September 30: Write 31 Days Starts Tomorrow

Tomorrow starts the Write 31 Days Challenge, which I signed up to participate in for the first time this year. Discipline to write, which I often lack, is a good thing. It will be a hard thing, too.

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is the concept of Life that is Truly Life, so I will be writing about that for the month. I have a bit more of a social justice and counter-cultural bent then I would've thought even a few years ago, so it will be interesting to see where the journey leads.

If you're a fellow blogger and would like to link up and do the challenge yourself, you can sign up here. If you're a reader or just passing through, feel free to grab a chair and a cup of coffee and follow along for the month.

See you tomorrow with some new content!

September 29

September 27

September 26

Top two photos are courtesy of the 2 year old. She captured the still life on the end table well, which, along with junk, contains necessities like flash cards & hot sauce. 

September 25

September 24: For When You're Running on Empty

Life has a steady ebb and flow in which there is a constant emptying and a continual need to fill up.

Water evaporates from puddles, lakes and neighborhood mosquito-breeders, and once the clouds are heavy, dark and grey, it falls back to earth again.

The gas light comes on in the car, begging for an influx of petroleum before it will go a mile further.

Dishes are unloaded, and, especially with a large family, dirty ones are always at the ready to be loaded in the dishwasher. And repeat.

Early morning coffee cups are sucked dry, needing refilled before 9am if there's to be a prayer of making in through the long day ahead with littles, who sleep about as long as they are tall.

Leaves begin to transform brilliantly this time of year, reaching their glorious potential just before withering and descending to autumn's carpet below. The barrenness of winter makes room for new life come spring.

Bank accounts dwindle as payday approaches, clean clothes are depleted until laundry day arrives, and it never fails that all the toys get dumped out of the bin before any get picked up again.

I watched a video about animal life in the African desert. About the lizards that patrol the hot desert sand in search of beetles to eat in order to survive another day. The beetles are not only their food source but their daily water intake, as well. In a climate where water is scarce, any source of water will have to due. It's a matter of life and death.

Once a year, there is a torrential downpour of a few sacred inches. The water would fall on the nearby mountains and run down the sides in streams, finally emptying out into the river basin below. Animals would flock by the dozens to sip the precious, life-giving liquid before it disappeared into the dry, cracked ground, ashy and peeling with a thirst of it's own. The window of time was only a couple days, and after that, besides some evidence of erosion, the basin returned to it's barren, desolate form.

Lately I find myself empty. Stressed, tired, cracked and worn. I realized today, that from the time the kids get home from school to the time I put them to bed, I'm stressed. Somewhat with their behavior. They seem to be extra crazy, which is merely a fallout from sitting and listening and behaving all day.  So I feel like, in a way, I'm corralling a herd of ornery elephants that have no desire to behave in a civilized manner, let alone sit down, again, and complete homework.

And then there's the homework part itself, which for some is very easy and speedy, and for others, like a bad visit to the dentist, complete with Novocaine, pliers, drills and the like. I hate the dentist, so I get that.

But the homework. At the mention of it, I begin to grow tense because I know the evening of teeth pulling that lies ahead. And I dread even the thought of it. I hate the pile, about a half-inch thick, of avoided work that hitched a ride home to be completed this weekend.

It's hard because he struggles. Because he's behind. Because he hates it, probably more then I do. He hates it and doesn't understand it and is lacking the motivation to even try. He doesn't seem to realize that not doing it won't make it go away. Not learning the material will not make the next lesson easier. And so we struggle together, Ben mostly these days, pulling teeth until well after bedtime.

Emptying that folder one porcelain piece at a time. One assignment at a time. One spelling word, one math problem, one hair on our head at a time. Ben pulls them out of his beard, because, well, he's bald.

Emptying the "homework" side and filling the "return to school" side. Emptying patience and filling up frustration. Emptying grace and welling with stress.

