Provision

We are running out of toilet paper in my house. Which doesn't seem like a huge deal. But, it is. We have approximately $4.00 in the checkbook until Friday (thank you rent). I woke up this morning to find that we were out of toilet paper upstairs. I discovered this at an unfortunate time, but nevertheless, there it was. Or wasn't. So I sent my beloved five-year-old to fetch some more from the downstairs bathroom.

She comes bounding into the bathroom holding two precious rolls. She smiles and says, "This is it." To which I respond, "It. Like, that's all?" "Yep Mom, there's no more." And away she goes. I finish up, change the roll and toss the trash. All the while I'm mulling this over in my head. We have little money, little toilet paper, and 4 people who use the facilities. Mathematically, we should be fine. There should be more than enough TP for to get us through.

But we have small children. Small children who find great joy, not in the use of the toilet paper, but in the playing with toilet paper. I have no ideas how many rolls have been lost to the bowl. Be it whole rolls tossed in to see if all the water would be absorbed. Rolls unwound to see just how long it truly was. Rolls that were "accidentally" knocked into the toilet on "accident" and then placed on the back of the toilet in hopes that the "accident" wouldn't be noticed. And rolls that were used, well, for their traditional purposes.

This usually happens when we get to the end. Some poor unsuspecting person, usually me, is forced to discover that we are almost out of this precious commodity. We buy toilet paper in bulk. At Costco. Because it's cheap, and I only have to buy it once a month or so. I don't have to think about it. It's just always there. Ready and waiting to be used.

For some crazy reason, as I sat there today mulling over our lack of toilet paper it struck me. God gave us just enough. Just enough to get us through to payday. Some might say coincidence. Or luck. I say, provision. He didn't have to let the toilet paper last. He didn't have to give us just what we needed. But He did. Because He loves us.

He gives us what we need. It may not be what we want. But I have what I need. I need a roof over my head. I want, so badly, I want a house of my very own. To paint, to decorate, to build memories in. But for now, I have been given a duplex. I can't paint and I haven't decorated, but we're building memories. I want, I so badly want a van to transport my children in. But for now, I have a car. A nice little sedan that does its job. I want, so badly, I want new furniture. With the exception of my first daughters crib, we have never bought nice, new furniture. Everything we have is a hand me down of some variety. But, it serves its purpose.

I suppose, in some way, God's provision is kind of like toilet paper. It's always there. We don't often think about it. It just is. Unlike toilet paper, God's provision never runs out. It never goes away. It's always there. God has provided for us in so many ways. He has provided me with a loving husband, a home, incredible children, a church family that I love, parents and siblings who are amazing. And He does it not because He has to, but because He wants to. Because He loves me. He provided me with a Savior who loved me enough to die for me. Not because He had to, but because He chose to. I am eternally grateful for His provision. Even if it takes running out of toilet paper to remember to say thank you.

Home Parties

Tonight (well, technically last night) I hosted an Usborne Book home party. I love books. I love Usborne books. I love free books. I love getting great free books that will help me educate my children. I don't know about the "home party" part though.

Committing to a home party seems like a great idea at first. You think, "Sweet deal!" I invite people over, let someone show them goodies, they buy it, and I get free stuff! How could this go wrong?" But it's a trick. You forget that you have to invite people over. Inviting people over means lots of different things. It means you have to clean. It also means you have to feed the people you've invited into your home. It means you have to meld different friend groups into one room and hope no one embarrasses you. It means you have to have clean, well-behaved children and a smiling husband.

I tend to procrastinate. It's an issue. I'm working on it. Cleaning the house seems to get lost somewhere in between mountains of laundry, home-cooked meals, refereeing arguments, reading stories, mending boo-boos, bath time, making sure proper hygiene is remembered, teaching the baby to walk, changing toy batteries, trying to find some time to read my Bible, and spending what little alone time I can with my husband.

Hosting this home party meant that I had to clean. It's not that I don't like cleaning. I do. It's kind of fun (when I can do it completely uninterrupted, make progress, and listen to ridiculously loud music). When cleaning has to be done with 3 little girls who are not interested in helping, it's less than fun. I know the fine art of a closed door or a full drawer well. Needless to say, the house became semi-presentable.

Hosting a party means food. You can't have a party and not feed people. That's just rude. At roughly 1:30 Thursday morning I left my sleeping family and went to Hy-Vee for said sustenance.

Hosting a party means you have to meld different people groups, and hope no one embarrasses you. Which sounds simple enough. But as one of my friends walked into the door and said hi to my children I realized that my other friend was in the kitchen. Kitchen Friend married Door Friends ex-fiancé. I hadn't thought of the potential awkwardness of this situation. Until Door Friend said hello to Kitchen Friend. Inside I'm yelling, "OH NO! Why didn't I warn them?!" I freaked out internally for absolutely no reason. Both friends are incredible women who I love dearly. There was no brawl in my (clean) living room. I needn't have worried.

Hosting a party means you have to have clean, well-behaved children and a smiling husband. The girls and I spent the whole day cleaning. Somewhere in there I forgot to get them dressed. At 5:30 it occurred to me that the children should not be greeting guests at the door in their pajamas. I got the little one and the big one dressed and presentable. My brave Kitchen Friend defied the odds and woke the middle one from her nap. I love this beautiful little girl, but she is like her mother. Wake at your own risk. Somehow, Kitchen Friend woke her and dressed her with no tears, no whining, and no meltdowns.

