Baby Peters Gender Reveal Party!

photo credits to N. Long Photography

It's a boy!  And we're pretty pumped!

Precious Memories

I just got home from the most incredible week visiting my family!  I'm so grateful to my sisters and mom and especially my dad for making the trip possible.  They pretty much ironed the whole thing out and then called and told me to pack my bags.  It was just what I needed!

During the first few days in western Kansas, I was able to meet up with a few classmates.  A couple of them I had not seen since our graduation eleven years ago!  It was super-fun to meet their kids, hold their babies, and catch up a little.  Unfortunately, we completely forgot to take a group photo!  Bummer.

I was also able to attend a service at the one and only church of my childhood.  The experience was interesting to say the least.  It was filled with lots of nostalgia, thoughts of my dear grandmother (who is buried in the church cemetery), self-reflection, and most of all thankfulness for my own unique God-journey.

Sunday after lunch, we buckled up and headed out to move my sister and her family into their new home in Colorado.  In stereotypical kid form, this little munchkin was asking "how long?" before we even got on the highway.

Monday was a busy day of cleaning and preparing for the arrival of the semi truck and the rest of the week was filled with lots of box-carrying and organizing.

 

 

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed spending time with my nine (yes, nine!) nieces and nephews.  Several of the young ones had really started talking since I last saw them and several of the older ones are old enough now to connect on a more mature level.  One, I met for the very first time (so sweet!) and we celebrated birthdays for two others while I was there.  It really was special! 

 

Toby (the little guy on my lap above) and I bonded one day on a walk/bike ride.  I said, "Toby, I like you!"  He replied, "I wike ooo too!"  My heart pretty much melted.

 

 

 

The view in every direction around their new home is absolutely to die for.  What I wouldn't give for a daily view of those mountains... and the air... there's something uniquely refreshing about mountain air.

 

 

 

This trip felt different to me.  Perhaps because it had been so long since I'd seen everyone or possibly because I'm finally growing up (ha!).  Do you know what I mean when I say that home shines a light on identity in a way that nothing else does?  I'm guessing this resonates more the further you live away from your family and childhood home.  And I think that this light reveals things that either stir up deep peace or anxious turmoil in the heart.  For the first time in a long time (in that setting), I felt deep peace.

On my last day there, Jillian was in no mood to have her picture taken. Obviously. She said, "I not gonna cheese.  I no wanna hm-mile."  But the picture below couldn't be any more perfect of Kensey. She is an absolute doll and has a personality to match. I missed those kids the minute I left, even more than the mountain views... which is quite a bit, as you may know.

 

 

Ok, so... funny story to wrap this up.  As we are stuck in traffic on the way to Denver, Sara and I are keeping the girls happy by doling out pretzel sticks.  All of a sudden, we hear Jillian say, "Ow, ow ow!" and I turn around to find her hunched over in her car seat with her hands up around her face.  Just as I realized what had happened, she proceeds to pull a two inch pretzel stick from her right nostril.  Her eyes water and she sneezes about five times.  Needless to say, Sara and I die laughing.  Several minutes later, Sara says, "Hey, ask her where that pretzel is."  I turn around and ask Jillian and she opens her mouth, points to her tounge and proudly says, "I ate it.  It in my tummy."  And the laughter commences again.  Hilariousness.

 

 

That's My Dad

reposted from June 2012

 

One childhood memory that has impacted me the most is the way my dad reached out and met the needs of people who were down on their luck. He is an auto mechanic in a small town located on Interstate 70 in western Kansas.  It's one of those "blink and you miss it" towns, complete with the stereotypical Dairy Queen restaurant.   I can't begin to count the number of times we fed and housed travelers while their car was being repaired.

