Shoot the sky or the ground

I grew up in a household full of girls.  My first brother was born when I was 15.  This information is necessary to understand the circumstances surrounding my upbringing. One of the family rules was that we didn't say "butt" (Well, Dad said, "butt") but we would substitute a more genteel but considerably less threatening, "booty," as in "Get your booty in here," or "I'm going to kick your booty."

( TMI alert) We girls never peed or pooped.  My mom insisted that we tinkle or have a BM.  We didn't fart either.  We cut the cheese or passed gas, but mostly we didn't talk about it. My Dad would occasionally try and out an offender, but we remained in feminine denial. When my brother was born my father announced, "My son will not tinkle."

 My mother wouldn't allow guns either.  I remember my guilty fascination with the neighbor's cap gun.  I loved the loud "Pop" followed by aromatic gunsmoke stinging my nostrils.  Of course I never owned one, but it always remained "cool" in my mind.  At our house our imaginary gunfights were always accompanied with the maternal instructions, "Shoot the sky or the ground." That was my mother's solution to the chance of picking up an actual loaded gun and accidentally injuring anyone. During cowboys and Indians I would obediently point my gun to the sky when I ran by the windows to my house but then wickedly point to my opponent's heart when I turned the corner out of my mother's view.

It should not surprise me that when I had children of my own and my mind repelled the idea that these sweet darlings would ever be involved in violence, real or imagined, but fail safe shooting rules were difficult to enforce. When my oldest was a toddler I decided that we would just have the rule-- No guns.  However, since necessity breeds ingenuity my gentle baby created a weapon out of PVC pipe, pencils, or his finger when nothing else was available.

 Inspired by my mother I told my children to shoot the sky or the ground.  I remember them looking at me with indignant confusion, "How will we hit anyone that way?" I had to smile at the logic of this observation and began to cave.  As 1 son grew to 5 sons and then 7 with a couple of daughters thrown in , I realized that boys gonna fight and fighting's always better with weapons.

Thirty years later, I look back on my infinite purchases of Lego, Star Wars, ninja, and knight weapons with fondness. The best weapons, however, were homemade by Dad, brothers, and, OK, me.  I'm not condoning violence in any way.  I hold by the "Jesus said love everyone" creed, but how cute are these little fighters? Maybe it's just a normal part of growing up and if you're going to pretend shoot, you might as well pretend aim at your target.

Daniel and Brandon with cardboard swords courtesy of Dad

Bows-Dad again.
Aaron, Daniel, Nathan, Jacob and Brandon

I believe the boys made these weapons themselves. Some people stuffed the tube to give them an advantage.
Aaron, Daniel, Nathan, Brandon

Brandon and Jacob

Choose your weapon
Nathan, Jacob, Aaron

Baby girl packin' heat and her dolly.
Eliza, Aaron, Jacob

Construx swords-not very resilient, for all you connoisseurs
Nathan, Jacob, Rebecca, Andrew, Eliza

Jacob and Andrew

Bring it on, big brother
Daniel and Andrew

Fierce Rebecca and Andrew
These swords are dangerous-no contact allowed
Lots of tears because smashed fingers- FYI

Marshmallow guns-always a hit
Jacob, Nathan, John L. Eliza, Aaron
Ian, Gabe, Andrew, Collin, Rebecca

Weapons bonding with Aunt Stephanie

May the force be with you, Padawan.
Daniel and Rebecca

toothpaste and bodywash--the sign of diligence

"Diligence-Constant and earnest effort to accomplish what is undertaken.  Persistent exertion of body or mind."
 I've been thinking about this word "diligence" a lot lately. Maybe that's because I feel myself slackening my grip from time to time.  Sometimes I wake up on a cloudy day and observe that I am suffering from senioritis of life. It seems like I've been at it for a while now and a  long summer break with lots of cheering and sunshine and lemonade sounds rather appealing. I'm not sure where this picture comes from, probably from that place in my mind where I store laziness and fault finding and "what's in it for me?"  I keep trying to sweep that dusty place clean, but there are some old boxes of weakness that I keep around because I might need them some day and I've had them my whole life and can I really part with them forever?  None of those boxes have brought me lasting happiness, just a fleeting moment of pleasure followed by feelings of self doubt and a resolve to put them away once and for all. But such is the battle of days.

In the past few months I've had some friends teach me about diligence.  These friends are not my peers in age, but they are effective teachers nonetheless. Did you know that diligence smells like toothpaste and bodywash? My friends wake up early, shower, brush their teeth and come to the church to learn about God through study of the scriptures and the sharing of testimonies born of young but powerful faith. After 50 minutes they leave like they came, shoulders laden with back packs and sports bags, words bouncing with concerns for tests, quizzes, papers and projects, but hearts clean from a short hour of dedication to things pure and holy. I'm left alone in the room with only the smell of diligence as evidence that the hour happened. Sometimes the hour is heavy with doctrine, sometimes light with games and laughing. Sometimes shared stories make us smile, sometimes they call out tears, and seeds of compassion are sown.  No one hour changed a life, but stacking of great hours on top of okay hours for weeks and months has yielded just what one would expect-knowledge, belief, friendship and the power to choose to do good.

I lean on these little heroes when I need  more diligence.  When it is my job to prepare for Thursday's lesson even though I already prepared on Wednesday and Tuesday and Monday, I remember that they will be there, hoping to learn and be inspired and not be bored by lack of preparation from the girl tempted with senioritis.

