Volunteer Corn

Driving down the road here in the flat lands of the Midwest I have ample opportunity to catch sight of a field or two. And now, after almost a decade of being married to a farmer, I know the difference between a corn field and a soy bean field. Not that it is that difficult to distiinguish or anything but I have finally learned the difference. Corn, when ready to pick, is taller than most humans. Beans are short and leafy.
The problem arises when I notice what I perceive as a bean field has corn in it. Not a lot of corn. Just enough stalks to make it look strange. Stalks poking up out of the obvious beans.

So one day I asked my agronimist husband what it was. It‘s called “volunteer corn”. It is corn from the previous year that didn’t get plucked when it was supposed to and is now growing this year. It volunteered to grow there. No one planted it. No one watered it. It just grew where it was.

It made me think of what we are supposed to be doing. Volunteer. We don’t need to be asked, begged or noticed. We are just supposed to volunteer. Hold babies in the nursery. Make dinner for a neighbor. Change the trash. Clean the toliet. Find the lost. Sing in the choir. Build houses for the homeless. Feed the hungry. Dig wells for the thirsty.

Some opportunities are easier than others. Some take an hour. Some take a week or so. Others might take a lifetime. Some we might find easy. Some make us step out of our comfort zones. But whatever it is we are called to do something. Volunteer somewhere.

Get out there and find something you can do. Someone you can help. Somehwere you can go. Poke your head up above those other beans planted in ther seats. Become the volunteer corn you were meant to be.

Rain, Rain Go Away!

I woke up to the sound of the shower. It was a pretty good sleep all things considered. Between my nerves, the strange bed and the other seven girls all in the same hotel room, I wasn’t expecting to get any shut eye at all. It wasn’t until our impromptu trip at midnight to the local Wal-Mart, checking on the boys and another run through of the lighting situation that any of us even thought about actually settling down.
The previous night was quite chilly. Everyone was wearing jackets over their dresses and church shirts. I could only hope that the weather man got my memo pertaining to the exact temperatures and cloud coverage I had requested that day. But more important than anything--it was not allowed to rain. It couldn’t rain. Not on this specific day. Rain would ruin everything!

Once I was awake there was no returning to my slumber. Some of us got up to walk around the establishment, check on the ballroom and see what kind of day we were in for. Did the elements choose to honor my requests?

As I walked down the hall I noticed thick fog. Not a good sign. Then I saw it. Water beating against the window. And lots of it. I stopped in my tracks and said a quiet prayer to myself. “Lord, please, please let the rain stop by this afternoon.” Then as if on command, the window was no longer being drenched. I couldn’t believe it. Just like that. We walked outside to see how bad it really was only to discover that it was a beautiful sunny late September day. The thick decorative film on the windows had made the sky look foggy. The water was from the sprinkling system. I was so thankful for both.

The rest of the day went as expected. We set up the chairs for the outdoor ceremony. The girls and I went to have our hair done. The boys went to lunch. I put on the most beautiful dress I have ever seen in my life. The flowers were delivered and set in their places. We took thousands and thousands of pictures. We all met in the family room to pray while the multitude of guests made their way to their seats. The music began playing and a hush fell over the yard.

First down the grassy path were the boys in their very handsome looking tuxedos and maroon vests. Then walked in Matt wearing his gold one. Then came the pretty girls all lined up in a row. They had on maroon gowns with spaghetti straps and a shawl carrying star-gazer lilies and pink alstrumeriums. Next, was my turn. I just remember smiling until I thought my face was going to freeze like that. My maternal grandmother grabbed my arm on cue and away we went. Down that aisle to the new future that awaited me.

It was a beautiful ceremony with a beautiful backdrop of the beautiful lake on a beautiful day. But I knew it would be. God wasn’t going to rain on my parade or even on my wedding day.

Happy Anniversary Matt. Nine down. Only 41 to go. May the next nine be even more wonderful and exciting than the last have been.

The Straw

Ever had one of those days? The kind of day when everything seems to go wrong. The alarm clock got set for 6:00 PM instead of AM. The kids didn’t want to get out of bed. The dog broke through the gate and is out in the neighborhood somewhere. The dryer didn’t run a complete cycle and the clothes you had picked out for the day are still wet and smelling quite moldy.


Things don’t seem to get any better. The baby’s diaper exploded and you have a poopy messy to clean off the entire crib. The older kids take 20 minutes to locate their shoes which causes them to miss the bus. On your way out the door your neighbor calls for the third time that week to say her cat escaped and can’t get out of the tree.