There was an African American woman with a British accent, who I distinctly remember told her several children to "get in the bloody corner" of our dining room as some kind of discipline. There was a middle aged man from California who ate lunch with us one day and told us all about his glittery life as a movie star, which we soon realized couldn't be so glittery if he had to try so hard to convince us that it was. Evidently he had been on a set with Demi Moore one time. Needless to say, my teenage brother was pretty interested. Another time it was a hippie couple that needed a place to stay. I believe Dad thoroughly investigated their marital status, consulted Mom regarding the availability of proper sleeping accomodations on opposite ends of the house and extracted from them the promise of "no hanky panky". I'm guessing they made good on that promise. The male in this couple may or may not have been the guy we dubbed "battery guy" and still talk about to this day. He had some kind of metal extenders in his ears that made the holes large enough to house AA batteries. Not a common accessory seen in small town USA.

Not only did we provide meals and overnight accomodations to people off the highway, but my dad also literally took in and helped out drifters that passed through. Who knows exactly what these guys needed or were looking for, but dad and a couple of his friends didn't hesitate to find work for transients who crossed their path. A very large fellow by the name of Evan was around for awhile. Did he have some Native American heritage? Maybe it was simply that his hair was dark and long. I was pretty young and don't remember him very clearly. Years later, just before he passed away, he reached out again to one of my dad's friends. In the end, Dad helped transport him to his final resting place. One cold winter night when I was about middle school age, God gave an old clunker of a car just enough "umph" to pull into the Conoco station in Quinter. Deaver was a brother in the Lord, a pastor with truely amazing stories of God's provision and power in his life. He told us about his childhood in inner city San Francisco and how he grew up in and around his mother's(?) soup kitchen. We sang some gospel songs after supper one night and I remember he complimented me. At 10 or 11, that made quite an impact. :) He lived in Oklahoma and once he earned enough money to have his car fixed and get back home, he was off. But he came back from time to time and I think people from Quinter traveled down to see him too.

Lastly, I remember dad giving rides to random hitchhikers and money or food whenever people asked. Once while we were on a family vacation, we picked up a hitchhiker couple (maybe they had a child with them?). They carried several large black trash bags, which I can only assume held all their possessions. On another vacation, I remember a man approaching dad while he was pumping gas, telling him that he "needed money for milk to feed his babies". Now we all know that could have been and probably was a made up story, but Dad helped him out anyway.

There are many more stories that I don't remember clearly enough to tell and probably many, many more that I don't remember at all. One of the most amazing things that stands out to me as I recount these memories, is how my dad reached out to these folks, sometimes at the risk of putting his family in danger. How many of us would use the worst-case scenario as a reason to pass right on by? How many people do you know that would invite a complete stranger (a vagabond, at that) to spend the night in their home? Who in the world would offer hitchhikers a ride in the same vehicle as their four small children?

A man of deep, deep love, wisdom, discernment and faith. That's who. Someone who understands who he was without the Lord and credits all he is to his Father. Someone who knows the very person of Jesus and wants others to know Him too. And someone who desires to live his life guided by the Holy Spirit.

That is my father.

 

Dad and I, September 15th 2007



"Mom-isms"- A Belated Tribute

via

"You'll understand when you're older."
     Um... some things, yes.  Like, I distinctly remember pulling a tampon out of her purse when I was little and asking what it was.  lol.  I must have been a seriously inquisitive kid (shock, shock), because I still remember feeling frustrated at this answer quite often.

"You'll feel better when you get up and get dressed."
     Mom always made us get up and get ready for school even if we complained that we were sick.  Nine times out of ten, we ended up feeling fine.  I still do this when I am sick and it works the same way.  Something about the very early morning makes you feel sicker than what you actually are and once you're up and around (face washed, hair combed), you realize that you at least feel good enough to carry on.

"Clean up the kitchen before you go to bed.  And always wipe down the faucet."
     If there is one thing I can picture Mom doing, it's wiping down the faucet and countertop at the kitchen sink with a dry dish towel at the end of the evening.  It's the last step of cleaning up that makes all the difference.  Try it.

