Thanksgiving

I meant to post this on Thanksgiving Day...I am late with it, naturally. But thanksgiving is appropriate every hour of every single day, isn't it? No less so today, two days after official Thanksgiving.

All of this is taken, verbatim, from our church bulletin from last Sunday, November 22, 2009. And I am giving it in the order in which I read it all. With each successive portion, I was reminded more and more to give thanks to our good God.

This first is from the last page of our bulletin. Whether a story, a short devotion, or a missionary update, it is written by Dr. Davis:

Don't you usually enjoy the Thanksgiving season? The cuisine is usually excellent, and it comes right before the one fruit cake in the world is given to someone else for Christmas. And the Lord seems to inundate us with reasons to give thanks. Lee DeHoog, in his last newsletter, told of a man named "Beloved" in Arabic. He lived in Tunisia. Over 20 years ago he heard the gospel on his radio, put his trust in Jesus. He wanted a Bible but didn't know where to get one. One day he recalled there was a Christian community in Egypt, so he took a bus all the way across Libya, and into Cairo and bought an Arabic Bible. Like a number of others, he thought he was the only Christian in Tunisia. He came back to Tunis, married, had children. His wife watched "Beloved" read his Bible; she was willing to listen to him talk of his faith but was unwilling to leave Islam to follow Jesus. This last July "Beloved" caught the last episode of a Christian Arabic satellite TV program. He couldn't believe his eyes! His wife said he began to cry. He was not alone. He called the number on the screen and talked to another Tunisian believer, who, of all things, invited him to something called "church"! His wife and children are now waiting to be baptized along with him. Can you keep from giving thanks?

But thanks comes from not-so-happy incidents. George Orjih, a Christian pastor in northern Nigeria, was beheaded probably last last July, because he refused to deny his faith and convert to Islam. But he spoke to a fellow Christian who had also been kidnapped (and who was later released); the two were lying side-by-side, tied up. George turned to his companion and said, "If you survive, tell my brothers that I died well, adn am living with Christ." Don't you have to give thanks for such God-steadied endurance?

But thanks springs up from what seem the most common bits of news. Here is a letter that comes from Australia. From a man who is almost 90. He's studying Psalm 57, preparing to speak at a retirement village service. He says he "commenced studying the Bible when I was converted at age 16 in a dusty musty Presbyterian Sunday School room." I write him back to say that I can't help thanking God for dusty musty Presbyterian Sunday School rooms!

This next is from the inside front page, to be read while preparing for worship. This one a quote from J.C. Ryle:

Let us mark, lastly, in these verses [=Luke 17:11-19], what a rare thing is thankfulness. We are told that of all the ten lepers whom Christ healed, there was only one who turned back and gave Him thanks. The words that fell from our Lord's lips upon this occaasion are very solemn: "Were there not ten cleansed? But where are the nine?"

The Lesson before us is humbling, heart-searching, and deeply instructive. The best of us are far too like the none lepers. We are more ready to pray than to praise, and more disposed to ask God for what we have not, than to thank Him for what we have.

Next, during the service, a Puritan prayer from The Valley of Vision prayed in unison by the worshippers:

Prayer of Confession and Thanksgiving

O God,
Thou has done for me all things well,
     hast remembered, distinguished, indulged me.
All my desires have not been gratified,
     but thy love denied them to me
     when fulfillment of my wishes would have
         proved my ruin or injury.
My trials have been fewer than my sins;
Thou has often wiped away my tears,
     restored peace to my mourning heart,
     chastened me for my profit.
All thy work for me is perfect,
     and I praise thee. Amen.

 How true, how true! "My trials have been fewer than my sins." Praise God for that!

And lastly, Psalm 138. The text for the sermon.