And I also realized today, you can't fill a gas tank with water and expect the car to run. You can't fill a basin in the dessert with oil and expect the animals to survive. You can't empty a heart of all that is good--grace, patience, love--and replace it with frustration and stress. The heart won't run. The mind will deteriorate and shut down.

When I felt it today, the stress, bubbling to the surface once again at the thought of spending our long weekend hunched over the kitchen table, elbow deep in make-up work and obstinate attitudes and frustration, I raised my head, clenched my teeth, and said "STOP."

Just stop.

Stress was not going to fill the space any longer. Fear would no longer be in control. I could feel myself relax almost immediately at the thought of not needing to stress out.

Stress is not the boss of me. Imagine that.

I think with the school thing in particular, I feel responsible to a degree. I feel the need to fix it, to make it better. Now granted, I need to do my part as a parent and be an adult and such, but the other stuff is out of my control.

I can't control his attitude or willingness to work.

I can't make him miraculously understand the things that are so confusing to him.

I can't catch him up to the rest of his class overnight.

I can't be there at school when he's refusing to do his work, participate in reading, or try on his test.

I just can't.

All those things empty me. Because I want it to be better. I want him to no longer struggle, to be confident, to have the focus and will to work. I want our evenings to be different. But stress doesn't have to fill the emptiness.

The reality is, the future is largely out of my control. Maybe he won't finish all his makeup work and lose points. Maybe this weekend will be a horrible schoolwork experience. Maybe not. Maybe he won't pass the reading exam this year. Maybe he will fail this grade. Maybe he will have to start over again next year, maybe even in a different school. I don't know.

What I do know is that stress only adds to the grief, and there is a God who is so much bigger then all of it. And I can choose to rest in Him, knowing that whatever happens, though it may not be ideal, it won't be the end of the world. It won't be anything beyond the realm of redemption and renewal. I can remember that hope exists in Jesus, and I happen to know Him. I can let go and just rest, filling up to the brim with Water that Lives from a well that does not run dry, even in the most parched deserts of life.

If you find yourselves empty today, friends, only One thing will truly fill the depth of your soul. Rest in Him tonight.


{Thoughts after reading Matthew 14, Jesus Walks on Water}

September 23

September 22

September 21

On that day you stood there and didn’t do anything.

...You stood there and watched.

You were as bad as they were.

You shouldn’t have gloated over your brother

when he was down-and-out.

...You shouldn’t have talked so big

when everything was so bad.

You shouldn’t have taken advantage of my people

when their lives had fallen apart.

You of all people should not have been amused

by their troubles, their wrecked nation.

You shouldn’t have taken the shirt off their back

when they were knocked flat, defenseless.

And you shouldn’t have stood waiting at the outskirts

and cut off refugees,

And traitorously turned in helpless survivors

who had lost everything.

God’s Judgment Day is near

for all the godless nations.

As you have done, it will be done to you.

What you did will boomerang back

and hit your own head.

Obadiah 1:11-15

September 19/20: Girls Weekend in Columbus

Short North // Happy Greek // Art galleries // sunshine // coffee

Country Living Fair // Panera brunch // French fries // all the crafty things // fun finds // Aladdins // girl time

September 18

I finally saw her again and gave her the present for the birthday party we missed. I remembered to get her address this time, so hopefully we will connect again soon!

September 17

September 16: Greetings from Cleveland

While driving Ben to and from work this week, we've been watching this Cleveland mural on a side of a building take form. We see him out working first thing in the morning as we cruise past the market, and by the time we are back in the evening, he has another section completed. 

I finally stopped and talked to him today, because I've realized that I like asking strangers random questions. His name is Victor, and he and his wife are originally from New York. They've been traveling the country in their RV for the past 5 to 6 years, stopping in various cities along the way to paint "Greetings from ________" murals using spray paint. Cleveland is their 11th stop, and they're headed to Toledo next. 

That would be such an interesting life. Just imagine all the things they've seen and people they've met along the way in six years. Has anyone seen a mural of his in another city? 