The smiling husband plays an important role in the home party. He's the "brave man" who "chose not to run away from all these ladies". He's the one who carries in the consultants goodies and helps her get it back to the car. He entertains the small children so I don't lose my mind. However, my smiling husband had worked a 12-hour day in the hot July sun and came home to a blocked stairway chock full o' things for him to do. Upon seeing the stairway he wasn't smiling. He toughed it out, showered and then tackled the pile I made for him. He greeted guests, opened doors, carried books, entertained kids, removed distractions. And yes, he smiled. Then he listened to me ramble about all the books I hope to get for free! What a great guy!

A home party is a lot of work. Especially if you have a house like mine. 3 small kids. A hard-working husband. Eccentric friends and family. A bare pantry. Every time I book a party I think, "This will be a snap. I'll just tidy the house and have people over." It never seems to work out that way.

One of my goals is an open home. A place that is warm and inviting. Where people can come if they need a place to go. A place where small groups can meet. A place where I can see someone hurting and just invite them over. A place where ministry can happen. A place where I can feel comfortable learning and sharing the unforced rhythms of grace.

An open home is something I've talked about for awhile. I was working toward that goal a bit ago, and somehow it got lost in the mix. I guess it took a home party to remind me of what really matters. Books are great, but people are more important. Would you like to come over?

Laundry Woes

I have a love/hate relationship with laundry. I love clean clothes hanging neatly in the closet. I love the smell of blue Snuggle permeating my home. I love the sense of accomplishment when I get a pesky stain out of an article of clothing. I hate putting laundry away. I hate carting it down to the washing machine and lugging it back to its rightful place.

We've had the worst luck when it comes to our washer and dryer. In seven years we've been through 4 dryers (repaired several times) and 3 washers (also repaired several times). I think the task of laundry would be less cumbersome if I had some reliable machines. One day I envision an amazing laundry room, neatly organized with beautiful front-loading machines on pedestals. But for now, I'll make due.

Right now, at this very moment, there are towels in the washer and jeans in the dryer. I'm so excited! Our washing machine decided to stop working on July 12th. Our wedding anniversary. We have been without since then. It's amazing how long a family of 5 can make due with the clothes we have in our closets and drawers! After making some phone calls, and changing out the hoses, the washer is up and running again. And so, tomorrow we'll all have clean shorts and fluffy towels!

It's amazing how something as simple as a load of laundry can change the course of your day. Not having clean clothes for church means you HAVE to wear that skirt. Clean towels, oh, clean towels. Did you know, that baby blankets are a suitable replacement in times of need? Laundry is a typical part of our day. Running downstairs randomly throughout the day to toss in a load. Sorting, folding, and putting it away. When that simple, monotonous, mundane daily chore is suddenly hijacked by "technical difficulties" it tends to put things in perspective.

I stay home. I tend to the needs of my family. It can be an overwhelming and daunting task. Some days I hate it. Hate it. Stay-at-home mom is a very different title than housewife. I didn't marry my house. I married my husband. But, part of being a mom, is taking care of the house. To be fair, I kinda stink at the household stuff. Having been without and having a moment to reflect, I believe doing laundry is one of the things I can do to take care of the people I love. Having a freshly laundered work shirt tells my husband that I value the hard work that he does. Having favorite dresses hanging it their closets tells the girls I listen to them, and make an effort to show them I care. Washing favorite stuffed animals in the middle of the night because someone is sick, tells them I love the things they love. Whether they perceive these acts of love the way I intend them, I'll never know.

So, thanks to my husband for fighting with our washing machine last night! For fixing the thing that I love to hate. So I can show love in drawers that magically refill themselves overnight. In animals that smell a little fresher. Blankets that are a little fluffier. I just pray the thing doesn't break for at least 6 more months!

The Unforced Rhythms of Grace

This technology thing, it eludes me. It took me forever to get on Facebook. (And now, I'm a junkie!) I love the idea of a blog. I like reading other people's blogs, but to start my own, well, that just seems silly. I've heard tales of women starting a blog and then making millions of dollars. Well, that would be absolutely fabulous, but I'm guessing that's not going to happen! Either way, this blog will be a catalog of life in our home. A way to share our experiences with the people we love, and the people we've never met.

I still haven't decided all of the details. Will I use my girls names? Will I write something everyday? Will this be a place that becomes my new Facebook? Who knows. I thought this would be a great outlet. A way to share my life with others.

So, let's get started. My husband and I have been together for 10 years, and we just celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary. We met while we worked together at Blockbuster, when I was 17. Now, years later, we have 3 amazing children. The oldest is 5, the middle is 3 and our youngest is 1. We have decided to tackle the challenge of homeschooling! It's a little scary, and a little exciting all at the same time.

I am a Christian. I believe that Jesus is the son of God. I believe he came to this earth, lived and then died on the cross for my sins. I believe that Jesus rose from the dead 3 days later! I am not perfect. Everyday is a struggle with one sin or another. Be it gossip, anger, my mouth (it tends to have a mind of its own), or something. I am just here, on this earth, to learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

When my oldest was a teeny tiny baby I couldn't handle it. I was so exhausted and everyday was a battle. I had no idea what I was doing, or how to be a mom. This little person needed me, and I was at a loss. I stumbled across Matthew 11:28-30 and it gave me hope. In the NIV it says this, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you fill find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." I plastered that verse all over my house. When she was screaming, I could look over and see it. When I was washing a bottle for, what seemed like the thousandth time, there it was. When I had to stumble across the hall in the middle of the night, it was by my lamp. It gave me hope.

I love how The Message words the same verse. "Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me -- watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." As a Christian, a wife, a mom, a woman I desire to learn the unforced rhythms of grace. To draw closer to my Lord, and lead my children as I go.