  ¹ I give you thanks, O LORD, with my whole heart;
   before the gods I sing your praise;
²I bow down toward your holy temple
   and give thanks to your name for your steadfast love and your faithfulness,
   for you have exalted above all things
   your name and your word.
³On the day I called, you answered me;
   my strength of soul you increased.
 ⁴ All the kings of the earth shall give you thanks, O LORD,
   for they have heard the words of your mouth,
⁵and they shall sing of the ways of the LORD,
   for great is the glory of the LORD.
⁶ For though the LORD is high, he regards the lowly,
   but the haughty he knows from afar.
 ⁷ Though I walk in the midst of trouble,
   you preserve my life;
you stretch out your hand against the wrath of my enemies,
   and your right hand delivers me.
⁸The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me;
    your steadfast love, O LORD, endures forever.
   Do not forsake the work of your hands.

This Week with the May Baby

All of the teachers at Ella's school went to a conference this week. She went to school from 8:00 to noon on Monday and then was out the whole rest of the week. Tuesday we went to Brookhaven to pick up the bridesmaid's dress for Haley's wedding. My mother met us there and we ate lunch with Grammaw and Uncle Mike. It was really fun and I am sorry I didn't have my camera with me because we drove around Brookhaven and saw all the important family sites, like the house where Grammaw was born and where she and Paw got married. I'm going to have to go back soon.

I begged Ella to let me take her to a movie one day, but she was set on having a pedicure...no wonder Kiper calls her "mini Laura Lee." There is a nail shop here that has a chair especially for kid pedicures. Here it is (poor photo quality, sorry). You can't see, but the chair has an attached dvd player, which played a weird oriental-type cartoon about Kimba, The White Lion.

Here are Ella's toes, post-pedicure.

She couldn't decide between a butterfly and flowers, so she had one of each. The lady told her to come back at Christmas and she'd do Christmas trees, snowmen, and candy canes. Sounds so fun, but I'm not sure I'm thrilled with this fingernail decorating trend I seem to be fostering!

Her other fantasy for this week was for us to eat at The Grand China Buffet. So we did. She had every Chinese-American version of chicken on her plate, but her favorite thing here, and at every Asian restaurant she patronizes, is the egg drop soup.

On Saturday, while the boys went to the Ole Miss-Tennessee game (and saw the Rebels win!) she had her friend Reed over to play and they had a wonderful time.

They played dress-up, they danced,

they painted, they rode skateboards,

they spied, they climbed.

  

It was very good.

Sunset on Providence

 I realize the title of this post is a little creepy, implying that our neighborhood (Providence) is dying out. Would "Sunset over Providence" have been better? At? In? Beside? From?

Well, this was the view that I saw when I pulled out of the driveway yesterday on my way to pick up one of The Three from a birthday party. It was so astounding that I stopped in the middle of the street (thankfully, no one was coming around the curve) and pulled out my phone to take a picture of it. It wasn't until later, when I cleaned out the mounds of detritus from the passenger seat, that I realized my actual camera was in the car with me.

Next post..."I wish I could Google my car"?

Grammar-snob Humor

I am helping give a baby shower for a friend of ours who moved to Hattiesburg fairly recently and is having her first girl after having two boys (just like us). I offered to take care of the invitations because I love paper and fonts and spending hours looking at the website finestationery.com. So I did them, and they came, and they are darling. They're ivory and have long green curly grass on the left hand side with a tiny fairy with silver wings perched on one of the leaves of grass, looking down on the words of the invitation below her. (The Three repeatedly pointed out to me that she is "nekkid!" and they're right, but she is tiny, so I hope it's okay to send these to the ladies in the church.)

The wording of the invitation begins "We are enchanted...the Blowings are having a baby girl!" (Name changed to protect the innocent.) Are you with me? The family's name is Blowing. There are two of them who are having a baby girl (or four, if you count the brothers). And I do realize now that perhaps "expecting" would have been a better verb if I wanted to imply that they're all having a baby, because, really, we all know that the mother is the only one who will actually be having a baby...am I getting bogged down here?

Anyway...the Blowings are having a baby girl...more than one Blowing...The Blowing Family, in fact. One Blowing...several Blowings. And that, my friends (who, if you even know about this blog, already know this is true), is the correct way to write the plural form of a family name. I know it's correct; I have the M.A. in English from the South's greatest university to prove it. And it is one of my pet peeves for anyone to write (or, worse, print) something like "Love, The Nelson's." It's just basic grammar, learned in third grade.

