His Eye is on the Sparrow

Yesterday, my tender hearted, animal loving, 9 year old found a baby bird. An ugly thing with eyes sealed shut. It had fallen nearly 3 stories from it's nest in the top of one of our tallest trees. Really, the fact that it survived the fall was a bit miraculous. My son made a little nest for it, and gently placed in a smaller, shorter tree. He tended to it all day, quietly checking in on it, and even feeding it bugs as it chirped with a wide open mouth.

I googled "how to rescue baby bird".

We tried to figure out its breed. We tried to feed it water, and egg, as per internet info.
When my husband got home, he tried to put it back up in it's nest, but the nest was just too darn high.
So, the bird came inside the house, while we tried to feed it egg when it squawked...
After the kids went to bed, and I realized the little baby starling was breathing shallowly, and would not likely live much longer I began to google again.

I googled "how to kill a baby bird".

The methods were all quick, all heart breakingly gruesome. Scissors and boots and plastic bags and freezers...
And my heart was quaking. This was such a tiny creature, ugly and fragile. And yet, I cared. I know God cared too. I felt it. I felt His eyes on this tiny living thing.
In the end, our little baby bird was euthanized in a hopefully more humane way than letting it starve, or become riddled with infection, or picked to death by ants.
But I cannot get out of my head how God saw this little baby bird. It didn't escape His attention that this little creature had fallen so so far. God knew what breed it was. And maybe, God gave us this little bird to be with it in it's final moments. To save it from further suffering... and Maybe God granted us a little glimpse of His concern for all His creation...
To understand, in this small little way, what it means to be seen by the God who sees.

Shame and Lament

     I’ve been walking in the mornings lately.  Trying to take in the scent of frangipani and falling mangoes, the beauty of a mountain covered in green and sunshine.  Trying to sort out 2.5 years of wrestling with Thailand… wrestling with an ever present sense of guilt and shame.

     

Thailand, like many countries in this region, is a land of vast juxtapositions.  It is known for lavish beauty, gold, silk, smiles… but also desperate poverty, sexual depravity, and human injustice.  And for a person who so desperately wants to be Jesus, the weight of human need is crushing.  Families can easily be seen lodging in shacks, and children with very little but rags to wear.  There are stories of familial desperation so intense the only solution seems to be to sell your children to ready buyers. 

Where does a person start? Is it my job to bring them all bags of rice? Or give them all clothing?  Subsidize their lives?

    

With much of the year reaching temperatures of 40C (100+ F) we use our air conditioner at night, regularly.  And nightly, there is a sting in my heart knowing that many people, including people I’ve come to love, are sleeping without air conditioning… or not sleeping, because it’s just too stinking hot. As I buy meat to feed my family with, I twinge with guilt knowing that many people can’t afford this simple luxury.

     

I have felt shame in all I have, and my inability to “fix” it all.  I’ve felt ashamed of all the many priviledges I’ve had in my life… and it is frequently overwhelming… 

      

So, on my walk a few days ago, I was listening to music and one phrase came through “Are you He? Did you die on the tree?” Silly rhymes. Massive meaning.

   

 I am not He. I did not die on the tree. I am only one small part of “He”.

 It is not my job to fix everything, to heal every wound,  pay every wage, save every person… but my job IS to see. To lament with my fellow humanity in their hardships. Aching with Jesus, as we see their suffering. 

Shame is crushing. Immobile.  Seeing only me.

Lament moves. It sees outside itself.  It sits with the hurting... aching and praying.

I’m trying to move past my shame. Trying to move forward towards lament, and attempting to understand the peace that passes all understanding.

