Off to work ...

I love this picture. I loved it the minute I snapped it. Little man thought he was "working" around our new home site. Daddy was around the corner doing the actual work. Mamma was following Little Man and his brothers, snapping pictures for the scrapbook. Little Man ventured up the hill, shovel in tow. I saw the picture before I could even raise my camera. It was there; I just had to capture it. Those are the best pictures. Not posed. Just life. I try to imagine what was going through his mind at this moment. Can you just picture him thinking, "A man's work is never done," as he trudged up that hill? I've already blown up this picture, and it'll hang in Daddy's office for us to smile at forever.

Parenting manual needs camp chapter

When the first-ever, all-inclusive parenting manual is published, it should include a chapter offering advice for parents sending their sons to summer camp.

I’m even volunteering to write it.

Chapter 99: Church camp.

Men, listen up. This advice will help you not only through sending your son to church camp, but to realize exactly what little boys are all about. Oh, you were a little boy once? Well, then, hug your mother and tell her she’s the most fantastic individual on earth.
 
Walking into the dorm to pick up my second son’s belongings after his first stay at church camp, I immediately noticed the blue towel sopping wet and soaking my quilt was not one of ours.

Lesson No. 1: Mothers know their towels. Even if we have 50, one in every color, we still know which ones are ours. I sent an old steel blue towel, not periwinkle. I don’t own a periwinkle towel. (Yes, periwinkle is a color — one word that men will never use. Ever.) With two fingers, I picked it up with disgust and moved it off the quilt. That’s when a man, a few years older than myself, said, “You here to get Lucas’ stuff?”

I nodded, and he replied, “Well, there’s a bunch of stuff in the shower room. You might want to go in there and see if anything belongs to him.”

With great trepidation, I walked into the shower room with my 6-year-old who had to use the rest room. He walked toward the stalls, while the man — obviously a camp volunteer — followed me into the shower area. There, to my dismay, was a pile of wet, nasty clothing — inside-out socks, swimming trunks, beach towels and underwear.

My gasp must have been audible, or the man sensed my anguish. “Worst group we’ve ever had as far as clothes. They just dropped them wherever they took them off.”

I thought, “Little boys dropping their clothes wherever they landed, then taking off and forgetting about them? Who would’ve thought.”

Looking through the mess, trying not to touch, I realized quickly the towel I sent was not among the debris. It’s why I send an old towel, old washcloth and cheap clothes. I learned long ago those things rarely make it home from camp.

Nearly running from the shower room to escape the clothing massacre, I happened upon my 6-year-old who was zipping his pants.

That’s when the man said, “This group was bad about clothes, but at least they seemed to know how to flush.” He then walked over and flushed after my 6-year-old.

Whoops. Another lesson: Not only do little boys leave clothing strewn about, they find it hard to flush, aim or put the seat up.

Apparently this, too, was news to the counselor. (He obviously raised girls and hasn’t spoken to his mom about his own long-abandoned habits.)

Later, after arriving home, my son’s bag was dropped in front of the washing machine. Emptying it directly into the washer, I noted several pairs of the underwear I sent were still folded as I placed them. Yep. This is a church camp lesson, too: Changing undies is optional when mom’s not looking.
And the bar of soap I issued was unopened, as was the bottle of shampoo.

“Did you take a shower while you were at camp?” I asked my little guy.

“They wouldn’t let me,” he replied.

Lying after church camp? Nope. Not hardly. The translation that can only be interpreted by mom: “I asked to take a shower 30 seconds before dinner, or in the middle of our Bible lesson.” Every chapter in the manual should end with, “Whatever they say shall not be taken literally.”

And whether or not little boys ever shed that quality can be argued later in life with their wives, long after we moms give up. Soap will go unopened, and undies may not get changed. The washing machine may revolt, and we’ll lose a few towels along the way. But in the end, we just shrug, laugh and know boys will be boys — especially at church camp.

It's not the walls, but what's inside them

It required careful planning. It required a lot of saving. It involved worry, scheduling and in-depth conversations about want vs. need.

We didn’t know if our dream would come true in the timeframe we selected. We had no idea what financing would be possible, and to be honest, we had no idea if that dream of a new home would ever really happen.

It was, after all, just a dream.

We just knew that six people, including four very active little boys, were quickly outgrowing our 1,200-square-foot abode. That was becoming painfully obvious on rainy days, friend overnights and through winter storms.

Hubby would just look at me and say, “Boy, we need a bigger house.” I’d reply, “What did you say? I can’t hear you over the wrestling grunts, truck sounds and your football game!”

Our little home doesn’t bother me. It’s my sanctuary. It is where I belong, and surrounded by quiet woods, most days there is no place I’d rather be living. But our home was increasing wearing on hubby, who desired something larger – built with his own hands – that he could be proud to call his.

So here we are. Land purchased, developed and now featuring a long drive and a giant hole. There’s not quite much there to see these days, but we see our dream coming alive.

