Post and orders, remain as directed

 So, tonight I was listening to a guy named Philip De Courcy, a very Irish fellow. He's an excellent speecher, and looks not at all how I pictured him. He talked about where we get our orders. Most of us have more than one order giver in our lives. If you are married, sometimes the directives come from the spouse. If you have a toddler, you know that you find yourself taking orders now and then before you realize that tiny turkey is not the boss of you. And if you are a Christian, even if no one else knows it, you get your order from God. 

My advice is that you listen and obey. However, my example on the matter thought it was Opposite Day. (Why my auto correct changed the capitalization on this made up holiday, I do not know. But I often think it should be a day and I am keeping it). 

Anyhow. My example is to doubt. To second (and 3rd and 4th) guess what I think God said. Especially when I don't see anything working in what I feel is the right direction. You know what else I learned about myself?

I sometimes try to quit people before they quit me. I close up. I build a wall faster than Nehemiah if he had two good arms, and I bunker down inside where it makes me feel better if I quit first. 

I have this idea God gave me. When I was a kid, until I was well into high school, if anyone asked me how many kids I wanted, I would calmly reply, "10." I wasn't kidding. Then I met my only child husband, and plans changed. Sort of. 

As you can see by my seriously awesome pictures, I have five kids. If we are getting personal, I have three babies we don't talk about often. It's not as raw, but it still hurts. We lost three little peanuts. I never asked God why. He was ready for them, and it doesn't change the status of their parents. Those are my three babies. Even if they never lived outside of my belly. So I have eight kids. 

And about three years ago, I felt like God dropped a nugget of desire in my lap that we should consider adopting. There is more to this story, but it's not the time for that. 

I dreamt of a little boy. Since then, my husband teeters on the edge of hysteria and crazy enough to happen depending on his day. Also, he threatens sincerely to steal our friends' adopted blondie little girl. He wants to have her over for dinner. He wants to buy her presents. He cries like he is her daddy when she sings on stage or burps the alphabet. He won't admit it, but I think he secretly wants another girl. 

I say we both get our way and we add two more brewers so we can reach that magical number, 10. 

I declared it. Not like bankruptcy. Like full of faith. Like Joshua giving orders to the sun. Like Jesus yelling for Lazarus. Like my six year old hollering "CAN SOMEONE PLEASE BRING ME TOILET PAPER?!" Loudly. With strength. With conviction. I wrote about it. I prayed. Fasted. Held tight to promises. 

And three years later. Nothing. Except my unfulfilled desires. Oh, and nearly everyone I know gets to adopt. But not me. 

My heart wants to quit before this dream quits me. What if it never happens and then I just look like a fool? 

 

Philip De Courcy. He talked about the soldiers guarding the tomb of the unknown soldier in Arlington Cemetery. I'd imagine it's even more emotional than the regular cemeteries. I'd like to go there and watch the changing of the guards. Because these guys know their orders. And in the same way God is so faithful to bring reminders and keep his will heavy on our hearts, so do the guards. They are guarding the remains of soldiers from two different wars. These men couldn't have a tombstone like everyone else because we never knew their names. Just their bodies. We brought them home and put them in this tomb which is protected night and day. Always. 

The soldier walks 21 paces. Turns and pauses for 21 seconds. Then he walks back the 21 paces to his starting point. He does this repeatedly until it's time for a changing of the guard. 

When his replacement comes, after the new guy carefully inspects his weapon, he asks "what is the directive?"

The soldier says,"post and orders remain as directed." Every time. 

It's what God is saying to each of us really. Just about different things. Mel Gibson gave his own spin on this phrase in the movie The Patriot. "Stay the course." 

Remain as directed. 

Stay the course. 

Because there may be pain at night, but joy comes in the morning. And God's fulfillment. 

I am grateful for my work while I wait. I am grateful for the ways God is preparing me every day. I am grateful that my work is not as monotonous as the soldiers in Arlington Cemetery, no matter how noble that job is. 

His boundaries for me have fallen in essential places (psalms). 

Remain as directed. 

Stay the course. 

Amen. 

Greedy Grip

My friends, Erin and Dan-O, once had a toddler. She is old now, but when she was an itty bitty sly thing she sneaked into the kitchen garbage can, where she confiscated a few stale Whoppers I threw away. When I caught her, she gripped her chubby little hands around those candies as if they were her last melons for the next million, billion years. I tried prying those puny fists open, but she gripped harder and screamed, "DON'T TAKE IT!! I NEEEED IT!" To that I cracked up laughing and had to call in reinforcements, because as it turns out, toddlers saving candy from the trash are infinitely stronger than me. This true story took place more than 15 years ago, but I think of it often when I begin to get the greedy grip.

