This summer has been interesting. It's almost over; we leave in three days. I'm glad to go back to a normal life and spend more time with the kids and my husband.


And yet, there will be things that I miss. It seems hard to believe, but I'll miss the craziness here. It's what I've gotten the most irritated with, but it seems almost normal for there to be so much going on. I will miss food. We eat like kings here. It's really nice to think, "I'd love to have some Dove chocolate," and it's right there. or fried cheesesticks. or meat. I'll miss the director and his family. I was ungracious to him in my previous blog. He's the most gracious, loving man. He's perfect for this job. (there was miscommunication about the rules) I'll miss the girls the most. They've taught me so much. There is always laughter here. I have laughed so hard that I've nearly wet my pants. Tears are here, too, but they are good for healing. They look at me like a mama, even though I'm not that much older than they. They adore Quinn, and they love my children.

Lifeline is an amazing ministry. It is well run, despite its human incapabilities. They really try to show the girls grace through an impossible time in there lives. I'll never forget the week that Ava was born. She was born on July 19. I was with her mother and we had grown close. I saw the baby in the hospital and had prepared myself (or so I thought) for the inevitable adoption. I did okay in the hospital and goofed around with her mother and just sat with her a lot. Two weeks later I went with her mother to see her before she was adopted. The mother immediately burst into tears. So did I. She had tried to remain detached, but just missed her baby. I cannot imagine her heartache. I saw the teeniest measure of it and it broke me. I cried about Ava everytime I thought about her. And with her mother, I have shared something with her that has created a bond of friendship that is almost sisterlike. She left a few weeks after and I was very depressed when she was gone. She's back now because Lifeline allows post-adoptive mothers to come back and try to put their lives together by getting a job and providing a stable environment. God brought us here to shape us and mold us for his purpose. I hope to still be involved with Lifeline for a long time. (We are going to be relief parents.) I'm so glad that this ministry exists.

The week that Ava was born we got a birth announcement from Meghan and Jeromy Thompson announcing the adoption of their son through Lifeline. It was so exciting! They had tried for so long to get pregnant and God had a different way for them.

INCONSISTENCY

Today Quinn and I have had to soothe feelings, spank children, break up a fight between grown women, ward off complaints, and I had to crush one girl's feelings because she has really bad hygeine. We are angry because of what the people in charge of this place are doing to the rules. After trying hard all summer to really show the girls grace; legalism and stupid rules have been put into place. I detest legalism. ( Doesn't that show you how good I am?) We have righteously defended ourselves and blew off what they think because we are obviously better than are. Oh wait, I'm not supposed to say that out loud.

Who do I blame for inconsistency? I want to scream to the outdoors, "IF YOU WOULD JUST DO THINGS MY WAY, LIFE WOULD BE BETTER!" I myself am inconsistent. I am definitely inconsistent with my children and avoid situations where I have to show consistency with my charges. Why do I care if others are inconsistent if I am inconsistent? Ah, (revelation time) it's because I am a self-righteous, lazy, arrogant sinner. Crap.

So what do I do now? Really want to do the screaming thing. Still think I'm right. I actually want to stamp my foot and cross my arms. I think I'll just do that for a while.

Did I really go to the beach last week?

Here I am, back at the Village in the thick of Doctor's appointments, cooking, medicine, drama, and general craziness that IS life at the village. (They're hiring house parents, by the way) We came back here yesterday and there was new drama. Even though I suffer from severe Overdramatacitis Disease, I do not enjoy drama. We have two weeks until we leave here and move to Moody, where Quinn will begin his new job as the intern at Community Presbyterian Church. WOO HOO! I'm very glad that the Lord provided a ministry position for Quinn at our own church. We're here now though. But last week...

We were invited by our dear friends, the Sharps, to the beach last week. It was gorgeous and relaxing. I think I had forgotten how to relax. We did a lot of lying around and swimming. And plenty of laughing and talking. And sleep. ahhhh...... It was very nice. The kids loved it. Corin just is a fish in the water (he scares me a little bit actually). He loved to go out to his neck in the ocean. Silas really enjoyed the ocean since it is a gradual deepness and he is mortified of the swimming pool (which scares me more than Corin). Felix loved to dig in the sand (and eat it) and transfer water from one bucket to another. We went one night to a wonderful restaurant and another night we went to a Krispy Kreme and watched the donuts being made (fascinating and drool enticing). Yes, we had a wonderful time. The Lord provided a way for us to be able to go and we really needed a refresher. I didn't want it to end. And then it did. I wanted to cry on the way back here yesterday from church. Two weeks sounds like an eternity.

I'm so incredibly impatient. I'm constantly waiting for the next big best thing. Be it the relaxing week at the beach or the exciting challenge of a new job. It's never great all the time. There are things Quinn and I will hate about being in ministry, but isn't that part of life? Nothing is perfect in our finite minds except for Christ's perfect love. I love to see over and over in the Old Testament how, even after the Israelites failed, God drew them to Himself and forgave them and loved them perfectly. It shows us our desperate need for the Gospel and how we can never save ourselves from our own depravity. In this though, as much as I love to see the lessons learned by the Israelites in the Old Testament, I hate to be taught the same lesson by the Father who loves me. He draws me closer and I resist. Will I always resist? Will it always be hard for me to have faith that He will provide a need? Will I always be waiting for the next big thing, or will I learn to be content? Does He show us our sin constantly so that we see more of Him?

I loved my week at the beach; I saw my Creator in the sunset and in the ocean. I needed a refresher in who He is and what He can do. I am confident in this very thing, that He who created a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.