Holy Moments and Muscle Mashes

     I don't often get massages. I have had about three since we moved to Massage Town (aka Chiang Mai) but last night I was offered some free time, and I thought I was due for my 8 monthly massage. Normally, I feel quite self conscious, but I suppose because last night it was a rather last minute decision I didn't have time to work myself up.
     As I laid there, being pummeled by elbows and possibly knees, and maybe even a mace (?) I thought perhaps it might be a good time for me to chat with God. I have mentioned in my previous posts, my struggles with the Ex-pat community here, and I have limited Thai relationships due to a language barrier. I have struggled desperately with my "role" in "our" ministry. I don't help victims of trafficking, I don't help street kids. Chad does. I don't counsel frustrated, fatigued, struggling missionaries. Chad does. I don't take beautiful pictures, and collect moving stories from all over Asia. Chad does. I simply try to make sure everyone gets something resembling food, daily. I try to juggle the kid's school life, and the littlies home life. I try to push myself to be social. And I sometimes even do a load of washing. My confidence and capabilities to do much for myself seem to have disappeared. I feel limited and tied down. Restricted. Trapped. And meaningless. With four dangling weights strapped to my legs...

     So, these were the things I wanted to address with my Almighty Creator. While being mashed by a woman half my size.

     I complained. God reminded me that this is all He wants from me. Just the kids. Just being their mum. Just being a wife, and support system. Just being satisfied in what He has for me. Just being. Not chasing cooler, sexier ministries.

     When I was called forth from my reverie, I began to have a conversation with the masseur, just chit chat (limited Thai, remember?) I told her I have 4 children. She was quick to tell me she had no children. I asked her if she wanted them, because you can ask questions like that in Thailand. She answered in the affirmative. She had lost one baby at 4 months. She confessed she had cried and cried. She prayed to Buddha regularly for a baby. She said, "Oh, 4 children, you must be very happy!"

     "Uh-huh" I answered... because, no, I wasn't... and I began feeling the Spirit of God descend and speak through this incredibly powerful, yet small, Buddhist.

     When she finished her muscle mash up, I, sitting there mostly naked, asked to pray for her. I NEVER ever do that. Not with Christians, and certainly not with Buddhists... But I prayed for her in broken Thai, and then in English. Prayed for God to grant her a baby, because I KNEW God was asking me to. When I glanced up, she had tears in her eyes, and told me she had goose bumps.
 
It was a holy moment. And I hope one I can cling to, while slogging through poopy nappies, and endless requests for snacks, and conjuring up food from whatever is left in the fridge.

    It was a holy moment, a holy muscle mash-up moment, where God spoke so clearly through this lovely woman. Reminding me to be content. Content in doing only what He has asked of me. And listening for His voice everywhere... because sometimes He speaks through strong, small, Buddhist women...

Theology of Need

       A while ago, I had a conversation with a new missionary who had been here for three weeks, full of hope, excitement, and perhaps a little bit overwhelmed (although she could recall her name, so she was doing MUCH better than ME at three weeks.) We were discussing the topic of hiring house helpers. She was reticent to hire one, because she "didn't want anyone to think she needed help." To which I tactlessly replied that indeed she was helpless. She couldn't read, write, speak, or understand, not to mention that the dirt here is constant and very likely different than home. Plus, hiring a house helper helps the economy. 

If I could, I would rewind that moment, and think INSIDE my head next time (first impressions are not my forte)... But it has had me thinking for months now.

Why are we so ashamed of looking like we need help?

Why are we happy to come and "serve" people who "need" our help, but find needing help offensive?

How can we truly honor the people we came to serve if we don't need them?

If there is no reciprocity, can it be a relationship?

Why are we ashamed of needing help?

So, here are my thoughts on the matter, for what it's worth.

I believe we cannot truly serve anyone, if we don't also need them. We can't be truly humble, if we have no needs. 

