All things family-related. My husband and me, the children we made, the grandbebes that thrill us now. Our whole great big, loud, messy family. Love! *sigh…
“Grandpa, I need you to pick up 5 bottles of glue and some Borax.”
Said by Guini, who is planning to whip up a sizeable batch of Goop, apparently. That is Stephanie’s daughter!
Meanwhile –
Gavin is compiling a long list of Home Depot items he wants (metal pipes, wood, green paint) to make a large skate park on our front sidewalk. He estimated his costs at $74,000.
Gemma grabbed her notebook and said, “O-I need to make my list for the store: t-o-y spells toy. How do you spell…no, just toy. That is all I need.”
But it did rain and cats and dogs last night. Good news. Because just yesterday on the news we were informed that Colorado is officially in a draught and our summer watering laws are in effect. Booooooo.
Gemma and I decided to find a puddle for splashing through right after breakfast. This was all we could come up with…before the sun broke through and dried everything up. Colorado, Geesh.
Stephanie and Tristan, married 10 years as of December 27 of last year, decided to revisit the land of their original honeymoon, London. And they are throwing Paris in there, too.
We have the Kelley kids for 9 days. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
I actually had to write things on my calendar like:
“Feed Gemma lunch” on my work days, though Steph and Tris assured me she would not let me forget.
And “Take Gavin and Guni to school.”
Then, “Pick Gavin and Guini up from school.”
I mean, I once had a houseful of 5 children, a pet or two and a husband to enthrall all at once. And I like to say “I raised 5 kids and lived to tell about it.” But nonetheless I am a little out of practice and Stephanie did make me four pages of important notes on the care and feeding of her babies while they are gone.
Nine days of fun in my forecast.
Before my alarm went off this morning, the sound of little feet tearing through the house signaled the day beginning. I heard some one let Sandy-the-Dog out and she immediately began barking like crazy, which is terribly unacceptable at that time in the morning. I had to smile because I awoke to being in my very own sit-com.
I came downstairs from my shower.
Dave was playing one of the scripture lullaby CDs on the surround-sound to set a nice, scriptural foundation for the morning and made me some coffee. Guini was vacuuming away happily, Gavin was playing a basketball game on my iPod, with all its’ bells and whistles and Gemma had donned a sailor-style sundress, little anklets and her tap shoes and was dancing brightly across the kitchen tile in the rays of early-morning sun.
One generation will praise His works to another and declare His mighty acts. Psalm 145.4
There is a surge of vitality pulsing through this house, our home. There is something children bring to the rhythm of life’s days that you won’t know to miss until it has passed. For when they are young, the minutes and hours and days of “Where is my backpack?” and papers that need to be signed for teachers and “I can’t find my other shoe” seem to stretch on endlessly. But there does come an end.
This isn’t a melancholy post about kids growing up. This is a post to celebrate the time of life I am in, which is one that can appreciate, in a way I couldn’t have 20 years ago, that life goes fast and it is fun and good. And children are messy and a little unpredictable and they sort of dictate existence while they are around and that is good for all of us.
Yesterday Gemma looked dreamily into the distance and said, “Mommy and daddy are far away. We live here now.”
And for a few days, they do. So for a few days, I live here now, too.
Hasn’t God unfurled a powerful day for our baby girl? Sunny and springy, wicked wind and blue-gray clouds, then sun again, then a downpour, the sun moving in and out of clouds and possibly some sleet for a moment. Then calm again. And a pretty sunset for the cream on top. All for our Stormie Dae.
I have told her Happy Birthday here since I have been blogging. I am such a Stormiephile, I re-read them all. And you can, too, if you click on the year numbers below.
She turned 25. The first time I did a photo with blessing and descriptive words all over it. Sort of appropriately, after doing them for the whole fam this past year, picnik.com is closing down in a couple of days.
