  “Well it says, No shoes, No shirt, No service, on the door…Mandy.”  I stopped walking.  “You’ve got to be kidding.  He’s four years old.  He doesn’t need a shirt on.”  Greg didn’t budge. 

I stopped and sized up the seriousness of the situation.  Greg wasn’t going to give in.  Zeke didn’t have a shirt and was starting to agonize over how he would possibly be able to go with us.  Would he have to stay in the truck by himself?  Why didn’t you bring me a shirt, Mommy?  Zack was halfway into Wal Mart and I was really starting to sweat.  “Okay, fine. I will get Zeke a shirt.”  I opened up the truck door and found a men’s size XXL t-shirt in the back seat.  I smugly put it over Zeke’s head.  Greg wanted him to have a shirt -now he’s got one.  To say it was huge on him is an absolute understatement.  Zeke is short and bony.  In fact, he is almost five and has yet to break the 34 lb mark.  He looked ridiculously uncared for.  Like an orphan. 

Greg had caught up to our little wanderer by this time and was waiting for us by the doors.  Oh, I wish you could have seen it.  Me walking so confidently ahead of Zeke.  Mentally congratulating myself on a job well done.  Arrogantly replaying our conversation in our head. (He said get a shirt.  I got a shirt alright.) I just couldn’t wait to see Greg’s face.  But then I did. 

Greg is a man of few expressions.  Today I saw everyone he has right there in the Wal Mart parking lot.  Confusion.  Wonder.  Followed by embarassement.  With humor and then disgust bringing up the rear.  Greg just turned around and started walking into the store.  

My moment of triumph dashed, I saw something I will never forget.  Zeke had twisted his shirt into a long cone shaped formation and shoved it into the front of his swimming trunks.  He looked as though he was freakishly…um…endowed.  It was impossible not to notice.  The bulge in his pants walked through the door six inches ahead of him. 

Greg and I came face to face inside the doors.  Each wordlessly acknowledging defeat, we looked one another in the eyes and did the only thing we could do-  Zeke rode in the shopping cart.  Bulge included.

Homesick

 

It has been rough these last few weeks.  The past has come back to bite me and the present is doing it’s fair share of damage too.  And the future…well…I would just as soon not think about it.  I find myself saying I want the LORD to come.  Now! 

But that is pretty much where the conversation ends. I don’t have much to say.  I hear even less.  I am hurt and angry. Tired.

Like a child left at daycare for too long.  That’s how I feel.  I don’t want to play.  I don’t want to sing. I don’t want to participate in group activities. I don’t want to be reasoned with. I  want to hang on to the fence and watch for my Father to come.  I want to go home.  Now.  

I tossed and turned last night.  I felt sick all over.  Miserable.  I would try to counter every burden with a blessing.  I tried.  Sometime later I woke up and realized, “I am homesick!”.  How could that be?  I am home.  Ah, I see.  I am homesick for heaven.

It sounds strange to be pining for a place I have never been. Doesn’t it? Longing for a place I can’t really even imagine very well.  But I know it is real, just the same. And this pain, it is real too.  I want to go.  Now.   

To the person who stole my cell phone:

Thanks.  Thank you for stealing my phone.  Really.

I loved that phone. It was red.  It made me feel young.  I logged a great deal of minutes on that phone.

I found out I was an aunt after two rings.  Jackson was here! Mom and baby doing great…Dad even better. 

I heard Zane beg to come home through that ear piece.  I pushed that phone into my ear so hard it hurt, while trying not to cry.  A few months later I learned that Zane had a best friend, his first!  This time I just let the tears of joy drop right on that phone. 

It held text messages from the love of my life saying he wasn’t hurt after three tornados went over his head.  “I’m okay.” “I love you!”.  Messages listing the various illnesses and doctors appointments for our children.  Invitations to lunch.  A little bit of flirting.

There were pictures on my phone.  Lots of pictures.  Everyday life.  The kids in various poses through various seasons.  Being silly and laughing, mostly. The ones I will miss the most: Snapshots of three brothers hugging.  Sharing french fries.  Holding hands. Enjoying the precious time they are all together.

There were pictures of the Tulsa workshop too. This was our first year to go and I was just blown away. Thousands and thousands of Christians singing their hearts out to the Almighty! Several times I got so choked up I couldn’t even sing. I stood there with that phone held in the air, recording a few verses while the tears ran down my cheeks.  I wanted to keep them with me as a reminder, a small glimpse of what is waiting for me and you in heaven.  

But I digress… this was a thank you letter.  I suppose I wanted you to know that I do not say ”Thanks” lightly.  I lost something I valued but I gained even more. 

I saw my husband demonstrate the mercy of Christ once again.  I am quite sure you are the one who stole his cell phone a few weeks ago. I am not sure that you know or even care, but this type of situation always brings out the best in him.  Once again he reminded me that it was just “stuff”.  All possesions are just that- “stuff”.  Material things have no bearing on who we are, who we love, or the One who loves us.  Again I thanked GOD that HE has given me such a wonderful husband.   