I think Jesus truly demonstrated this. He came as a baby. I suppose he didn't need to. He could have just "shown", up as he has periodically throughout history. He could have walked in from the wilderness. Instead he came as one of the most helpless, need filled creatures, a human baby. There are very few babies as needy as human babies. No doubt his mother had black circles under her eyes from the sleepless nights of feeding him, wrapping him and unwrapping him in clothes as he would have pooped and wee'd all over himself, a lot. Because he was a baby. He had to be carried around constantly. I wonder if he had to have his hand smacked as he grabbed dangerous tools for the 78th time that day. Maybe he toddled a bit too near the fire, spilled hot water on his foot, and ran with sticks.  

He, like every human child born, would have been a constant, bottomless well of need. 

Perhaps a quadriplegic would have some insight into what Christ would have experienced. He went from having limitless power, and ability, to nothing. Nothing. Absolutely no ability to do anything for himself. He needed. 

He spent ALL those years needing for only 3 years of ministry. Now, I think most mission agencies would balk at the idea of missionaries spending 32 years learning, and growing and changing and NEEDING for only three years of professional ministry. Quite frankly, I think we would all go a bit nuts... but maybe there is something there. Maybe we show up with too much... Perhaps we land in our new country with too much "ability", too much "knowledge", too much "understanding".  Maybe we don't spend enough time needing help. 

Perhaps our biggest contribution to our new country is allowing ourselves to need. 

Psalm of the Alien

When the homesickness washes over me in wave after painful wave,

Whom have I but You?

When the language mystifies, when the markets overwhelm,

Whom have I but You?

When children cry, and need, and destroy, and hurt,

Whom have I but You?

You sent us as Abraham into a great unknown.

Like Abraham, we obeyed, currying our idols, anxious to serve ourselves and You and anyone else who got in our way.

Like the Psalmists we have loved and hated our lives, our new land.

Like the Psalmists we have felt abandoned by You.

But without You,

Whom do we have?

Like the insane prophets of old, we have trusted You.

We trust You.

On Forgiving the Community

I recently had a conversation with Counselor Man (a.k.a. Husband) about how one needs to acknowledge injury before one can truly forgive. It was all very theoretical. It sounds obvious, of course, but for some reason, isn't my instinct. I usually assume that injuries are my fault, or because of a rough time someone is having. Periodically, I write the person off as being mindless.

Since we've been here, however I have been confronted with a community culture that I can't seem to navigate. One that is more mystifying, perhaps, because I never expected it to be. The ex-pat community on our side of town has been slowly chipping away at me, making me more insecure than I have ever been.  It's not an individual thing, it has been a community effect.

And as I have laid in bed trying to figure out the culture of this group, and trying to sort out the why's and how's of how it works, it doesn't make the injuries smaller or less painful. So, I thought perhaps I would exercise forgiveness, as discussed with Counselor Man. Acknowledging the injuries, whether they are totally understandable or not, and try to continue to love the people in the community without the unhelpful anger that has been building up.

I also sincerely hope to be a part of healing this broken community.

So, Ex-Pat Community:
I forgive you for being unfriendly.
I forgive you for ignoring my messages.
I forgive you for your discomfort in pursuing deeper friendships and wanting to maintain an incidental relationship.
I forgive you for abandoning me in moments of truth, confession, and honesty.
I forgive you for being too busy.
I forgive you for forgetting my name, or that we ever met.
I forgive you for pursuing the presentation of perfection that only ever isolates and condescends.

I hope that perhaps this blog post can be the beginning of healing here, not just for me, but for others who may feel mystified, outside, injured, and rejected... which I suspect is more people than would ever readily confess. I hope to blast the face of perfection from this flawed crowd, so we can TRULY honor God with our brokenness and restoration.

Community

I am convinced that without community we cannot experience God. Without the weird, the awkward, the inept, the hurtful, the hilarious, the mothering, the teaching, and the forthcoming we cannot get a true picture of who God really is.  Unity in the Body was one of Christ’s main messages, one of his main battles.   Sometimes, I wonder if Jesus is more at home in the healing contentions within the church than he is in the painfully comfortable, well maintained prayer meetings, free from honesty.   Perhaps Jesus is more honored by our confessions of failure in a community setting, than by the quiet internal battles we believe to be noble.