The last time I drove by it looked like he was almost finished, so I'll get another picture when it's done!

September 15: First Day of Preschool

Today was Toby's first day of preschool...at our kitchen table.

Yep, we are home-preschooling this year. He couldn't have been better prepared--he had his book, his crayons, his snack, and his coffee. The perks of being at home. :)

He also had an amazingly eager attitude, which was wonderful! I was planning on having him complete about 5 pages, and he pressed on willingly for 21 pages instead. He had been asking to start all morning, and I think he loved it. :)

Much to my utter and complete surprise, I must say that I enjoyed it, too. Yet another statement I never imagined would emerge from my mouth. 

Very proud of that little man.

September 14: 19 Things About Me {Including a Big Reveal!}

19. The number of weeks along I am in my FIFTH (and unexpected) pregnancy! Yikes. For some of you, that's old news, and for others, surprise! I'm expecting! Again. So just when I thought it was almost over, we are actually starting over instead.

18. How old I was when my husband and I started dating for the first time. We are high school sweethearts and have only ever dated each other, which I know is an uncommon story.

17. The age I finally got my drivers license. I wasn't in a hurry for some reason. I also had to get my little sister out of bed on the day of my driving exam because I didn't know how to get to the license bureau. Sad, I know. I will never hear the end of that one.

16. The age I met my husband, when we were in youth group together. My first memory of him was when he stood up in front of everyone to share a story about how the Lord uniquely met him in a time of need. He was feeling down and for some reason and found himself sitting outside on a couch, which was awaiting garbage day on the curb. A woman walking by saw him sitting there, looking glum, and she told him that God loved him and had a plan for his life, and that everything was going to be okay. I'll never forget that story. That's the first time I noticed him.

15. The year I decided I no longer wanted to be an FBI agent. In elementary school, I fancied myself a spy at home and school, and every career day that I can remember in middle school, I attended the session with the FBI guy. I had listening devices and fingerprint kits and magnifying glasses and microscopes. I'm sure all the other kids thought I was really weird.

14. The date in May of the last moms group before summer, where in a random stroke of luck, I won a diaper truck gift set. I had just finished telling my mom how I never win. There are 400 other women to compete with each year, so the odds are not great. But I won a bunch of diapers. Did I need it? No, but I had a baby shower in the near future and am a fan of re-gifting. Then I found out two weeks later I was pregnant. The diaper truck is in my closet.

13. Hundred and 50 square feet. The size of our house, which will need to work for our soon-to-be family of 7. My husband thinks that another baby will make things too cramped. I think we just need less crap. I'm not sure which side God has fallen on yet, but I think he will pick mine.

12. The number of hours I could presently sleep each night if I wanted to, in theory. I should take advantage of this while I can. I didn't think I'd be saying that again...

11. The number of years we've been married. When I thought about our future together early on, I never would've imagined we'd have five kids and live in the inner city.

10. The number of rooms we have in our house, which includes 3 bathrooms. I have a hard enough time keeping them clean on a weekly basis, and I don't think I want more space to hold more things that I will have to dust and clean. Housekeeping is not my favorite; just ask my husband.

9. The age our oldest will be when the baby is born.

8. The number of articles I usually have to read about whatever current health phenomenon I'm hyperventilating about before I start to feel better. This is usually all before I stop to pray, which should be the first thing I do.

7. The number of days each week I'm a crappy Christian, if you hadn't already gathered that from #8. Thankfully all is grace and He loves me anyways.

6. The number of children my mother thinks we should have. Good thing I can stand up to peer pressure. Just say no to drugs, unless it's a tiny little miracle pill that prevents any future offspring.

5. The number of children we will be the proud parents of come next February. Lord have mercy and send reinforcements. And food.

4. The number of children we currently have, and the number that are very excited about the arrival of their surprise sibling.

3. What the age gap between the last two kids will be.

2. The number of babies I really hoped were not in there, because I think that would've just about put me over the edge. I did have a joke lined up just in case, though--something about there being a buy one get one free special and we figured, what the heck...

