Uganda or bust

The Good Doctor is not a reader. At least not by my definition of a reader: one who chooses to read for pleasure. So imagine my surprise when he read a book and recommended it to me. And then wanted to discuss it. And it wasn't a textbook. Or something pastor-ish or pastor-y or whatever you'd call the books that line his office shelves.

But let me back up. Mariana was given a book entitled, Kisses From Katie, and told that the passion of the young author reminded the giver of Mariana. Mariana was hooked and finished the book in a day. She recommended it to me which is usually the way it goes, or vice versa. Since the Good Doctor can't, or won't, have discussions about books, my daughter fills that role for me. But before I had time to pick it up, the Good Doctor had snatched it and taken it from the house. I had to call him to find out what had happened to the book; so shocked was I that he would actually be reading it, a biography no less. Since he insisted on taking it to work with him, and leaving it there at night, I had to suffer through several days before given the opportunity to partake of this book "everyone" was talking about.

Jedd Medefind, president of the Christian Alliance for Orphans (I honestly don't know who he is but anyone who has a name that rhymes is pretty amazing to me), says of this book: “A breathtaking journey into the sorrow and beauty of abandon to Jesus Christ. Katie Davis is young, still learning daily how best to serve. Yet her reckless, Peter-like love calls the bluff of a Christianity that refers to Jesus as ‘Lord’ with only partial intent of doing what He says. This is not a book to read if you wish for your comfort, convenience, and control to remain undisturbed.”

I couldn't have said it better myself.

After a short mission trip to Uganda during her senior year of high school, Katie Davis knew she was called to the people of this country. She left for Uganda for a longer term just after she graduated from high school. It didn't take her long to find more people and more projects that God was calling her to serve. Within a few short years she took in 14 children, 13 of which she is in the process of adopting. She has started a ministry that provides food and schooling to the children where she lives. And she's still there.

I want to be like Katie. I want my family to be like her; to have a heart of limitless love, to have a faith of limitless abandon, and to have a trust with limitless stepping out of the boat. Individually, each one of us is given this life to serve God. Together, as a family, we can reach the needs of many.

In her book, Katie says it well, “People are people. They all need food and water and medicine, but mostly they need love and truth and Jesus. I can do that. We can do that. We can give people food, water, medicine, love, truth, and Jesus. The same God created all of us for a purpose, which is to serve Him and to love and care for His people.”

And the Good Doctor actually liked this book; he took me on a date so we could talk about it. I wonder why, before we were married, he wasn't so into my stories about adopting 20 special needs kids? But this book changed something inside of him. And maybe he knows something I don't know because his Facebook post yesterday (yes, HIS, Facebook post), said, "One husband and 8 little and not-so-little children are so blessed to celebrate the birthday of their mommy today." Wait, did he say "8"? I know he's the math brains of the family, but last time I counted, there were 7 little and not-so-little children. I thought maybe he slipped, like Hope, and told me what he'd gotten me for my birthday. But I'm still waiting for Child #8. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I'm moving to Uganda and adopting 13 kids. Who's with me?

I hear they don't have snow for Halloween.

Happy Birthday!

Dear Isaac,

You couldn't have given me a better birthday gift (I'm not saying that new Wal-mart PJs and a candle aren't great, but there's absolutely no comparison here) than to be baptized on my birthday.

Several years ago you and I were talking about Easter and you shared a desire to ask Jesus into your heart. It's clear that you desire to follow Him. You have your Father's (and your father's) love for people, for closeness, and the ability to look past faults. You forgive and forget. You are a helper. Your faith reflects an innocence and childlikeness that I cherish. I love you very much but there is One who loves you much more than I ever can. He made you and He has a plan for you. I can't wait to see how He's going to shine His light through you today, tomorrow, and in the future.

So Happy Symbol of Rebirth Day to you and Happy Birthday to Me!


See Isaac's baptism video here:
http://www.youtube.com/user/JKmcbic?feature=mhw4#p/u/6/7RTGvPYOd3s

Soup's on!