If we don’t encounter the irritating, how can we learn mercy? If we don’t encounter the hurtful, how will we ever learn grace?

Our lives are changed by our interactions with people. Our hearts are sustained by loving relationship and support. We are challenged by the annoying, and edified by the elderly.  We get more growth in compassion as we sit beside the tired haggard mother who is desperately trying to keep her kids quiet and in one place for 2.3 minute, than being able to listen to the sermon on the same topic.  Perhaps it is more helpful to hold the hand of the single mother, to sit next to the drunk alcoholic, to engage the socially awkward than to have a really good prayer time for them.

How are we doing community?  Are we committed to the “other” even though they are so annoying we’d rather throw coffee at them then sip it with them?  Do we hold the tired mother’s baby? Are we hugging the reeking addict?  Do we converse with the missionary who is “doing it all wrong”?

Or do we sit in our comfortable seat, with our comfortable friends, presenting a very comfortable image?

Perhaps the old adage “You cannot love another until you truly love yourself” is less true than “You cannot love yourself until you truly love another”.

Why I don't do "devotions" or "time with Jesus"

In Bible college, there is lots of talk about dates with Jesus, spending time with Jesus, and doing devotions. Judgements about your "spiritual life" are based on your performance of these things. Those who have a nice solemn quiet time every morning will sin less, will be happier, and more zen-like. Those who don't, well, you can TELL.  If one doesn't charge up their spiritual battery in the Almighty charger, they will run out of spiritual gumption and end up drunk in the gutter, very likely pregnant.

During this time, I too felt the pressure, judged myself based on my performance of such activities. I remember one night one of the girls on my floor came to me in tears with a humiliating confession, she hadn't done her devotions in weeks, and worse she didn't WANT to. I was sad for her and wondered  at the benefit of it. I drifted back and forth in my feelings towards devotional time, or the special time with Jesus until I read a freeing book called "A Spirituality of the Road." I have since lent out 2, and neither has returned to me. Must be good... or getting forgotten. Ahem. I digress.

This book began an idea in me that has led to me freedom from devotional oppression. This ultimately freeing idea is simply this. There is no spiritual battery. Scandalous, I know. We are entirely spiritual beings, as well as entirely physical.  When I wash dishes, it is a spiritual activity. When I go on a hike and witness natural beauty at it's finest, it is a spiritual activity. When I listen to a sermon on a Sunday morning, it is as a spiritual being. There are no activities that are more "spiritual" than another.

As Western Christians we are like our dichotomies. We like to keep our holy spiritual person safe and clear of our sexual person.  We like to have tidy categories with which to judge our current status. Reading a good devotional-check. Daily personal "Jesus" time-check.  Weekly Bible study- check. Getting to church early, toting Bible- check. Ahh. My Spiritual life is clearly thriving. With so many spiritual ticks, I can avoid disastrous sinful behaviour and earn (ha ha ha, not really, I'm a CHRISTIAN! I don't EARN Christ's approval!) Christ's approval. And yet, with such a fully charged spiritual battery, people fail. Mom's yell. Dad's swear. Kids sneak. Singles stumble. Married's trip and fall.

This blog post is meandering. I will end by saying this. Bible reading is awesome. I read when I can. I like to have my Bible reading time challenge what I know about God. I like to let it direct me, rather than my wonderful theology direct it.  But I am not enslaved to this good thing. Jesus was there while me and my daughter coloured monsters. He was there when we chuckled about butt-jokes together. He was also there as we sang our VBS songs.  He is more present than my husband.

And I'm just so blessed that there is never a moment that He is not around.