1. The number of babies I am carrying, praise the Lord. And we found out today that it's a...

Baby Boy Roberts, due February 5, 2015.

19 things about you? Anyone?

September 13

I know it's a little anti-climactic, but we didn't make it to that birthday party on Saturday after all... 

We had another party that day & got home later then I thought. By the time we went to find "the stranger's birthday party," as my lovely children called it, we were stuck in a downpour. I wasn't exactly sure what house it was, and it didn't seem like running from door to door in the rain, an hour late, was a good idea. 

I tried again today in the sunshine, knocked on several doors, and not a soul answered any of them. So we will try again soon. 

September 12

Happy birthday, Sadie!

September 10: To the Mom Beating Her Son on the Side of the Road

The little stem that gets stuck on grapes is called a "pip," according to Eva.

The day didn't work out at all how I thought it would. But if it had, I wouldn't have seen you.

I woke up with grand plans of showering, once I got the big kids off to school, and taking my little ones to the first moms group of the season. You know, the glorious place where I would get to eat a lovely breakfast and sip my hot coffee in peace and enjoy a couple kid-free hours with other adults. I'd get home in time to feed the kids a quick lunch and lay them down for a nap. Pretty much a perfect day, if you ask me.

Alas, long Wednesdays at school followed by an evening at church, as fun as it is, tends to strangle the life out of Thursday mornings. Everyone wakes up tired and crabby.

I tried everything--I promised treats from the moms group, mac and cheese for lunch when we got home, even a trip to Wendy's for Frostys if they willingly went to their class at church so I could go to mine.

Please, for the love of God, take the Frosty deal. Take advantage of my desperateness. I'm begging you. 

But no.

They didn't want to go, no matter what I offered. In a passive-aggressive huff, I relented and walked back downstairs into a day that would now revolve around their preferences, muttering something about laying them both down for an early nap since they were so tired. The tears began to fall, and I quickly felt like a loser for the comment. They were going to take a nap anyways, but I had to go and make it into a consequence. Awesome.

I hugged them and told them it as okay. I wasn't mad at them. They really were too tired to hold it together in a foreign environment for several hours, and it looked like it was best to stay home after all. For them, and me.

I remembered that we still needed to drop Ben's phone off at work, because he'd forgotten it, and run to the bank, so I wiped away the rest of their tears and promised we'd come right back home. They piled in the car, still heaving a little from the guilt trip I gave them, and I pulled off the street and waited at the corner light.

That's when I heard you yelling.

I heard you before I saw you, even though my car windows were shut tight. I watched you turn the corner to walk by my car, still in your pajamas, hair tied up in a scarf and looking like you just got out of bed. I saw your son cowering in front of you, walking backwards with this hands above his head to protect himself. I saw you smack him on the head in rage every couple steps as you screamed at him at the top of your lungs. Just walloping him in stride.

"You think you can just run away out the house?? You think you can do that?"

The boys face was contorted in pain and fear as he inched back with every step you took forward. He didn't need to say anything because his eyes said it all--he was afraid, begging you with his gaze to make it stop.

And I just sat there in my car, mouth ajar, staring. It was like watching a train wreck. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. For a second I thought about grabbing the video recorder.

Someone should say something for that little boy. Someone should stop her.

But my mouth didn't move.

My face, however, began to flush with shame as the car behind me yelled out to her. She grabbed the boys arm and, looking at the driver, shouted, "this fool just think he can up and run out the house and go wherever he wants! No sir!"

The light turned green, and I followed the other cars as they moved on. In my rear view mirror, I could see yet another driver stopped to confront her, and my heart sank.

Why hadn't I said something to her?

I don't know what I would've said in the shock of it all, really. The first thing that came to my mind, and most likely what would've come out of my mouth in the moment was, "Lady, maybe he ran off to get the hell away from you! I don't blame him!"

I don't think that would've improved the situation at all, however. Perhaps it was for the best.

