The Brewer Home School

We have homeschooled* on and off since my 15 year old was in kindergarten where she began her school career in private school. She is now in public school in an International Baccalaureate (IB) program where she is rockin it. My kids have experienced private school, public school, and public charter school, but we always seem to come back around to homeschooling. I'll tell you why.

You might be thinking we homeschool because we are scared of the people at public school. You may be thinking we homeschool because public schools just can't teach my type of kids. Or you may be thinking that we homeschool because I can't afford a religious education, I want my kids to learn about God and education at the same time. None of these is totally accurate.

In simple terms, we homeschool because it is the most efficient. It's fast. It's free of busy work. It allows for multitasking. While previously we have homeschooled using curriculum I wrote myself, based on the district's standards and with the help of a few mentoring teachers, this year we are schooling with the help of K12: an online public school program. We used them once before, and it was a great experience.

Pros:

• They send you everything. No seriously, we got three computers, two printers, all of our books (text and literature), enough tempura paint to cover a city mural, paper, workbooks, test tubes, a microscope, playdoh, clay, paintbrushes, a scale, rocks for science, math counters, play money, instruments, and on and on and on. Really great stuff.
• 
  
• They write the curriculum and tell you what to do each day. This was my biggest complaint about homeschooling. They swooped in and made this part all better. They know the standards. They know what works.
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• They have fun technology and tutors to help with less than fun subjects like algebra.
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• They level my kids and challenge them.
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• There is still time to do the things I want to do if I decide to do them.
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• They track progress and attendance.
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• They connect kids for social events, and not all of them are weird.
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• They give my kids rewards like $50 in Amazon gift cards for taking high stakes tests.

Cons:

• Having a large family, I want them to integrate our lessons more. Four science lessons is a lot for one teacher (me). It's just too easy to choose one topic and change it up a bit to fit different age groups. I'm still praying for them to see the light. And by "see the light" I mean I hope they get one of my fifty emails and do something about it (aka hire me as a consultant to write this curriculum).
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• Sending the supplies back was as simple as they could make it, but getting twenty boxes back to the post office was a little taxing. Still. Worth it.

We have always agreed in our house to evaluate what works best for our kids depending on our circumstances and their needs; we don't just assume we will homeschool forever. This year, it's what is right for four of my kids. As high school approaches for my two mid-kids, we will once again reassess. Or is it assess. Well that just looks like a swear, but you get what I am saying. No schooling answer is right forever. A dozen factors change making what worked last year not relevant to what can work this new year.

What is true forever though is that yes, you can homeschool your child. And you can do a great job. If you feel it isn't a natural step, find yourself some resources, ready up on it, join a group of other successful homeschoolers.

Check out my HOMESCHOOL tab above for resources, links to previous homeschool posts on this blog, and stories of our adventures.

If you have ever considered homeschooling, don't be scared. Be brave. It may be the best thing you ever did.

*Dear ABC check people. This is a word now. Get with it and stop underlining my words.

Linking Up With Gypsy Mamma: Belong

I love this weekly exercise. It's good for my brain to type for five minutes straight on one topic, never picking my pencil up from the paper- so to speak.

You can follow the button below for more information, but really the low down is just to type for five minutes on a topic she gives- no editing, no muss, no fuss, no time to rethink what I have said.

Today's topic? Belong

Go:
I'm watching Steel Magnolias. I couldn't help myself this fine Saturday. I awoke to a thread of quotes from this movie from a group of girls I have been friends with since forever. It's a place where I belong. I've been friends with one of the girls since she and I were in our awkward phase: we both were regularly mistaken for boys. It's true. I don't want to talk about it.

But we both found a place where we belong. My brother's wife. Our other two best friends who were strong enough to pummel into our group, wade through the sarcasm, and come up with a few of their own zingers are there, too. We are on a group text because iPhone understands us. We very rarely talk about important things. Sometimes we will throw out a prayer request or an update on something, but usually it's nonsense. Clearly I like nonsense. It's home to me.

We live in two different states, three different cities. We are all strong women, and in the world we would never get along. We would be called incompatible because most groups only have enough room for one leader, and we are not a passive. We belong because we all have Jesus in common. Sometimes that can be your only commonality, but sometimes that's all it takes. Thanks girls.
Stop.

I'm a Rebel, Dottie

I was flipping through Pinterest one day and came across a DIY blog that had a well  written author and cute ideas. I saved the blog to my bookmarks. 