To My Sister-

As you prepare to have your first baby, I am sad beyond all description to be so far. I am sorry I can't share this whole thing with you and be there in the hospital (after you've had her, of course) and bring you a hamburger and pizza and chocolate... (ok, those were the things that got me through labour... I suppose not everyone is as excited at the idea of eating a GOOD burger)

I was thinking this morning about what it means to have a child. The first one especially, changes everything. It changes the parents, it changes your schedule, it changes the way you do things, and how you do things, and how decisions are made, and who you hang out with.  It changes where you eat, and sometimes what you eat. Your priorities change, and your list of daily accomplishments change. Your clothing size changes, and your body changes. Somedays all these changes make you want to scream. Somedays you won't even notice.
 
Your first child awakens the "Monster mom" and you feel as if you could accomplish great feats, do anything to protect your precious little person. But you can't. And that is more frightening than anything you can imagine. All of a sudden your worst nightmares are only inches away. You can only defend her against SOME of the bad in a world suddenly filled with BAD.  One roque car, one unseen moment, one poor decision... It is now your heart at risk, and it is no longer safely tucked in your chest. It is outside. And in all this fear, you realise that the ONLY defence is the MAKER of the WORLD. The One who made it GOOD, and He can show you the GOOD in the BAD.  You can curl up in His palm, because that is all you CAN do.

And while you are living on the brink of blinding fear, you are feeding, and rocking, and noticing, and caressing, and...unsure.  Why is she crying? Why isn't she crying? Should I feed her the organic brand? Am I holding her enough? Studies say this, studies say that. La Leche League says this, my sister says that. But rest assured, God has given you the instinct you need. He gave you this daughter and He has given you the skills to care for her. Trust yourself. The internet will not help you. Trust your own instincts, and if you must, ask other mothers whom you trust and admire their parenting.

Parenting is the most exciting, exhausting, hilarious, insane adventure. Nothing else can make you laugh and cry in moments. Nothing else could make you more angry and more happy.  Nothing else can be so cute and so frustrating.

May you be blessed in this incredible adventure, sister.  There is so much blessing to be had...

The measure of a woman

The measure of a woman in not in numbers of inches or pounds. It is not in cup sizes, or waist bands.  It's not in the complexion of her skin, or length of lashes.  A woman is more than a sum of numbers.

The measure of a woman in not in how many children she has, or how they exited her body. It is not in her ability to have children, or how those children are fed. A woman is more than a birth story.

The measure of a woman is not in how many hours she worked, or how clean her house was. It's not in how many delicious, organic meals she could churn out, or how wonderful her pies are. A woman is more than a salary.

A woman is a sum of the people she loves. The true measure of a woman is her ability to love the unlovely, forgive the unforgivable, to serve humanity and her God. May she be measured by her compassion.

How to grieve with

I am not sure exactly why, but I have been asked a few times by people close to someone grieving "What should I do?" I have not had any more horrible times than any common man, thus I am not an expert, but my mother is, and I thought I would type out some of her wisdom passed on. All people grieve so differently, and some people will hate all these tips, but I think it is always better to err on this side as it will be easier for someone to say "I dont want to talk about it" than for someone to say "I WANT to talk about it."

1. Asking Questions- Ask questions about details. This shows you care, and for people who get concerned about burdening others with their grief, this is a way for you to invite sharing the load. It also leads the way in showing them what you are willing to bear. I know for myself, when I witnessed a traumatic event, I wanted people to ask me details. No one did. But I wanted to rehash again and again the colours and sights and sounds as a way of purging the images and sounds.

2. Allow them to say what they feel- No contradictions! They may have been a strong person of faith, but in the wake of losing a child, are struggling to feel loved by God. Allow them to express this rage, confusion and pain without contradiction, at least initially. You can gently remind them of truth in a year or two.

3. Say the name- For someone who has lost a loved one, it can be a balm to hear someone else acknowledge the person that they loved is still remembered. Loss is about as painful as it gets, gently and lovingly referring to a person who is dead will not make the pain worse, but will show that you remember them too.

