I miss blogging. I miss connecting with other bloggy friends. I miss selecting pictures, tweaking them with Photoshop and then crafting my words for a meaningful/witty/random blog. Facebook is so quick and busy and full of life, it’s easy to forget the joy of blogging. Texting is instantaneous and immediate, there doesn’t seem room for the slower work of blogging.

David and Sarah spent some time last week washing the new van.

Life is so full and rich these days, I’m overwhelmed by the many details, activities, and challenges. Tim and I are continually striving to grow in our marriage and be wise in our parenting. The responsibilities of running a busy household and homeschooling five children keep me humble and on my knees.

Sarah and I got matching aprons for Valentine’s Day.

I find myself struggling to balance the various disciplines - spiritual, physical, mental, etc. When I excel in one area, I fail in another. It is interesting, this life here on earth. We long for perfection, rest and joy, but instead are mired in imperfection, unease, and worry.

Praise God for His Word and the promise that His mercies are new every morning.

Books and board games are favorite gifts (to give and receive) in our house.

We had a fun Valentine’s Day. Tim and I love to celebrate as a family and cherish the big and small moments with the children. This year we ended up with some extra Christmas gifts (still working on the whole Christmas/budget concept) and set them aside for Valentine’s Day. We held a family party on the 7th. The blessing (reward?) of working so hard on parenting (and it is HARD WORK) is actually enjoying your children. We truly love to be with our five kids. They are fun, generous, kind, silly, caring and worth every bit of the diligence, effort and attention.

Daniel and Joshua gave David Nerf Swords for his birthday.

David’s birthday was this week. How in the world did my sweet, little boy come to be nine years old?? My goodness, he and Sarah are no longer babies. Can I still call them the “Little Ones?” At least for a little while longer?

Vanilla cake and ice cream sandwich dessert. Yum!

David constantly touches my heart - his reflections on life are unique and precious. We have a tradition of decorating the house in honor of the birthday child. All decorating happens in the wee hours in the night so the birthday boy or girl wakes up to a celebration. This past year the older children have taken on some of the work themselves and surprised me with their creative help.

The night before his birthday (Tim and I had just returned home from a long weekend in Leavenworth and the children from the Duckabush), David came up to me and quietly asked, “Would it be rude to ask for birthday decorations? I was just wondering.” Ha! I shhhhhed him and said, “Absolutely, no talk of decorations! Don’t even mention it.”

As the years have passed, I’ve often wondered if the children still care about those silly streamers, balloons and birthday signs. The older ones, in particular, might be too “grown up” and “mature” for such trivial things. It’s certainly no longer a dramatic surprise - it’s a tradition. Ahhhh, but here was a little boy who was still hoping for the wonder of a birthday celebration. How could I resist?

Throughout the days following his birthday, David repeatedly thanked me for the decorations - not the gifts, cake, family outing to the zoo, the decorations. “I just love those birthday decorations, Mommy, it’s why I keep saying thank you. I love to stand and look at them.”

A creative use of birthday plates.

Interesting how a thankful heart brings such delight and joy in response. I can’t help but think how the Lord wants me to be thankful, to thank Him for His wonders, His gifts, His goodness. Does my thankful heart please Him in the same way that David’s cheerful attitude blesses me?

Rachel helped with the birthday cake decorating.

It makes me want to sneak into David’s room, on a random Thursday in the middle of a random month, and hang up signs and streamers.

Maybe I will.

Kathy

It is always a challenge for Kathy and me to live out our faith in front of our children. While others might be fooled by a veneer of spirituality, our children see us at our least pious moments. This year, in an attempt to model the virtues of ministry and service, we volunteered to work as leaders in our church’s AWANA program. As it happened, Joshua and Daniel were already serving in AWANA, and Rachel had done so in years past. David and Sarah are participants in the program. We’ve been looking for opportunities to minister together as a family – this seemed tailor-made to lend our support and endorse it by our presence.

Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed … but maybe some of ‘em aren’t fully Approved, yet?

We’re about half-way through the year, and it has not been easy. While many kids enter into the program whole-heartedly, some are interested only in the games, and endure ‘Verse Time’ and ‘Council Time’ with ill-concealed boredom. And yet, there are moments of tenderness and glory when the gospel message connects with the hearts of the children, some of whose lives are being transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Being an AWANA leader can be pretty challenging.