This morning, when I woke at five because my internal clock obviously functions on New York time (I don't have the answers you are looking for), I read my bible, read a devotional, checked my emails, prayed for a few people on my mind, read through my list of blogs in my bookmarks; you know. The yoosh. 

So this new blog, which has decidedly been removed from my list, hasn't made the cut. And it isn't just the author. Although she's slightly bonkers in her angry stage. Her readers and their comments hurt too much. 

She wrote about how tired she is of women being asked to dress modestly. She quoted scripture, confessed to being no longer Christian, and belittled men for being so simple minded. And like a true politician, she incited the riot, and then she cut bait. She had so many comments: back and forth arguments. It was crowd mentality at its finest. This is nothing like nonsense at its finest. Well. Not really. 

She blames the church. Well who doesn't, lady. It makes sense though, since God created everything. But in a way, blaming God (because deep down we all know he is the beginning and the end -it's why everyone on a crashing plane prays) just proves that he pretty big. 

She blames men. She blames society. And the most interesting point? When she blames rapists for blaming women. Weird but true. I'd love to see the research on this. 

My question isn't about modesty at all. It's more about why people get so heated over things that are so minor. 

Hear me out. Modesty is important. I know what you are doing when your boobs show. I know what you are looking for when you wear those short shorts and then pretend you don't see when people are looking. I have boobs. I get it. 

But what does religion have to do with modesty? Nearly the entire thread of comments was about "as a Christian". At one point, a woman introduced herself as a Mormon and preceded it with "Christian or not". Whoa lady. You better check yourself. Before you wreck yourself. (Is it her fault if these readers do not understand the rules of word modifiers? What she meant was this isn't a religious issue). 

And I agree. We all live on the same earth, but we do not all live in the same world. We just don't. I have never been raised in a male dominated country (although my grandfather might have sent me on a ship back to Lebanon if my family would have let him. He had hopes I would be a belly dancer. Aw. Grandpa. Funny.) I have never had sisters. I have never lived as a girl who DIDN'T have three older brothers. Our worlds aren't the same. 

My modesty levels were not set by the church. They were set by my brothers. And not because they were getting back to their Lebanese roots and bossing me as the men. They approved or disapproved based on their experience as dudes. And I approved and disapproved based on my experience as a chick. I never want my body to be a conversation piece, even as someone's inter dialogue. 

And someone along the way reminded me that one day I'll have a husband, and while I don't mean I am a possession when I say I belong to my husband, 

well. 

I belong to my husband. He belongs to me. It's even. We are gifts, not property. 

It's not religion. It's self respect. It's not men's incapable feeble minds. It's respecting others. 

Men aren't feeble. They are more than capable. They are strong and gentle and full of all the gifts God left to them : love, kindness, self-control…

Their shoulders are literally broad for a figurative reason. They carry so much. Why does it offend so many women to cover up a smidgeon and help them focus?

It's pride. We feel a certain way when we dress a certain way so we ignore how it might affect others. 

Less religion and more common sense. Because hey, if I knew you loved alcohol. I mean REALLY loved alcohol. And maybe it's caused you to slip up a few times, would I walk by you on the street and offer you a drink? Would I invite you to a movie or church or the roller rink and hold my drink in your face, daring you not to touch and being offended when you did? No. I do what most Christians do: drink in private and share a bottle of water with you ;)

Mostly what I want to say is thanks for being intelligent. I'm glad you don't attack one another in the comment section. "I like the way you talk".  

I Want to Be a Writer When I Grow Up.. Or Now is Good, Too!

A few months ago, I not so subtly dropped a hint of obvious proportions to one of my students' mammas. She mentioned she co-owns a website geared at supporting mothers as we bumble our way down this all too crazy path called life. I mentioned back that I write, and I may, or may not, have followed it up on my knees asking to submit an article. I love that every time she and I talk, she pretends like I am the one doing her the favor, but honestly, I want to be a writer when I grow up. I want to use my snarky attitude and realist take on diapering and remind moms, "YOU ARE NOT HERE ALONE! I HAVE BEEN WEARING THE SAME YOGA PANTS ALL WEEK. NO MY HAIR ISN'T CLEAN; I RAN IT UNDER WATER. AND THE REASON YOU SEE SO MANY COLORS ON MY TOES IS THAT I WAS TOO LAZY, TIRED, PREOCCUPIED, DIDN'T ACTUALLY CARE TO TAKE OFF MY OLD COLOR." I wish mothers spoke like this more often.

