a long way from the Theta house

Because what we all need now is another cookie recipe.

2009-12-10T09:28:00.001-06:00

First of all, thank you for all of your prayers and sweet words for Wilber and his family. It will be a long road and the Mercy Street folks are privileged to walk alongside them.

We have also been incredibly blessed by your response to our fundraising efforts. A sincere thank you to all who have partnered with us in this ministry.

On another, somewhat vanilla note, this whole month has messed with my blogging mojo.

Ok, no one really uses the word 'mojo' anymore. See what I'm saying!

Trey decided we were spending "WAY TOO MUCH" money on our phone service so he switched to another provider whose name I will not mention on this blog.

Vonage.

Since then, our internet has not been faster than lightening like they promised but spotty at best and totally out more often than it should be for all the money...we're...saving. Oh, wait...

On top of that, my computer has been acting like a spoiled child who's found herself on the naughty list and I got a new phone that I barely know how to place a call on, let alone type anything of length.

Oh, yeah, and it's Christmas which, I don't know about you, tends to get a little nutty around the Hill house. Not only do all the holiday festivities begin, but basketball and exams don't stop, and I like myself some Christmas cookie making.

The whole thing has made me write terrible run-on sentences like the one above.

It's also made me try some new recipes and now, this is where I share with you.

I made these awesome cookies for our State Championship Six-Man Football Game last weekend where we drove to Moody (middle of no-where), Texas to freeze our tails off as the winds came sweeping off the plains.

And lose.

But the cookies were delightful so we had that going for us.

I don't have pictures but you can just trust me. They looked good. Real good.

Chocolate Chip Jillian Michaels Will Make Me Pay for These Cookies (totally made that one up. If you have a better name for them, please share it with the rest of us.)

1 cup butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 cup dark brown sugar (I used light because I'm a rebel)
2 eggs
2 cups flour (sifted) (I didn't sift because, again, I'm a rebel.)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups rolled oats
2 3 1/2 ounce cans coconut
1 12 ounce package semi-sweet chocolate chips
about 3/4 cup chopped pecans

Cream butter, sugar. Add eggs, flour salt and soda. Add vanilla, oats, coconut, chocolate chips, and pecans.

Bake at 350 for 15 minutes.

Put on stretchy pants.

His hands and feet.

2009-12-07T20:03:00.001-06:00

Last week was busy, busy with the pulling together of Mercy Street's luncheon.

It ended up being fabulous and full to the brim with friends who came to hear the story and support what we're doing.

We were incredibly blessed.

And stressed.

There are so many little details that go into an event like this one and thankfully, my mother-in-law is a 'many little details' type of gal. She remembers everything - from who's responded and where they're sitting to exactly how many pieces of fried chicken the average person will eat.

It's a gift.

Right in the middle of the day on Wednesday, when we were running around tying up all the loose ends, one of our mentors walked through the doors in somewhat of a panic.

Alan has been a mentor for years now and is incredibly faithful to his student. The relationship has been rocky, and difficult, and certainly not ideal. Sometimes, it's akward. Sometimes, they don't have anything to talk about. Sometimes, all they talk about is homework.

Alan knows this because, over the course of the semester, Wilber has been asking him to come out to the house late at night to help him with his homework.

The child and his mother had moved in with her boyfriend and apparently, the student wanted Alan there with him late at night.

Wednesday afternoon, when Alan burst through the doors, he found himself again, entirely out of his comfort zone.

Wilber had called and asked Alan to come spend time with him once again because Tuesday night, Wilber's mother had been murdered by her boyfriend.

Alan was understandably unsure of how to comfort this young man in this heartbreaking time but what blessed me so much was the fact that he was there. He didn't know all the answers and didn't even know what he was going to say to this young man. He was nervous but he was there. He had left work and come halfway across town in the middle of the morning to do what he had promised - to put feet on his commitment to be a caring Christian adult in the life of this child and walk with him until he graduated from high school.

Wilber wasn't calling because he wanted to go to a movie, or to dinner, or to Six Flags. He didn't want to be entertained, he just wanted someone to sit with him, someone he could count on, who he's been able to count on in the past, while he dealt with the horror before him.

The Lord is so faithful to use us, in our weakness when we make ourselves available and that's what Alan did. It's never what we bring to the table that gets us anywhere. That stuff usually just ends up as baggage anyway, hindering us and tripping us up. Instead, He prepares a table for us - a feast. Then He clothes us, equips us, and even goes before us as He transforms us, amidst our weakness, into His hands and feet.

I'm so thankful for the example Alan was to me last week. It was a great reminder that, if we wait until we have all the answers, until it all works seamlessly and plays out well on paper, we'll miss the opportunity to do exactly what we've been called to do - to come when He calls and carry one another's burderns with them - sometimes, for them.

If there's a point, I don't know it yet.

2009-12-02T10:36:00.000-06:00

Oh my stinkin' goodness it's been a while since I posted! It seems like just yesterday it was Thanksgiving and we were cooking and eating and watching the kids pelt each other in our first annual Thanksgiving Dodgeball Tournament.

Ok, it wasn't really a tournament because it can't be official unless all the children know the 5 "D"s of dodgeball.: dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge. With some good, faithful instruction, we're hopeful we'll have them down pat by next year.

And thereby eliminating 95% of the tears which can put a damper in Thanksgiving festivities.

I spent the rest of our holiday week trying to locate my husband. Contrary to his personality 364 days of the year, he loves him some Black Friday shopping and annually starts in the wee hours of the morning. He doesn't necessarily buy anything, he just likes to go see who's out and what they're buying. Then, he comes home at about 11 a.m., jacked up on Starbucks, and gives a 20 minute evaluation of the state of the economy based on how fast the door busters dissappeared.

Happens the same way every year.

Our family is nothing if we're not into rediculous traditions.

On top of a shameful amount of turkey, we also consumed more Mexican food than should be allowed in a seven day period and then wrapped up our week with a family trip to the movies to see the Blind Side. Dea and Darius are pretty fun to take to the movies, except they like make commentary throughout and Sadie kept shushing them. Then, Graham spent the rest of the day asking why Daddy and I didn't kiss like Mr. and Mrs. Touey did in the movie.

We did. Four times. See where that got me?

Today, we're setting up for Mercy Street's First Annual Luncheon which is scheduled for tomorrow.

It's snowing which is beautiful but we're praying stops and clears off since Snowflakes + Dallas usually equals a uniform shut-down of the city save the very carefull drive to the store to stock up on canned goods, generators, flashlights, and bottled water.

What we could really use is some sunshine and warmer temps. so people will come out in droves to hear me sing the Welcome.

