They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but some pictures raise a thousand questions.
This is hardly unusual when my son Joshua, and his crafty cousin Rebecca, are involved.
Let’s just say that there was a prank involved, and Grandma was the victim. Or was she?
One of the fun things that Kathy does in her work with the Mentorship program for the women of our church, is to participate in skits. Trying to make the whole mentor/mentee relationship less scary, these dramatic sketches portray problematic mentors in a humorous light.
One of the characters is a wife and mother on-the-go, who is able to do everything and be everywhere. She schedules her meetings with her mentee to coincide with a child’s soccer game. “Bring your own chair so you can sit with me on the sidelines,” she tells the woman, that she plans to mentor. “I may have to step away for a few moments during the game — the coach really needs my advice.”
I may not have it exactly right (men are traditionally banned from these ‘Mentor Moments’, so I have never actually seen the skit) but that is the essence of the character, I think. Her name is Sue Permom.
Kathy has been away for the past week, helping to care for her Dad at the Mayo Clinic (who has been diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of lymphoma). Although my boss graciously allowed me to work from home this whole week, we were quickly ‘going under’ in terms of dishes and laundry, not to mention homeschooling. Kathy’s friends have been bombarding us with princely meals, but I still wasn’t able to keep on top of the household, so I took yesterday off from work.
At the end of the day, I was beat. I’d filled the dishwasher twice, and had done at least 438 loads of laundry (or maybe 439 — it is possible I lost count). I established my new draconian policy of throwing all clothes that came out of the dryer on the couch in the living room, with dire threats:
“If your clothes are still here in 12 hours, I’m sending them to the Goodwill!”
About 9 pm, just as I settled in to take a well-deserved rest, playing my computer game, little Sarah piped up:
“What about our Valentine’s Day box?”
I groaned. Each year, Valentine’s Day (or the Friday nearest that holiday) is a big deal at our local homeschool co-op. Each family decorates a box (some of them are pretty elaborate, the show-offs) and they make Valentines for each other, usually with a little piece of candy. I constructed a quick mental checklist:
“Quick,” I told Sarah. “Go get that shoebox on my windowsill, and cover it in paper from that roll of butcher paper in the garage. Then you can decorate it.”
“Granddad, will you be our Valentine?”
Sarah loves to decorate. After I helped her wrap the box and cut a slot in it (all the kids were concerned that the slot must be large enough to accommodate candy), she stenciled our name on it and decorated it with little pink hearts. Then I found a Valentine template in MS Word and printed out a customized valentine (squandering all of Kathy’s red printer ink). The kids formed a folding party and signed the valentines, some 50+ of them. In the morning, I went to the store and bought some candy, so that each valentine can be properly accompanied by a tasty treat.
As they were leaving for co-op, I ran downstairs.
“Stop, wait!” I shouted. “Did you remember the Valentine Box? The Valentines?”
No, they hadn’t remembered any of it. Typical of our family, I’m afraid. But as for me, at least for today, I am Sioux Perdad.
Tim
I miss blogging. I miss connecting with other bloggy friends. I miss selecting pictures, tweaking them with Photoshop and then crafting my words for a meaningful/witty/random blog. Facebook is so quick and busy and full of life, it’s easy to forget the joy of blogging. Texting is instantaneous and immediate, there doesn’t seem room for the slower work of blogging.
David and Sarah spent some time last week washing the new van.
Life is so full and rich these days, I’m overwhelmed by the many details, activities, and challenges. Tim and I are continually striving to grow in our marriage and be wise in our parenting. The responsibilities of running a busy household and homeschooling five children keep me humble and on my knees.
Sarah and I got matching aprons for Valentine’s Day.
I find myself struggling to balance the various disciplines – spiritual, physical, mental, etc. When I excel in one area, I fail in another. It is interesting, this life here on earth. We long for perfection, rest and joy, but instead are mired in imperfection, unease, and worry.
Praise God for His Word and the promise that His mercies are new every morning.
Books and board games are favorite gifts (to give and receive) in our house.
We had a fun Valentine’s Day. Tim and I love to celebrate as a family and cherish the big and small moments with the children. This year we ended up with some extra Christmas gifts (still working on the whole Christmas/budget concept) and set them aside for Valentine’s Day. We held a family party on the 7th. The blessing (reward?) of working so hard on parenting (and it is HARD WORK) is actually enjoying your children. We truly love to be with our five kids. They are fun, generous, kind, silly, caring and worth every bit of the diligence, effort and attention.
Daniel and Joshua gave David Nerf Swords for his birthday.
David’s birthday was this week. How in the world did my sweet, little boy come to be nine years old?? My goodness, he and Sarah are no longer babies. Can I still call them the “Little Ones?” At least for a little while longer?
Vanilla cake and ice cream sandwich dessert. Yum!
David constantly touches my heart – his reflections on life are unique and precious. We have a tradition of decorating the house in honor of the birthday child. All decorating happens in the wee hours in the night so the birthday boy or girl wakes up to a celebration. This past year the older children have taken on some of the work themselves and surprised me with their creative help.