Using china and cloth napkins for dinner company.
     Mom and I are different in many ways, but one thing she passed to me is a love of (or at least dedication to) setting a pretty table for company.  Although she only had one set of good china, I don't ever remember her hesitating to use it no matter who was coming.  There was never an impression of valuing the china more than the guest.  She taught me by example that setting a pretty table is a way to honor guests and show hospitality by sharing the best of what you have.

No paper towels, but t-shirt rags galore.
     This one will probably make you laugh.  It was a rare occasion to have paper towels under the kitchen sink when we were all at home.  But, boy could you find some rags cut from old t-shirts!  Seriously though, isn't it genius?  I'm not completely anti-paper towel (and neither was she), but why spend money on something you just throw away, when you can use something you throw away and save a little money?  Can I say that again?

Why spend money on something you just throw away,

when you can use something you throw away and save a little money?

     For those of us who are creeped out by the re-using of rags that once cleaned a toilet, a roll of paper towels under the bathroom sink can last an amazingly long time.  Other than that, rags (old t-shirts, old socks, nasty stained dishtowels, etc) work great!

Plastic baggies hanging from cabinet doors.
     Yes, Mom washed and reused Ziploc bags.  I do too.  Unless, of course, they are simply too nasty to clean (i.e. Italian dressing from marinating chicken).  Plastic bags are dadgum expensive and it frets me every time I have to spend money on things that just get flushed or thrown away.  After washing, I hang the corner of the bag between the face of an upper cabinet and the cabinet door to dry, just like she did.

I'm so thankful for the godly example that my mom continues to be.  Because of her, I know what it looks like to live out God's perfect order of headship.  Because of her, I kow that routine helps maintain sanity.  Because of her, I know how to set a table and I know the blessing of true hospitality from the heart.  I know because I've seen it in her.

I love you, Mom!

This is love...

 

Papa and Grandma... 65 years of marriage... through many good times and most assuredly some not so good... all with committment to each other and to God.  What a blessing to literally live out the story of this song...

 

 

On this Valentines Day, let's remember and celebrate the very Source of love!

 

"My beloved friends, let us continue to love each other since love comes from God. Everyone who loves is born of God and experiences a relationship with God.  The person who refuses to love doesn't know the first thing about God, because God is love - so you can't know him if you don't love.  This is how God showed his love for us: God sent his only Son into the world so we might live through him.  This is the kind of love we are talking about - not that we once upon a time loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to clear away our sins and the damage they've done to our relationship with God.  My dear, dear friends, if God loved us like this, we certainly ought to love each other." 1 John 4: 7-11 Msg



It Took 10 Years

but he did finally take me back to the trail we walked on our second (or third?) date!  And I should add that it was totally his suggestion too.  Yesterday was the most beautiful fall day.  We skipped church (heathens, I know), took a drive to Smith Mountain Lake State Park and walked a few of the trails.

 

 

10 years ago, our mutual friends (at whose wedding we met) orchestrated another meeting and we had a couple dates.  One was a trip with them to this park.  Cue the "aaaawwwww...".  Yeah... I'm so not a sappy person, but I am aware of God's grace enough to recognize a special moment for what it is.

 

It is His grace, isn't it?  That gives us special moments we totally don't deserve.  So that when hard times come (and they will) we can recognize His grace there too.

 

Blessings on your day!



Things I Remember About My Dad...

"Nobody knows what we're for only what we're against when we judge the wounded..."

One childhood memory that has impacted me the most is the way my dad reached out and met the needs of people who were down on their luck.  He is an auto mechanic in a small town located on Interstate 70 in western Kansas.  It's one of those "blink and you miss it" towns, complete with the stereotypical Dairy Queen restaurant.   I can't begin to count the number of times we fed and housed travelers while their car was being repaired.