Wow. You'd think they never taught me not to belabor a point.

So, back to the story. When I typed the text for the invitation I made sure I had it right, and when the printers sent me the proof I made sure they had it right (that mistake has become so common, I have actually heard of it being changed wrongly by a printer!), and when I opened the box of finished invitations I looked to make sure it was right.

(Do you watch "Monk"? I'm reminding myself of a character on that show.)

It was correct. It said "The Blowings are having a baby girl!"

Now let me warn you...the following will only be amusing to the kind of English major/punctuation stickler who would give her children a copy of the book Eats Shoots and Leaves and expect them to find it as hilariously funny as she does...in short, to me.

And, thankfully, also to Laura (name un-changed to expose the guilty.)

I texted Laura, since she's the Head Hostess of the shower--she's the one who thought of having one; and I told her how insanely cute the invitations are. She registered approval. Then I remembered that she is also a fairly educated girl (though it must have happened in Memphis instead of at her...they call themselves a...university) with a finely-honed sense of humor (that's what I'll call it, at any rate, since it's similar to mine). The Good Doctor was reading the paper and watching Fox News and I figured I should stir up a little humor for myself and the September Baby who was sitting with me because, as I've said in the previous 52 paragraphs, children should be taught early to scorn those who use bad grammar...

Oh, didn't I say that?

So I sent Laura text saying, "And btw, it IS correct to say, 'The Blowing's are having a baby girl,' isn't it?"

And I waited...I imagined that I could feel the tension and horror emanating through the cell waves, picturing Laura's shock and confusion, the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, her thumbs, quivering, hovering over the keys, her mind racing, trying to decide how to word her reply to me and whether she wanted her name associated as a hostess for a shower with such a glaring mistake on the invitations.

Win and I were giggling hysterically; I told Kiper the joke; he rolled his eyes and rustled his paper, saying, "It's just S; no apostrophe." (I do love a man who knows punctuation rules.)

"Well, duh! I know! That's why this is so funny!"

There was also a tiny moment of doubt in my mind...what if she didn't realize that was wrong? Would we be able to remain friends? After a couple of tense moments, I sent her another text saying, "Hahahahahahahaaaaaaa!" so she would know that I had been joking. At the same time, she'd finally decided what to say, and I got a text from her saying, "Umm...I think it's Blowings." This was quickly followed by a very relieved phone call from her. We laughed and laughed.

Ahhh...good times.

Now that I look back, maybe the title of this post should be "Grammar-snob Humor...An Oxymoron?"

Get it? More grammar humor! Hahahaha!

(And now, after all this, I have to admit that I am having nightmares that there may still be an as-yet-unnoticed typo on this invitation. And it will be all my fault. And I will die of shame.)

The Normal

Lately everything I have read--from the RUF blog to C.S. Lewis to a Christian girly-book about time management to, well, Paul Miller's A Praying Life--seems to be pointing me in the same direction...prayer is for All The Time. I need to pray, to coin a phrase (haha), "without ceasing."

Not just in huge crisis situations: surgeries, expensive business deals, job hunting, change of school decisions. Not just in situations that I feel I can't handle by myself (or want resolved more quickly than I could do it myself...what arrogance!).

I am to seek God, to talk to God, in the normal, the everyday, the ordinary activities of my life: soccer practice, football practice, allergy shots, grocery shopping, coffee with friends, carpooling, Bible study, homework, housework, meal planning...

Googling my house, Part 2

Since I can't actually google my house...no matter how long I sit here and kill time on the computer...I have had to find a different solution. It's called Cleaning Out and Putting Things Where They Belong.

And I think I have found the best way to do that...hire my organized and organizing friend Sarah to help me! (Well, actually, Sarah was the driving force...I was the helper.)

I could kick myself for not taking a "Before" picture, but really the final result is beautiful on its own without needing any contrast.

Look! Look at this closet! It is gorgeous! Aside from the quality of the photograph, it could be on the cover of Martha Stewart Living! I want to decorate it with flowers. I want to sleep in there on a pallet on the floor. I want my whole house to be this pretty.