During ‘Verse Time’ the kids are supposed to recite verses that they’ve memorized during the week, progressing through numbered sections in their workbooks. It is hard for the kids (and, if they’re anything like us, their parents) to remember to work on their books during the week, and so ‘Verse Time’ is sometimes less productive than we would like. In an attempt to motivate the kids, our fearless AWANA commander offered the kids a deal:

“If you finish a book (8 ‘Discoveries’, or chapters of 7 sections each),” he told them, “you will get an opportunity to throw a whipped-cream pie in the face of one of the leaders.”

Thank goodness there were only two cans of whipped cream available.

This deal was received with glee on the part of the kids, but I wasn’t worried. While several of the boys in my group are making good progress in their workbooks, I’ve been subtly suggesting to the boys in my group that Tom, my co-leader, would make a better target for a pie. “After all,” I reminded them, “he sometimes wears a beard, which would be much harder to clean after a good pie-ing.”

Little did I know, that one of my ‘friends’ at our church was hatching a plot against me, using his own children as instruments of evil.

Many people think that this man (we’ll call him Jekyll, after Robert Louis Stevenson’s story) is godly, upright, and worthy of honor. After all, he serves as an elder in our church, leads a small group Bible study, and also holds the position of Treasurer. His children are sweet and well-behaved (or so I always thought), and his wife is a kind and gentle saint. He often teaches classes and serves communion, and is one of the few men in our church who wears a tie.

Not my actual ‘friend’.

Of course, I’ve had the advantage of seeing him operate behind closed doors. A person with my unique insight could suggest that he is a tight-fisted skinflint; a man who snatches cookies out of the mouths of widows and orphans, a man who must be opposed on nearly every major policy decision of the church. In many ways, he might be better likened to the brutal Mr. Hyde.

I barely had time to close my eyes …

I felt a tingling of impending doom, when little Zachary was asked, “Who do you choose as your target, for a pie in the face?”

“I want Mr. Tim,” the six-year-old boldly asserted.

I was stunned. Zachary isn’t even in my group (I am a leader for older boys). I had assumed that he would pick one of his own leaders, or, perhaps the AWANA commander himself. What could possibly motivate him to seek me out for this vicious attack?

The truth was soon revealed: “My Dad will pay him $5 to get you with a pie,” his sister (Angie) confided, hopping up and down in glee.

I remembered a recent debate among the church elders, in which Dr. Jekyll was narrowly defeated. He wanted to install parking meters in the church’s lot, and to drive around in a little cart between services, ticketing those who overstayed their time.

“Those people are wasting valuable parking spaces, chatting it up in the lobby! We’ve got to move ‘em in and move ‘em out!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the table, veins popping out on his flushed face.

Personally, I rather think he wanted to see the sad faces of the children as he towed their parents’ cars away. As I often do, I opposed him in this vile scheme, and now I discovered I was not immune from the consequences of that action.

Dr. Jekyll had put a lot of work into the Powerpoint presentation for the elder board … obviously not a man to thwart lightly.

Little Zachary soon revealed the influence of his father’s character, as I reluctantly filled the pie-pan with whipped cream.

“More whipped cream,” he told me, stone-faced, eyes glittering in unholy anticipation.

My pleas for mercy were ruthlessly ignored as he pressed the pie firmly into my face. Just as his father would twist a knife in my back, Zachary rotated the pie with his wrist to ensure that the cream would go up my nose and into my eyes. After what seemed like hours, he finally released the pie pan so I could gasp for breath.

Maybe I should have taken out my contact lenses … ?

In many ways, this simply underscores the need for an AWANA program in our church. We must always be vigilant against the influence of the world. Venality and corruption among the children of leaders is of particular concern.

Little Zachary (aka “The Tim Slayer”) doesn’t even look sorry …

I fired off an e-mail to my so-called ‘friend’, the next day.

“So, when is the next time you’ll be teaching Sunday School for second, third, seventh, eighth or tenth-graders?” I asked him, innocently.

Coincidentally, those are the ages of my children, who have already expressed their willingness to be bribed, some of them offering two-for-one specials.