I do not make lunch for my family. I know, I'm a terrible mother. You can say it. It won't surprise or concern me. I get rolled eyes at least once a week from someone trying to nonverbally tell me just that.

But I know that someday they are going to thank me for not providing this service. When on your own for the first time, who wants to have to pick up the phone to call Mom and ask her how to make macaroni and cheese, or how to fry a burger? Or even to heat up a can of soup?

My refusal to make lunch not only keeps the leftovers from piling up, and me from spending all my time in the kitchen, it also forces our children to learn to make their own food. They can choose to be boring and simple and make a sandwich or they can go all out and make something more complicated. And I love to see them working together and cooking for each other.

So when one of the younger children wanted to learn how to make soup out of a can, I was thrilled. Hey, we all have to start somewhere, right? For sake of anonymity, I'll choose an ambiguous name for this child. Let's go with Lee. And when a pronoun is needed, let's just use the male form. It's Biblical.

Anyway, Lee brought me the can of soup and promptly tore off the pop tab. Uh-oh, not off to a very good start but that's okay; that happens. What do you think you can do about this, Lee?

I just turned my back for a second, honestly, when the next thing I knew, Lee was wielding a very large knife and was about to try ramming it through the top of the soup can. Let's put the knife back, dear.

Once Lee successfully, and safely removed the top of the soup can, I suggested that he try reading the directions. You would think that after years of telling people how to make a can of soup, the food company would know how and in what order to write the directions. Why, oh why, did they start with "Preparation: Promptly refrigerate any unused portion in a separate container"? Lee was busy looking for a separate container when I informed him that he did not need to promptly refrigerate anything YET because he did not have any unused portions at this time. Oh.

Onto the next step: "Empty soup into pan." No problems there; phew!

"Slowly stir in one can of water." Lee got one can of water, quickly poured it into the pan and then v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y stirred his pan of soup. I gave him an "A" for that step. Hey, he DID follow the directions; he probably shouldn't be blamed for faulty language in the directions.

At this point I'm not sure what happened but Lee skipped over the "Heat; stirring often," section and went right to:

"Microwave: Empty contents of can into a microwave-save bowl." This he did and at this point I checked out for a moment. I assumed (I know, never assume) that Lee had decided to microwave instead of heating on the stove. I thought we were home free. I never would have guessed what was really going on in Lee's head until I heard him say, "Add one can of water. Hey, one more can of water won't fit in here with the can of soup and the first can of water." Huh? Ohhhhhhhhh. Wait a minute. Let's back up. Lee, dear, you are supposed to choose either the stove top directions OR the microwave directions, but you aren't supposed to do them BOTH.

The lightbulb came on right then and we had a nice mother-child moment as Lee poured everything back into the pan and proudly (and slowly) stirred his soup over the burner. I smiled as I proudly (and slowly) envisioned Lee out on his own in the real world, successfully (and slowly) stirring his very own pot of soup over his very own stove.

Dreams can come true, right?

People are more...

People are more important than things.

People are more important than things.

People are more important than things.

This is my mantra of the day. I believe it; I really do. People are more important than things.

Sometimes I just need a reminder. Occasionally I get these twinges of conviction telling me that I have too much stuff. Or that my kids have too much stuff. So a reminder is good.

People are more important than things.

Other times I'm convicted that I'm too sentimental and get too attached to things. Things that were gifts from special people. Or handed down for generations. Or all of the above and hand carried from house-to-house as we moved around. Then something gets broken and I get all upset and ...

People are more important than things.

People are more important than things.

See, I can say it with conviction! People are more . . . *sigh*

New territory

10 Clues That Tell You It's Homecoming at the High School

You just grew another gray hair.

Your son asks your daughter to go tie shopping with him.

Your son not only cleans, but vacuums, his car.

You are told that due to PSATs and a Cross Country meet on the same day as homecoming, you will need to go to X Flower Shop on X Street to pick up something that your son has previously ordered.

You find that your son has excellent taste in corsage selection.

Because you don't know how to tie a tie, your son goes to youtube for a tutorial.