For reals, I feel more like Ms. Collete Reardon (Saturday Night Live) way more often than I ever feel like Joan Cleaver. Lucky for me, neither of those ladies are my mothering heroes.
I look right and left; I look far back; I look in my own backyard. God is so faithful to surround us with mentoring mothers. At the same time, before we even know what is happening, WE become those mentoring moms. Friends who are older than me, or seem more experienced with life, ask me for advice simply because I have been a mom longer.

It's give and take. It's living in community. It's extending grace and living purposefully together in Christ. It's realizing that it does not actually take a village to raise a child; It takes a church.

If you are a mom, or you know a mom, check out this amazing resource of articles, printables, daily devotions, and my article entitled REMAIN AS DIRECTED.

Click here to visit Just For You Mom

Linking Up With Gypsy: Beautiful

1. Write for five minutes with no editing. Just write.
2. Link back (see button)
3. Visit the person who posted before you.

Five minutes.

Go: Beauty is what we choose. It's how we look at something. It has more to do with the eyes we use and much less to do with how something would rank on a "beauty scale." There's no ranking system. There's no sentence that states a fact about beauty. Except to say beauty is what we make of it. If I decide my sweats are beautiful, I mean REALLY decide my sweats are beautiful, then they are. It's like artwork or jewelry or oatmeal. These are very personal items. If you buy a piece of artwork for a friend, they can choose to look and see something they may not have picked for themselves, a piece that doesn't match their other decor, or maybe. Maybe they will choose beauty and every time they pass that piece of artwork, displayed proudly in their home, they will stop and think of the person who bought it for them. The person who took the time and money and care to think of them enough in that moment to buy them something. That's beauty. Or maybe when we receive a bowl of oatmeal that has a little too much, or not quite enough water, or raisins or whatever else we are used to having in our morning meal, maybe instead of noticing all of those things, we will take a minute and be grateful for food and the love of someone who cared enough to take a minute, a thought, to make us a bowl of oatmeal. It's OUR eyes that make beautiful. What will you see when you look out?

:Stop

 

What's Going On Here!

I deleted my last post. My pictures apparently had minds of their own, and I don't like pictures who think for themselves. Creeps me out. So I quit. I thought I should clarify in case you were here, and now you are here again, and they are gone. You aren't crazy, although I am not a doctor. So, you could be.

Anyway. I am watching everything happen around me and trying to refrain from building a bubble around my family and moving in.

Currently:

• friends' car broke down

• friend had a baby, her gall bladder broke, then her whole body broke which is super convenient when you have a preschooler, a toddler, and a newborn.

• friends are on their way to move here and their UHaul broke, twice. still waiting on news from that as they camp out on the side of the freeway in Washington and try to stay positive

• friend's kid had surgery and had a wicked reaction to everything: fever, sick, sick, and sick

• The Man learned that 19 fire fighters were killed in action yesterday. News like this always hits close to home.
• friend's washer exploded and ruined their house. Twice.

Seriously, every where I look there is craziness. But bubbles don't protect. They are flimsy and probably smell.

Instead I am standing firm that if something breaks through our calm, God is legit. Like MC Hammer, only better because God would never wear Velcro pants. Ever.

This morning I put my baby on a plane with another teenager today. No grown up. Just a teenager who shares her snarky wit and affinity for recognizing a movie quote when the speaker didn't realize anyone would catch on. Isabelle is 15; I don't even have to right to call her a baby anymore, but she is MY baby. I can't decide if I am sadder that she is so independent and rocks at life or if I would be sadder if she was clingy and lame. She doesn't need me because she depends heavily on Jesus. Even when I am there, we stop and pray when crap happens. She doesn't need me. I am glad, but sort of not.

In a few months, she is going to leave for another country to minister to El Salvadorians. It's what God wants of her. It's what she wants. It will change her life and remind her of God's big plan for her. But it means she goes without me. Again. This is the risk in raising your kids to be radical for God. They do it. With or without you, they go and become fishers of men. Happy fishing, baby girl. I am proud of your choices even when you corn dog your brother and your aim is a bit off and you make him cry.