We have been doing all of this back to school shopping. I really do love spending money. I love picking out school supplies. I love finding smokin' deals at thrift stores and dollar stores and re-purposing the oddest treasures into greatness. After two days of straight shopping, I left my body and viewed myself as the adult watching the toddler give a handful of Whoppers a new lease on life. I took stock and heard myself screaming, "I NEEEED IT!" Aren't you a little old for that behavior? Why yes. Yes I am.

Also, I am too aware of people who hurt and need and would really like some food. I have not taught my kids to be patient for things or earn them or choose the essentials so we have left over to give away. Oh, don't get me wrong. I wrote to God in my prayer journal this morning asking him for opportunities to give. He may have asked what in the world do I have left to give? There is a chance I had no answer. There is also a chance I made a disappointed face and felt like a schmuck.
Just look away. I can't take it.

 Now, I will be using this experience as a life lesson for my children. Not only confessing what I got caught up in, but I will also be asking them what in the world can we do about this now? Lots actually. But we will come up with a plan together. Then I will pray that they will not grow until next school year, so we can really get our money's worth. :/

And NOW, you may be asking yourself what this picture of Samuel has to do with anything. I will tell you. Nothing. It has nothing to do with anything at anytime, but you needed to see it. And, you are welcome. Someone give this kid his own show. No script needed. This picture was taken while he patiently waited for his cousin, Raine, to finish trying on her jeans. We just looked over, and there he was, on the couch at Children's Place, with the bib he picked out, and the face he knew only a mother could love. He wore it anyway, and here we are today. One step closer to having our own show.

I am thankful for that face and second chances.
 

Reminisce

Sometimes looking at our past is important. Sometimes it is just out right hilarious. This is the latter. Reminisce with me, won't you? The following story is not a test or piece of fiction. The following story is #111 why we should have our own show. 

as promised, the grocery store

::flasback segment::
Layla Grace-6 monthish
Eli-18months-ish
Isabelle-4 ish
me-the day I turned gray
It's a day like any other. We have errands to run. One including the grocery store. We stroll into Albertson's. Oh so unsuspecting. I have Eli and Layla squeeezed into the front seat normally meant for one. They are rigged, two legs in one hole and a baby blanket wedged to one side. Isabelle is walking. I have my calculator, my list, and we are all set with goodies from the cold drink aisle. I do the usual patrolling. "don't take that off the shelf." "don't lick the cart." stuff like that.

About an hour or more into it we are in the home stretch with only about three aisles to go. I am at the butcher counter getting steaks for dinner. Ah the good wife. ::pat pat pat:: then suddenly out of my apron wearing day dream I notice a cold something or other ::drip drip drop::

what is that?
 :drip: I bend to see milk splattering under my cart.
:drop: quite a bit of it.
"What? How did that happen?" ::drip drop::
"Elijah, what did you do?" and this is where, if he could speak, he would tell me he ate through the carton- right through the plastic.
Good grief. What a mess.
I wiggle closer to the lobster tank where they provide you with free paper towels... for the dive I suppose. As it turns out they are equally handy for almost-two-year-olds.

So I get my steaks and turn around just in time to notice Layla Grace has gnawed herself a little snack. This one is made of a different variety. Same animal- this time it is raw hamburger.
(Yep, you heard me)
Through my disgust and her tears, I manage to dig as much as possible out of her mouth, left wondering how much she actually ate. ew.
I notice a convenient trash can next to me and deposit the remnants of her snack into the can, and just as I do, my hand gets snagged on the lid. It is one of those big metal cans with the teeter tottery lids.

Life is now in slow motion. teeter, totter, teeeeetter, toooooottterrr.
The kids are crying, the butcher woman is agasp, chest heaving, and my eyes are wide as the trash can lid flies up up up into the air.

I am spider man as i look around me, taking it all in.
And then, the display catches my eye. I hadn't noticed you before. I make a mental registry of everything as it all comes crashing to the ground.

No. not paper towels, that would be easy. I see can openers, corkscrews, wire baskets, salt and pepper shakers, thermometers, anything metal a grocery store would carry. Yes, it is all on this very special metal itself, display. It too is on the floor.
You know what always amazes me? How everything gets so quiet when a terribly loud noise happens.)
Isabelle is the first to speak...and I quote "NO WAY THAT JUST HAPPENED!"
I am still too shocked to say anything. Still silence.

The butcher lady comes close and says, "Just go, honey. I will take care of everything."
So I unloaded my children, and we left the grocery store.

And in my best Alex Trebek voice:
"Why don't the Brewer kids go to the grocery store?"

