Soaring

This week for Family Home Evening, JR planned the lesson. It involved a trip to Wendy's, the park and a kite. I was sold at Wendy's, let's be honest. I love being able to spend one-on-one time with husband. It doesn't happen a ton, so when we get a chance to just talk it is always something I treasure. I swear we could gab for hours.

The kite part of the night was a "surprise." (Don't tell him I spied it tucked in the backseat before we even left the driveway. It would break his heart.) After dinner we assembled our little toy and ran around the park. It was, of course, windy all day until we got the kite out. Our legs did a lot more work than the wind ever did. Kites will always work if you're willing to run fast enough.

At one point when the wind and the kite were both cooperating JR asked me; "What do you need to fly a kite?"
Me: "Wind!"
JR: "What else?"
Me: "A string"
JR: "Yes, how about tension?"

We talked about how tension or pressure can help us "fly." JR applied this simple object lesson to the principle of conversion. That true conversion is ultimately being faithful through what God gives you and knowing that everything will turn out for the best.

We also talked about being tested only to the capacity that we can handle. I am beginning to second guess that principle. In fact, I don't think I believe it at all. I think it's by design that we are given trials that are much more than we can physically or mentally handle. The capacity part allows us to involve the Lord. If we turn to him in trial, He makes up every single smidgen of difference. He is the key ingredient that will actually change our nature to make the harder-than-we-can-handle things bearable.

In reality, there is an abundance of pre-flight tension. There are countless shaping trials to prepare us for the ultimate flight. The difference in how high we soar depends on our conversion and the humility to let Him help us. I for one am going to be less assuming and try to be more kind along the way.

Smokin...

The boys have been smoking in our driveway lately. Smoking meat. And yes, it's as red-neck as it sounds. Imagine JR with his 'stache, the boys in their sweats, camping chairs littering the driveway, and a little barrel of smoke filling every open window on the block. It makes for delicious dinner every time.

Yesterday it was ribs using a top-secret recipe that even cold, dead fingers wouldn't surrender. It's that serious. The day was stunning and we even got a touch of sun. JR was really working on his tan.

It was also a prime opportunity to get some real good belly shots. Can I just say how much I love being pregnant along with two of my sisters?! Mucho.

He Loves Me

Husband has been worried about my car lately. After weeks of searching, a thousand questions and 9+ hours with new cars last Saturday, his worries are over.

Maybe my favorite part of our car buying experience was driving it to Bethany's, stealing her car seat and child, and finding one hundred and one ways to strap the seat and eject the child. Ashlynn was her typical angel self, but I think she thought we were absolutely crazy for not actually driving her anywhere.

I'm glad I have someone to worry about me and make sure I'm safe. He also made me pinky swear that I wouldn't back into parked cars. If I do, that worry might turn into something more rageful. I'm not planning on testing that theory.

Starved for Attention

I have always loved a good performance. I've tamed it (somewhat) over the years, but I haven't altogether lost my flare for the dramatic. (i.e. starting circa 2012 self-talk finally won the argument that self-restraint when buying new clothes would not actually kill me, it just made for a much more depressing life and left little reason to live.)

Following is the perfect example of my self-taming:

Notice, I'm not bouncing around demanding attention. I quietly display my new purchases (self-talk aside on this one) for the perfect moment when husband looks up from his homework to notice my spoils. NOTE: it took at least 20 minutes.

The First Day of Spring

Happy first day of Spring!! I'm having all sorts of urges to go to Home Depot. That's when you know I have Spring Fever in a bad way. When we were younger, my dad would send us to that black hole with a list. If not Home Depot it was Sprinkler World. I can only imagine what those mostly helpful workers were thinking; "why is this teenage girl asking me for a Febco 765 3/4" PVB with unions? And when is she going to discover how to straighten her hair?"

Okay, so maybe a guy working at Sprinkler World would never actually wonder about a teenage girl and her straightener specifically, but I'm sure they felt sorry for me based on my obvious displacement in the home improvement, and let's face it, the fashion world. Those were dark days.

Home improvement store anxiety aside... I'm having crazy urges to buy baby chicks from IFA, and create a terra-cotta water fixture with a kit they sell at Home Depot, and plant lots of flowers in porch pots. I'm so happy that most of the days these days are filled with sunshine! And that although it was 32 degrees when we left, we were still able to have a campfire at Bakers Acres last weekend. And I love that even though I woke up to snow on the front lawn less than 3 days ago, there wasn't a trace of it when I got home from work that same day. As far as I'm concerned, this, besides summer and fall, is the most wonderful time of the year.

The Many Names of Fat

It has never more apparent that I work in a predominately male environment. Just get preggers. Jessica (whose baby is due 6 weeks before mine) works right next door at our sister company, and between the two of us this passel of men has at one point or another said at least one of the following:

"Tell your sister to lay off the pie"
"You're flying to Vegas for a work conference? Wait, do you need two seats on the plane?"
"Your belly made it into the room at least 5 minutes before you did. pretty soon it's going to be 10!"
"Did you swallow a balloon?"
"Are you pregnant? You used to be pretty fit. I didn't know if you had just let yourself go since you got  married."
"It's so weird, last week you were like; eh. [while making small hand gestures] This week you're like WOW [while making sounds and gestures of a giant explosion]."

Keep it up boys. This girl is just getting fatter and more hormonal...HR is right down the hall.

The Mustaches of March

Husband blames a lot of stuff on the Air Force. Like, "I have to shout commands at the top of  my lungs, I'm practicing for Air Force." Or, "Babe, I can't stop saluting until you salute me, you're the commanding officer." And recently, due to an unfortunate incident that involved a lot of sit ups in the rain, JR developed and then named a new pet he affectionately referred to as his chafe.

