Saturday, April 12, 2014


Well, hello there.  

You remember Milo, right?  I updated iPhoto tonight and realized I have approximately 500 photos of  him and have only blogged one, I think?  He's offended.  He thinks I should blog more often and that I'm going to forget a lot of important little things if I don't permanently secure them a space on the interwebs.  I agreed.  So I should tell you that we like to make him howl with us.  Like pack howling.  It's just so ding-dang cute, but we have to limit ourselves, because it makes him want to bite his own back leg.

Also, I should tell you I can never find him because he blends in with our floor.  And that he dreams of flying.  Or being Super Spaniel.  Next time I find him like this, I promise to lay a little cape across his back before I snap the photo.

Also, guess who's his favorite?  Oh yes, my friends.  It is the subject of daily rubbings-in.  I'm not bitter, but I will give you one hint about who it was that first broke the no table scraps rule...

And since I posted a recent of Lee, I'll post a recent of myself, too.  Lee thinks it's so weird that I would desire a self-portrait...  And I'm like, wait...let me take a selfie...

I also need to share the news of the latest additions to the family.  Meet Nora and Alex.

If I'd remembered how gratifying parakeets could be, I would probably have started here with pets.  But don't tell Milo.

(Milo, don't chew on that, it's not yours.)

Anyways, like I was saying, the birds are a pretty good time.  Alex is named after my childhood parrot, Alex.  And Nora?  Well, the kids' cousins have another cousin named Nora, but Benny didn't remember this.  I wasn't sure if it was nice to name your bird after a pretty little relative, so I asked him why Nora?  He just said it was the most beautiful girl name he could think of.  So we went with it.

We tried to get birds with two different colored little noses, because apparently that's the easy way to tell if you'll get more birdies.  Two of the same color = no more birdies and two different colors = the pitter patter of little birdie feet.  Our fingers are crossed.

I should warn you in advance that Jillian looks 4 going on 16 to me in the following photo...

Isn't that just the stuff sad songs are written about?  Watercolor Ponies or Cats in the Cradle or Stop This Train or something like that is playing in the background of my life somewhere, I'm sure.  The other day she grabbed my face and said, "Do you think I was meant for you?  Because I know you were meant for me."  I gave her half my kingdom.  And then threw in the rest, just because; provided she shares with these two.

So that pretty much brings us up-to-date.  We've just been schoolin' and churchin' and messin' about.  We're party planning around here for a certain 7-soon-to-be-8-year-old's party.  I asked him if he could be 5 instead and he said, "that was never part of the deal.".  So I guess that option's out.  Part of the deal.  Uh-huh.

Ok.  I hope you're all doing beyond well.  I hope you all have a relaxed and peaceful weekend.  I hope you all put Rita Springer on Pandora and give yourselves a minute or two to just rest.  I've given God permission to show me who He really is.  Not who I think He is, or who anybody else thinks He is.  I've given Him permission to freak me out a little.  I want to know Him and be known by Him. 

 Because I am meant for Him and He sure is meant for me.   

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Sun, Sun, Sun…Here It Comes

I can't decide if this is cruel or comforting for my friends to the north.  I'm hoping for comforting.  We've had a few long, cold, lonely days here and there, but I must confess:  they don't call this the sunshine state for nothin'.  Truth be told, our "snow days" come in July and August when stepping outside feels like walking on the sun, so we're taking our 2 hour delays now, Florida style.

Benny and our newest family member, a Cocker Spaniel named Milo.

For me, this year is turning out to be a year of hope.  It's all I can think about.  The blessed Hope.  He is ours.  Christ, the hope of Glory; this mystery made known to us.  Hope is our reality, our truth, it is our birthright.  And when we're pressed on every side, holding on to hope isn't like trying to hold water in your hands, watching it run through your fingers and spill on to the ground.  It's like standing under a waterfall.  It is like staring at the dry, parched dirt and watching a spring burst up through the cracks.  Like standing in the sleepy dead of winter while a flower blooms defiant.  That is the very nature of hope.  It can't stop.  It knows all the details and doesn't even care.  Hope remains.  Sometimes I sit and stare cock-eyed at Hope, and all I can say is, "but…".  And Hope just shakes its head and says, "just watch."  It is relentless and unreasonable.  And it is yours and it is mine.

Thank you, Jesus, for this gift.  Let us run this race with joy, always and ever bubbling over with



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