“You are loyal to a fault and so creatively, over-the-top, abundantly, self-sacrificingly, Holy-Spirit-empowered in your giving. Your generosity has touched people around the world and I know why God has blessed you monetarily at such a young age: because He has anointed you to give and He trusts you with the job!”
Twenty-three wishes for Stormie. “Age and maturity reveal one of the kindest people I have ever known. She serves and cares and quietly sets things aright. She is 23 now. The baby is 23. And I love her.”
I was praying for her voice to be heard. And now it has. “I pray that [the song of the LORD] (via your beautiful voice) will burst onto the scene very soon. I see your eyes light up and I hear your spirit rejoicing in the music and worship of the God of the Universe. Even when there is no apparent sound, your heart rising in worship is loud and anointed and undeniable. I am still waiting for you to go public with the song that is rising. Sing, O Daughter of the Living God. Lead the people in the song of the Lord for His delight, His acclaim.” We are blessed that you have shared your voice!.
The first year of my blogging, I got to tell her story. And I got to publicly tell her this: “I am so pleased with you, Stormie – who God has created you to be, and how you are dying to self to become that woman.”
Can’t believe how blessed we were the day you were born. Treasure. You are a wonderful person. You are a loving sister and aunt and friend and such an honoring daughter. You were the grand finale for dad and I, the crescendo, the flourish, the signing-on-the-dotted-line
You are peacemaker, compassion, mercy, avid reader, movie critic and are truly good-hearted, like your dad. You are colorful, a songtress, thoughtful writer, sharp-witted and wry, a gentler version of me. I see us in you. But you, the amazing person you are, you are in us, too. We are better people for you in our lives.
I see my pretty baby. I see the little munchkin {“Be-member, mommy, we like to schnuggle“} and I see the gorgeous woman you are, inside and out. I see God in you.
Happy birthday, Stormie Dae. Your momma loves you!
Where hath my youth gone??? Well-he is still performing, that is where! PLEASE COME TO DENVER, David Cassidy!
Heck, please google your name and stumble upon this blog and leave me a comment. :) For which I would write another whole blog (if you do a search, you’ll see I have mentioned you before a time or two, with great love and affection)!!!
Note–how I suddenly began writing directly to David Cassidy himself as if he actuallymight read this. Haha. A girl can dream, can’t she?!
And in case you don’t know how serious I am about loving David Cassidy, see my kids’ Mother’s Day tribute to me in 2008. They recorded their own tracks and they lip-sync’ed to mimic a real Partridge Family experience. LOVE.
It was the mid 1980s. There was a spiritual housecleaning going on in the church that made the nightly news, almost every night. Televangelist after televangelist going down, one by one, each grabbing their brothers along the way with an I’m-not-taking-the-blame-by-myself flurry. It was embarrassing to be a Christian. The magazines had pictures and the stories got worse by the second. It was a circus of riidiculousness, immorality, cover-ups, finger-pointing, ministry-stealing and accusation. The Body turned on itself like an auto-immune disease. Instead of protecting itself against the enemy, it started cutting and lashing out and over-medicating, using the Holy Word of God to beat itself.
I have old videotape of the top TV (perfect) preacher of the day saying to Ted Koppel, “[this other TV preacher] is a cancer that needs to be excised from the Body of Christ.” In less than 3 months, perfect-preacher had been exposed, too, for his own sexual sin.
His prescription for the other preacher: Excise him from the Body of Christ. Cut him out. He is gone. Get rid of the sin.
His prescription for himself, you ask? Excision? No. Hardly. He asked for forgiveness. Just forgive me and let me keep my church and ministry.
Gets personal
My sister-in-law, Robin, who is an amazing wife, mother and Word-loving writer and teacher, wrote about Easter on her blog last week, but the lense through which she wrote is a strong word to the Household of Faith. Her family has been through the hailstorm of disintegration this past year (my people, I love them deeply), and they have had to walk it mostly alone, for exposed sin caused their local spiritual family to shut doors, pull in tighter, excise the sin. This isn’t a rant against that local gathering, for they are no different than local bodies the world over who don’t understand what they have unleashed when they handle what seems too hard to handle.