Tonight I'd like to blog about the serious atrocity of purchasing Light Sour Cream. This is a travesty! Imagine my disappointment. I'm seeking to make the best tasting taco salad. (allow me to share) First you crush tortilla chips with the palm of your hand on a real plate (real plate is essential; no styrofoam or paper). Then you spoon taco seasoned ground beef and refried beans on the chips. Topple with shredded cheddar. (I'm getting hungry). Then sprinkle with diced tomatoes and lettuce. Cilantro would've been great, but there wasn't any. Also guacamole would've been good, but nope. Okay so not the BEST taco salad, but it could've still been good. Pour a little taco sauce on the top and (slide hands back and forth so that you may fully understand my excitement, you know, like you do when you're really hungry and are looking forward to something really good. Like taco salad.) And now! Sour Cream. I take a big spoon and want a dollop of Daisy. Out of the corner of my eye I see the word light. Light. LIGHT. Big sigh. Why? WHY??? Besides the taste factor, which is huge, why WOULD you purchase light sour cream? Are you saving calories? Do you actually prefer the taste of Light Sour Cream or, even worse, Fat-Free Sour Cream? I have some good news! Real sour cream actually does taste better than its less fattening counterpart. Believe it. Drink a big glass of water instead of tea or whatever to save on calories.

I love you Crissy Sharp! (aka Light Sour Cream purchaser)

Here I am. In my pajamas. Yeah, it's 8:30 in the morning. Corin is still asleep. Silas is still wearing a pullup. The dishwasher needs to be unloaded and there is laundry EVERYWHERE. I have had two cups of coffee and am waiting for motivation to hit me. tick, tock, tick, tock.... Nope, not yet. It'll hit me when Quinn calls and says he's twenty minutes away.... It'll go something like this:
"Hey baby, watchya doing?" This is when I will jump out of my chair and run to the master bedroom. "Oh, you know, just making the bed and doing the laundry. Hmmm? Uh, yeah the boys are dressed and Corin has started school." This is when I'm running to Corin's room and flipping on the light and kicking his bed. He'll respond, "okay, what do you have planned today?"
I am frantically running around now, folding two baskets of laundry and separating them on my bed so that I can throw them off onto the floor tonight when I am too tired to put them away. I have no plans for the day, just a to-do list that is way too long. "Well, let's see, I guess we can just wing it. I've got the normal stuff and some errands I need to do." He is with Jon, the housedad from next door and doesn't care about the normal stuff and errands. " Alright, babe, well we'll be home in about twenty minutes!" We hang up. okey dokey. Twenty minutes to shower, curl my hair, put on makeup, start another load of laundry, put clean laundry away, get Corin awake and started on school, unload the dishwasher, change out the garbage, vacuum the living room, clear the counter, tidy up toys, dole out Prozac to the girls upstairs, exercise, drink a big glass of water, pluck my unibrow and other weird places that hair shouldn't grow (thank you Italian/Spanish genes), develop three rolls of film that someone has paid me to do, buy a birthday present for one of the girls upstairs, oh, and what the heck, scrapbook the last four years that is sitting in a laundry basket. I can totally do this. Wait a sec, I just got done a ton of stuff on the phone. oh yeah, a ton. I need a breather. Maybe some more coffee. "SILAS, go take off your pullup and throw it away!" Good. Another morning done.

Ah, my righteousness revealed! Ironing! I love to iron. Instant gratification at my fingertips; something that I can make perfect. I iron, then hang it up and stand in my closet and look at my wonderful creation. Really. My friends would marvel at my ability and tease me for my diligence with something so silly. I just grin and say something about it being something I just have to do. I would shake my head at their inability and non-diligence with their family's easiest way to put on airs. My righteousness is so good, theirs is so inept. It's just beautiful. Or at least it used to be. I blame what happened on Felix. He broke his stinking thumb (on purpose, by the way) in June. Everything just fell apart after that incident. Somehow I couldn't keep up with my ironing anymore. I had my corner pile in the bedroom and it kept growing larger and larger until I had more ironing than laundry. Then we moved out to the village. I, of course, thought that I would just iron one day out there. Two piles of ironing about 2 feet tall. One day it finally occurred to me that I was not going to get it done. So I hung it up. Wrinkled. My righteousness revealed. How ironic. And stupid. It's ironing, right? Who freaking cares? In my zeal for perfection and the endless search for instant gratification I had failed. Again. Why is ironing clothes such a hangup for me? Not sure. It still irritates me that there are wrinkled clothes hanging up in my closet. Stop shaking your head at me. Oh, it's laughter? Well, that's alright, I guess.

I hear steps over my head. Someone is in the kitchen getting a snack. Or maybe a drink. Perhaps some crackers? Maybe someone has taken out the hamburger I was supposed to take out of the freezer four hours ago. Who knows, maybe somebody is sneaking a cigarette while I'm downstairs. Maybe I'll ask for a drag.

It's so easy to fail here. Is that why God brought us to this place? So that I would see my sin more? I love to play perfect. I long for people to think I'm beautiful and have it all together. "Quinn sure is a lucky man to have a wife like that!" I measure my own righteousness all the time. Then we move here. I blow up at an emotionally unstable girl who has tried my patience and who is working through her own demons. I have an emotional breakdown at least once every few days, in front of the girls no less. I fail and fail and fail. Do they even see the gospel? How is that possible when I am such a mess? Could it be that Christ works through our inconsistencies? Or rather, despite our inconsistencies? Isn't it interesting that we still want to play perfect and Christ works in the way He does? We see our own glory and He eclipses it with His own.

He led us here for a reason. He is teaching us something. What is he preparing us for? I can only ask the questions. I'm the most impatient person alive and am going crazy for the answer.

I think I'll get a snack.