A cappella.

Or not. Trey has promised to let me play with the microphone as much as I want after everyone leaves tomorrow afternoon. Before then, it's off limits.

He said it's something about, "knowing your audience".

Whatever.

For the love of food.

2009-11-25T10:32:00.003-06:00

Thanksgiving is hands-down my favorite holiday.

Second only to Easter.

Easter is hands-down my favorite holiday but it's November, and talking about Easter when the leaves are falling and the air is crisp with the smell of Autum would be, well, ridiculous.

Actually, we're in Dallas so the weather now may or may not be the weather we'll be having come Spring, and, since there are still mosquitos trying to consume my children in small bites, it may not be such a stretch.

Anyway, we're talking about Thanksgiving - the greatest holiday ever because it revolves around food. Lots and lots of delightful food. Food and football.

Food + Football = Wonderment

There aren't presents to buy, one million parties to line babysitters up for, finals, fireworks, or the guilt trip associated with forgetting to buy your spouse a romantic pink and red card covered with hearts and stuff. I don't know that last part first-hand, I've just heard rumors. From my husband.

THANKSGIVING, I LOVE IT!

We're getting ready over here at the Hill house and are camping out inside for the day. I've got myself a lot of cooking to do since, over time, I have slowly been entrusted to some of the Hill family recipes. It's taken 15 years but I've finally been given something besides the pies.

Something VERY important.

This year, I'll be making the Sweet Potatoes (please don't let me ruin them, please don't let me ruin them).

The sweet potatoes are a VERY integral part of our Thanksgiving menu. Were we to rank them, they'd be almost as important as the broccoli rice, on par with the stuffing, and exponentially more important than the rolls which I'm also in charge of.

Oh, the pressure.

And so begin my annual jokes that I'm making the recipe with Splenda and it will be, for the first time, gluten-free.

Of course I kid because actually altering the recipe at all would easily cause an insurrection in the Hill house the likes of which hasn't been seen since the great 2006 Thanksgiving Day game upset of the #10 ranked University of Texas by the unranked Texas A&M.

Whoop.

I had to sleep outside that night.

Truth be told, the Hill family love of food is one of my favorite things about being part of this crew. I grew up with a dad who was constantly in the kitchen trying out recipes on us, making vats of Spaghetti sauce from scratch, and feeding us grilled chicken covered with crazy-spicy African peppers and loving food in general.

It doesn't get much better than sharing a wonderful meal with people you love and eating until you want to die.

Or vomit.

Darius just came in and said that's his goal for tomorrow. "MaMelissa, I'm gonna eat tomorrow until I want to throw up. Can I wear basketball shorts because, you know, they're stretchy."

Yes, Darius, you can.

Welcome to the family.

Wishing you a blessed Thanksgiving from our table to yours.

HoodMama

They must have had dynamic personalities.

2009-11-24T10:19:00.004-06:00

Hi.

It's Tuesday and we're on day two of the official Thanksgiving Break.
I'm already tired.
Thankful, but tired.
All the fun started last Friday when we celebrated our school's annual Living History Day. This year, we celebrated Ancient times and dressed as the following: Romans, Greeks, Hebrews, and Egyptians.

The Greek goddess costumes were fabulous, as were the Egyptians'. They were white or pale blue and adorned with jewels, gold, and fabulousness.

I was a Hebrew.

May I just say for the record that, after seeing myself in the mirror in a 'to-sack, head-covering, and sash made of ticking, I now, more than ever believe in the Immaculate Conception.

In costume, I made eyes at Trey and said, "Hey, Baby, what's this do for ya?"

"Not much, Sweetie. Not much."

And, there you have it.

Sadie, on the other hand, looked precious.

Stinker.

My other children were running around like wild banchees so I didn't get shots of them. What I did get were lots of pictures of the backs of heads. Perfect for the individual and crafty scrapbooks I haven't made for them.

It kind of reminds me of Graham's first birthday. I forgot to take pictures so, a month later, at a friend's birthday party, I sat that little man down in front of the pretty cake, put a party hat on him, and captured his "first birthday" forever on film. He was none the wiser. Um, except for now. Secrets are not my gift but, come on, it's not always the accuracy of the picture, it's the idea represented in the picture. Just like on Fox News.

Can I get an "Amen, Sister"?

What would be fun now, would be to actually show you that picture. Unfortunately, those photos are forever locked inside my now broken computer. As I wait pseudo-patiently for it to be restored to me, I am once again harkened back to the days of my Hebrew brethren wandering in the desert.

Adorned in 'to-sacks' and unfortunate head coverings.

***Edited to add...***

My good friend, and clearly more theologically astute brother in Christ posted the following comment and I just wanted to make sure you all read it...

"Melissa, the Immaculate Conception is not the same as the virgin birth of Christ. Catholics believe that Mary was conceived sexually but without original sin. That is the IC. I don't think any Protestants hold this doctrine. I won't tell Trey."

To be clear, I hold to the doctrine of the Virgin Birth but the Immaculate Conception sounded funnier. I don't always believe in throwing doctrine out the window for the sake of comedy but, in this case, I didn't know any better.

I'm so ~~tortured~~ thankful I have people like Wes in my life to point these things out.

On my blog.

In front of millions.

Or twenty-seven.

Welcome Home!!!

2009-11-19T08:49:00.000-06:00

Our nephew Seth Eyasu Alexander arrived home in a whirlwind on Saturday afternoon from Ethiopia!!! Head over to the Alexander's blog, watch the amazing video, and welcome this precious angel home.

Soli Deo Gloria

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.

John 14:18

Country Come to Town.

2009-11-17T10:45:00.005-06:00

Fall in the city lasts about a day and a half and so last Saturday, Mercy Street grabbed that bull by the horns by celebrating with the First Annual Fall Festival.

Next door to the ministry facility is a 20 or so acre field perfect for a community gathering.

Johnny, the mastermind behind the event and the head of the Bike Shop, built a bike track for some competitive racin'. I love seeing these big ol' boys racing on pink bikes with streamers on the handlebars.

We had tire painting, face painting, games galore and, of course, the Pickle Walk. A Mercy Street event wouldn't be complete without the Pickle Walk.

Families could be seen walking from all parts of the community to the Fair and we all had a great time.

Here's Sam, sharing the Gospel around a keg...of Root Beer. I worked the keg for a while and had some flashbacks of my college days at Texas A&M telling myself I was "just where Jesus would be if he were here now. At a Frat party, witnessing by the keg."

Hmmm. Really, Melissa? Was that what you were doing?

Anyway...