But was it?

We ran our errands and I kept an eye out for her on the way back home, but she was long gone. I couldn't stop thinking about that little boy. About how he desperately needed someone to speak for him, and I didn't. How nothing I was doing at the moment was more important then that--why hadn't I said something? Why hadn't I pulled over to offer some help? 

Clearly the woman, and the boy, needed help. I love the city because a lot of the time, the people who walk these streets wear their brokenness on their sleeve. Certainly, there are people hiding here just like anywhere else, or folks wouldn't be able to keep three girls locked up in their house for a decade without anyone noticing. But sometimes, like today, the mess just spills out all over the sidewalk for the world to see.

What would I say to her if I had another chance? Would I put on my social worker hat and confront from a place of authority, child protection, and anger management? Would I help her get connected to the right local services? It was past the time school had started, so I wondered if the boy had special needs of some sort, putting him at further risk of abuse. It was hard to tell for sure through his wincing expressions.

Would I just offer a listening ear, mom to mom? Extended a hand of grace? I know what it's like to have a child that you want to beat within an inch of his life at times, and by the great mercy of the Lord I have never followed through with that. But I know what it feels like to want to. I know how scary it is when the threads of self-control that are binding you, holding you back from horrible things, are breaking one by one, threatening to unleash the fury within. I know.

But beating someone into submission never solves anything, either. I know that, too.

In my heart I asked the Lord to forgive me and promised to speak next time. To say something. Anything.

We walked out the door to go to the park, and I saw the neighbor on her front porch with her new boyfriend's kids, brushing their blond hair. I say "new" boyfriend because she tends to replace them every few weeks or so, and this one appeared the day after her last boyfriend was dragged out of the house by the SWAT team. She's a poor judge of character, to say the least, and a recovering addict.

But I looked at the sweet little faces of those blond kids on the porch, and I thought, maybe they need someone to speak for them, too. I told her we were headed to the park down the road and asked if they'd like to join us. She said thanks and maybe they would in a little while. I made another comment about the beautiful day and walked on behind the kids on their bikes. She never did show up, but at least I said something this time.

There was a water truck doing something with the hydrants by the park, and the city worker flagged us across the street when the coast was clear. I waved to thank him, and the kids proceeded to enjoy a lovely morning at the park. God is good, for I did get to sit in peace with my hot cup of coffee after all. I sat on a bench in the shade in between watching them ride their bikes and pushing them in the bucket swings. Sunshine is healing to the soul--it's a reminder that all things work together for His glory.

We had been there over an hour when the kids finally said they were ready to go, just in time to get home for a quick lunch and naps. I reminded the kids to ride slowly down the hill so they wouldn't fly out into the road at the end, and that's when I looked up and saw you across the street.

Now you can't tell me, even for a hot second, that there is any such thing as coincidence. Not like this. No, the Lord desperately pursues our hearts, seeks us out, even in our most wretched state, and wants to make all the brokenness new. He makes beautiful things out of the dust, and he is the God of second chances. Because there you were, right in front of me. Again. In that moment, I knew God wanted to redeem my story and at the same time speak into yours.

At least I thought it was you, but I wasn't close enough to tell for sure yet. I thought I recognized the clothes, but you had your hair did now and no longer needed a scarf. I hurried the kids across the road, thanking the same city worker on my way. I tried to holler and get your attention, but the truck was too loud. You couldn't hear me.

Quickening my footsteps to reach you, I ended up leaving my littlest behind. She got stuck on the sloped sidewalk and started to cry, and I had to run back and help her up. Thankfully, my son rode on ahead, and you stepped aside for him to pass. Looking back, you saw me wave and apologize, and I was finally able to grab your attention.

"Excuse me! Could I ask you something?" I blurted out.

You turned around and said yes, with a smile.

"Were you walking down the road this morning with a little boy?" I asked.

"Yes, that was me," you replied.

"I was driving by and saw you guys. Is he okay?!?"