Your eldest's younger siblings suddenly become very interested in his social life and want to know the meaning of words like corsage and boutonniere. They also want to know why he doesn't find their suggestion of McDonald's to be a good choice for his pre-homecoming meal.

Your son is extremely nervous.

You have a chat with your son, reminding him that he is taking out someone's prized possession and that someday she will be someone else's prized possession; treat her as such.

You find yourself at the home of a wonderful family, taking pictures of their beautiful (inside and out) daughter and your super-extraordinary (inside and out) son.

Yup, must be homecoming.

And yes, as always, I had my son's permission before writing this post.

King Kat

Happy Birthday to our King Kat. So glad you got to celebrate in style.

The traditional breakfast birthday donut didn't burn down before you could eat it. And you were even half awake for it.


Your family was on TV on your birthday. And you made quite a nice article in the newspaper.


You got what you wanted for your birthday. And you've been serenading us ever since.


You even got to celebrate with several dozen girls. And they had all sorts of gifts for you.




King Kat, proud of you as always. And keep on entertaining.

Taxi!

I always thought that it was a bit cliche to hear mothers calling themselves taxi drivers. I thought, "Yeah, so you spend a lot of time in the car. What did you think life was going to be like?" Kind of like those new mothers who are always complaining on Facebook about the fact that their babies cry and have fussy days and don't sleep through the night. Did they really think they were going to be that exceptional in their parenting that they could avoid all that typical newborn business?

But there are some days, when I spend most of my day driving hither and yon, that I, too (cliche or not) am ready to put the taxi sign and a phone number on my car. I mean, if I'm going to be driving all day, I might as well earn some money doing it, don't you think? There are always plenty of extra seats in the van so it wouldn't be a space issue. In fact, I'm considering installing a bathroom in the rear of the van so that we wouldn't even have to make pit stops. That should be a drawing card when trying to turn this into a business.

Take tomorrow for example. Within a 3 hour period, I will have traveled from Mechanicsburg to Harrisburg, back to Mechanicsburg, back to Harrisburg, to Lemoyne, back to Harrisburg, back to Lemoyne, then home to Mechanicsburg. All so the Good Doctor can stay home and watch himself on the telly. Wouldn't it make sense to earn some money from all of this? I could easily pick up clients (are they called clients?) while I'm out and about and drop them where they need to go.

The main advantage to taxiing, actually the only advantage to playing taxi driver, is that I get a lot of reading in. When I'm the stay-at-home parent, I find plenty of necessary things to do, including but not limited to, laundry, vacuuming, general cleaning and picking up, supper preparation, and sibling reconciliation. In the van I can take a book on tape for the trip and I can bring a good old-fashioned book along for the times I'm told to park and wait.

This morning I started a book that my friend, Kym, had recommended to me many moons ago. It took me this long not because I didn't trust her opinion but because my to-read list was too-long and my to-do list was too-immediate. By the end of my taxiing this evening, I find myself with a mere 40 pages left of the almost 200 page book. That's what one extra-long dental appointment and a rainy in-the-dark soccer practice will do for the book-lover's soul.

Obviously I had plenty of wait time today to make headway in my book. But it wasn't just the time factor; I love this little book. I knew I'd like it since I love biographies. A friend once told me that she hates biographies as she has enough adventure in her life. Conversely, then, one must conclude that I have no adventure in my life. None. Nada. Nil.

But apparently Fred Rogers did because one of his friends, Tim Madigan, wrote this delightful story about him. Prior to reading this book, I would have summed up Fred Rogers' life with this statement, "He was a TV personality who wore a cardigan, changed his shoes while he sang to children, liked puppets, and knew the difference between real life and make-believe." 150 pages later I see things much differently. Thanks to Kym and her suggestion to read I'm Proud of You: My Friendship with Fred Rogers, I have been informed, entertained, and challenged. I want to encourage more, love more, forgive more, and impact more. I want to follow the example of Fred Rogers.

Don't worry. I haven't given up Tim Hawkins for Fred Rogers. I may want to be more LIKE Mr. Rogers, but I still want to BE Tim Hawkins when I grow up.