On Saturday, we signed the construction loan paperwork for the biggest loan amount either of us have been responsible for, and the first time we secured financing together during our marriage.

And at some point this week, likely by Friday, we’ll have a concrete basement, patio and front porch slab where that big hole now stands.

Come September, hubby will begin driving in nails and securing screws, building our home from the ground up.

What that means to me is imaginable. To think of living in this house, one I could only dream of, with the love of my life and the most precious pieces of my heart, watching them grow with love and respect within the walls that I watched go up, is amazing.

People say building a house is the most stressful thing a couple can experience. They talk about layout, colors, space, light fixtures and cabinets.

I’ve never lived in a home I designed, so I know nothing of the sorts. I only know that as long as I share that space with the five guys who make my heart sing I’m going to be happy.

Sure, the house is nice, but I’ve always known that what lies within those walls is truly what’s important.

Finding escape through my faith, family

“What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”

-- A.W. Tozer

A friend came over late the other night. She needed to talk, and I was still awake. We perched on my back deck, my little place away from the world, and her question came:

“How do you manage to have such a public life, yet still be yourself?”

I don’t think about that question much, but the answer came easily.

“I escape to this,” as I waved my arm around encompassing all that surrounded us that night. “Henry and the boys are my solace. I escape to them, and our life here. This is who I am, and this is where I can be myself. I hide out here, and that life, the public life, it’s not who I am. I drop that before I get here.”

She thought for a minute. She doesn’t have kids, and she’s not married. Her whole life is her job, for the most part. She hasn’t found her escape. But she will.

It’s no secret that my public life has hurt me. It picked me up, spit me out and left me crumpled in a pile on the floor. When you’re hurt to that extreme, you retreat.

But because of that pain, I no longer let my public life dictate who I am. I am a very  private person these days, and it no longer matters to me what I’m involved in, or whom accepts me, outside of my family and God.

And, you see, that’s the lesson here.

She’s not the first friend who has came to me, worried about what others in the community may think, and she won’t be the last. And I see it on Facebook, too. Friends ranting because someone is talking about them, or how their children aren’t included with others, or how they feel they are being excluded or judged by their adult peers.

I have friends, good friends. I won’t judge you or anyone else. There’s one judge, and we’ll all face Him sooner or later. I accept people against pretenses, and therefore, I have friends of all shapes and sizes, from all backgrounds, popular or not. I’m not a part of any social clique, sorority or organization that would put me above or below anyone else. I do what I want to do these days, and that means almost every available minute is spent with my husband and kids in our world. And our world focuses on faith and family.

For the first time in my life, I’ve accepted myself for who I am. For far too long, I chased the public persona, trying to force myself into that role, the role everyone else thought I should be. It got me nowhere but hurt.

Every town is full of cliques, vengeful people and those out to hurt others, just to make themselves feel superior. But they’re also full of wonderful, God-loving, caring individuals who make life better just by being themselves. You can concentrate on the first, or you can be a part of the latter.

Take this advice from someone who has been there and who may always be branded with the Scarlett Letter of Exclusion. You can carry the letter and let it dictate who you are, or you can drop it and focus on what really matters.

Since I’m currently studying the book of Genesis and God’s creation, it seems only appropriate to leave you with this: “So God created man in his own image … And God saw everything that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.”

He made each and every one of us, and we’re good – no matter what. The world may have you believe that you’re only a speck of dust among millions and you don’t matter, but know that God not only made each of us special and unique, but he knows every single one of us personally.

Embracing that truth with your heart and soul can be your escape, too.

So this is what I know

I don't know much. I'm not sure of a lot of things. So this is what I know ...
My husband is the center of my universe, the calm in my storm. He's the person who makes me a better person. Without him, I'm not whole. Without him, our family isn't complete.
What I know is that I love him unconditionally.
Driving to Bloomington Hospital Tuesday afternoon, tears streaming down my face, I tried to explain this to God, as if he didn't already know. After diligently making necessary phone calls to work through my husband's workplace accident, I spent the rest of the drive praying.
I have a lot of questions about faith, religion and God. I've been told this is normal, so I seek for His answers and try to work toward increased faith. It's a journey.
But what I also know is that on Tuesday, just before leaving Bedford to follow the ambulance to Bloomington, I asked for prayers via Facebook. Not my usual practice, but I sought solace.
And on my drive to Bloomington, I prayed fast and furiously, asking for God to place his loving, comforting arms around my hurt hubby.
And when I arrived in Bloomington and found my soulmate in the emergency room, he was noticeably better.
Coincidence?
Unbelievers may think so.
But I believe differently.
I know that he was one sick, disoriented man when he left Bedford. Many prayers were lifted up for his healing. Thirty minutes later, he was much better.
That's no coincidence. I do know that much.

In weakness, I seek grace

God made us in his likeness, but didn’t make us exactly like him. Obviously, not even the most devote Christians among us are perfect. We have our flaws, very distinct flaws, and it’s through him that we’re forgiven and made clean of those flaws.