Because my days don't cry to be managed with the same intensity as they did when I had many children at home, I have to decide to be diligent.  Minutes and hours can just lie there, directionless, if I don't apply diligence to shape them into something useful or beautiful or loving.  I like to think about the hope and enthusiasm for the future that I see every morning in my teacher/friends and capture that  for my future which is considerably shorter, but that cannot be without purpose and giving.

So thank you, clean and beautiful children, for stacking hours with me and showing me that life is exciting with infinite possibilities as we move forward with all diligence and faith.

What kind of preacher sits in first class on the way to Panama City Beach?

On Monday, after teaching my early morning seminary class, I drove on up to the airport, parked in economy parking, and walked a long, long way to the security line.  I'm not complaining about the walk because it's not like I exercise too much.  Getting through security was a snap. (I don't always say that) I hopped on the plane train for a few seconds and landed at gate B.  I was happy that I only had to go to B-4 except (listen up everyone) at ATL the B gates start at 1 million and work backwards.  Yes, I had to walk past 999,996 gates.  You know it's true.  Anyways, flying standby is fun because you're never bored.  You don't have to worry about reading or striking up a conversation with a stranger while you wait to board, you keep your eye on the screen and stare with rapt attention as the names start to clear for travel.  One never knows if one will actually be flying that day, even if that person did just walk miles and miles to gate B-4.  Sometimes my name never gets on the green cleared screen, it just stays on the blue list-blue for feel blue because you're going nowhere. But, today was going to be my lucky day.  Not only was I cleared, I was upgraded.  Little ol' me was flying first class-seat 1-A baby.

 There's one thing you need to know about mormons.  We like to share our faith.  Being a stay at home mom doesn't give me as many opportunities as I'd like, so I look forward to flying and being out in society.  I prepare myself by bringing a Book of Mormon and praying that I'll sit by someone who would like to talk to me about my church.  With that in mind, I was happy when the man sitting next to me was friendly. I don't like to disturb people with work to do or movies to watch or no interest in talking to a 50 + mormon mother of 9 that likes to talk about her children and grandchildren and God.

But, like I said, it was my lucky day.  After all were boarded, my friendly seat mate became a bit busy taking notes from his I-pad.  I was going to leave him alone until after my nosy glance I recognized that he was reading the Bible.  I smiled a little that my coincidental travelling companion was probably a preacher.  Oh well, might as well start a conversation.  So I brilliantly asked, "Are you a preacher?"  He responded, "Yes, do you know the Lord?" I confirmed, "Yes, I do."  His next question was, "What church do you like to go to?" I told him,"The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints-the Mormons." What happens next is always interesting.   I feel like I have so much in common with members of other Christian faiths, but sometimes this view is not shared.  Pastor 1-B was undeterred, "So what do you think the biggest differences are between your faith and my faith?" As I began to answer I realized that first I wanted to talk about what was the same, and I told him so. "I believe that Jesus Christ is my Savior and it's through his sacrifice that I have been redeemed.  He bought me with his blood so I am his.  I will show my love and gratitude by serving him and his children all my days." I love and read the Bible, but in addition to this.. we have the Book of Mormon, another Testament of Christ."
 A lively conversation ensued, with him teaching me some of what he shares with his congregation (he prays to sit by someone on the airplane to talk to about God also.) He asked me more questions, some of which he wanted me to answer and some of which he wanted to answer.  I hope I was able to clarify some misconceptions he had about the doctrine of my faith. I shared some of what I love about my church. There were doctrinal points that we had to disagree on, but much of what was said was edifying and confirming that Jesus Christ is the truth, the way and the life. I enjoyed our hour together very much and came away convinced that all Christians and good people of society should join together for causes that will strengthen the moral fiber of our communities.
As it was getting close to landing time a thought occurred to me, "What kind of preacher rides first class to Panama City Beach?" My question was soon answered.  He gave me his card with his e-mail address and told me that if I e-mailed him he'd send me his book.  I didn't recognize his name, but I kept his card and googled him when I got home.  The kind of preacher that rides first class is the kind of preacher who was president of the Southern Baptist Convention for 2 years, wrote 6 books and preaches on the Church Channel every Sunday and is broadcast to 50 states and 122 countries.  I guess that's what happens when a Mormon mom and a famous evangelical pastor both pray on the same morning that they can sit by someone that wants to talk about their faith.  I'm pretty sure heaven was smiling.

Happy Birthday Gabe !!

Happy Birthday to this great guy.  We're so thankful to have you in the family, Gabe  I'm sorry you have to be the baby, and be the last one home with mom and dad, at which point you will be doing all the jobs.  But like we've said before, you will also have all the toys.

Eliza, Gabe, Rebecca and Mom in the IL strawberry fields.

Rebecca, Andrew, and Gabe

Brandon and Gabe

Gabe and Eliza

Foreshadowing of the percussion days ahead.

Foreshadowing of the dish doing days ahead.

Gabe, Andrew and Rebecca

Pony Love

Gabe and one of his best cousins, Blair

One day Gabe came in wearing about 10 shirts.  He said, "Hey look, I'm fat like you guys."

Gabe's real self.

Rebecca, Becky Froelich, Andrew, Aaron, Jacob, Eliza and Birthday Gabe

Annabelle and Uncle Gabe

One of the best parts about Rock City, WV-witchy fingers with Jacob