Here's Sadie, contemplating another corndog.

Mrs. Rita, a community stalwart, worked all day painting faces. She loves butterflies and wears them every day from head to toe.

Tire painting. All these need now are some sweet twenty-fo's.

Volunteers from area churches and neighbors came out to lend a hand with the games and food and share their day with one another.

Jaquavian, one of the early classes of Mercy Street Mentees, brought his Uncle's horses out and led the kids all day on rides around the property. We're hoping we can help provide a permanent home for these horses in the stables that currently are unused on the property.

My main responsibility was helping with the food.

Surprise!

Hannah made the best cupcakes ever and Elotes which is corn seasoned with butter, sour cream, spices, yumminess, and deliciousness and eaten with a spoon.

Nanny and I made cornbread and charro beans. I spent the better part of the day trying to pronounce "charro" in the authentic, rolled-r's kind of way.

I was, for the most part, ineffective.

Now, let me explain something to you.

We were keeping everything hot on a grill which I had turned on and walked away from for a moment to try to get some more root beer.

Hannah went to move one of the giant pots of beans and burned her hand. I know this because she screamed "OUCH! I BURNED MY HAND!"

I, in my most sympathetic moment, quickly raced to the scene and said, "ARE THE BEANS BURNED?!?!"

That was a big mistake.

Huge.

Here I am on my knees, graveling.

Isn't Hannah beautiful when she's mad?

In my defense, the pot was Nanny's and I would have been fine burning my own beans but would have felt pretty bad if Nanny had stayed up all night making a pot of beans and I burned them. Blah, blah blah, Hannah cared not who's beans they were but was instead was frantically applying burn cream to her hand.

Clearly, I owe her a root beer.

Partner with us!

2009-11-12T23:49:00.005-06:00

An old friend, seasoned in the ministry of the inner city, once used this illustration and it forever changed the way I see and work out the call of the gospel in my life.

When his son was little, his greatest joy was to help his daddy do almost anything and everything. Whenever they would pull into a gas station, he would beg for the opportunity to help fill up the car. Almost always, our friend would succomb to the pleas of his son and begin the process that allowed the child to be 'helpful'. He would unbuckle him from his carseats sift him from the car. Then he would steady the boy while he wrestled with the nozzle. Being much too weak to pull the trigger, this daddy would wrap his giant hand around his son's and squeeze the handle for him. Inevitably, there'd be splashed gas and the nozzle would drag across the paint on the car leaving a scratch to be buffed out later. Once the tank was full, the nozzle would be replaced into it's cradle, and the child replaced into his seat, buckled in, ready to go, clearly satisfied with a job well done.

Truth be told, our friend didn't need his son's help. If anything, he often hindered his progress - made it messy, slow, and fraught with mistakes. Alone, he was capable of completing the work perfectly every time.

But as a father, who desperately, unwaiveringly, wholly loves his children, he allowed his son to help because he knew that his son delighted in doing the work of his father.

And he delighted in his son.

For six years, Mercy Street has existed to serve the community of West Dallas. In our own brokenness, we have tried to humbly come alongside the beautiful, residents of this community to serve them, to love them, to be the hands and feet of Christ and to live worthy of the call of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Could He do it by himself? Of course.

And, I'm guessing without a personal i.v. drip of Diet Coke and a stash of Milk Duds.

But He, in His perfect mercy, invites us to participate with him in His work - because He knows His children delight in doing the work of their Father.

For the first time, Mercy Street is in need of formal fundraising. Giving across the nation is down 35% and we have not been immune to this statistic. What's not down, though, is the number of children, and their families, who want to be a part of this ministry. Kids wait outside for the doors to open at every event and, on a daily basis, children are asking one of the mentor coordinators when they can get a mentor.

One of my best friends, Jennifer, who I love dearly because she is so painfully honest, has told me more than once why she gives to the ministry. "Girl, I give what I give so I don't have to do what you do." We laugh and but the truth is, we couldn't do what we do without people like her.

So, here's the deal. Trey very sweetly, and with chocolate, asked that I put the need out to my friends in the blogosphere. One of our fundraising goals is that 250 new donors would pledge $25 a month. I know a lot of ya'll readers live here in Dallas but many of you live in other countries, like Florida, and we need you all.

If you so feel led (no pressure), would you consider giving to Mercy Street - partnering with us to continue to do the the work of our Father? If so, the Mercy Street logo below, or on the left sidebar, is a link that will take you to a secure site where you can give. Also, feel free to forward this to all of your friends. I won't get mad at all.

CLICK HERE TO GIVE!

On a side note, if this is your first visit to my blog, take heart, I don't ask for help all the time. I swear. Unless it comes to laundry advice. Or hair advice. Or good ideas for meals that look and taste like I spent a lot of time but I actually just defrosted and microwaved them. To those - I'm guilty as charged.

Veteran's Day

2009-11-11T12:58:00.001-06:00

Saw this online this morning and stole it.
I'm not proud.
I am proud though - especially today - of the countless men and women who have fought, and are fighting still, on behalf of our country.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

A lesson from Victor.

2009-11-10T13:22:00.001-06:00

One of the most striking things I heard at the CCDA conference, came not from one of the amazing speakers, and wasn't, believe it or not, about the fabulousness of other people's hair. Instead it came from a gentle brother named Victor, from the Congo, who is living in the United States with his wife and children.

He spoke about dignity. And about how we, in our efforts to help, to bring aide, to transform a community, often rob the recipients of dignity.

We do this by refusing to come alongside in humility and by assuming that we know the "fix" regardless of the culture or opinions of the ones we are ministering to.

An example he gave was of a church that came into his village to build a latrine where there had previously been none. Their efforts were efficient, their design flawless. Flawless except for the fact that they had failed to consult with the villagers about their culture and their desires on the placement of the latrine and more importantly, the door.

The latrine, built with skilled hands and professional tools, was placed adjacent to the playground and common area where all the village gathered - the door facing all the people.

For this village, for there culture, it was extremely undignified to be seen walking in and out of a latrine so, after the workers left, feeling satisfied that they had been a blessing, the villagers simply continued to go into the bush to use the restroom.
Being paternalistic means to treat someone in a fatherly manner, instead of a peer, especially in providing for their needs.

It's SO EASY to do this. To come in to a community or a situation and think we have the answers and ours are inherantly right. We're efficient, we're educated, we're seasoned, and we've read lots and lots of books.

But, without humility, we can strip away the dignity from those we come to serve, to uphold, to encourage.

Thank you, Victor, for this gentle reminder - and for coming alongside all those within earshot of you that afternoon, and in humility, asking that we become humble.