You said yes, he was okay. The kids had woken up late and missed the bus for school, and you didn't have enough money for bus fare to get them there yourself, so they had to stay home today. But your oldest son just took off and ran away. You said that wasn't like him, that he had never done anything like that before. And it turns out the little boy's not so little after all; he's twelve.

You went out looking but couldn't find him, and after checking the dollar store, they told you he had been in and may be down the street. When you finally saw him, you witnessed an older man trying to give him money. When the man heard you yelling, he looked startled and ran off, leaving you convinced your son just barely escaped a kidnapping attempt because you showed up in the knick of time.

And you were scared.

"That sounds terrifying," I replied.

I remember the day I thought I lost the two-year-old. How we looked everywhere in the house and the yard outside and couldn't find her. How we ran all over calling her name, down the street, the kids riding their bikes around the block, shouting. How the tweaker next door said he saw her walking down the street with two older boys, but neither she nor any boys could be found.

My mind immediately went to the worst possible scenario, because there was no way her little legs could've gotten her that far away that quickly. It had only been a couple minutes since I saw her last. I know the panic and terror in the pit of your stomach when someone precious, someone of irreplaceable worth, has been lost. The fear, the helplessness, the guilt for looking away for seconds. And just as I picked up the phone to make that terrible call to my husband and then the police, the call you pray to God you never have to make, I turned around to see her standing there in front of me, unharmed.

She had been hiding in the garage.

I got down on my knees and hugged her, squeezed her tighter then ever before. Then I told her how important it was to answer mom when I called, how scared I had been. How precious she was. She never actually left the yard, but the panic was real. And although she was home and safe, it took me the rest of the night to calm the tightly wound nerves inside.

"So I whooped him," she continued. "You better believe it. Yes ma'am, I did."

Because you were so scared.

I get it. I really do. It doesn't justify it or make it right, but I understand. There are other Ariel Castro's wandering around this city, and it's just not safe. Fear makes us behave in ways we would never expect, and in ways we may always regret.

I asked her if she needed anything, and after pointing out my house down the road, I found myself offering her kids a ride to school if she ever needed it in the future. She thanked me and we talked about our kids for a while. She has three of her own, and she bent down to tell my daughter how beautiful she was.

I asked if I could pray for her before she went on her way. She shrugged and said, "sure!"

So I did. I prayed for this woman who had shocked me more then I've been shocked in a long time. Because underneath the brokenness, hurt and pain, she's a human being. She's a mom who's not much different then me, as it turns out. A mom who was scared of losing her son to the evil that lurks in this city.

Under all the gunk, she's a person made in the image of the Living God.

She smiled and thanked me. I extended a hand as I introduced myself.

"You know," she said, "my youngest son, about his age (pointing to my son), is having a birthday party this Saturday. You and your kids should come and have some cake. There's gonna be a lot of cake, and I'm cookin'. Y'all like spaghetti and chicken??"

I laughed and said, "oh yes, we love spaghetti." I told her I'd actually had spaghetti for breakfast this morning and last night before I went to bed, due to an odd craving (or Divine foreshadowing). She laughed, too. God is in the littlest of details.

"What time?" I asked.

"Three o'clock." she replied, pointing to her house down the street. "You won't be able to miss it--there will be people all over the place having a good time!"


"Well, we just might have to stop by," I said. That would be great.





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September 9

September 8

September 7: Labor Day, Then & Now

Well, glancing through the years, apparently getting a pumpkin spice latte on Labor Day is totally my thing. Gotta love consistency. Welcome, fall.

It feels a little like fall is the new summer at the moment, though, and it's messing up my hot coffee jam. Note that it is still 84 degrees outside when the sky is black... 

Black is not a flattering color on you, summer. Seriously. Leave it to the cooler seasons. Or, if you allow us, we will gladly wear it as we mourn your passing, no longer fearful of being unfairly targeted by your blistering rays.