I leave these closet doors open all the time now and just feel the order and peace wafting out over me like a benediction when I walk by.

Now, I know about entropy--that slide into disorder--but I wish it were the other way around. I wish that the rest of my house would, by osmosis, become more orderly because of the good example of this closet. But instead, the rest of the house looks even more slatternly by comparison.

 Ick.

Ugh!

So, I really hope Sarah will keep coming back and nudge, cajole...or whip...the rest of the place up to the same level of beauty and order as what is now known as the Pretty Closet.

Sarah?

Please call me back...

Please?

I wish I could Google my house

The Good Doctor has been looking for our copy of The Screwtape Letters...not, of course, the easily found one that's included in a beautiful collection of C.S. Lewis' works that lies picturesquely on his bedside table. He wants the tiny, old, red, frayed, cloth-bound one that he read the first time he read the book.

I can't find it, either.

I also can't find my camera battery charger. In a whole tangle of camera battery chargers, I can't find the one particular charger that I need for one particular camera. Nor can I find the stickers that are supposed to go on the car tag of the new Suburban. Or the third big square pillow form that I got to go on the May Baby's bed. Sadly, this list could go on and on.

I am so spoiled by being able to walk over to the big Mac (Big Mac! Hahaha!) in the corner of my kitchen, whenever anyone has a question about anything, and type it into the blank space and find the answer. "What time do the Rebels play?" "What kind of insect is this?" "What are the words to this song?" "Do they have flamingos in Europe?" So, even when I need to find some physical thing in my house, my first instinct is to "Google it." I want to be able to type the name of a physical object into the search bar and, instead of having Google tell me where I can buy one, I want it to show me where it is in my house. And I'm not particular about how it would tell me: it could give a written description or a photo or an X on a floor plan of my house. I just wish I could Google my house.

Too bad I can't.

(Yeah, I was going to take a picture of the book for this post but, as per the inspiration for writing it, I can't find the book. So then I was going to take a picture of the computer, but my camera battery is dead. And I can't find its charger. If I could show you a photo of my desk, you'd be surprised that I can find the keyboard.)

Books

I copied this photo


from The Pioneer Woman's blog. I don't know where she got it, but she showed it under a post called "Stuff I Like" and since I like it, too, I'm putting it here. Isn't it funny, though, the difference in perception? I've actually been thinking about that lately and started another post that I was thinking of calling, strangely, "Violinists and Fleas"...okay, right, back to my point.

PW likes the look of this room because of the white couch and the shelves. I, on the other hand like...no, I LOVE...the stacks of big books used as a coffee table. And the red print on the pillows. But mainly the books.

With hope in our hearts and wings on our heels...

I ordered the DVD of Chariots of Fire last week; I thought it might be interesting to the September Baby since he is starting to run cross country track with the PCS team. I remember feeling inspired to sign up for track when I first saw it...that didn't stick. But, honestly, I was just looking for an excuse to buy the movie.

I realized in reading the cover, that I was the same age as Win is now when I first saw it. Good grief. It really doesn't seem that long ago...1981. I wonder if it will impress him as it did me. I can still recite parts of the movie along with the actors. And, like it did me, the music has already made an impression on the February Baby, and when he's doing homework asks to have the soundtrack playing on iTunes.

(I can't help but muse a moment on the difference in the ease of watching this movie now...a few clicks of the mouse on Amazon.com...as compared to, gulp, almost 30 years ago. We had to drive or, in my case, be driven to Jackson to see it. And that happened more than once, if my memory serves. Then when it finally came out on video, friends of ours borrowed an extra VCR in order to copy it...hmmm...I think that really might have been illegal. Ooops. Surely the statute of limitations has run out on that crime by now, so I won't feel bad about ratting them out here, on this my unvisited blog.)

I've not had the chance to really sit and watch the whole movie...I've listened, awash in nostalgia and that C.S. Lewis type of joy, while The Three watch it in the car. But I look forward to the time when I can. And in watching the boys play their sports...whether track, soccer, or football...I pray that they will "feel God's pleasure when they run."