If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.

Philippians 2:1-3

One is the lonliest number. Unless you're Vanilla.

2009-11-08T22:33:00.001-06:00

The sun came up on our beautiful Saturday morning but, little did we know, it was actually the sunset of a member of our family's life.

Marshmallow, the gerbil, was sick and clearly dying. I know this because I have a keen sense that when something stops moving and breathing, it's dead.

Olivia was pretty sad and Sadie faked some decent tears. I mean, they loved Marshmallow and all except she bit and chewed holes in all their clothes.

I think she was bitter about having such a wussy name. Truth be told, her cage-mate, Vanilla may have done her in just to have the place all to herself. She's got people.

Since Trey's got me on some kind of shoe-buying moratoriam, we were short of shoe boxes - the obvious go-to coffin for a small animal you're going to bury in your backyard.

Instead, we used the next best thing.

And Olivia wrote a note to put inside.

Unfortunately, she wouldn't let me read it. My curiosity is killing me.

Trey paused the game and dug a hole for his daughter.

Olivia made the headstone except she accidentally wrote "Vanilla" in Sharpie. Remember, Vanilla is the perfectly healthy gerbil who was, at this point, repainting and recarpeting the place.

Scout was just wondering what all the commotion was about and when someone was gonna throw her ball. She's a little like her momma and clearly thinks there's a distinction between REAL pets, and rats with short tails and girly names.

I'm kinda proud of our recycling. How do you think Quaker feels?

Graham spoke a few words at the memorial service. Mostly about how much he loved Marshmallow even though she bit but that he was sure glad it wasn't Vanilla laying there in that cereal bar box. And then he thanked the Lord for bringing my brother home from Iraq, for Abe, for Seth, for Carson, for Mercy Street, for Eric the addict, for Tee's ankle, for Grandpa Steve and Maxine, Nanny and Bunty, and Michael Jackson's family.

It took 45 minutes.

Finally, with a proper headstone, Marshmallow was laid to rest. Complete with flowers picked from my rose bushes. They look pretty good if I do say so myself.

Ahem, sorry.

Later, that evening, even Vanilla came out to show her respects. She had just completed installing the disco ball and was working on her surround sound. To her credit, she did make her good-by look sincere.

This afternoon, with her own money because I refuse to spend "one more dime" on animals my kids tire of feeding or cleaning up after past two weeks, Olivia replaced Marshmallow with Cupcake the gerbil.

I suggested "Moose" or "007" thinking a stonger name might help it to live longer and hold it's own with Vanilla, the new slum lord. She would have none of it.

Cupcake, I'm giving you two weeks. Max.

Friday afternoon stream of consciousness.

2009-11-06T15:36:00.000-06:00

November is officially here in Dallas with 80 degree temperatures, our one tree in the city sporting fall colors (exaggeration, we have 2), and a total inability to wear fall fashion because anything besides shorts and flip-flops just makes you sweat.

I'm taking the afternoon to let my little monkeys run around the park and hopefully exert all their energy before they step one foot into my sparklingly (not a word) clean house.

Oh, who am I kidding? It's a mess but I like to dream.

The sun is shining and I'm incredibly impressed watching my kids climb all over the playscapes one handed because their other hand is occupied by a giant Slurpee. Being relatively quick learners, they've realized the best way to keep mom away from your Slurpee is to make a "suicide". It's where they go down the line of Slurpee flavors and put a little of each into their cup. No matter how many times I tell them that Mango Fangango and Mountain Dew, much like, in my humble opinion, Kool-Aid and dill pickles, were never meant to go together, they just look at me like I have ulterior motives and fill 'er up anyway.

"Mom, wanna taste?"

"No. No thanks. And why can't you just mix Coke and Wild Cherry like normal people?"

Then they flash each other a knowing, satisfied grin, confident they can enjoy their entire drink without having to share with me.

We can't stay long because the three dozen or so live crickets bagged up in my car won't survive the heat and our bearded dragon, Augustine, only likes 'em alive and hoppin'.

That's a sentence I never thought I'd write.

Anyway, this is how our weekend is starting - all posted from my Blackberry because my computer decided to crash yesterday. What I love about my computer crashing is...nothing. It should also explain the total stream of consciousness feel of this post. Remember, I'm reading it on a 2x2 screen so it makes perfect sense in small snippits.

Hopefully, I'll be back Monday with a report on our weekend. It's parent day at Pinkston so let's pray I don't embarrass Darius.

Odds are NOT stacked in his favor.

Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

New Friends. Bad Hair.

2009-11-02T22:11:00.001-06:00

After our last couple of weeks of being out of town and then coming home to more drama than daggum Mr. Darcy in the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice, we were ready for a long restful weekend.

Instead, we had ourselves some out of town comp'ny. Staying with us. In our home. Which I hadn't gotten around to cleaning yet this year.

Becca and Adam, whom I met via this blog, are starting a mentoring program in Atlanta and wanted to come in town and ~~eat all the Mexican food they could get their hands on~~ see what we were doing down here in Dallas.

I'm going to be honest, and we've already told them this story, the whole thing gave Trey pause.

"Now, how do you know these people?"

"Our blogs."

"Uh huh. And they're staying with us? In our house? For four days?"

"Yep."

"Um, baby, that's great and all, and I get the whole 'Body of Christ' thing and everything but, um, is there a chance they could also be serial killers?"

"Naw. They're fine."

And they were. They were more than fine. They were amazing - the sweetest, most genuine couple who love Jesus and are really looking at what the Bible says about the poor, the marginalized, and the needy, and what biblical justice and mercy really look like.

And as soon as they said, "Kevin should TOTALLY win Top Chef this season.", all Trey's fears about serial killers went out the window. Meeting people who'd vote for the same chef you would on a reality show is, for Trey, tantamount to running a background check through CIA Headquarters.

You know what I like about writing CIA Headquarters in this post? Becoming the cog in the machine for people legitimately searching Google for 'CIA Headquarters'.

I know.

Anyway, the Lord has been incredibly faithful to allow us, over the past several weeks, to meet face to face, several friends who are doing incarnational, inner-city ministry around the country.

It's been such an encouragement to both of us to sit down with more people who share the same heart, have the same outrageous stories, and love what they're doing enough to think they're the luckiest people in the world to be called into this kind of ministry. Admittedly, sometimes I wondered if everyone on the Mercy Street staff had just fallen into the same pool of crazy. Apparently, it's a pretty big pool full of pretty inspiring people.

What, however, has not been great has been realizing that every woman I know who does urban ministry has really great hair. The kind they can just let air dry and it looks all beautiful and shiny and Pantene-commercial-like.

