Like a Racer

I have never run a marathon (look, I can't even get to the starting line of a 5K, much less finish a race), but right now I feel like I might be able to relate to what a runner feels during a race. 

You start out. As you take the first steps, adrenaline pumps, and pumps you up. You know you are going to get all kinds of stuff done. Namely, a lot of steps. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, you will get nearer and nearer to the finish line. 

You know you need to pace yourself. You can't run the whole race in the first hour. If you start out too strong, you'll crash in an exhausted heap long before you've even hit the halfway mark. Steady and evenly, this is how you make time. 

You pass marker after marker. You can see how far you've come. You know how much lies ahead.

Step, push, move. Your feet keep hitting the pavement. It hurts now, but you know you're only getting closer with each. pounding. step.

Suddenly your muscles are burning and you think you might die. This race is never going to end. How could you have been so stupid to have put on this dumb jersey and these tiny shorts and think that you could actually run such a long distance? And survive? 

No one is even chasing you! Why are you running?!

A white-haired gentleman passes you. He leaves you behind in seconds. First, humiliation; second, motivation. If he can do it, you can do it. And you press on, even though you are sure that there is no way you can get this done. 

You shake your head. Focusing on what you (think you) cannot do is not going to help you accomplish what you are trying to do. Instead, you say to yourself,"I'm going to finish this." 

Looking ahead, you can see the end of the race. The other side of the finish line is the most beautiful place you have ever seen. And you're so close! 

Suddenly, your feet are crossing the line! You finished the race! This is such an amazing moment! You know you'll never forget it. And it's so exhilarating that you are already planning on signing up for the next race as soon as you eat an entire box of doughnuts. 

Or at least I think that's how I would feel. Especially the doughnuts part.

As I continue to figure out where things are going to go in the house, move things around, put stuff together, organize, get rid of, clean up, it's easy to get discouraged and think,"This is never going to get done." But when I look around, I can see that I'm making progress, that we are getting things done...and then I get a little shot of hope.

I'd still like a doughnut too. I really think that would help...

The Baseball Field

We live across from a baseball field. The kids have been wanting to go over there in the afternoon and practice hitting. It's close enough to walk, but we drive, since we have so much stuff to haul: bats, softballs, baseballs, helmets, water bottles. 

Today Eliana wanted a turn to pitch, so Mike set her up with the balls and stepped into the box (or the dirt circle). She underhanded it...

Just a liiittle outside. 

She tried a couple more times with a baseball instead of a softball, and had success. Softballs are unwieldy, don't you know?

Late afternoon is hot here in June. And bright. 

Christian started out with a smile. He just turned his hat to the side and bam! Sunshine not a prob. 

For now, anyway.

Eliana also wanted a turn to bat. 

I love this face. 

I love that she wants to do it so badly. 

Did I mention how bright it was? Bright. The batting helmet helped with the sun in her eyes. 

We'll work on keeping her eyes open. 

She smacked a couple of those balls, and while it looked more like she had laid down a few bunts, it was a solid start for her. I'm sure we'll be building on this foundation as the years go by. 

Michaela took her turn. 

When you are not on a professional baseball team, and are, in fact, just in a school field across the street, you are your own ball girl. 

I didn't have a glove but I had a camera, so I kept taking pictures. In the blazing hot sun. While the no-see-ems drove me crazy. 

She's thinking about stealing second. 

On second thought, maybe she'll stay put. The pitcher has a good pick-off move. 

As much as I've learned about baseball these last few years, I still have a very hard time remembering which way is batting left and which is batting right. (Related: Mike also had to remind me recently that right and left field are designated as such from the batter's perspective, so when you are in left field, it is to your own right. This is very confusing to me, yet I feel like I should be able to grasp this concept since I did do well in Kindergarten.) At any rate, Michaela can bat both ways. She is a switch hitter. 

Impressive. I'm not sure that I could hit from either side. (But I can get quite irate when the pros miss their chances and leave the bases loaded. Hey, I'm not getting paid for my athletic prowess.)

We didn't stay too long because HEAT and BUGS. 

Mike did make the suggestion that we could go early in the morning in order to avoid the blazing rays and the annoying gnats. Haven't we been married for a decade and a half? Does he even know me at all?

We'll see. Maybe I'll do it for the children. (But probably not. Early mornings at the baseball field scream Dad Job to me...) 

Of Clay

Many years ago I bought some beautiful pottery in a shop in Central Virginia that sold local artists' work. I was young, foolish, and selfish, and used the excuse,"I could never pick just one; I love each of them," to come up with creative ways to pay for these lovely and useful pieces of art.

When I left the shop, my arms were full of pottery. I partially justified my purchases with the thought that they would be good reminders of some of my favorite Bible verses and promises. Each one is hand-painted, three with verses and one with different names of God around the wide rim.

A few years later one of the pieces fell from a plate-holder on the wall onto Michaela's head and broke; she was a hard-headed little girl. Just kidding. It broke when it hit the floor. Her head likely saved it from being shattered though, and we gathered the busted bits as well as we could and eventually Mike put it back together for me. (As far as we know, there was no serious injury to Michaela from the incident.) Not even two weeks after Mike fixed my dish, a small drinking glass fell out of our cabinet in the kitchen and crashed into the bowl with the names, which was on the counter housing fruit. A piece had broken off where the glass and the pottery had met.