So, if you know of a guy who is looking to take a chance on a new reality TV show families every where will love, send him our way. This is a fairly typical afternoon of nonsense around here.

Snarky Ain't All It's Cracked Up to Be

This is our squirrel. Well, that isn't her actual name, but it has been her label since our older daughter used her lisp to call this little one a crazy girl. It came out more like, "Crazy Squirrel." She was only a year old then. She is seven and still Squirrel.
This face is commonly found on her face. It means many things, and my husband can regularly be found trying to decipher it through loving conversation only a Daddy can deliver. He has grotesque patience. He could out meditate Ghandi. I mean it. Don't even bother with a staring contest.
I do not recollect what these two were talking about when I took this picture (it's easy to get distracted when I see my husband being delicious and a dad- I am human). Squirrel's face could mean any of the following depending on the day:

• This place is a tomb and I want to go to the nut shop where it's fun, or
• This guy has been disciplining me for three minutes too long, and I stopped listening six minutes ago, or
• I will not be appreciated until I am dead; you people don't deserve me, or
• Leaning against this counter isn't hard; I do it all the time, see?

When she was a smirk older than one, she could make you feel inferior. It's not a learned behavior, and I can't quite decide if this could somehow be considered her ministry or just rude.She could make Tony Robbins feel insecure. She is still honing her sarcasm, but the fact that she spent five minutes trying to convince her older siblings that the Indian man at the airport was my father (we are Lebanese), tells me she has real untapped potential. I DO know that I love being this girl's mamma.

Our Life In Pictures

Bring It

 So, we are Idahoans now. No, that isn't really a word, and frankly it could be taken the wrong way if you are a girl attempting to over come a reputation. Luckily, I like my saucy reputation. I have worked hard to spread that rumor. OK, I haven't a saucy rep. Sigh. I am just a girl who followed her man to Idaho when he asked her to. ::blush:: He is way worth it. So, we packed up our hooligans and hit the road. We landed in a rental, and we camped for about eight months before we decided to make this place a little more us. It's funny how God answers those little prayers, and then he gives a husband and wife the same ideas without them even really speaking about it. I kinda wanted to garden. My husband said, "hey, when are you going to get a garden going?" sweet. So we started chatting, and did what all laborers do; we went into the backyard and stared at our work space for a while.

The difference between most construction workers and my husband is the staring leads to a new fence, a rock framed garden area, and a tilled ground. Oh how I love that man of mine. We are planting red and yellow onions, sunflowers, potatoes, carrots, zucchini, yellow peppers, green peppers, jalapenos, corn, strawberries, wild flowers, yellow squash, pumpkins, green beans, cantaloupe, watermelons, and a plethora of herbs. And of course, do you know who we ran into at the local Zamzow (it's a garden store; no, I couldn't possibly make up hillbilly names like that)? Baby chicks who want to call me mamma. We are getting two of them. The Man is working at getting his chicken coop skilled under control. The adoption should be final in a few weeks. Of course that only gives us about 14 eggs a week, which is one breakfast for my family, so there is a good chance we will go back for one more little guy once we settle in the first two. I have my names picked out for the twins, but I am opening up the polls for baby chicken number three.

In the meantime, I need to go buy some new work boots; these snow boots just aren't giving me the farm girl look I am after.

Sometimes My Parenting Surprises Even Me

We have friends in town. You know the kind: besties that blur the line between family and friend for so long you forget you aren't REALLY related. They live further away these days, but it isn't their fault. We keep moving north. There is a slight chance we will end up right back where we started as their neighbor if we keep up this crazy pattern. At least we can grab a little Canadian chocolate on our way. Do not fret. We will share. I mean, I won't but I have trained my kids to do as I say and not as I do. I will be in the corner shoveling Coffee Crisps. Sorry for that Canadian tangent. I blame Erin Reed for ever introducing me to that sweet delectable goodness.
Our besties- anyhoo, our spring break was last week, and their spring break is this week. The kids have had to wake early and toddle off to school most of the mornings while their cousins vegged out and went exploring. Last night I got the brilliant idea to let them all stay home, and I even planned to ditch work this morning. This morning, I remembered I am getting six new students today. (To my teacher followers- no. I am not kidding.) Kids can stay home. Crud. Izzy has track. OK. The rest of the kids can stay home. CRAP. Elijah and Layla Grace are touring the middle school on a field trip.
We pull up to the school. Click. Click. Seat belts come out. "Addison, you can stay home honey. You two have fun at your field trip, and I will pick you up early."
"WHAT!! WHY WHA!!! THIS IS SO UNFAIR! OH THE INJUSTICE OF IT ALL!!"
"K. Love you."
Addison sits smugly.