Sometimes I Can't Sleep

So I toss and turn until my brain gets so full I have to do something about it. I guess I'll write to you people. Because I like you.

The birds are up and at 'em. Boy howdy, those guys sure like to make some noise in the four o'clock hour. I like it though. We have so many trees in our neighborhood, there's bound to be a good nest or two to study in the fall with the kiddos. 

Homeschooling again excites me. We have submitted most of our paperwork to the online school in which the kids will participate. They are a very organized group, but can I just say, the lady on my case is on my case. Know what I mean? She calls every three days. "It's protocol" and by that she means "listen big haired lady. I have a job to do, and no matter what we may have agreed upon, I am going to call you and pretend that agreed upon never happened. Gimme your paperwork, and nobody gets hurt!"

For instance. I sent everything except proof of residence (I forgot), Elijah's shot record update (he hasn't updated it on account of I haven't taken him to get his shot on account of we were in Vegas for the week, which she also knew), and the kids' most recent report cards (because I JUST got them in the mail late Friday night). So Stalky McStalkerton called TWICE and sent TWO emails yesterday. I missed both of her calls, so I called her back. I was one of those people who says you are crazy, but I begin the conversation in my smiling voice and the phrase, "with all due respect," and when I assume she is getting upset I remind her, "hey. I said with all due respect. You are sort of a stalker. Sometimes I talk, and you hear 'I am sending you paperwork this instant' instead of what I really said, which is 'back off crazy town. I'll win this.'" Ok. That was mostly inter-dialogue, but she's scared. 

Don't get me wrong. We have enjoyed this school program, and I'd recommend it to almost anyone. It's just that this lady takes her job very seriously. Paperwork is  NOT a laughing matter. 

[insert random office quote] yah, I have lots of questions. First of all, how dare you?

So I guess I will be taking my son for his shot this week. Faxing in a few papers. And singing Brass Monkey by the Beastie Boys, which I used to think was about a guy with a lot of stress, but fancy stress, so his monkey is brass. Now I am beginning to think it's a drug reference. Maybe I'll find a new song. 

[insert random office quote] 

Michael: Hmm... Jim? I am downloading some N3P...

Jim: That's not it.

Michael: Music...

Jim: Yeah.

Michael: For a CD mix tape...

Jim: Close.

Michael: For Holly.

Jim: Mmhmm.

Michael: And I'm looking for perfect songs that work on two levels.

Jim: What are the two levels?

Michael: The two levels being, uh, Welcome to Scranton...

Jim: Mmhmm.

Michael: And I love you.

While we are on the subject, I miss The Office. Those guys have been in my life, faithful for years. Now they are just some friends I used to know from Scranton. 

I went to the gym yesterday. It was quick and painful. CrossFit you two- timing back stabber. I can hardly walk up (or down) my stairs. I hope you are happy with yourself. I look like an idiot. 

Today should be exciting. It's day two of my job. Yesterday went well. I ate a healthy lunch and drank a seriously delicious cafe mocha, straight from the Keurig. Is this even how you spell this funny name? Whatevers. It was yum.

Today though, I get to take two teenagers (one who has my snarky wit and is merely using my place of business as a pick up joint. I mean she Is being picked up there by a friend. And another who is spending the day with me because I like her. She's not my kid. Just on loan.)

  Also, I get a new computer, and I have a meeting with a former student's mamma. She works at this crazy great blog/website  called Just For You Mom.* She said she might want me to write a little ditty or a little datty for the blog. I am super stoked, because that would be brilliant that's why. 

*if you are reading this before the new computer is up and running, this won't be a link. If you are reading this after I add the link, and you are a mom, check out that website. RESOURCES galore! Encouraging words. Some funny. Maybe this girl. We will see. It would be fun to have a different venue every once in a while. 

[insert random office quote]

Michael: We're like Friends. I am Chandler, and Joey, and Pam is Rachel, and Dwight is Kramer.

Back to sleep. Maybe I can get a full forty five minutes. 

Ps this picture makes my uterus arise from its slumber and quiver and reconsider my adamant stance on the residence there.

Fathers.

My fire fighter husband is the best. Let me count the ways:

He laughs. 

He jokes. 

He loves. 

He snuggles (but not too long, because it's weird). 

He sports tattoos like a rebel. 

He saves lives. Literally. 

He is logical. 

He is real. 

He hugs.

He can fix anything. Literally. 

He invents things when there isn't a device to get the job done. 