4. Sit and cry with someone. No words necessary. Hand out tissues.

5. Resist the urge to say "It's ok, He's in heaven" or "At least you have other children" or "he's better off." A sister who has lost her brother, or a mother who has lost her child is really only concerned that their loved one isn't WITH THEM. Whatever comfort they may derived from where their loved one is NOW, is really up to the griever.

6. Be around, call regularly, remember them and their pain 6-12 months along. Go visit, and call to check in.

7.Above all, loving someone as Christ loves- practically, emotionally, and spiritually- will cover innumerable mistakes. Love is like that. I hope this can be a little bit helpful. It has been for me.

Sugar Scrubs

Due to High Altitude, freezing temps, and running heaters my skin is SUPER dry. The only thing that seems to allowing relief has been sugar scrubs. I wanted to put some of the recipes I've come up with here simply because it's fun. I am now a huge fan of them and they cost pennies when made from your cupboard.

Chai Tea Sugar Scrub
1/2 sugar (white or brown)
3 Tbsp oil (olive or coconut are awesome)

Mix together
Add:
1 Tbsp honey
contents of one Chai Tea bag

Store in water tight container. A great face and body scrub.
Be sure to rinse well as tea can settle in places you'd rather not have anything brewing!

Lemon Sugar Scrub

1/2 sugar
3 Tbsp oil (coconut or olive)
Peel of half lemon
-warm oil with peel and mix in sugar
Add:
juice of half lemon

Store in water tight container. Great for face and body.

Leif's "Fire" Sauce

My oldest son has decided at random times, to begin his forays into culinary creation. He's made some fruit salad which was great and a green salad which was certainly alright for a 5 year old. He gets to use a sharp knife and a cutting board, and has ideas for sauces etc. He wanted to put lemon on the fruit salad, and it was delicious. Last night he came to me and wanted to make hot sauce. We decided we needed to go shopping for some hot chillies, and a few other things, so of course, all day he has been reminding me we need to go. Upon arrival at home, he whipped out the chillies, and onions and began cutting. He began cutting. His eyes were watering with onion juice. He located buttons on the food processor by letter recognition. Here's the REALLY delicious sauce my son created. I'm seriously proud!

1 hot chilly (whichever one you want)
1/2 brown onion
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp garlic powder (feel free to use fresh)
2 tsp apple cider vinegar
7 Tbsp tomato puree

Whizz up in a food processor to desired consistency. Eat.

Airplanes with kids on them.

My kids and I will be heading off soon and lots of airplane traveling adventures. I have traveled a bit with little guys, and am still struggling to find ways to make it super easy and smooth. That said, I have nailed down a few things that help. So here's my line up of helpful tips.
1. Bring enough nappies for a 48 hour period. Diarrhea always seems to happen on flights which means a million more nappy changes than one would expect. The more the merrier.
2. Wear travel friendly clothing. My travel uniform is thus- leggings, short sleeve dress, slip on shoes and cardigan. That way I am comfortable, but still look "pulled together" ish (for some reason people are more inclined to offer help if one looks nicer). But I do bring an extra t-shirt and leggings, as I've been pooed on enough to want to be prepared.
3. I try to dress the kids in track (sweat) pants, t-shirts, and jumpers (sweatshirts). Layers are good. Sleepable clothes are good. Probably some people would like to put socks on their kids, but for me, it is only one more article of clothing that gets abandoned. Some slip on shoes for kids is the way to go. Canvas ones preferable to plastic, as they breath, and will keep their feet warm.
4. I no longer pack activities for myself, aside from a "wisp" toothbrush. Although, a magazine with pictures wouldn't go astray. But I've found that I don't have a lot of time to sit and read things other than children's books... to children.
5. I like to make little "flight" packs for the kids. They get to open new little packages, and the excitement can last the whole trip...
6. Microbead neck pillows. That way if you have a chance, you will be able to sleep relatively comfortably.

Anyone have any awesome car travel tips?

Why three is better.