I am judgemental, too. I am black and white. I am right or wrong. I don’t judge this local church in this particular story because I know they are trying to do what is right (though o-my-goodness it is all only by the blood, people). But I challenge them to walk out Galatians 6. Because? I have seen what I have seen. I have experienced what I have experienced. When the “perfect preacher” lashed out against the imperfect, it did him no good. Old enough now to have seen it time and time again.
1 Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently. But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted. 2 Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. GALATIANS 6.1-2 NIV
Robin wrote three amazingly insightful and revealing blog posts. Please read them all. If you have ever judged some one else harshly, read them. If you have ever been “shut out” by the “offcials” in the family of God, read them. If you have ever turned your back on some one whose sin seemed too much to handle, read them. If you have ever cried alone, divorced from the family by accusation or because you truly had let them down in sin, read them. Because we have. to. grow. up.
Auto-immune diseases are an inappropriate attack by your immune system against your very own body, against the very cells and tissues needed to live. The enemy cackles to watch us destroy ourselves.
1975, I think. I was 14. Tim would have been about 11.
I was wearing “Jeanie-green.”
All the Little Landers. 1973
Danny was 6. Tammy was 7. Tim would have been 9 (his birthday is near Easter), and Joe would have been 11. Me in my yellow peasant-style (remember Gunne Sax?) dress? I was 13. This black and white photo was taken by a blind guy. No kidding. He was blind and he took pictures. Harold. True story.
Joey-Timmy-and-Jeanie in 1966
My mom’s photos were in a box in Lousiana for many years, lost we thought. Lots of water damage. We were 5-3-and-6. Hated all those pin curls my mom was always putting in my hair.
1968.
Tammy and Danny stole the show, but I loved my lavendar taffeta dress with the cape. Made by my mama. I was 8.
Timmy was a newborn in 1963.
Little Joey was just 2 and I was 3 1/2.
I loved my peach coat.
The piece-de-resistance:
1970. My dad was planning a huge service in a large rented auditorium with our denomination’s radio personality. Some ladies in church took me downtown on Saturday to get my hair done (and yes, that is ALL my hair) because I wanted to be like Dottie Rambo. I came home and had to go door-to-door handing out Easter service flyers with my dad in windy weather. But it held up, even after sleep. Wasn’t I just the picture of a little Pentecostal girl?? I was 10.
Easters meant new clothes and hats, usually. It meant door-to-door flyers. It meant waking up to Easter baskets filled with candy from the sweet mamala. It was long days of church, morning and night, singing hymns that had impossible notes and big Easter dinners (usually ham, sometimes a big egg hunt at Aunt Rosie’s with a coconut cake in the shape of a bunny) and it meant being a Christian is worth celebrating. Our traditions may seem silly, but it is our high, holy day. He lives!
Trepidation. Fear and trembling. You know: your basic I-don’t-really-know-what-the-heck-I-am-doing-but-I-will-try-it-anyway-knowing-the-party-is-an-hour-or-two-away-and-if-it-doesn’t-work-out-the-whole-thing-is-RUINED kind of day. I roll like that.
Today is Amelie Belle’s party. Because she is 2 now. She is a cutie-patootie and her Nonna loves her. So, she is getting (not sure if it was her actual request or just her mama’s, hehe) a 2-tier pale-pink ruffle cake with a bow on top.
Bottom tier: triple-layered chocolate fudge cake with with chocolate fudge filling. Yes, you can see some chocolate peeking through. Because I hurry.
Top tier: double-layered lemon-poppy-seed with some very delish fresh lemon curd for filling.
The ruffle technique. First time try. Whole cake covered: 7 minutes. Nice, fast way to go!
The cake stand, btw, is a ice cream dish and a plate, both from The Dollar Tree, glued together. Pale blue pain inside the upside-down ice cream dish. Needs a touch-up, but simple and quick.