He put the handy in manny. 

He makes his uniform blush. 

He is outdoorsy. 

He is indoorsy. 

He is whatever doorsy we are being that day. 

He is blonde. 

He has muscles. Lots. 

He cooks. 

He takes time and teaches my children what matters. 

He prays. 

He says thank you. 

He holds the door for me. 

He rushes to help elderly people. 

He sweeps a two year old off his feet to play a game of tag mere minutes after meeting. 

He understands dude time with his boys. 

He watches me. 

He brags about his kids. 

He comes to church with us. 

He sits through musicals. 

He wears jeans like a champ. 

He is not afraid of heights or dangerous situations or fires. 

He tells me he loves me, and he means it. 

He rolls in a minivan. 

He drives 45 minutes to get home when our stove makes a funny clicking noise at ten pm. 

He reminds my girls they are beautiful. 

He says "bless you" when I sneeze. 

He's mine. 

Thank you for being a seriously excellent partner in this parenting experiment. Our kids are rad. They will always be better people because you are their dad. I didn't mean to rhyme, but you are worth it. Happy Father's Day Mike The Man Brewer. 

Priorities

I am reading a book. I've talked about it here before. It's called Anything by Jennie Allen. Please just go read it. But while you wait…

I want to hear God's voice clearly, so it's louder and most prominent in my life. I don't though. I hear the enemy sometimes. But most if the time I hear all the nonsense around me shouting for first place. I feel like a cartoon character. I jump up and can't decide between the two (or twenty) options before me. Too many choices. But only because I consider them worthwhile, even if its for just a second. I whip my head around so fast, from distraction to distraction that I can almost picture those little birds circulating over my head. It's dizzying. 

But it's not God's fault. It's mine. If I listened better. If I knew him better. If I was quicker to discard what I know is the fluff and not God's will, there would be no birds. 

But I don't. Not yet. I have heard him here and there. I try to give him credit when things go well. I don't often question him when things go "wrong". But I think he wants us to know there is more to knowing him. 

I had a brief conversation with my brother about one way to honor God. He said it was honoring to capitalize the pronouns we use for God. I said I didn't think God cares about that. I get his point, but I'd imagine he has more important things he wants us to focus on than the capital H in he. 

It's simple. 

He just wants everything. He wants more than five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact. He wants our hearts, so that we are about his love and not our busyness. 

If you are uncomfortable or restless where you are, it's because you might be doing it wrong. Jennie Allen compares this part of our life to newly hatching sea turtles. God whispers in those little sea turtle ears and tells them about his big and perfect will for them. The ocean. It's huge and bigger than they can even imagine. It's a blessing they know because God whispered it to them, not showed them. They don't even know other baby sea turtles in there neighborhood who have ever been there. But they believe God's promise, so they struggle forward through the sand. Past predators. So far away. And finally into their promised land…er. Ocean. 

I am a baby sea turtle. Watch me dig. 

This is the Day

After a string of incredibly busy days, we are wrapping up graduation junction with a trip to Las Vegas. My father is turning 60 at the end of this summer, so we are headed down early for some quality conversation and hugs. 

We are taking him out to an amazing place just outside of Vegas called Spring Mountain Ranch where the Super Summer Theatre performers will put on The Music Man. We will bring dinner and celebration dessert and lay out in our cozies under the stars. It will be a nice break from the heat. 

We are also going to visit one of my besties and her little family. I say little because her people are short. Preschool, toddler, and one month old. Thems short. I am going to do my best not to squeeze that littlest peanut too hard. I might make her mamma sign a waiver exempting me from responsibility. After all, I didn't make her so cute!!

We also get to catch up with The Baldwins and their newly adopted daughter who already makes me giggle. 

Beyond these plans, I got nothing. I just want to be in the water and shade and air conditioning. 

I'll post pics, but don't be alarmed if we look like we are melting. Vegas is on the border of hell, so it's to be expected. 

Ps. Maybe we will eat salsa and guacamole as well. Probably. Yes. Actually. Yes. That will happen. 