This week

It's been a crazy week...having a day off on Monday was wonderful, but then it seemed that five days worth of "stuff" was being crammed into a four-day week! Track, football, homework, a birthday party...you know, all the stuff. And then one by one the Three started getting sick, so we added in doctor and pharmacy visits and make up work. Crazy.

But it all doesn't seem as stress-worthy as it would have before this past Tuesday. Tuesday afternoon we found out that the 21-year-old daughter of friends died Monday night. Now I can remember that it is a privilege to be able to drive the Three all over the place, to read with them, to look over their homework, to pick up their medicine, to make their sandwiches.

And today is September 11. Eight years ago, thousands of people learned of the death of family members and friends. My babies were close under my wing, making the trip back to Hattiesburg from Yazoo. Now they're old enough to go to school and be away from me all day; soon they'll be gone longer, weeks at a time; soon they'll be 21.

And I wonder...am I teaching them what they need to know? Am I pointing them to God? Am I being a "joyous mother of children"?

God help me to be so.

The Season Begins...

The Good Doctor has a meeting on Thursday nights and so doesn't get home until 7:00 or so. Tonight when he got home, the Three had already eaten supper and done their homework. Two were upstairs playing Halo and the September Baby was watching a James Bond movie (Goldeneye with Pierce Brosnan), resting his brain from memorizing the squares of 1 to 30.

Kiper walked into the family room and said, "Hey, Win, there's a football game on. Will you pause the movie?"

"For how long?" Win asked.

"Until January," was the answer.

Number 71

 

This is the February Baby. He is in fifth grade. At PCS, fifth grade is the year they begin learning the Westminster Shorter Catechism. The first question is "What is the chief end of man?" The answer is this: "Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever."

I know it's early days yet, the season is only a month old; but I think, at least in this stage of his life, this boy was made to glorify and enjoy God by playing football. I mean...look at him!

And he is loving it. And he is pretty good at it.
And I'm so thankful. And I pray that God is bringing Thomas' motivation for playing into line with His own motivation for creating Thomas...and football... 

to glorify Him.

(I don't know if this is only a Nelson thing, but I do know it's not very gracious, but for some reason, victories over the papists are very, very satisfying. Tonight the fifth grade Bobcats beat the Sacred Heart team. )

And besides...

A back to school story for the first of September.

The May Baby is going to a new school this year and repeating second grade. We were completely angst-ridden over this decision and ended up springing it on her about a week before school started. In our defense, I must point out that it would have been a disaster to inform her of the pending change in her life before we'd made a final decision ourselves. And it took a while for us to make a decision.

She misses her friends at PCS dreadfully and for the first couple of weeks that's all she could talk about, even though by all reports, she seemed to be behaving well and doing her work just fine at her new school. Then last Monday, when I picked her up from school, she got in the car and said to me, "My day was great!" I was so thankful! So relieved! So happy! I quickly began texting Kiper and all our parents as I asked her what had made her day great. They'd done art; they'd made patterns; they'd gone to the Treasure Chest. Great!

The next morning, I walked her upstairs as usual to the school and the director was in the common area. Ella walked on to her class room and I exchanged a few pleasantries with the director. Before I turned away to go back downstairs, she said, "Can I talk to you for just a minute?"

Yikes!

But, it's okay, I reminded myself, Ella had had a great day yesterday.

Mrs. H led me into the little computer room off the office area and asked earnestly, "Did Ella tell you what happened yesterday?"

My heart began to sink. "What could it be?" I thought. "But, wait, it can't be anything awful; she had a 'great' day!"

So, I responded, "Um, she said she had a great day yesterday."

"Well," Mrs. H said, "Betty Lou got kicked in the face...and it was Ella."

If I hadn't been in a school full of innocent little ears, I would have cursed on the spot. In point of fact, I am not completely confident that the words, "You have gotta be sh!++!ng me!" did not escape my lips. I hope not. But I assure you that's what I was thinking.