Hannah has it.
Mindy has it.
Stephanie has it.
Becca has it.
Delta has it
Nicole has it.
Carly has it.

I don't has it. The 80's were not good to this head of hair and I'm not sure it's ever recovered. My hair is fine, kinda naturally wavy-straight-frizzy, and I ashamedly take my hot rollers on out of town trips. Without a hair-dryer, well, you don't want to go there right before bed.

In the interest of revealing my complete insecurities, I wonder...Becca's whole blog is chock-full of pictures. She's a pretty great photographer. But, the whole time they were here, the whole four days, she got out her camera zero times.

Zero.

I mean, I don't want to seem paranoid or anything but, does anyone have the 411 on good hair they can give me? Apparently, with this kinda company, I'm gonna need it.

Hello blog my old friend.

2009-10-29T10:40:00.000-05:00

So, I'd love to give you a long detailed post explaining my absence from the blog world for the past week. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, depending how you look at it), I don't have the energy. We've had a rough week and I will just say that, if long periods between posts prompts you to pray for the ministry, that would be great.

On another note, I can't think of many other things I'd rather be doing with my day without any children at home than sitting in a courtroom waiting for the judge to call my name and reprimand me for being in a hurry.

Lucky for me, that's just what I'm doing.

Like this guy's never been in a hurry. I can tell just by looking at him that he's not the punctual type. I can see it in his eyes.

As a matter of fact, I've been sitting on this hard bench for about an hour and a half and no one has even been called on the docket.

What I've decided is that without speeders, the whole world would come to a screeching halt and NOTHING would get done.

I mean, except for school zones. Speeding there is wrong.

Sitting here, though, I'm sandwiched between two lovely women who, it turns out, live in my hood. One just got a home through Builders of Hope, and the other is looking for a way to own a home in West Dallas.

I love how the Lord works.

I also love that I have two new friends, Becca and Adam http://thestanleyclan.blogspot.com/, sitting at my house right now just waiting to see the ministry. While I'm in court. I'm sure they're totally impressed so far.

My children, on the other hand, are totally enamored. Graham wanted to take the to show and tell. He thinks they're "magical".

Maybe I should have brought them to court with me.

Do you think it would have helped?
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Evidence of effect.

2009-10-22T10:19:00.002-05:00

I'm a people watcher. One of my favorite things about traveling, other than sitting on an airplane for two hours reading a book without interruption, is the vast array of subjects I get to observe in the airport.

As we were sitting at our gate yesterday, waiting for our plane that would take us to the CCDA Conference in Cincinnati, I made an admission to the other Mercy Street staff that are traveling with us...

You know those MBT shoes, the ones that are supposed to tone your legs and rear while you wear them? Well, whenever I see someone wearing them, I automatically look from their shoes to their butt to see if the shoes are working. I can't help it. It's one reason why I wouldn't get any-people might have the same automatic response I do and honestly, I have more to worry about in my day than whether or not people are looking at my backyard for evidence of a shoe's effectiveness all day long.

Plus, they're like $200, and they don't sell them at Target but that's not important right now.

Trey was REAL proud I shared this with everyone.

Anyway, this morning, Dr. John Perkins was speaking to us about the call of the gospel in our lives and I couldn't help but think about the shoes. I'm fairly sure this is the first time the gospel has been compared to shoes that tone your butt but, stay with me. There is evidence of it's effectiveness in the way we live. And people look. They can't help themselves. It's automatic.

1 John says that, if we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. But if we walk in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus cleanses us from sin.

The primary evidence of this Truth to the world is our relationships with EACH OTHER and we're kidding ourselves if we think people are going to embrace Christianity if they
don't see it radically changing the lives of Christians in the way we relate to one another - the way we live, the way we worship, and who we're living and worshiping with.

Without evidence, no one's buying. I'm so convicted because, although I can choose to not wear the shoes, to not buy them because people might look for evidence, I can't choose whether or not to wear Jesus. I lost that option when He, in His infinite mercy, executed a rescue mission in my life.

The battle I have, we all have, then is not attempting to earn what has been given or working it out on our own. The battle is instead denying everything the world tells us is justifiable and being authentic ambassadors of His gospel with EACH OTHER so that, when people see me - see us - they see the effectiveness of the rescue and the infinite, radical, irrevocable hope it brings.
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Instructions for Nanny.

2009-10-20T20:38:00.001-05:00

Nanny,

The countdown has officially begun and in just a few short hours, the complete and total care of our six children will be in your and Bunty's hands while Trey and I are frolicking on a secluded beach somewhere close to the equator with fruity drinks in our hands. Or at a conference in Ohio. Same difference - at least that's what I keep telling myself.

While we're gone, I thought you might like some instruction as to the routine of our children. Basically, you know it already but who doesn't like a little point of reference. Kind of an 'In Case of Emergency Break Glass' kind of thing.

1. I have taken the liberty of laying out clothes and uniforms for each of the children for the next five days. I do this, not because my children are incapable of picking out their own clothes, but because Sadie has developed a little quirk where she finds the ugliest, most uncoordinated pieces of clothing in her closet and puts them on together. With boots.

If I only picked out her clothes, she would know somethings up and rebel against you, against me, and against the fashion world as we know it.

2. The school bus (your car) should leave promptly at 7:30 in the morning to, a. get the kids to school on time, and b. not have Graham's head pop off.

He likes himself some routine.

3. You know about carpool pick-up. And for the love of Pete, don't talk on your cellphone in carpool line. If caught, well, I don't even want to think about what could happen but I will say it involves public humiliation and flogging.

4. I didn't actually have time to go to the grocery store before we left so there's some Ramen and Frosted Flakes in the pantry. It should get you through the first four days.

5. Dea and Darius may have a friend (or 16) over. You will be amazed at the number of 6'1" basketball players that can fit into their room. Or how much they can eat.

And, although they appear to be permanent fixtures, Bull and Sebastian both have homes to which they can go. You may have to point them in the general direction, but they do have homes. Actually, Bull's is the one with the bullet hole through the front window where someone missed the car they were firing at last night. On second thought, maybe he should just stay here.

6. The wet spot on the carpet was not Scout. It was a Diet Coke debacle.

7. As much as the kids pester and beg, you are under no obligation to take them in the middle of the night to toilet paper any of their friends' houses.

8. The children are lice free. There is a small arsenal of lice paraphanalia in the master bathroom if you should need it or if anyone you know should need it.

In case of lice outbreak (highly unlikely), our cell phones will automatically shut off. Please call Carey or Renea. They are both experts.