Revenge, as they say, is a dessert best served cold.

Tim

Many people don’t know that my wife is a famous, internationally-acclaimed women’s speaker. This is mostly because she has not, as yet, actually been asked to speak in any other countries. Nevertheless, I expect the invitations to start rolling in, any day now.

Each year our church hosts a Christmas Luncheon for women — a lavish, decorative affair in which women of the church vie with one another to host and decorate the most beautiful holiday table. Fine china is dusted off, elaborate centerpieces are constructed, and more than 250 women flock to our church for this bright spectacle. After the meal and traditional singing of Christmas carols, there is usually a speaker who attempts to inspire the women of our church and their guests with a scriptural message. This year, the Women’s Ministries director asked my wife to be the speaker.

While we were putting away the last of the tables, after everyone had gone home, Becky came up to me. “I am so glad that God used me to ask Kathy to speak,” the Women’s Ministries leader confided gleefully.

I had to agree — Kathy presented her ‘talk’, as she called it, with confidence and clarity, using Romans 12:12 as the core of her message:

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction and faithful in prayer.

Kathy’s parents sent her these beautiful flowers.

My thoughts drift back to that weekend in early October when Kathy ‘got the call’ as we were driving to attend a leadership retreat. Immediately, she asked me my opinion:

“Should I do it? It seems very scary. What if I can’t connect with the women?”

At first, Kathy had many doubts about speaking publicly. Even after we prayed about it for several days, and she had agreed to serve as the speaker, questions continued to bubble up:

• What passage will I speak on?
• What if my hands shake and my voice quavers too much?
• Why would any of these ladies want to listen to me?
• What if this is not a calling from God, but only my own desire to be heard?
• What will I wear?

Admittedly, the last question was perhaps the most difficult for me, as a man, to address.

I valiantly made an attempt. “What did you wear last year?”

Men and women don’t always think the same way, I’ve noticed.

Kathy is a busy person; homeschooling five children, running our household, trying to keep enough food in the house to feed ravenous boys — all these seem to fill her hours. Add in an aggressive prayer and Bible-reading schedule and a discipling relationship, and there isn’t a lot of extra time in the day. Still, she dove in and began studying and preparing her message. We gathered commitments from some of the prayer warriors in our church, to pray regularly for the event. It wasn’t long before Kathy had a passage of scripture that was coming alive to her in a new way. Eventually, she developed the entire message, complete with funny personal anecdotes and effective visual props. She wrote it out, first as an outline, and later filled in all the details.

“How do pastors come up with a new sermon every week,” she asked me one day, shaking her head.

These three boxes were part of the talk - a spiritual makeover.

I was impressed by her passion and energy. I am currently taking a hiatus from teaching my Adult Sunday School class, largely because those two qualities were missing in my teaching. One week she managed to connect with the speaker from the fall Women’s Retreat, whom she felt did an incredible job of challenging and encouraging the ladies of our church. Kathy drove an hour, and spent the better part of an evening with her; praying, sharing and studying. The week before the event, she began rehearsing in our bedroom, using a CD rack as a podium, and a full-length mirror to hone her eye contact skills.

We continued to pray. We remembered these verses in Matthew 10:18-20:

On my account you will be brought before governors and kings as witnesses to them and to the Gentiles. But when they arrest you, do not worry about what to say or how to say it. At that time you will be given what to say, for it will not be you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.

Although she wasn’t arrested, we still thought the verse would apply. If God wanted Kathy to speak, then God would give her something to say, and would, Himself, cause those words to be effective.

Joshua and Daniel and I had the privilege of serving as waiters for the event, and so (after we bolted down our meal in the kitchen) we were able to watch and listen as Kathy spoke. I was praying furiously, yet somehow still able to listen as she unfolded her ideas and connected with the audience.

It was a great message — simple, practical, spiritual, transparent and personal. The ladies laughed at her jokes and seemed attentive — many of them came up to me afterward and complimented me (presumably because I had the clever foresight to marry Kathy). I am very proud, but even more, I’m delighted to see Jesus glorified and for the gospel to be promoted.

Some things in Kathy’s Hope Box - before the makeover.