The night before his birthday (Tim and I had just returned home from a long weekend in Leavenworth and the children from the Duckabush), David came up to me and quietly asked, “Would it be rude to ask for birthday decorations? I was just wondering.” Ha! I shhhhhed him and said, “Absolutely, no talk of decorations! Don’t even mention it.”
As the years have passed, I’ve often wondered if the children still care about those silly streamers, balloons and birthday signs. The older ones, in particular, might be too “grown up” and “mature” for such trivial things. It’s certainly no longer a dramatic surprise – it’s a tradition. Ahhhh, but here was a little boy who was still hoping for the wonder of a birthday celebration. How could I resist?
Throughout the days following his birthday, David repeatedly thanked me for the decorations – not the gifts, cake, family outing to the zoo, the decorations. “I just love those birthday decorations, Mommy, it’s why I keep saying thank you. I love to stand and look at them.”
A creative use of birthday plates.
Interesting how a thankful heart brings such delight and joy in response. I can’t help but think how the Lord wants me to be thankful, to thank Him for His wonders, His gifts, His goodness. Does my thankful heart please Him in the same way that David’s cheerful attitude blesses me?
Rachel helped with the birthday cake decorating.
It makes me want to sneak into David’s room, on a random Thursday in the middle of a random month, and hang up signs and streamers.
Maybe I will.
Kathy
Now that our cumulative 14″ of snow has completely melted, and the presents are (mostly) opened, we have a moment of respite from our hectic Christmas schedule. We drove out to the Duckabush to spend Christmas evening with my folks, and stayed for a couple of days. It is never long enough, when we go out, and we slighted a few friends, for which I am sorry. 
Happily, since the time of this photo, Daniel has acquired manly black snow pants.
The snow was still heavy on the ground, and had begun to melt by the time we were ready to leave. There was about 6″ of slush on the road, and I was very much afraid we would get stuck or slide off the road as we left the valley. I worked myself up into a fearful tizzy, and was quite short-tempered with Kathy — I just wanted to get the van down the two hills and get it over with, so I wouldn’t be afraid anymore.
I don’t think I’ve been that scared, since my Army days as a paratrooper. Funny how the mind can play tricks — we drove down both hills safely, and made it home with no trouble.
As soon as there was some quiet, Kathy rushed to fill the void: “How ’bout we have a New Years’ Eve party?”
I reluctantly agreed. As an introvert and a parent of five children, I treasure my hard-won peace and tranquility. “Couldn’t we just have a quiet evening at home?” I begged, querulously.
Kathy was relentless. “Let’s see, I’ll make Mesa Manna rolls, and Spiced Cider Tea … we’ll invite some of our friends, and it will be great!” One of the things I love best about my Kathy is her enthusiasm for life.
Rachel’s good friends, Sarah and Jenny, came over before the party
We decided to host a game party, and phoned ’round to gather some friends. As is often the case, we forgot a few people (for which we apologize) but we still ended up with a houseful — 13 adults and 24 kids. We permitted guests to stand around and talk a little, but pretty soon we got the game tables going. We played many games:
— a card game about bean farming (it’s a lot more fun than it sounds
A friendly game of Scum
The party divided into various groups: people who wanted to run around wildly, a few who wanted to hide from the wild people, social folk who wanted to play loud party games, and the intelligentsia, who wanted to do some serious bean growing.
There’s one in every party — a person who just wants to curl up with a good book.
“Stop running around wildly,” Kathy scolded me. So I spent the evening growing beans with a few like-minded deep-thinkers.
I’m sure they had fun at the “loud party game” table, but I lost interest in that table when I was relegated to Scum (the lowest-ranked player). Nobody says I have to be a graceful loser. 
Bohnanza
The Bean Futures Exchange
Our friend Steve lost a couple of rounds, so he decided to invest in the cheapest and most common beans, including Coffee, Wax and Blue Beans. Building an empire on bean donations, he managed to eke out a victory a little after midnight, much to the relief of his family. “We’re not leaving until I win,” he growled after the third round.
Showing heroic diligence, I was careful to sample each of the cookie varieties.
I had a lot of fun, and there were many delicious things to eat. Julee brought a delicious Prime Rib soup and Cheesy Sausage dip, and cookies abounded. Don and Jennifer brought meatballs, and even set some aside that were ‘clean’ (no sugar added) for Kathy. There were brownies and Grape Fanta for the kids. Michelle brought some Chex mix and a white chocolate pretzel mix, and a chicken lasagna in a crock pot. There was a huge veggie tray and frosted pumpkin bars. Someone brought several bags of chips, and I broke out the last of my hoard of Banana Punch.
The next morning, we talked about the fun we had, and how many food items we forgot to offer to our guests. “We should have another party,” I enthused, momentarily abandoning my introverted ways. “Why don’t we do Game Night every Friday”? I asked, conveniently forgetting the all-day cleaning frenzy that had preceded this party.