Three to fuss and three to fight.
Three to keep you up at night.

Three minutes to rest, in a week.
Three small people that seem to leak.

Three small people who laugh at jokes.
Three small people who laugh at pokes.

Three little friends who love each other.
Brother sister, sister brother.

Six little hands sneaking crackers.
3 little hands getting smackers.

A sister to care, a brother to show,
a little one to go go go.

If two is good then three is better.
Just, perhaps, a little wetter.

Survival.

Our week without buying groceries was good. I was surprised by how much food we had. It required me to spend more time in preparation but I was amazed how well we were able to eat. We were even able to have people over, and bring a salad to share to a party. In fact we probably could have gone a few more days, although we were beginning to really miss fresh fruit and veggies. The interesting thing about this week, to me, was the extra stress I felt. I didn't feel like I could eat much due to fear of running out of food. I was thinking what it would be like to ACTUALLY not have any food to feed my kids. I am SO grateful that I can. I will continue to pray for rain in Africa, so that next year will be better.

That said, today sucked. I woke up early thanks to a blabbing baby, and have spent my day grumpy. To try to boost myself I made yo-yos with pink icing (recipe here: http://www.bestrecipes.com.au/recipe/Yo-Yo-Biscuits-L1544.html ) which turned out a bit dense and heavy but tasted alright.

Then during "nap time" in which one child napped, another yelled from his bed, and another watched a David Attenborough video, I made some little wire bird's nests (how-to here: http://justsomethingimade.com/2009/03/little-wire-bird-nests/ ). All up, I made two in 20ish minutes, and that does include some butt wiping, and drink getting and other services. I made one with a little "egg" the colour of each birthstone of my kids. How sweet.

Yesterday, which started similar to today, I sewed together a pair of pants that I had cut out of a bed cover I bought in India nearly a decade ago. I've been wearing them all day despite the fact that they are highly unflattering and are a very close relative of jammy pants.

Creating is survival for me. Everyone may spend the day in misery, with the house disappearing under the dirty laundry and crunched up crackers. But at least I made something from start to finish today, dammit. At least one little happy thing got made.

Sho... Habby makig. (that's me wishing you happy making while being really drunk, which I'm not, but thought maybe it would be funny to allude to, and then thought it would be really confusing hence this parenthetical statement.)

When I was hungry...

I, probably like much of the world, have been deeply impacted by the images coming out of East Africa. The idea of women having to watch their children starve to death leaves an ache in me that not even a brownie can cure. I am generally out of the loop of news etc, much to my embarrassment, but this particular news tidbit somehow landed in my lap. Usually, I would be able to just get on the internet and donate some money, but this time it's a smidge tighter fundage wise and I didn't feel comfortable donating what I wanted to. SO, the kids and I scrounged through the house looking for coins. We made a slotted tub for our coins, and were able to get some money, as Leif pointed out, "Still, it will help." I was so excited that the kids could get into it, but really wanted to do something more. So Saturday night we began brainstorming. We landed on an idea to not buy any groceries this week, and eat only what we have. That way we can donate the money we have saved on groceries. In that way, at least we (or really I) have to be conscience of our food, grateful for it, and aware of it, possibly by it's scarcity. I am generally a haphazard shopper so there should be enough if I can be creative. Although, I have no eggs, little milk, few veggies, and little fresh fruit, I've got canned fruit, dried beans, and some frozen things. I am excited about this little journey and what lessons we may have in store.
Tonight we will be eating weed stir-fry... evidently clover is edible.