I want to be Nehemiah

Before you remind me I am a girl, let me clarify and say Nehemiah is a go-getter. God said jump. Nehemiah did it and added a round of push-ups on the end for good measure. And while he was doing them, he convinced hundreds of men to do it with him. It's like he sent an invitation to crazy town, and people looked around and knew this goal, this dream, this desire was just what being a Christian looked like in action. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

God spoke to him, and before he dared utter a word, he prayed to God for wisdom, guidance, clarity, words. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

God called him to such an outlandish task, he had no hope of completing it without God's absolute favor. So he asked for it. He believed in it. He walked in it. Scoffers be damned, he didn't follow them anyway. He followed God. God be blessed and pass it along. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

He managed to motivate men to volunteer their efforts, muscles, energy, and eventually their lives. He knew what they were fighting for, and he keyed into that purpose and spent his breath encouraging and committing to them. One writer says it this way, "He invited them to play a role in God's story". Whoa. What? 

A role in God's story? But I do that! It's called parenting. It's called mentoring. It's called discipleship. It's called following the prompting if the Holy Spirit. It's called using my gifts to bring God glory. 

Nehemiah did all of this and said, "yes," to being part of God's story. And he was granted favor. 

His goal was not only God approved, but it was a part of God's story. That wall was protection. That wall was God's glory, and we see that repeatedly throughout this story. Men built the wall with tools in one hand and a sword in their other. I never face this level of opposition. And it shows. I am never as invested in whatever I am a part of in the same way Nehemiah and his men were passionate about building this wall. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

As I step into the shoes of this new ministry, I find myself faced with so many of Nehemiah's same obstacles. The difference between us right now is that I am not Nehemiah. I am working on it. 

I want to be Nehemiah. 

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. 

Listen Here People

I have something to say. Well, probably, but I cannot think of it straight off. So I'll ramble on, which, jayehs, is a great song. Thank you Led Zeppelin. You have helped me through many a night.

Ramble One (or two in case you thought that Zeppelin bit was a tad random): This week I am finishing my first session of professing. Most of you know, but any of you newbies may not have heard I teach English as a professor at the local community college. It's the most favorite of every job I have ever had. I feel it is the most worthwhile career after being  wife and a mom. And. I have to quit. sad. sad. sigh. Tomorrow is my last night. I don't think I can handle my day job, homeschooling, and teaching four nights a week. Not yet.I am still praying that maybe I can fit it into my daytime routine, sooner rather than later. But now I know that God has given me this passion, and I am grateful he opted to let me in on that little secret. Many people miss those whispers. Lucky for me I wear hearing aides. Or, I will soon.

Ramble Two: My hearing is going. I am missing out. People speak, and I am that old lady grunting, "HUH?!" And mumblers? Forget about it. You could be saying something that would save the planet, and I won't be a part of it, because I can't hear you. I believe in healing. Two high school girls prayed over me that my hearing wouldn't even be restored, but that I would receive new hearing. I hope they didn't mean hearing aides.

Ramble Three: I got a text from my friend Liz today. She lives in Florida. I met her when we both lived in California, way back in the day. She is awesome. Weird. Always available when I need to hash it out at 3am Pacific/Standard time. Thanks Liz. This one's for you.

Ramble Four: I don't at all believe in reincarnation, but if I did, I would want to come back as a bald eagle. Those guys are feisty. They fight like ninjas!! I could BE a ninja, that's fo sho.

Ramble Five: I have to figure out how to make a slideshow of about a gazillion pictures of my students. It makes me tired to think of it, but it's on my list of to-dos. That and about a trillion other things. It's tough going from one job to the next. Especially when my new job has two compartments. I am researching and working and changing and planning and meeting and dealing. All while trying to finish up my current job as kindergarten teacher and Adult Basic Ed/ English as a Second Language teacher. Oh, right, plus all my kids have end of the year nonsense, and people need me. Vacation for me means no one needing me. I haven't had that day yet. I am hoping that comes soon. When I picture it happening I am on the porch of my hotel room that overlooks the ocean in Hawaii. Or, I am on a train running through the country sides of Italy or France. In both cases, no one is needing me.

Ramble Six: The Next Food Network Star begins next week. My DVR is all set to record.

Ramble Seven: I still can't find my cards. The outline of my book is on those cards. Years of work. Missing somewhere in my house? At the coffee shop? Being used as a book mark? I don't know. Lord, please help me find my card. I want to be obedient. What should I do? "Dig another well." Ok. sad. sad sighing. I will.

Ramble Eight: I am outtie. See you in a week, Liz. AH just kidding. But let's give it a couple days.

Coming to a Close

So many things are coming to a close in our life right now. Some are direct, but some are happening to people around us.