There was an African American woman with a British accent, who I distinctly remember told her several children to "get in the bloody corner" of our dining room as some kind of discipline. There was a middle aged man from California who ate lunch with us one day and told us all about his glittery life as a movie star, which we soon realized couldn't be so glittery if he had to try so hard to convince us that it was.  Evidently he had been on a set with Demi Moore one time.  Needless to say, my teenage brother was pretty interested.  Another time it was a hippie couple that needed a place to stay.  I believe Dad thoroughly investigated their marital status, consulted Mom regarding the availability of proper sleeping accomodations on opposite ends of the house and extracted from them the promise of "no hanky panky".  I'm guessing they made good on that promise.  The male in this couple may or may not have been the guy we dubbed "battery guy" and still talk about to this day.  He had some kind of metal extenders in his ears that made the holes large enough to house AA batteries.  Not a common accessory seen in small town USA.

Not only did we provide meals and overnight accomodations to people off the highway, but my dad also literally took in and helped out drifters that passed through.  Who knows exactly what these guys needed or were looking for, but dad and a couple of his friends didn't hesitate to find work for transients who crossed their path. A very large fellow by the name of Evan was around for awhile.  Did he have some Native American heritage?  Maybe it was simply that his hair was dark and long.  I was pretty young and don't remember him very clearly.  Years later, just before he passed away, he reached out again to one of my dad's friends.  In the end, Dad helped transport him to his final resting place.  One cold winter night when I was about middle school age, God gave an old clunker of a car just enough "umph" to pull into the Conoco station in Quinter.  Deaver was a brother in the Lord, a pastor with truely amazing stories of God's provision and power in his life.  He told us about his childhood in inner city San Francisco and how he grew up in and around his mother's(?) soup kitchen.  We sang some gospel songs after supper one night and I remember he complimented me.  At 10 or 11, that made quite an impact. :) He lived in Oklahoma and once he earned enough money to have his car fixed and get back home, he was off.  But he came back from time to time and I think people from Quinter traveled down to see him too.

Lastly, I remember dad giving rides to random hitchhikers and money or food whenever people asked.  Once while we were on a family vacation, we picked up a hitchhiker couple (maybe they had a child with them?).  They carried several large black trash bags, which I can only assume held all their possessions.  On another vacation, I remember a man approaching dad while he was pumping gas, telling him that he "needed money for milk to feed his babies".  Now we all know that could have been and probably was a made up story, but Dad helped him out anyway.

There are many more stories that I don't remember clearly enough to tell and probably many, many more that I don't remember at all.  One of the most amazing things that stands out to me as I recount these memories, is how my dad reached out to these folks, sometimes at the risk of putting his family in danger.  How many of us would use the worst-case scenario as a reason to pass right on by?  How many people do you know that would invite a complete stranger (a vagabond, at that) to spend the night in their home?  Who in the world would offer hitchhikers a ride in the same vehicle as their four small children?

A man of deep, deep love, wisdom, discernment and faith.  That's who.  Someone who understands who he was without the Lord and credits all he is to his Father.  Someone who knows the very person of Jesus and wants others to know Him too.  And someone who desires to live his life guided by the Holy Spirit.

That is my father.

Who Loves Fall?

We hiked the Flat Top peak at Peaks of Otter last Saturday.  It was the most perfect day!  I'm not much of a photographer but... 

In other news, I was finally able to find some time to make some wreaths for our doors! The goal was something like this...

via

But staying true to the definition of craftiness (using what you have), I ended up with this...

And it looks fine until you pan out...



Any ideas on what to do with two too small wreaths?  Assuming they get replaced with one of these two...

via / via

Now I'm off to hunt for some recipes for Friday night.  We're having David's family over for supper and some pumpkin carving.  I'm thinking... apple cider, roast, green beans from this month's Southern Living, butternut squash soup, bread, salad, fried apples and pumpkin roll! 

So do you have a good butternut squash soup recipe?  To be honest, I've never had or made it, but it always looks pretty so it must taste good too, right?  Also, any tips on successfully fixing roast for dinner company?

Hope you're having a good week!