Kathy smiled at me patiently.
“Or maybe we could just invite people for whom we don’t need to clean … ? ” I suggested tentatively.
Happy New Year!
Tim
Today is Christmas Eve, and my heart is full of thanks and joy. We spent the evening at church, delivering cookies to friends and neighbors, and watching a Christmas movie. We opened one round of presents, and now we’re waiting to celebrate the Birthday of our King.
Most people get their last chance to play a part in a Christmas pageant when they’re in grade school. By the time you’re in sixth grade, you’ve hung up your shepherd and wise man costumes for good. This year our church offered monologue opportunities to a select few, and I snapped up the chance. “I’d love to be a wise guy,” I e-mailed rapidly. “I wouldn’t mind being Joseph or Simeon, and in a pinch, I’d take Herod.”
They let me be a wise man, and gave me 4 minutes in both the Christmas Eve services. I dressed up in a robe, with a piece of golden cloth from our friend Tina as a rich accessory, and borrowed leather sandals (I couldn’t find mine). I decided to forgo the turban, since it seemed to require a 30′ long piece of cloth, and a lot of patience in assembling. One of our elders did a first-person monologue as Herod, and another talked to us about Mary. One of our pastors told us about the lessons Joseph’s life taught, and our senior pastor focused on Jesus himself (senior pastors are sometimes greedy that way).
Here is my monologue — I offer it up to my Lord as a birthday present:
Salaam aleikum. I am Melchior, one of the Magi who came from the east to worship the new Jewish king.
My colleagues and I spend our lives in the study of the skies. Over the years, we’ve developed many elaborate theories about the meanings of these stars and planets, and the times of their appearance … truth is, I’ve never been very sure about many of our conclusions.
One thing we all could see plainly: this new star was in the part of the sky that indicated a major event in the House of Jacob, among the Jewish people who lived northeast of Egypt, near the Western Sea.
We argued about it for a long time, my companions and I, but we finally agreed that the appearance of this new star must indicate the birth of a king. One of us suggested a wild plan: we could send a delegation to find and meet this new king.
I knew immediately that I had to be one of those who were sent. We planned our journey and selected gifts that we could bring, items of value that would help to make us welcome in foreign lands. One selected gold (always a good choice) and another frankincense (preferred by royalty). I had some difficulty deciding what to give to a Jewish king, but I settled upon high quality myrrh, a valuable resin made from the sap of a thorny tree in our region. I’ll admit it was an odd and somewhat sinister gift for a new king, most often used in burial rituals.
We set off in a caravan, following the star whenever we could see it, heading west toward the Trans-Jordan area. Arriving at last in Jerusalem, we discreetly asked about the new king, but soon came to the attention of Herod, the brutal, half-breed Jewish king appointed by the Romans to rule over that area.
I must say, I was worried. Here we were, far from home, with a minimal escort, telling an uneasy ruler about a potential threat to his throne. He seemed unaware of any new prince, and our hearts sank. Had we come all this way for nothing?
When Herod summoned the priests, our hope was renewed. Their scriptures indicated that the king would be born in a small village just south of Jerusalem. Herod sent us on our way, with apparent good will, encouraging us to search diligently for the child and to tell him all about this new king, “so he too could come and worship himâ€.
I’ve got to say, I never believed him. Sure, a king has his dignity, and he’d look foolish searching the countryside on a rumor … but I couldn’t help thinking that the only ‘worship’ this new king would receive from Herod would be at the tip of a spear.
As we approached the village of Bethlehem, the star was once again revealed, and it moved so that it stood over a particular house. Not a palace, just a simple house, with a peasant family living inside. There was a work table and a few tools, a man, a woman … and a little boy child, toddling about.
I could hardly believe my eyes; was this the king that we’d come so far to find? But the star we’d seen and followed had moved, and clearly indicated this house … so this must be Him. I felt a certainty, welling up in my heart, an ability to believe that had never gripped me before: this was the king, and more than a king, foretold by the star.
We prostrated ourselves as though the child was the Roman emperor, and offered our gifts to the boy and his parents. As they told us the story of his birth, the things that had been told them by angels, and what the shepherds saw and heard, I came to understand that this was no earthly king. Rather, in the body of this little boy-child, God … had come to live among us.
The night before we had planned to leave, we each had a dream, sent by God. He told us not to trust Herod’s intentions toward the child, and to go home another way, not by passing through Jerusalem. We felt very honored and overwhelmed by God’s kindness to us, showing us a small part of His plan and confirming that this child really was sent by Him. We made our way home, filled with joy and wonder.
In these ten years since we visited Bethlehem, I’ve often wondered about that boy, as he grows up, thinking about what he will do. I still watch the skies for further signs, and I eagerly question travelers from that area. Back home, our story was met with skepticism by those who didn’t journey with us, but I believe that God has come among us, and is working out His plan among the Jewish people. I was there, and I believe.
Tim
Merry Christmas!