9. In case of Swine Flu outbreak, please refer to #8.

10. Sadie has a birthday party at 2:00 on Saturday. She does not have to dress up as dress-up clothes will thankfully be provided. (See #1) She also does not have a gift but Layne understands that she will be getting a far better and fancier gift from Ohio upon our return. Or, if I forget, Target. It's o.k. She can't read.

Graham also has a birthday party on Saturday. He also does not have a gift to take. I will get one when I get home and it will be FABULOUS. Zachary can read.

11. Apparently, don't overload the washing machine. It will turn on you.

12. Yes, my car always smells like that.

13. So does Olivia's closet.

14. The animals need to be fed. The kids are responsible for that - they know what to do. If they forget, Scout will follow you around, as an ambassador for the rest of the animals, and bug the fire out of you until you feed her.

15. Trash day is Thursday. It's Tee's job. If he argues or whines, start reducing his allowance in $.50 increments. It's fast and effective.

16. That noise is gunfire.

17. That noise is a rooster.

18. If you hear #17 quickly followed by #16, and then don't hear #17 anymore, the neighborhood has officially gone to hell in a handbasket. Pack your things and get the heck outta dodge.

Have fun!!! Thank you!!!!

The horse picture.

2009-10-19T22:49:00.001-05:00

Tonight, after a long day of no school, carving pumpkins, playing outside, playing inside, and general ruckus-making, the kids had settled down, bathed, and gotten ready for bed. I walked into the kitchen to find Sadie, in her flowered nightgown, wet hair, and brushed teeth sitting with Dea drawing a picture.

As long as we've known him, Dea has loved to draw. He'll draw anything and everything but, honestly, doesn't talk a whole lot about it.

Tonight, as I cleaned the kitchen, swept the floor and folded laundry, I overheard him talking with Sadie about the picture she was busy creating.

"Dea, can you draw me a horse?"

"Sadie, YOU can draw a horse, just imagine what it looks like. Does it have a long neck or a short one? How long is it's mane?"

"My horse has a long neck and a long mane."

"Then draw what you're imagining...that's great, now how does a horse look? Does his body go down straight like ours or sideways?"

"Sidewords."

"That's right. Now, if the mane is long, it will cover up some of the body so you have to start drawing it here, instead of here. See?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Now, is your horse just on a piece of paper or is it somewhere like a street, or a field, or going up a hill to get something to eat at McDonald's?"

"Up a hill to go to McDonald's."

"Great, then draw that. Just like you are imagining it."

He sat with her for probably thirty minutes. Every once in a while he'd answer a text but otherwise, he was listening to her talk and laugh, and then she'd toot and they'd both laugh. He didn't get impatient with her, tell her he had other things he had to do, or take the pencil from her and draw it for her - draw it better. He just answered her questions, asked her what she was thinking about her horse, and encouraged her to put it on paper.

She's a spunky, sweet, red-headed, five year old and he's a black, eighteen year old boy from the hood. Two years ago, they were strangers. Today, their brother and sister.

We get told all the time that we're giving Dea and Darius a chance they might not have otherwise had. What we realize all the time, though - especially in moments like this - is that they are the part of our family that we didn't know was missing until they landed on our door. They found us, and blessed us, and they're giving us a chance we might not have had without them.

Same Cloth.

2009-10-17T17:00:00.001-05:00

Tee has been saving his allowance for quite some time now and has saved up a nice little pile-o-cash. He and Trey went to Game Stop the other day and Trey bought a new Wii game with the assurance that Tee would pay him back.

When they got home, the game didn't work. They promptly took the game back and exchanged it for another, still, nothing. All our other games worked fine so we knew it had to be something with these discs. Or is it disks? Who cares.

The witching hour had begun and Trey could not make yet another trip to Game Stop that night so Tee went to bed without a game but not without his thinking cap.

The next morning he happily announced that, upon the return of this game, he would have almost $100. Skeptical, I asked him to explain. "Well, we'll return the game and when they give me the money back, I'll add it to what I have and it will equal almost $100!"

"But, Tee, aren't you supposed to pay Daddy for the game?"

"Yeah, but we're returning it, so I don't have to pay him. OOOHH, Baby, 100 George Washington's! "

"Um, Tee, when you return the game, YOU won't get the money, sweetheart, DADDY will get the money."

"Oh. That stinks."

Trey and I laughed and laughed at his errant math and joked about from who's gene pool that came from.

This afternoon, our question was answered.

While Trey was watching what I thought was the longest Texas/OU matchup in the history of football but was really just the second game in the College Football Marathon that has become our Saturday, I was catching up on a little laundry. That is an understatement thereby proving that I don't embellish everything.

Someone may have overloaded the washer and suddenly there was a funny burning smell coming from the laundry room. For sure, our beloved washer was no more. It wouldn't spin or drain or make the familiar 'whoosh whoosh' sound that keeps our house clean and smelling fresh. I paused for a quick moment of silence and then jumped on the computer to see what kind of washer paradise I could find at Sears.

It was paradise indeed but just as I was grabbing my keys and handbag, cause I felt a little like my mom and that's what she would have called it, and running out the door to Sears to get the pick of the litter, Trey got our washer to work.

"DARNIT!! I mean, great job, Honey! Whew! What a RELIEF!"

Minutes later, sitting on the couch watching Tech beat the tar out of Nebraska, I had a thought. "Sweetie, it sure is great that we didn't have to spend all that money on a new washer today, isn't it?"

"Yeah, baby, PICKED OFF!!!!!!! THAT HURTS!!" 'Cause he was still into the game and all.

Banking on him being distracted, I made my move. "So, anyway, since we didn't have to spend that money today, it's almost like we made a little so I think I might go out and get me some new boots, o.k.?"

With the clicker that has become an appendage, he paused the game, looked at me, then at Tee, and then pointed to both of us and, with two words, drew his final conclusion regarding which gene pool Tee got his math skills.

"Same cloth."

Unpause.

Happy Saturday! From the girl without new boots.

*

Somewhere in this post, you'll find an Ace you can keep.

2009-10-14T10:16:00.000-05:00

I read one day that, to keep his fit physique, Will Smith doesn't eat ANY carbs after, like, 4 p.m.

Obviously, he, Jada, Trey, and I are not watching the same television shows late at night - a fact I somehow already knew.

Just watching Top Chef makes me hungry and nothing goes better with a nice glass of chilled Pinot Grigio than a bag of Hot Cheetos. All the finest someliers will confirm this. Just (don't) ask one.