Seed Bombs

A while ago I found some ideas for some guerilla gardening. Things like planting flowers in ugly places, pulling weeds that aren't yours, and sowing seeds to see what happens. One idea that I found that I have been desperate to try for a while with the kids was seed bombs. The basic idea is that you puree some newspaper, mix in some seeds, squash into a mold or roll into balls in your hand, and then toss around in unsightly fields.
Usually my ideas of creative things to do with the kids end up in me making it while they play outside, or a huge mess, or both. This idea was a raging success! They helped me pick out the seeds (although I nixed some of Leif's ideas of rockmelon and zucchini mainly because we wouldn't be around to see em.) We put in a rockery mix, Australian natives, and some forget-me-nots for obvious reasons. The kids loved squidging in the gooey papery mush with their hands. Leif helped me make the balls while Pip just played. The next morning we all went out in our jammies and threw them around in a derelict field. The kids loved throwing "bombs" and L was happily announcing to everyone we came across that we were making seed bombs. It was a rolling success, and I would HIGHLY recommend getting your children involved in guerilla warfare of this nature. (Get it? Nature Guerilla?)

Cloth wipes recipe

I've been struggling to come up with anything I could blog about without pages and pages of bleck... And I have been wanting to share this recipe so it seemed as good a time as any to put up some tripe.
I love using cloth nappies. It's nerdy I know, but I love it. I have settled upon the most fabulous system for us, sweetpea pocket nappies. I bought some bamboo inserts and now only have to change the baby's nappy 2 times a day. Yippee! I only have one in nappies now (sorta) so my washing isn't too out of control. It only makes sense, if using cloth nappies, to use cloth wipes as well. The best system I have found is to fold a bunch of my homemade wipes (or face washers, cut up terry squares, cut up flannel, etc) in a container with tight fitting lid and dump solution on em. This way they are wet and ready to go when needed. Then they go in the nappy bucket along with soiled nappy or... ahem... undies. So here is the recipe, as I have tweaked it, for your wiping delectation.

2 cups warm water
1 tablespoon oil of choice (I love to use coconut oil as it has natural yeast fighting properties)
1 tablespoon of liguid soap
2 drops tea tree oil
*optional- 2 drops of lavender

stir it up as you pour over wipes. Mine can last up to a week before there is even a hint of mustiness thanks to the tea tree oil. Make sure to keep the lid on it when not in use.

Women and The Man's Problem.

Sex is generally referred to in Christian circles as a man's issue. Preachers will proclaim loudly and with gusto that avoiding inappropriate sex is a man's issue, and women struggle with... umm... not sure... um jealousy maybe? I grew up thinking that women shouldn't want sex, or have a sex drive, and that there was clearly something wrong with me if I did. Girls are told that if we could only dress modestly then the boys won't think about sex. The idea is that men want sex, women don't, and that sex is dirty, secret, monogamous, and uncomfortable to talk about. Pious women don't mention it, want it, and will cover every bit of flesh so as to keep men from the same evil. Maybe, if women can get their necklines high enough, their skirts long enough, their pants pleated enough, that no one will think about sex, ever.
Maybe someone needs to remind these pastors that just as men were made in the image of God, so women were. That just as men are emotional, physical, psychological and sexual beings, so women are emotional, physical, psychological, and gulp, sexual beings. When men preach and make comments about how it is a man's issue, he alienates 1/2 of his congregation ostracising her from help. I am, of course, making the assumption that sex IS an issue for women. Of course a woman's sex issue is different from a man's, but not non-existent. Women cheat on their spouses, feel disappointed in their sex lives, feel "pent-up", desire sexual attention, fantasize, etc. Maybe christian women need to be discussing sex more. Girls need to know that they DO have a sexual self, that they MAY find that they want to have sex, that they MIGHT enjoy sex when it happens. Girls/Women need to have the conversation. And maybe within earshot of a preacher. If we don't know each other's stories and issues how can we help each other? How can we help the lonely and frustrated married women who finds a man who wants her attention? How do we help the teenage girl who gets a new boyfriend and discovers that she does want sex? The discussions are nipped in the bud as soon as we are told our "issues" are real.
This is a very non-organized rant. But I would love discussion on the topic. This is obviously from an Evangelical-Christian perpective, but I would LOVE perspectives from all sides. Let's talk about SEX!