When we arrived home, Kathy and I went upstairs and snuggled in our bed to talk about the day. Eventually she wound down, and we assembled the kids to do our daily ‘chapter’ Bible reading, currently with an Advent twist.

“How ’bout milkshakes and a Christmas movie,” I shouted. “Who’s with me?” There was a rush of feet for the door. Life goes on, even when you’re a family of an internationally-acclaimed women’s speaker.

Tim

Recently I had the opportunity to celebrate my forty-fourth birthday, which seemed appropriate, since I am, in fact, forty-four. As is my custom whenever it falls on a weekday, I took the day off from work.

The day I turned seventeen, I was working at the local Holiday Inn as a bell-boy, where I had served for more than two years. Mostly, I performed the duties of a front desk clerk, but the crafty management paid me $3.25/hour as a bell-boy since I was so young (and looked even younger). At about 9:00 in the evening of my birthday, I found myself dissatisfied with the prospect of working on such a momentous day, and I resolved, forthwith, to resign. Half an hour later, I was unemployed, with more than $2000 in savings and my evenings suddenly free. Four months later, I was penniless, and forced to seek work as a fishmonger’s assistant. But that is another story.

My actual former workplace, no longer a Holiday Inn.

Since then, whenever I enjoy my job, I’m careful to take my birthday off, for fear that history may repeat itself. It would be a shame if I impulsively decided to quit, as a result of being forced to work on my birthday. And so, I found myself home on a Thursday, with the whole day stretching before me, full of promise and opportunity.

In July, we took up geocaching as a hobby, and continue to derive much enjoyment from this pastime. As a family, we’ve located more than 50 caches, and find ourselves ranging further and further afield for new challenges. On my birthday, while Kathy drove Joshua to his JNROTC class, I mobilized the rest of the kids to pack lunches. We piled into the van and got an early (11 am) start, once they returned.

The kids enjoy taking (and leaving) trinkets in some of the larger caches.

I loaded a chain of geocache coordinates into our GPS receiver, each 10-20 minutes apart, with the furthest about 90 minutes from our home, among the foothills of Mount Rainier. Bypassing the first one (there was no easy place to stop on the highway as we hurtled past), we came to the vicinity of the second cache, which we eventually located. It was concealed in a narrow crevice between an electrical utility box and the pole to which it was attached.

“Careful, kids, that’s 220 volts,” I cautioned, standing well back.

Geocaching is not a particularly dangerous sport, but it does take you into some strange places. Joshua found the cache (a micro, about the size of a dry-erase marker) and noted the additional hazard of a bee’s nest, just above the cache.

No bees were harmed in the filming of this adventure.

After signing the log, I graciously allowed Joshua to replace it (usually a much-sought-after privilege), but for some reason he was less-than-excited:

“Thanks, Dad,” he sourly grumbled. “How great that I get to be the one stung by high-voltage bees.”

There’s just no pleasing some people.

Sarah found this particularly-difficult cache hidden among the trestles of the bridge.

Eventually we found seven caches and discovered many scenic locales, including:

• a geocache container disguised as an electrical transformer
• an elaborate porta-potty enclosure
• a railroad bridge with a bunch of dead salmon
• a deep river gorge, spanned by a one-lane bridge
• a monument for miners, killed in a series of mine disasters
• an abandoned stone building, nearly overrun by forest growth

Sarah and Rachel didn’t seem to appreciate the odor or lack of toilet paper.

This bridge shook especially hard when a logging truck passed by …

It was a delightful day; warm, sunny, and almost cloudless. I spent it just the way I wanted, with the people I love best, laughing and exploring and enjoying each other. With a birthday like that, I can hardly wait to turn 45!

David sure does love his Mama.

Kathy and I have been married for 17.5 years, now, happier every year.

– Tim

Joshua is enjoying R.O.T.C. these days. Keeps us busy as we add another activity to our lives. I didn’t have my camera handy this week when he was dressed for inspection. Okay, I had the camera, but I wasn’t awake at that point (coffee was still in the pot and not in my mug).

Go Navy?

Anyway, I’ll try and get a picture of him in his full regalia next week. For now, here’s a shot of him in his Navy PT workout clothes.

Kathy