All this to say, another new show I'm loving is Cake Boss on TLC. It's given me more than just an evening waiting with bated breath for Buddy's head to pop off when someone drops a perfectly decorated cake. It's given me inspiration just waiting for the chance to express itself.

Well, friends, that opportunity came just this week when Olivia announced her Earth project was due and she wanted to make her 3D model out of cake.

I was elated.

"This is my project and I want to do it all by myself, Mom. O.K.?"

"Sure, whatever, where's the sugar, eggs, and Kitchenaid? Step aside and prepare to be amazed, Buddy, I mean, Olivia."

"MOM. I'm serious. I have to do this by myself."

I realized by her expression, and the use of her entire body to block the flour canister, that this project was not going to be one that I got to snatch out of her hands, do the entire thing, and simply put her name on it like someone (Trey) did in the past with Tee's Charlotte's Web Diorama with the removable roof and working swing.

Olivia was standing her ground in an apron and knee socks.

She did allow me to pull the cake out of the oven because she didn't want to 'burn her face off'. And to frost the entire globe with a "crumb layer". That would be the thin layer of icing used to catch all the crumbs so that when you put the final layer on, it's not all full of crumbs, and gunk, and mess.

What I learned later from a friend/fancy-pants-baker-extraordinaire, Mrs. Rosa (I have her phone number), who makes the stinkin' best cakes/cupcakes/deliciousness in Dallas, was that if you FREEZE the cake once you bake it, and then frost it almost still frozen, you won't have any crumbs. Genius. A little late, but genius. And that, my friends, is the 'take away' from this post you've been waiting for.

Olivia finished her cake this morning, after Trey spent 45 minutes last night sorting M&M's for her. It looked great and she was proud as a peacock. It was a win/win because I now have a giant bowl of blue, green, and brown M&M's that may not have made the cake but go great with coffee.

I think Buddy Valastro would approve.

Back to life...

2009-10-11T21:39:00.001-05:00

After speaking with CPS Thursday night, when our case worker came to take the babies to their grandmother, I asked if Hakeem could please stay the weekend with us.

Of all the kids, he can be the toughest as he battles what he's come to refer to as his 'anger problem'. In spite of his temper, our kids, especially our boys, had loved having him with us and were sad to see him go. CPS agreed to let him stay the weekend, calling it an 'extended sleepover'.

It was homecoming weekend for our youngest four so we spent the weekend going to various events, one of which including the crowning of the Covenant Homecoming King and Queen.

Hakeem asked from the sidelines, "Do it mean they gonna get married?"

I love that kid.

This afternoon, preparing him to go home, we packed up the few things he had, the things we had bought for him, and the souvineers he'd gathered throughout his weeks with us. He took one of Tee's Pine Cove t-shirts, a fake gold chain necklace with a giant dollar sign hanging from it, the allowance he'd earned from making his bed and brushing his teeth every day, and a Covenant Homecoming spirit ribbon.

I told him over and over how much I loved him as I hugged his little body and kissed his face. How proud I was of him, and what to do if things got bad. "Come get us - tell us right away."

"What if she won't let us go outside again?"

"Then you tell your teacher to call Mr. Trey. You tell anyone to call Mr. Trey. Buddy, we're gonna be checking in on ya'll all the time. We'll know if something isn't right, o.k.?"

"O.k."

Trey loaded him up and drove him the 1/2 a mile to his apartment. When he dropped him off, Hakeem ran inside, said hi to his granny, and then left again before Trey could even say goodby.

A few minutes later, Trey walked in our door, and we looked at each other, listened to the comparative quiet of our house now officially minus three children, and hugged each other.

And then there was a knock at the door.

We opened it. It was Hakeem...with the biggest grin on his face, "Hey! Whatcha'll doin'?"

He'd run all the way back to hang out and play some more before dark.

"Not much, Hakeem, come on in."

And so we are back to our life as we knew it. We are praying that Hakeem's and his siblings' lives will be, somehow, radically different and the Lord will use us to do whatever it takes to make it so.

Hopefully, the last open letter...

2009-10-08T10:52:00.006-05:00

Ok, I promise I won't fill this blog with "Open letters to..." but I do have one more to write this morning before the babies who are staying with us wake up in our house for the last time.

The kids who were removed from their home by CPS two weeks ago will be returning to their home tonight and tomorrow morning. They will be staying with their grandmother who has come down from Chicago to stay indefinitely. Just like she did last time.

In this situation, I have learned several things - my new appreciation for mothers of multiples being just one. But what I've learned most, what has made me incredibly angry this week, along with passive aggressive, and prone to swear and cry in the same moment, is that the system is incredibly broken and children are not protected.

Dear Child Protective Services,

My first encounter with you was several weeks ago when I called, as one more neighbor, to report the neglect and suspected abuse of seven children living in a filthy apartment with a mentally ill mother refusing to take her medicine and refusing to send her kids to school.

You did nothing but knock on a door and swallow the mother's refusal to answer with a big glass of 'it's her prerogative'.

Although you were obligated to interview the children, recorded via tape or video, you did not.

You did show up weeks later, after the police had broken down the door and handcuffed the mother, removed the children. You were frazzled and disorganized and your first question to the children was, "Hey, guys, ya'll having a good day?"

They were not. They were having an incredibly crappy day.

You were obligated to file a court case. You did not.

You placed the children in the temporary custody of Mercy Street and did not call any of us for two weeks. When we finally called you, we were told you were placing the children in the care of their grandmother who, although she was saying she wanted the children, had not called them or come by to see them in the 7 days since she'd arrived in Dallas.

Grandmother was called months ago when we saw this coming on. She did nothing. She was here the last time her daughter broke down and when she left her daughter to care for seven children, aware of the mental instability she battled, the children were in no better shape than when she arrived.

We know because we saw them every. single. day.

In the weeks these children have been in our homes, you have still neither interviewed them or ordered medical or psychological exams.

Our opinions, our insight, our recommendations have mattered nothing to you because, although we know them better than anyone, we see the anger, the rage, the wandering around the neighborhood well past dark in the cold, the bedwetting of children well beyond a typical age, and their thriving in environments full of routine, and love, and boundries, we are not blood.

You told me that, "Unless the children might die, they must be placed with a blood relative."

And as I sat down with Hakeem (10) this morning, telling him he was going home, he said, "until it happens again?"

"We're praying hard that it doesn't but, yes, baby, until it happens again."

I told him I loved him, I wanted him and his brothers, and I fought for him.

I'm not sure I did. I called you, yelled at you, begged you to reconsider, to HEAR us.

Still, I doubt I fought as hard as I could have. I felt like I was beating my head against a wall.

What I do know, I'm certain of to my core, though, is that you did not.