You make it to school with the children who have waited until then to tell you that they forgot their lunch boxes on the kitchen counter. While you are at home retrieving the noontime meals the phone rings. You pick up the receiver simply out of habit only to learn that one more person needs one more thing. And this is how your day goes.

So by 10:00 you decide that a extra large sweet tea from McDonald’s is in order for you to make it through the rest of your day. You place your order and while anxiously anticipating your mid-morning refreshment you vow that the rest of the day is going to be better. It can’t get much worse. But once you leave the establishment you discover that they forgot your straw.

That’s it!!! You have had enough! You promptly march in to the manager and let them know in no uncertain terms--in a voice loud enough for every customer to hear-- how inconsiderate and unprofessional the employee was who packaged your order. Once the missing straw is rightfully shoved into your cup you start crying and leave hastily in embarrassment.

Not that I have ever had a day like that.

Just remember when you see someone having a fit, throwing a tantrum, crying or getting angry over a missing straw remember it’s just the one that broke her camel’s back. Maybe her kids missed the bus.

Here Comes Three

With teething, toilet training and tantrums it doesn’t take much to know how the term “terrible two’s” got its name.


But by the time my third child went through this dreaded stage, God must have given me an extra dose of mercy. We really didn’t have any of the stereotypical situations. Her baby teeth coming in have never caused us any problems or late nights. She even got an A+ from the dentist on her first visit. She potty trained herself. (Because when would I have the time?) And her tantrum tendencies are usually a pouty face and sad puppy dog eyes. (Which, by the way, my young readers, will get you further than any public outburst of complaining ever will.)

Quite frankly she is a delight. When we were pregnant with her we struggled immensely with naming her. After many debates, discussions, and compromises we finally settled on the legal first name which both of our maternal grandmothers but neither of them use. (Seemed almost obvious really.) Then a dear friend suggested Joy as a middle name. We didn’t like it but looking back (if we had known then what we know now…) the adjective middle name fits her perfectly. She is our joy.

She helps in the garden. She wants to do dishes. She puts her shoes away without having to be told. She rarely complains. She obeys way more than her older counterparts ever did or do. When you ask her for a kiss she says, “Only if I can give you a kiss and a hug too.” She makes me smile. She makes everyone smile.

No, there was nothing “terrible” about her being two. But, I have been around enough children to know that the ”terrible two’s” are only followed by the “horrible three’s”. But maybe, just maybe, God will keep shining his light of mercy upon me and the coming year will be just as enjoyable as the past one was. History tells me it will be.

Happy Third Birthday, Elizabeth (Joy) Rose!! We love you very much. Thank you for making our lives as pleasant as they are. May your demeanor continue to develop as it is. You are a wonderful blessing.

Casting Crowns

We proudly display them on when we are dropping off our children at school. We carry them into the grocery store. We show them off to our friends and acquaintances. But most importantly we never ever go to church without them.


What is it? Our masks. The fake facade that we put on to make the world think that we have it all together. That we are infallible. Perfect. Flawless. And when asked how we are doing we always answer, “Great!”. Even though it's more than likely a lie.

One of my favorite bands, Casting Crowns, has a song about this phenomenon appropriately titled, Stained Glass Masquerade. It a song about how we go about our days wearing our masks so that no one really knows what is going on in our lives. As if we have it all together. And if anyone knew differently they would love us less.

The verse that rips me to shreds is:

The performance is convincing
And we know every line by heart
Only when no one is watching
Can we really fall apart


Growing up in an abusive home, I learned quickly to learn my lines and hide the truth. The things that went on behind closed doors were never to be discussed in public. In addition to hiding everything from friends and strangers, I was not able to have my own opinion amongst my family. We were given orders. We followed them. Or else. It wasn’t until I was alone with no one watching or within anyone’s earshot did I sob and cry and really fall apart.

When I made the conscience decision to stop this cycle of abuse, I vowed that never again would I hold back my opinion. My feelings. My attitude. My mood. I wouldn’t have rehearsed lines, excuses, or lies to remember. I could be me and that was that.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I have since learned everyone hides things. It may not be as bad as abuse. It may even be worse. But whatever it is, we feel the need to keep things to ourselves. We wouldn’t want anyone to know we aren’t perfect.