So, the story unfolded. Betty Lou accused Ella of kicking her (in the FACE!) but as Mrs. H delved deeper into the events, it transpired that Betty Lou, having an impulsive moment, was smacking Ella repeatedly in the arm with her snack bag. Ella asked her to stop, but the child did not, so Ella kicked her. The whole incident was cleared up, turned into a Bible Story, hugs all round, and things were fine, but Mrs. H (rightly) thought I should be informed.

I refrained from pointing out that the kid was obviously begging for it, but thanked her for handling it so wisely, apologized for my child, and laughingly mentioned that I had to reckon it progress in the right direction, considering the fact that Ella had actually asked the child to stop hitting before she kicked her.

I left the school trying to decide whether to send a follow up text to our families recanting my praise from the previous afternoon, but I was too demoralized even to talk about it. My baby girl...a violent scofflaw! (Even though, as I said, the child was clearly demanding to be kicked.)

I feel that I showed great restraint in not bringing it up as soon as Ella got in the car when I picked her up that afternoon. I waited until we got home and I could put my arm around her and ask her about it. She immediately began defending herself: "We were standing on steps and I wasn't trying to kick her. I was just...I was stomping my foot...and it slipped!"

"Now, I know that she was annoying you and wouldn't stop even when you asked her to," I said. "But are you sure? You didn't mean to kick her?"

"Yes! And besides..." said the May Baby as she pointed at a spot near her hairline on the left side of her forehead and drew her finger diagonally down across the bridge of her nose and under her right eye, "...today you couldn't even see the mark..."

Sounds Familiar

"The moment I picked up that box I could tell by the pricking in my fingers that I held some great secret in my hands. She gave it me and made me promise that as soon as she was dead I would burn it, unopened, with certain ceremonies. That promise I did not keep."

"Well, then, it was jolly rotten of you, " said Digory.

"Rotten?" said Uncle Andrew with a puzzled look. "Oh, I see. You mean that little boys ought to keep their promises. Very true: most right and proper, I'm sure, and I'm very glad you have been taught to do it. But of course you must understand that rules of that sort, however excellent they may be for little boys--and servants--and women--and even people in general, can't possibly be expected to apply to profound students and great thinkers and sages. No, Digory. Men like me, who possess hidden wisdom, are freed from common rules just as we are cut off from common pleasures. Ours, my boy, is a high and lonely destiny."

As he said this he sighed and looked so grave and noble and mysterious that for a second Digory really thought he was saying something rather fine. But then he remembered the ugly look he had seen on his Uncles' face the moment before Polly had vanished: and all at once he saw through Uncle Andrew's grand words. "All it means," he said to himself, "is that he thinks he can do anything he likes to get anything he wants."

-From The Magician's Nephew, by C.S. Lewis

Win, almost 12

Win had to write an autobiographical poem for 6th grade English. They were given a very detailed form (name, four adjectives, siblings, lover of..., who feels..., etc.) This is what he wrote about himself. I think it captures his essence very well.

Win

Brown-haired, bespectacled, bright, bon vivant

Sibling of Thomas and Ella

Lover of random trivia and soccer

Who feels like he needs an inhaler puff

Who needs more time to do homework

Who gives all he can to be a good runner

Who fears Obama and Biden

Who would like to see Eli Manning

Resident of Hattiesburg

Nelson

Soccer...one of his loves.

New at this

I do love Facebook! Some (one husband in particular) might say I love it too much. But, as much as I enjoy it, I am always hesitant to post status updates...the ones I read are either too personal, too...ahem...self-affirming (to put it nicely), too...something that I don't want to be. However, with my (now ancient) English training and my increasing desire to write, I thought that having a blog might be the answer to my dilemma--wanting the advantages of narcissism but none of the condemnation. The experts say, "Write what you know," and what do I know better than the details of my daily life and the thoughts that constantly swirl in my brain, jostling for utterance? I decided that by having a blog, I can share what I'm thinking, but since it won't pop up on your FB news feed, I don't have to feel as if I'm thrusting my half-formed opinions or my children's adorable antics upon your notice.

So, here we are.

Testing.

Laura Lee