Do You Ever Feel Like the Last Laugh is on You?

After thirty-six years of marriage, six children, and twenty six years of homeschooling, I finally understand. Who would have thought after all the play dough I've mixed, bread dough I've baked, and kid character dough I've shaped, I was the ball of clay? I've been the big mix of the Master Potter all along.

I remember mornings I rummaged blindly for the coffee pot, desperate for that single cup to start my engine. My boys would someday provide for families, so I pushed myself into each new day before the sun was up. Could the Lord have been making a morning person out of me? I never was, you know, but now I relish the quiet moments before sunrise.

Many days I was tempted to switch on the television and self-medicate from all my responsibilities. But, I wanted my kids to remember their mom as industrious. Could God have been protecting me from hours of wasted time and the squandering of my gifts? Self-discovery happened, instead. I love to write.

Somehow amid all the giving and teaching going on at my house, God is smiling.

Once I made a chart for the children to instruct them in the disciplines of keeping house. One of the little guys said, “Mommy, your bed isn't always made, and your room isn't always clean.” Ouch! While I did my best to teach the children consistency and good habits, God nudged me. Grace is a lovely, undeserved thing. 

Every time the kids took on a project—there I was—smack in the middle of it. I endured to spark their creativity, but discovered talents I possessed; I would not have endeavored so hard for myself.

Then there were all those precious moments when their elbows were on the table and they rested their faces in their chubby, little hands, and said…“I can't.” Who knew I would learn motivational secrets as effective as Dale Carnegie?

I rehearsed scriptures with the children time and again, hoping to build their characters strong and sound: Griping makes us discouraged, honey. A just man falls down seven times, but he gets up. A fountain can't bring forth bitter and sweet water, baby. Ask and He shall give. Could the Lord have been training me?

Grace is a lovely, undeserved thing. 

What about this new season? I still wear a high school teacher homeschooling hat, but I’m also a grandparent and babysitter on call. I’m my mom’s caregiver. I’m an addicted to the core writer. Watch me juggle like a Barnum and Bailey Circus clown. Watch my keyboard as it clicks, documenting my heart. I may have dinner in my teeth, a diaper pail running over, homework to check, deadlines to meet, and an elderly mother asking me to program the DVR for Dancing with the Stars, but I am still growing up.

Somehow amid all the giving and teaching going on at my house, God is smiling. He’s looking down upon my home and sizing up the job. Then in laughter and delight, He’s custom making me fit it—just a little shaping at a time.

Do you ever feel the last laugh is on you? How is God gently molding your life? Certainly, I am not the only one.

Know Your Limits

Recently a friend suggested we adopt a dog for my fifteen-year-old, Caleb, when we had sadly been forced to put down his childhood dog-friend, Trevor. Don’t think for a moment the temptation wasn’t there because I love my child, but I said, “No.” A slight tug of guilt niggled about... One minute. Just what had I endured in rearing six children for a period of thirty years?

• Six hermit crabs, and six hermit crab funerals.
• Four turtles—big ones, small ones, green ones, speckled. Don’t kid yourself that turtles are slow. They ran from my kids.
• Two rabbits, one which lived indoors. Do you know how often and to  what extent Lucy, the indoor rabbit, pooped?
• Add to this list, a goldfish bowl. Three aquariums, one of which my five-year-old, Jarred, wore on his head while jagged shards of glass threatened to sever his carotid artery. Not to mention, the ten gallons of dirty-fishy water and flailing fish that landed on the carpet.
• Three horses: Cricket, Lady, and Chess. Cricket lived in the backyard for a few weeks. What was that like? Well, aside from the balding yard, it was a little like trying to have school with children while being entertained by the circus. Never tie a horse to a swing set. Even if it’s made of iron.
• We had a number of dogs. Sheba, an Alaskan Spitz, as a puppy favored pooping in the floor furnace (while it was radiating) and later climbed sixteen foot fences in rain storms.
• The twin puppies Jiffy and Skippy found new homes quickly since they hadn’t been such bright ideas coupled with potty training two young sons.
• The adopted dog, Cinnamon, Kirk renamed Lassie. Why? I haven’t a clue since she was a Weimaraner mix and not a Collie. Stubborn as the day was long that dog and the boy.
• The Cocker Spaniel pup, Blessing, that should have been named Curse the way she chased cars, bike riders, and school buses.
• Tucker, the Lhasa Apsos, whom someone paid two hundred dollars to own and gave to us. That should have been a no brainer.
• And Trevor, another adoptee who should have had the Native American name rug-lies-in-a-heap-where-you-wish-to-walk.
• Three litters of puppies. One surprise litter had to be kept in our empty in-ground pool, because we had no backyard fence.
• Another litter, delivered by C-section at the vet clinic in the middle of the night, actually lived after the vet took each puppy from their mama’s womb and handed them to one of our eight family members. My husband, children, and I had to briskly rub each puppy with a towel to start their breathing.
• Cats? I’ve lost count. There was the one kitten which lost her life when she darted under a moving rocker. Then there was a white cat, Sassy, that needed a mental institution after young Joshua locked her in a tool box for four one hundred degree plus days.
• The next cat was a gray and white tabby named Seeka, and she lived with us a long while. She was perfect pet with Megan and Joanna. They daily dressed her in doll clothes and took her for spins around the yard in a baby buggy.
• Seeka had kittens. One, we thought a boy, was named Morris until we discovered he had become with kittens. This male, orange cat was hastily renamed Morrisa and had five orange babies, then licked a laundry detergent bottle and died. The next day Seeka delivered six new tabby babies. A proud mother and grandmother, Seeka adopted her grandchildren and nursed all eleven kittens. Now that was a precious lesson.
• Jake and Sweety, our lovely, cheerful, innocent parakeets. How much trouble could they be? They ate one of my expensive second grade ABeka readers. They were not good pets in a house with twelve foot ceilings. Try catching one of those while balancing on a seven foot ladder.
• And, I must mention Lucious, the jack-ass. No, I cannot politely call this animal a donkey. Lucious had one speed no matter how many times you prodded him with cowboy boots. He traveled stand-still-miles-per-hour. Except for when his neck would suddenly stiffen. Then he ran like a streak of lightening, bolted to a stop like a speed racer at a red light, and hurled his rider over the pasture fence with no remorse.

           I have been known to say, I will endure for one of my children when I may not for myself. Love and laughter keep us on a steady course, and the lessons of living, adopting, and dying enrich us. But I know my limits, at least at this stage in the game. Sometimes it is okay to say, “No.”

Listen for His Whispers... Sometimes they're loud.