We had a little marker snafu before we left for the mall this morning, and because the day had gone so incredibly well thus far, and seeing as how children were marked down to 50% off, I picked up a few extra while we were there. They proceeded to melt down in the play place, however--running over small children and chucking balls at one another and stealing my phone--and I immediately regretted the purchase.

Sadly, all sales were final, and I was stuck with them. Some days with children are just like that, and I'm learning to deal. 

Then...

9/1/14

9/2/13

September 4

3 of my 4 children wanted me to brew coffee this morning... We will need to buy stock in it by the time they are teens. 

Eva wanted me to hold her baby while she played in the dirt, and she told me, "don't worry mom, she doesn't bite. She just listens." 

Good to know. Now if only I could say the same about my babies...

Some Thoughts on Knowing God: "Momma!! I Don't Hear You Walking..."

Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden. {Genesis 3:8}

Eva has been potty-trained for almost a year now, but as those of you with little ones know, it sometimes takes a while before they can do all the wiping and whatnot by themselves. So, she will sit and wait for me to help her.

"Momma! I'm done!"

"Okay, I'm coming." I reply.

Now, "I'm coming" rarely means I'm coming right now. It usually means I'll come when I've finished what I'm currently doing, when I'm done helping whatever child is needy, or when I must finally relent my comfort and get up off the couch.

So if I don't come quickly enough for her liking, she will start yelling out to me. 

"Momma, I'm done!"

"Momma! I don't hear you walking..."

"Momma!!! I. DON'T. HEAR. YOU. WALKING!"

And I laugh, because my 2 year old knows the sound of my footsteps approaching the bathroom to help her, and she also knows she can't hear them yet, which means that I'm not, in fact, coming.

Sitting on the couch with her this morning while she and her brother watched a dinosaur show, I thought about that concept. How she knows the sound of my walking. How, likewise, I know the footsteps of those with whom I live and love. I know what it sounds like when my husband walks by. The door can be shut, and I still know without a doubt that it's him. 

I know what it sounds like when her tiny, two-year-old feet are frantically slapping the hardwood floor, running as fast as they can after the dog. I know what her oldest brother's feet sound like when they're upstairs stomping around like a gorilla. And I know whose feet are out of bed and coming back down the stairs at night when all the little feet in the house are supposed to be asleep. 

I know the sound of their walking.

Can you imagine being in Adam and Eve's position (I'd say shoes, but my guess is they weren't wearing any) and knowing the sound of the Lord walking?

They communed with the Lord. They were intimately acquainted. They worked together, talked together, and did life together. They knew the sound of his footsteps.

And I guess the question to us today is, can you hear Him walking?

Do you know your Father's--your Creator's--footsteps?

The reality is, he's moving and working among us, regardless of the state of the world today. But can we hear it? Are we looking for his footsteps? 

May the soil of our hearts be fertile and ready to focus on him alone. 

May the harvest of our minds produce a crop of revelations from his Spirit.

May our eyes be clear as water to see his sovereignty and grace. 

And may our ears be intimately tuned to his character and ways that we may hear him walk in the cool of the day.

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September 3

September 2: Burlap & Heat Exhaustion

*sigh*

1) Daddy isn't home to sit in his daddy chair, so I'm currently taking up residence there. I'm hot and tired.

2) I have a love/hate relationship with slushies. I think they taste like crap and make the kids a little crazy, but they really enjoy them on a hot day. The only catch is, the rest of Cleveland does, too, and the red and blue run out quickly...

3) It's now 4:00pm and I'm not sure what's for dinner besides leftovers, which we had last night. Leftover leftovers. Is that a thing? That birthday banner has been up for a week and a half too long, and the floor is a mess. 

4) And burlap pumpkins in the Target Dollar Spot???? Yes, please. Also, do you think that if I decorate, fall will come? Now to find my motivation. I think it's buried under a hot, heavy blanket of heat somewhere. Probably on my living room floor. I'd check, but I can't reach it from my chair...  

How are you all doing??

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September 1