Friends having final babies (or so she thinks)

Nephews graduating

The school year

My daughter's first year of high school

My first year of full-time work

My first year ever of full-time teaching

My two mid-kids are ending elementary school

Hopefully my little kids' last year of school outside the home until high school.

But with all this comes new. God is faithful like that. He is the God who gives and takes away. And we should count every minute of that joyfully.

He takes sickness. He gives health.
He takes jobs and gives new ones.
He takes houses and gives homes somewhere else because we realize home is where the family is.
He takes kids and makes them grow up and gives us adults we are proud to call son or daughter.
He takes our sin and gives opportunity for growth and life.
He takes us as we are and gives us love we hardly deserve.

He is faithful. For everything he is taking, I anxiously await what he plans to give.

The biggest gift I think I will be given is time. Time with my husband and time with my kids. Such a priceless gift.

So is this leaf bouquet my twelve year old Elijah made me at the park the other day.

New

Many things are new in this land. I don't mean your land. I mean our land. "This land" is what Sam calls any happenings that affect him.

New job.

New church because of new job.

New family dynamic.

New shoes. Well I hope so.

New hours.

New relationships.

New.

It's all new. It will take me a bit to pull myself up from my Bootstrap's bootstraps, but with new comes hope. I like hope. It could have been my middle name. I might decide it's my code name and wear a super girl shirt with an H in the center. I could rock it. Lets just agree and move on.

My official title is Children's Ministry and Preschool Director at Hillside Foursquare Church. Because of the nature of the job, we will be switching churches to be in that community.

We started back today. It ruled. They had pastries and coffee during the service and nachos after. Come eat. Come drink. Come nacho.

Our dynamic changes because my kids currently attend the private school I work at. But that discount doesn't extend to no employees, and that's ok. For the past six months I have had the desire to homeschool again. So, we are going to. DID YOU HEAR ME FRIENDS!! I get to homeschool my babies. Who aren't actually babies at all, but they are mine. And being their mom is the best job a girl can have after being The Man's wife. Best. Just the best.
So I registered the four youngest in K12- an online public school. We dominated that program about two years ago like O'Doyle rules the woods. Izzy will stay in her program in the IB school she is at and represent the Brewers from there.
I'll devote three-four hours a day to my kids' education instead of the current nine. Nine hours on school is silly. I am all done with that.
New shoes? I see a Goodwill trip in my future.
New hours. I am required to be on campus for 25 hours each week. What I do with that time is up to me a long as I am getting my work done and our teachers feel valued and are learning still. That's my job. To give them opportunities to grow.
Instead of the schedule I keep now, 44 hours per week, I will cut that nearly in half
Dear Lord, you are so good to me. Thank you for my family and my church and the chance to serve them. Help me not to screw it up. Amen.

Oh. And this picture? This is my daughter hugging redemption. God is amazing. Tell your friends.

The Rules Should Apply To Everyone

Tonight I taught a class of seriously awesome adults. Every Wednesday and Thursday, for a few hours, I trade in my kindergarten hat, my wife hat, my mamma hat for an adult basic education hat. That's a big hat. I teach English as a second language to a group of people who are anxious to learn. They work harder than most people I know. They are rad.*
I asked them to be confident in themselves and the direction they are heading. And as I spoke the words, I realized these same rules need to apply to me too.
It's so easy to give advice. It's so easy to stand on the outside and know what someone else should do. But we are kidding ourselves when we say we are confident or that we KNOW how we would act in a situation we have never been in.
Sometimes God says move. Even when it doesn't make a ton of sense, God says move, and we have the choice to listen. But we have the choice to stand still and ignore him.
This time I am going to move. Both feet.
One

Two

Three

Dive.

*i love the word "rad". One time when my brother and I were in middle school, we were at a family picnic. A cousin or some same aged relative ran up to my brother and said, "you're rad." He smirked like she wasn't telling him something new.
Another obscure relative of the tween age came up and said the same thing. "You're rad" and then giggled hysterically before running off.
My brother turned to me and stared at my face, imparting the wisdom of a knowing man. "These girls see my greatness" his eyes seemed to say.
Finally, a voice of reason showed up in the form of a ten year old. She giggled like the others, but this time she said," do you know what R.A.D. Means?"
Of course we do. And we said so.
Her: no. It stands for retarded African dog.
Me: bwahahahaha. Oh. My side.