It is extremely difficult for me to strap on that mask everyday. To hide what I am really feeling. To not show loved ones that I am hurt, sad or even rejoicing. To not make comments, either beneficial or disruptive. To just sit quietly while looking forward to when it will be all over and I can just be myself.

You have no idea how badly I wish we didn’t have to hide our true identities. That we didn’t have to keep up the appearance of perfection. That we could finally come to the realization that we all have problems, bad days, strong opinions and issues.
But we do. So the things I want to know is the same thing Casting Crowns asks us…
But would it set me free
If I dared to let you see
The truth behind the person
That you imagine me to be


Would your arms be open
Or would you walk away
Would the love of Jesus
Be enough to make you stay


Listen to the entire song at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aRUJrjUGGfg

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Her mood had to match the weather.


It was such a pleasant day. The sun was shining. A nice breeze. The temperature was in the mid-70’s. It was such a welcomed break from the heat wave that has consumed us the previous weeks. The day was perfect. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a light rain came down. No thunder. No lightening. Not a storm. Just a soft rain like the angels were crying.

The gentle rain continued most of the night. Then the next day the elements changed again. This time for the worse. It seemed as if the meteorologist was angry and decided we deserved a day of torture. The outdoor thermostat was set as high as it could go which made the day unbearable. I wondered if there was any relief in sight.

I also wondered if her mood was changing along side the weather patterns. Was she wondering if there was any relief in sight?

Last week, on that perfect sunshiny day, my neighbor found out that her 17 year old son had died. Like most of us, her day was humming right along just fine--until that knock on the door. And I am sure that she was crying right along with the angels when it started to rain. No there was no lightening or thunder. Just calm, quiet tears.

The next day, as the heat rose outside, I am sure hers did also. Why did this have to happen? What went wrong? Why him? Why me? What is a mom supposed to do? Questions only God Himself can answer.

It bothers me that a life so young has been taken. It bothers me that there are rumors that drugs were involved. It bothers me that a fellow mom is having to put her son into the ground way too soon.

But the thing that bothers me the most about the entire situation is that this is my neighbor. A neighbor whose name I don’t know. Whose face I couldn’t pick out of a line-up. Who attends the same house of worship as me. A neighbor who just received the worst news of her life and I …I don’t know how to help.

How can we live within yards of each other and not know each other’s names? How can we send our kids off to the same school on the same bus and not know one another? We have removed ourselves so much from society that we don’t know who we can call on in times of need. In times of rejoicing. When we need a hand or have a minute.

This young man’s death has sparked a cord in me to make sure we know each other. If that means I make a dozen trays of brownies and walk door-to-door introducing myself than so be it. I encourage you to do the same. Because it would be heartbreaking and distressful if you are the one burying your son and have no one to help you do it.

Get outside, walk the neighborhood and meet someone new in your community today, even if it is nasty weather.

Summer Break

It seemed like only yesterday when I watched my older kids come flying off the school bus canting the well-known mantra “No more papers. No more books. No more teacher’s silly looks!” Yep, it was the last day of school and inevitably the first day of summer break.

Unfortunately my excitement level did not match theirs. Actually it was quite the opposite. I was somewhat worried about the following 11 weeks. With our limited resources (which is just a nice way of saying “we ain’t got no money”) I knew that we would not be taking any vacations to far away places in those long summer days--76 days to be exact. To be completely honest our aforementioned limited resources would keep us from even getting to enjoy even visiting the local park pool or nearby day camps or summer enrichment programs or… Well you get the point.

So we got inventive and creative. We relied on neighbors and friends to invite us over for play dates and pool usage. We signed up for three VBS programs all over town. We were extremely grateful for Grandma’s Christmas present of a year long zoo membership. Although we used it sparingly. (As you can imagine taking four kids to the zoo by myself was not my favorite thing to do.) We did some home school lesson on various states and some science experiments. We made the best of our time together. And day by day, week by week, we survived.

Then, finally, school resumed. Some of my friends complained that it was too early to go back. But I was ready. Don’t get me wrong. I love my children but I love my schedule also. I find contentment in knowing that we have football on this day and church on that day and date night on another night. I find satisfaction when things are running smoothly and we have a routine.

Now that we are back on track, I can get back to writing. I never knew how much I loved it. I like sharing my life though stories. I like writing down my thoughts and the funny things that happen in our ever-eventful family. I like that someday I can just click “print” and my kids will have all of these stories to pass down. But mostly, I love that you readers take time out of your schedule to read my ramblings. Thank you for that.

So until the next adventure…………