The newest Air Force blame is Mustache March. Thank you, General Mark A. Welsh III. As the commanding officer in the Air Force, he threw down the gauntlet. And Detachment 855 has accepted. JR accepted with enthusiasm. Of course answering my disgust with; "I have to, it's for the Air Force!!"

On the first day of March, JR vowed to me that if he won any awards for his 'stache he would keep it until the baby comes. By about day four he said to me, almost in a whisper; "I think we're both hoping I don't win any awards." People, let us pray.

Joking aside, he is so dedicated and works extremely hard at something that isn't easy. I will never know where he gets all the energy to pull these 18-hour days with a positive attitude. I literally don't understand how he still has time to think of me and be invested in home life. He sure has a proud wifey!

Ninja Kicks

It's official. Michael Blake is a ninja. 5 swift kicks to my upper abdomen, and I'm pretty sure he got my attention. This marks the first time I could feel our little peach swimming around. Friday, March 7th at 8:52 A.M.

In our family, it's a bit of a joke that Ted is a ninja. His ninja skills obviously came from his parents, so we consider ourselves a big happy ninja family. Michael Blake seems to be no exception. Now behave, little ninja.

Pajamas

I am wearing my PJs to work today. Like, I literally wore these pants to bed last night. And now I am wearing them in broad daylight, in a professional environment. I use the term professional loosely for a number of reasons, the first of which being: I work with a passel of men, most of whom tinker in a warehouse and wear padded plaid on the reg.

I would try to care a little more, but also I'm sick. I'm dealing with a fatal pollen attack, or my boss and two of the men I work closest with have been coughing up a lung and every inner organ for the past two weeks. Either way, I am stuffy and sneezey and coughy...and pajamas had to be worn.

I feel like I've had a lot lately. Not necessarily a lot on my plate, because everyone has their own version of a crazy schedule. Not really a lot in terms of trials or hard times, because I really believe that everyone is tested to capacity in their own way. I've had a lot of life happening lately. I follow this blog, and had a really neat experience the other day (or middle of the night) that came from something Jamie posted.

I was extra stuffy while getting ready for bed, and was dreading sleepy time because I had not slept well the night before. I asked JR for a blessing and then prayed extra hard for a good night's rest and sincerely thought my prayers of healing would be answered. Wake up in the morning and no more sicky. As I prayed, I had a clear impression that "My God is bigger than all this." He's bigger than my sickness, and my heartache and my "a lot of life". I didn't wake up super rested in the morning, in fact I woke up about 7 times throughout the night. But each time I woke up to sniff or cough or roll over, I had the same sleepy thought; "My God is bigger than this." It was so comforting.

Here's an excerpt from Jami that spurred that thought:
From everyday prayers by Scotty smith : 
The king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. The war horse is a false hope for salvation, and by its great might it cannot rescue. Behold, the eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love. Ps. 33:16-18
Dear Lord Jesus, though it’s not fun, it is a good thing to come to the end of ourselves—to be in situations where all our of resources and strength, all of our life experiences and smarts are simply not enough. Indeed, it is a gospel thing to feel the pain of realizing that whatever worked in the past is not working in the present moment; to feel the confusion of not knowing what to do next; to feel the helplessness of being out of control—to be in a place of actually needing you.

For only in those times do we abandon ourselves to the God who alone can part Red Seas (Ex. 14); who can overthrow whole Midianite armies with three hundred gun-less soldiers (Judges 7); take down Goliaths with a pebble (1 Sam. 17); feed multitudes with a few fish and pieces of bread (Matt. 14); raise a dead man for the salvation of his people and the transformation of the cosmos (1 Cor. 15). Indeed, some things happen to us that “we might not rely on ourselves but on the God who raises the dead” (2 Cor. 1:9).

Jesus, we abandon ourselves to you today, for you are that dead man who now lives. You are the One who is redeeming his bride and making all things new. It is your unfailing love that we can and must hope in. There is no other supply sufficient to the need. There is no other strength sufficient for the task. There is no other balm sufficient for the pain. There is no other rest sufficient for the exhaustion. There is no hope sufficient for the multiple issues in front of us.

We bring our broken, conflicted and wandering hearts to you. We bring our struggling marriages to you. We bring our divided churches to you. We bring our hurting friends to you. We bring our wayward children to you. We bring our unbelieving neighbors to you. We bring the needs of our community to you. We bring our crazy world to you. We bring it all to you, Jesus. We will trust in you and your unfailing love. Astonish us by bringing much glory to yourself. So very Amen we pray, in your merciful and mighty name.

We're Painting

Our neighbor Gustavo (or Gus-Taco as I think he prefers) is an amazing interior designer (guys he works on temples-sooo cool!). We roped him into some design help on Saturday. He helped us pick the perfect colors for the nursery and we crafted the ultimate plan on how this painting thing is going to go down. It was a much longer discussion than it sounds.

We decided on a chair rail around the whole room, kind of like this. Gus taught us that the chair rail should be a third the height of your shortest wall. See, I would never know these things! We marked the height of the rail with a sweet leveling laser and painted the first coat of white on the wall and the ceiling.

The ceiling paint actually had a pink tint when we opened it. Apparently it's intentional, and even goes on pink to show where you have painted and what is still wet. (it dries white, don't worry). I got a little nervous when JR teasingly tried to sell me on a metro boy's room. But as you can see, it all worked out.

Gus and Becky helped us paint while we listened to Pitch Perfect, one of the best movies of all time, in the background. We laughed and got painted and had a fun time with good friends. At least one of us showed up to church with leftover paint in noticeable places...

We have a few more coats of white to finish and some touch up on the ceiling, but it's kind of fun to see it coming along. The tan you see in the pictures will be a light gray color that's simply delicious.