Linking Up With a Gypsy: Brave

Brave: start:

I want to be brave, really. Sometimes I stand at the edge of the diving board (theoretically of course because I scarce know how to swim in the deep end) and let my toes hang over. I stand and practice bending my knees. Arms up. But I just look. That isn't being brave. That's planning to be brave, but planning to be brave isn't brave either.

When God speaks, and you stand, and God speaks, and you take a step with your eyes squeezed shut, and God speaks, and you peak through the squint, and God speaks, and you reach your hands out in an opened position, and God speaks, and you feel the weight lift off, and God speaks, and you open one eye, and God speaks, and you open the other eye, and God speaks, and you step forward with more surety, and God speaks, and you stand tall, and God speaks, and you pick up the pace, and God speaks, and your heart feels poundy, and God speaks, but you do it anyway, and God speaks, and you realize you are running toward His voice not looking left or right or down, only up because everything else is too terrifying. That's brave.
Stop.

Directions:
Write for five minutes with no editing or over thinking. Just write on the given topic.

Full disclosure: I didn't know how to spell surety. I looked it up after my five minutes was up. I was way off.

Anything:Day1

Our book club has begun. Officially. I love the atmosphere at Starbucks. My hazelnut latte wasn't too bad either. The best part though was being there with my teen. She is cool and loves Jesus. People these days don't tend to enjoy kids being involved in church activities that aren't explicitly kid activities. It's too much of a soup pot. No, church these days prefers segregated soup. So, in keeping with my wild thing side, and our mandate to disciple other generations, I invited teens.
She added plenty to the conversation, and even spoke some truth like a champ.

This week, for those of you who are joining us, we are reading the first five chapters. That is about 25 pages. Maybe less. Order your book on amazon now. Do it. Do it!

Our bookstores here have been bought right out. I know because I bought izzy the last one.

In a few days, I will post some interesting questions. I'd love to hear your answers to them. Meanwhile. Be blessed

Anything

Jennie Allen wrote a book that is jacking up my boundaries, my ease. I have spent a year in a job I have thoroughly enjoyed, but if I am honest, I haven't loved everything else.

My house? Train wreck.

My kids? They could give Oscar the Grouch a run for his grumpy money.

My husband? I almost don't recognize him, but lets leave his mustache out of this.

My hair? No. Too soon to talk about this one.

I don't know why we honeymoonize everything. I looked at the wrong things when I thought going to work full-time was no big deal. As it turns out, I didn't get to stop being a full-time wife or a full-time mom when I became a full-time teacher. Instead, I went from strict priorities to "if I could just find a minute to drink some water or exercise or snuggle my babies".

This life is getting stupider by the nano second and I have no one to blame but myself.

I haven't worked out in a month. I don't have time.

It's been weeks since I wrote in The Book. I don't have time.

Bible reading? Here and there, but I am so tired I can't convince my eyes to stay open at the same time.

Confession: I haven't washed my sheets within this month. I know I need to. But, you guessed it. I don't have time.

I want to be radical. I want to follow Jesus and mean it. I want to be willing to say ANYTHING when Jesus whispers "Shontell, I see you. What will you do for me?"

If I am tired, I want a life to be changed because of it.

If I am drained, I want salvation to be the cause.

A quote from Anything, " from this point on things are changing. I am living for the moment when I will face you. I want to get to heaven out of breath, having willingly done anything that you -God of the universe-ask…anything."

Amen.
"Praise The Lord. Holy Crap"-Ellie Grace

Linking Up With The Gypsy

Type for five minutes flat without editing on one topic. Today, that topic is Friend:

Go

My friends, the girl in the PNW and the other girl currently living in Vegas, keep me company all day long. I like it. Tonight, the southern most friend sent news that her contractions were getting closer together. Now, normally we group text, the three of us, and it's all a lot of nonsense (which I am clearly a fan of) but this is real news. After I get off of work, I check in with them only to find they have left me the present of no less than 50 texts. usually more like 75. Can you even imagine how many we will generate if one of this tri-fecta is in labor!!? I am only slightly excited.

That's a lie I just made up myself. So, friend. Right now. I ode to you and your new little peanut. We will be praying. I will be sleeping restlessly. I will be dying to know if my baby birthday guess was right. (I chose the last week of April). Word to your mother.

Stop.