The people at our phone company were kind.  Very helpful and compassionate.  I am reminded that when the phone rings with an “important message regarding savings for your account” there is a human on the other end of the line who has feelings too. 

But the best part of what has happened is this: I get to pray for you. ( I don’t know if you had anyone praying for you before, but Buddy, you do now!”) I pray that magnificent blessings are showered over you everyday.  I pray for your health and saftey.  I pray GOD will give you good, decent friends.  I pray for your family and your finances.  But most of all, I pray GOD will sweep you off your feet.  That Jesus will make your life shine with HIS glory.  I even pray, someday I will get to know you.  I hope we are seated next to one another at the ultimate Feast of Saints and I can say to you, “It was my honor to pray for you.” 

So once again, I thank you and I thank GOD.  Without HIM, I would just be angry and bitter.  Through HIS overwhelming goodness, I have been blessed by this.  It is my fervent prayer that you will be too.

Stats

In 26 days Greg and I will celebrate 13 years of marriage.  Now, I know what you are thinking.  “She looks so young!  How could she have been married that long already?”.  (What? You were not thinking that?  Shame on you! )

We were married at the rip old age of eighteen. We had been boyfriend and girlfriend since the age of 11, so it wasn’t like a spur of the moment decision. Still, at eighteen what did we know about being married?  Not much. But we vowed no matter what, we were in this thing till death parted us.  So we graduated high school in May.  Got married in July.  Moved away from everyone and everything we knew and loved in August.  Started college in September.  It was a big summer. 

Since that day almost thirteen years ago, life has been anything but boring.  We moved six times in our first four years of marriage. Been to three colleges.  Driven eight different vehicles.  Worked seven jobs. Owned twenty motorcycles. We had three children.  All boys. Every week since December 1999 we have bought diapers.  Most of ten years we have had two in diapers at once! Two of our children were disabled.  Now one of them is not. Every week my kids have physical, occupational, and speech therapy.  In fact, I have taken at least one and usually two children to therapy three times a week since April of 2001. 

We have dealt with Autism, depression, Cerebral Palsy, strokes, morning sickness, ulcers, and recently meningitis. Our place has been struck by lighting twice. Been locked out of our house three times.  I have backed into his truck twice.  We have been poor and we have had plenty.  I have been too uptight.  He has been too laid back.  We have both changed for the better. 

I will say this.  Despite the heartache that we have had in our lives, there was always laughter.  Every day. We have always found everyday life and each other funny. Yes, we have had fun. I would do it all again.  In a heartbeat.   

 

Called Out

You are being called out.  Right now.  Jesus is calling you out of the pain.  Out of the sin.  Out of the obsession. 

You are being called out. Out of anger. Out of legalism.

Out of life without meaning, into a life with hope.  A life full of fire for GOD.  Passion for the Savior. 

Called out to love.  To offer and seek forgiveness. Called out as a peacemaker.  

Called out to behold our awesome GOD, not define HIM.  

You are being called out of the dark and into the light.  Called into the flame of the Light of the World.

Rush

One of the greatest pleasures I have in life is my friendship with the Rush family.  I love them.  My whole family is crazy about them.  They are endlessly fascinating and funny.  Happy, happy people. 

My favorite time to be at the Rush house is bedtime.  (Don’t get jealous.  I can come over to your house at the busiest time of the day too!  Just let me know. )  It is an symphony of movement.  Six humans moving in different directions all at once.  Hair being fixed.  Nails being painted.  Clothes laid out in the exact outline of the child who will be putting them on in nine hours.  Including shoes at the bottom of the shorts.  There are showers running and an orderly pattern of entering and exiting. Conversations taking place across the room.  Across the house.  The ever present sound of a washer and dryer working hard.  Hugs and kisses.  Talk of book reports and baseball. Laughter.  Tons of laughter. More hugs.  More kisses.  It is beautiful.  Noisy.  Alive.  Six completely different individuals working together, enjoying one another.  A family.  A glimpse of heaven.         

Rock On

Spend some time at the Sanders house and you are going to hear someone say ”Rock On!”.  It is our family’s term for a job well done or something pleasant. For instance, “Hey Dad, look at me!  I can jump over Zack AND his night-night!”  Greg’s reply, “Awesome son.  Rock on.” I know we are cool, aren’t we? 

Zack has been practicing his counting.  “1,2,3,4,5…7,7,7,8,9,7…”.  Pretty good for two and half.  (IF your kid can count higher, congratulations!  Please don’t tell me. ) Anyway, he was going through the house counting things and he stopped in front of me.  He suddenly reached out and patted my chest.  “One, two.  Two! You have two, um…rock on’s!  TWO ROCK ON’s!”.  Sometimes I worry that we maybe too cool.