You did not fight for him - for any of them.

And that is your job.

Hoodmama

Lord, I do not know your plan, I cannot see what will happen tomorrow, let alone the end of this story you are writing, but I know you. I know you keep your promises. I know you fight for the afflicted. I know you give strength to the weary. I know a bruised reed you will not break.

I know You are good

And that is enough.

An open letter to mothers of twins.

2009-10-04T13:38:00.003-05:00

Over the past week, having new twins in my house, I have come to the realization that I may need to apologize to some of you for comments I may have made, and things I may have done in my dark, unenlightened past.

To save time, I am writing this post instead of calling or writing each of you individually or whatever Emily Post would say was proper form and all.

If this doesn't apply to you, read along anyway, you may be unknowlingly guilty of the same offenses.

Dear Mothers of Twins,

Please forgive me for ever saying how nice it must have been to get two babies and only have to lose the baby weight once.

Or that it must be so fun since they're both doing the exact same thing.

Or, "I could never have a night-nurse. I wouldn't like someone in my house all the time, and besides, I cherish that time to bond with the babies alone."

Or for ever inviting you to meet me for lunch at a busy, hectic place without good parking or a door that will accomodate a side-by-side double stroller.

Or for being slightly judgmental when you gave your older children chocolate cake for breakfast. It DOES contain eggs.

Or for wondering why you fell asleep during our conversation about leggings vs. skinny jeans. And wondering if you realized you had spit-up on your left shoulder and smushed cereal bar on your right and neither of those "accessories" were featured in People Magazines Style Watch.

And finally, at least for now, forgive me for not being sympathetic enough when you were racked with guilt because if you were holding one crying baby, the other was just sitting on the floor crying by himself and you wondered if he would be scarred for life because of it.

Or for not praying for you every stinkin' day.

Sincerely,
Hoodmama

And for the mothers of triplets or more. I am wearing saccloth and ashes for you, and sending you a case of Diet Coke. And a medal.

Welcome Home my brother from the same mother.

2009-10-01T13:05:00.001-05:00

Today, I get to remove one thing from this blog.

This.

Last March, I wrote about my snarky brother, Bryan, leaving for war. He's been gone for six months and Tuesday, while I was at Wal Mart, I received a highly emotional text, filled with love and sentiment.

"Back in the U.S.A."

Let me just say that Wal Mart may not be the best place to receive news that makes you say, "WhooHoo!! AMEN!!!" really loud. Especially when you're on the toilet paper aisle. It may lead people to believe toilet paper is far more exciting than it actually is, leading to a mad rush from shoppers looking to find ultimate satisfaction at a Supercenter.

It's impossible, trust me, I've tried.

He's home, in the arms of his beautiful wife and sons, eating his weight in deep-dish pizza.

The Lord was faithful not only preserving his life but also the lives of all the men under his command.

Thank you, blog friends, for your continued prayers, inquiries, and encouragement while he was gone.

Ya'll rock.

Brave.

2009-09-30T10:06:00.016-05:00

Tee hopped in the car yesterday afternoon a little down in the mouth. It's taken me years to figure out that saying means frowning. I'm not exactly quick on the up-take.

Some friends had been giving him a hard time and he was upset. When I asked what his friends had been saying, he said they had made fun of him because he wouldn't ride a roller coaster.

"Mama, they said I was a chicken."

I thought about my boy, about the fact he doesn't ride roller-coasters, is not a fan of heights, and can shed a tear or 75 when he gets knocked around on the football field, baseball field, or a good ol' fashioned Monopoly game.

Then I thought of what really makes him brave.

"Tee, you are surrounded constantly by kids who've grown up a lot differently than you. They don't look like you, talk like you, or even play the way you do and you handle it great. You have a kid living in your house right now, sharing your room, your clothes, your Wii, your Mom and Dad, and even once gave your brother a black eye but you've seen what his home was like and extended an incredible amount of grace and mercy to him. Even if he's not loving you back. Even if he might steal from your piggy bank. Again. You're loving on his little brothers not because you especially love babies but you understand they are your neighbors and God tells us to love them. You, son, are brave. You're brave in the big things, the things that matter, the things that are hard and build a lifetime of character."

Lots of people ask about how my kids handle living where we live, dealing with what we deal with on a daily basis.

I think they are amazing, gracious, funny, and sometimes fearless.

Olivia was with me when we got the call about the kids last Thursday. She'd had a fever virus but NOT THE SWINE FLU, DEFINITELY NOT THE SWINE FLU - and we had just finished lunch. We drove over to the apartment which was surrounded by police cars and a fire truck. The police had kicked the door in, retrieved the children and had their mother in handcuffs. The kids were sitting in the back of a police car and obviously scared. I told Olivia to go sit in the car with them and talk with them which she did happily. She told jokes, talked about our dog, and Slurpees, and Wii Sports. She was a little ray of sunshine for them that day and kept telling them she hoped they could come live with us.

After the drama had quieted, I pulled her aside to talk with her and thank her for being amazing.

"Baby, you saw a lot of stuff today, are you ok? Do you have any questions for me or anything you want to talk about."

"No, Momma but you have food in your teeth. There. And there."

Our kids are are learning to put on the full armor of God daily and to do it with joy. They are learning that life isn't pretty or perfect and can be full of heartache. But they're seeing the Lord provide for them, use their individual giftings for His glory, and that His strength is made perfect in weakness.

And they are brave, roller coasters or not.

Diet Coke, please.

2009-09-25T06:14:00.001-05:00

Woke up this morning to a blessedly quiet house in spite of the fact that three more have joined us since yesterday.

Last spring, we kept four boys from a family of seven children who's mother had been in the hospital.

Yesterday afternoon, surrounded by police cars, school officials, and the fire department, the children were removed from the home.

Mercy Street has been given temporary custody of the children and they are now staying with various staff who live in the community.

We have the little 10 year old boy and his twin nine month old brothers. Thankfully, everyone slept through the night last night and we're ready to start our day rested.

Last night, a friend brought us dinner. I have been helping with Vision Life at Mercy Street on Thursdays and this sweet friend wanted to take one thing off my plate. Providentially, she made the biggest daggum meal you've ever seen and fed our family, another Mercy Street staff family, Hannah, Brett, and the new children. She thought she was preparing food for our family alone and instead, the Lord used her to feed 18 people who had been through an incredibly hectic, emotional, trying day.

Why these kinds of small miracles still surprise me, I don't know.

In light of this, and other things that have made this a rough week, we covet your prayers for these kids, for Mercy Street and the families who will wake up this morning with children they did not have yesterday.

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