Sometimes I think that he gave each of us our own weaknesses. It’s almost like he thought, “This is going to be Krystal, and her flaws are going to be numerous because I think if she needs to work harder to overcome them, she’ll have a greater faith in me. But her greatest weakness, the one she’ll work hardest to overcome, will be grudges, bitterness and forgiveness.”

Alas, here I am.

Many questions, many struggles, many weaknesses and the greatest of these is the anger I feel toward those who’ve wronged me or the ones I love.

How many times does he tell us through the Bible that he wants us to love others?

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” – John 13:34-35

“And now these three remain: Faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13

“Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” – 1 John 4:7-8

He never says, “Dear child, you don’t have to love the people who are mean to you.”

And therein lies my greatest challenge.

You see, I tend to like most people. I hate no one. But when I feel wronged or distrustful of another person, I’m the clam who initiates her force field. I don’t speak to you. I don’t look at you. It’s like you’ve disappeared from the face of this earth.

It is then I must pray, seek forgiveness and the strength to let go of that anger and embrace love. Easier said than done, but since I have done it, I know I can do it again.

Right now, I find myself angry at people very near and dear to my heart. I feel wronged, unloved and a lot of bitterness. I can’t seem to rid my mind of the pain or the anger. There are few people, upon hearing the story, who wouldn’t say, “You have every right to feel this way.” The problem is that I know God wouldn’t say that.

In fact, as it is written in Galatians 5:14, “The entire law is summed up in a single command: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

It doesn’t get any clearer than that now does it?

But among those weaknesses God gave me, he threw in a little bit of saving grace. Anger brews, yes, but not for long. I can’t hold a grudge.

He knew that too for Psalm 30:5 says, “For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”

I’m still a work in progress, and God has his work cut out for him. But so do I for that matter. I’m trying to obey him, follow his commandments and strengthen my faith. I’ve got a lot to work on, and I pray for his continued guidance in this journey. He’s given me the manual. I know what I must do, but it’s not easy.

I must seek his grace for as Paul recounted in 2 Corinthians 12:9: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

I’m weak. He’s strong. Even in pain, I can overcome with his almighty grace, forgiveness and love.

Come on, America

I saw the picture on a search engine. It was some triple grease burger that had to contain thousands of calories and hundreds of fat grams.
Are you kidding me?
Come on, America ...
What are we thinking?
On the same news page, there was an inspirational story about a busy mom who dropped 103 pounds after topping 200 pounds. She used a simple formula: Diet and exercise.
Her story could be my story.
At my first doctor's appointment after learning I was pregnant for Master Em, aka Little Man, I weighed in at a whopping 200 pounds. I'm a short gal. Every pound showed. I knew what I was facing in the future, but it became painfully clear when gestational diabetes hit. Pricking my fingers four times a day, living off chicken and apples and recording numbers constantly was NOT how I wanted to live.
Change needed to happen fast.
My wake-up call was ringing, and I planned to answer.
Here's the deal. When you're overweight, pregnancy tends to be a blessing. You see, I've learned that when I was skinny and got pregnant, I gained a lot of weight. When I was fat and got pregnant, I lost weight. Figuring that in the equation, and I knew when Master Em was born, I'd have my diet jumpstart if I was willing to take it.
He arrived happy and healthy, and I was down a whopping 30 pounds almost immediately.
Could I keep it up?
Not without exercise. Three weeks after he was born, I headed to the track. I started walking and running, and I kept going. The weight was slowly coming off, but my diet needed a boost, so I cut calories. Big time. I went from over 2,000 calories a day down to 1,000 to 1,200.
It worked. The weight started falling off.
Who knew the secret to weight-loss would be diet and exercise? No miracle or secret to it. No belly band needed, or firming belt required. It's not easy, but 70 pounds later, I'm wearing sizes I would've never dreamed of wearing, and I'm maintaining.
But I can't eat triple burgers loaded with calories and fat. I don't even want to. I figure an ex-fatty looking at something like that is akin to an ex-smoker seeing a person smoke -- it disgusts you. I pass on Chinese buffets, and pick a salad most days when I eat out with my family. I choose my restaurants according to menu items, opting for a place with grilled chicken options over their calorie-loaded counterparts. Mexican was once a weekly, if not twice weekly treat. I can honestly say I haven't eaten Mexican in months. It's the same with alcohol. Loaded with calories, I skip beers and mixed drinks are a rare treat. I even know which restaurants have medium-sized drinks that are more like gallon jugs and which ones have "normal-sized" drinks.
It's a lifestyle change for sure, but I think it's time for Americans to step away from the plate. Portion control is a major factor, and I'm proof you don't have to live off of egg whites and wheat toast to lose weight.
I don't believe the government should be stepping in to control things like school lunches, yet I wonder when the food industry is going to get the hint. When will we give up buffets, super-sized calorie-laden soft drinks and quadruple burgers with cheese and bacon? When is enough going to be enough?

 (Below: Before diet; Above: After)

I suppose when more people like me decide it's enough.