Ironic was the word that came to mind when that happened. I have often felt guilty for buying all four things rather than using a measure of self-control and choosing one. I have enjoyed them through the years and see them every day since they are in my kitchen. Today as I rearranged and cleaned up in there, I hand-washed two of my treasures, one of which was the bowl with the many names, now missing a piece of the word Redeemer.

The other pottery I washed is a pitcher fully intact and has verse 33:6 from Job.

My beautiful busted bowl and the verse on the pitcher which says,"I too was formed from a lump of clay," remind me all the time that I have a humble beginning but that this is not the end. I am busted up myself, an imperfect clay vessel; being made of dust is always taking its toll. Yet even a broken clay bowl can serve a purpose and be valuable. 

That which seems missing isn't truly missing. My Redeemer is not missing at all. He's coming, all along he is on his mission to save. The pieces? They are held tightly in the steady hands of the Master potter. His wheel is spinning, he's molding and shaping. Lovingly, he's creating some beautiful new vessel. This is the verse on the other bowl that I have: "So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do." Jeremiah 18:3-4

Clay doesn't seem all that special, but when an artist takes hold of such ordinary material, he can make something extraordinary, something magnificent. Won't it be wondrous to behold?

Changes

We have the luxury of devoting an entire section of our house to homeschooling. The back half of our downstairs is the designated school room, but it often multitasks as the play room. There isn't a way around it, unless I were to get tough and definitively proclaim that there will be no more toys back in this room, and the toys will remain in the bedrooms upstairs and only upstairs, and never shall we see the toys downstairs again, forever and ever, amen. 

Realistically though? That is just not going to happen. (Wendy told me so and she was right. I should have listened to her.) You see, this was my plan when we moved into this house: I wanted the toys to stay upstairs, except for a few choice educational things. However, certain youngest children that I know do not care to play in a room all alone way upstairs while everyone else is downstairs doing school.

And so we adjusted. Or we tried to...but I will confess, it was not always well done. In fact, most of the time, the downstairs has been and is a disaster. 

I go back and forth in my own head regarding the disaster. I have happy, busy, creative children, therefore I have a messy house. BUT! These children need to learn how to have fun and be creative AND clean up after themselves. Their future selves and families will be so glad that they did learn that skill. 

My hope is that we are working on it. All of us need to be better at following through and picking up, putting the things that we got out away, taking the time to clean. it. up. (Cough, cough, dirtydishesinthesink, cough, cough.)

Every now and then, we'd get it picked up. (Read: I would get it picked up.)

But here is what is really fun...the whiteboard is on the wall!!

We have been busy setting up a new desk area and rearranging some of the furniture so that the room will hopefully be more conducive to getting school work done, and just have a better place for things in general. The tall white tower in the picture above is going to be removed altogether. We are planning on getting an L-shaped desk to wrap around in that corner from the long white table over to where the other table ends. There will be a LOT of table surface. The drawer units under the new desk are amazing. I am so glad that Mike discovered this option at Ikea. Putting them together was a breeze (I practically did it by myself.) and I am quite satisfied with their quality. Right now they are holding a ton of stuff which used to be on a metal cart that lived under the high counter (where the old school table is now). Since the metal cart is currently available for another use, I will move it into the kitchen area to house some of the larger items that literally cannot fit in my cabinets. (My kitchen is not that big.) 

The counter, or ledge or bar area or whatever you want to call it, is one of my next projects. It has become a catch-all for random things: a bird feeder (um, there are no birds in this house...I do not need a bird feeder in my kitchen), candy, a baseball show-box, and a small fire extinguisher are just a few fine examples of how we do decor around here.

NOT FOR MUCH LONGER! I am changing some things, man.

This is what you see when you walk in our front door. It is the backside of the room which has the new white table. Prepare for an overhaul! 

The yellow couch is either moving to the living room or we're getting rid of it. And then I don't know what we'll do with the space. Bookshelves? Maybe. We can always use some more of those...

Or maybe we'll set up the electronic drum set. So many possibilities...I can hardly stand not knowing how it's all going to turn out. But I know it will be worth the work to make the changes in the end. 

A Funny Story

After church today, we went out to lunch, as we often do. Jason's Deli was our restaurant of choice, and we ate outside with the pigeons.

You can imagine my delight.

Mike actually traded seats with me, because where I had originally sat was directly under the edge of the overhang which was housing a nest of said pigeons. Once I discovered that my seat was located in such a prime pooping position, Mike sweetly offered to sit there so that I could be fully under the roof. Ceiling? Protrusion? Whatever. 

No one got a surprise from above, but I felt very uncomfortable every time wings were a-flapping. Who knows what's flying out of the wings?!

We finished our food and Mike went in to get some soft serve ice cream. It's free! Michaela went soon after that, and when she came out she was smiling and told us to guess whom she had seen inside. We guessed a few folks, but were wrong every time. 

She gave us a clue: "It starts with an s." Then she pretended to read something. Mike and I looked at each other and said a few things that definitively did not start with an s, like book, newspaper, magazine, page, writing. We were stumped. We looked at one another again and I said,"How can we both be so dumb?" He shrugged his shoulders. 

Christian went in for his ice cream, and upon returning delightedly informed us that it was so easy! Of course, now that he knew what the answer was! He gave us another clue as Michaela sat in her chair smugly turning imaginary pages. Christian said,"The first name is something you color with -ers." 

Mike and I together said,"Mark?" and then it dawned on us: Mark Story, who works at the church with Mike. 

You read a story. A story! How did we not get that?!

The kids thought it was hilarious that they got us with such a good riddle. Next time I'm whipping out my thesaurus. 

Story. I still can't believe it...