They shall sing in the ways of the Lord

I know to many of you this blog has long been dead. But I'd like to think he's only been sleeping, gone on an extended vacation; hibernating; but still very much alive.
And in the hope of awakening this old Blog o'Mine, I'd like to share a page out of Spurgeon's Morning + Evening from February 1st that I've found to be such a help to me and, I hope, to you as well.

"They shall sing in the ways of the Lord."

Psalm 138:5

The time when Christians begin to sing in the ways of the Lord is when they first lose their burden at the foot of the Cross. Not even the songs of the angels seem so sweet as the first song of rapture which gushes from the inmost soul of the forgiven child of God. You know how John Bunyan describes it. He says when poor Pilgrim lost his burden at the Cross, he gave three great leaps, and went on his way singing—

“Blest Cross! blest Sepulchre! blest rather be The Man that there was put to shame for me!”

Believer, do you recollect the day when your fetters fell off? Do you remember the place when Jesus met you, and said, “I have loved thee with an everlasting love; I have blotted out as a cloud thy transgressions, and as a thick cloud thy sins; they shall not be mentioned against thee any more forever.” Oh! what a sweet season is that when Jesus takes away the pain of sin. When the Lord first pardoned my sin, I was so joyous that I could scarce refrain from dancing. I thought on my road home from the house where I had been set at liberty, that I must tell the stones in the street the story of my deliverance. So full was my soul of joy, that I wanted to tell every snow-flake that was falling from heaven of the wondrous love of Jesus, who had blotted out the sins of one of the chief of rebels. But it is not only at the commencement of the Christian life that believers have reason for song; as long as they live they discover cause to sing in the ways of the Lord, and their experience of his constant lovingkindness leads them to say, “I will bless the Lord at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth.” See to it, brother, that thou magnifiest the Lord this day.

“Long as we tread this desert land,

New mercies shall new songs demand.”

thankful

We live in an abundant, prosperous, free, yet greedy and discontent nation. But despite knowing nothing but poverty, these Ugandan's children's voices resound with thanksgiving.

of a cold November eve

As the chilling air grows fiercer and fiercer out-of-doors, inside, protected from the harsh November winds, the fire dances, glistening before her eyes. The light is mesmerizing, the warmth, delightful.

She is curled up in a chair, which has been edged, little by little, closer to the brick fireplace. In her lap lay the worn pages of a precious book, a book so precious it cannot possibly be read too many times.

Now, let us take a step back. There is a brood of children, grasping plastic swords, running in circles around her, shouting excitedly and rather haphazardly in gay (but awfully loud) voices.

Now zoom back in. The fire is still crackling. Idyllic.

Pan out again: reality.

Zoom: picture perfect.

Pan: life.

Life is not like the movies. It's not even always like the pretty pictures we post on Instagram. There's so much more to it than that. There is depth to life that cannot be portrayed in a picture. Life...is real. Yet even the most real thing we know, is not real. Life is but a picture of eternity, a shadow of true reality.

So, yes, life is so much more than a picture. But eternity -- true life with a living God -- is far more real and better than anything we could ever know here in this life.

I am so thankful for evenings like this one, rowdy siblings and all. But I am also thankful that this is not our home.

Heaven is our home.

Nota Bene: Happy 200th post, Flow Gently Sweet Afton!

Aren't you glad I didn't say pumpkin?

Nothing says fall like a warm cup of pumpkin spice latte and a delicious slice of cinnamon bread from Starbucks.

So what if it's 80 degrees outside and I just turned on the A/C? I say it is fall. (Darn you, Mississippi, and your pathetically bipolar weather patterns. Just make up your mind already.)

Well, it's the thought that counts, right? And the thought of fall makes me giddy. Fall is the smell of the sweet olive tree as its enchanting fragrance wafts through the entire yard and back again; the first smell of a crisp fall day as I rush like a madwoman meander on down to my car on my way to work because I'm late again I'm so caught up in the beauty around me; the last smell of the evening when the stars are out and everything is still. Fall is pumpkin lattes, pumpkin pies, and a million other things we can stuff a pumpkin in because it's fall and it's an unwritten mandate passed down from the pumpkin fairies of ancient days (and everyone knows that a pumpkin fairie always has her way) that everything consumed in October-November must contain pumpkin. Fall is crisp mornings, cool nights, beautiful trees and crunchy leaves, good books and warm fires. Sniffly noses Scarves, cold feet boots, weight gain cozy sweaters, and being stuck inside with nothing to do because it's cold outside fuzzy blankets. Fall's fingers, however, extend beyond nature. Fall means family, fellowship, camping, bonfires, stargazing, cider-drinking, and merry-making. Fall is nearly impossible to describe, oh, but so lovely to experience.

But really, fall is the best. 

No one said it as well as Anne of Green Gables, as she gave a happy sigh and said,

Happy October, friends!

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord

It wasn't easy to choose to stay at home and take on a full-time job when it seemed like just about everyone else was moving away and starting their freshman year of college.

 Honestly, every morning is a struggle. But the struggle is sweet when it is from, with, and for Jesus.

I have learned so very much about things I never thought I didn't know. Funny how we don't know so much that we don't even know we don't know. If that makes any sense at all.

Anyway, I've learned everything from how to [magically] fold cardboard into a perfectly-shaped shipping box, how to balance finances, how to convince telemarketers that we're not interested, and even just how to use the drive-thru at the bank. I'm experiencing things I've never done before. And I'm thankful for that. But more than anything else, I'm thankful for the precious lives I am able to come across, speak to, and encourage. I'm thankful for the stories and laughs, the wisdom and the advice they have given me.

I'll share one story a sweet lady told of her great-grandson.

~

When she was taking him to his Kindergarten class one day, he spoke up, pleading, 

"Mamy, would you pwease tell Ms. Julie (his teacher) that I'm sick and can't come today?" 

"But, dahlin' (it didn't matter who she was addressing, to Mamy, everyone is dahlin'), you're not sick."

"Yes, I am. I, I... I had a heart attack!"

Mamy stifled a laugh and decided to play along with him. She called Ms. Julie and told her what he had said. His teacher then said, 

"Well, in that case, we'll have to send for an ambulance right away."

When Mamy relayed the message to the backseat, he said, "Tell her it's too late! You and Mamma done buried me already."

~

Throughout this year, Habakkuk 3:17-18 has been such a comfort:

Though the fig tree may not blossom,

Nor fruit be on the vines;

Though the labor of the olive may fail,

And the fields yield no food;

Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,

And there be no herd in the stalls - 

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

I will joy in the God of my salvation.

on life in Grown-up Land

If I said that I've been meaning to post, would that make up for my silence? No?
What if I said that I've been really busy, graduated high school, and started a full time job?
Fine, then. Moving on.

Well, I looked through some "old" pictures the other day. Most of these pictures were taken earlier this year, some late last year. No, they're not old pictures.  I think I'm the one that's old. I feel it. I feel like that was years ago and I've already grown up so much since then (which is probably the biggest indication that I really have not grown up in the least).
But really, I do feel as if I've been ruthlessly shoved into entered the Big-Scary-Realm-of-Grownups, also known as the "Real World," while I would much rather live happily in Neverland where there is no such thing as responsibility, business, bills, clocking in or out, short lunch breaks, morning commutes, bookkeeping, or taxes. There's also a whole lot more fun, family time, food, and sleep (although, I admit, I would miss the paychecks of Grown-up Land). Ah, well. We can't have everything we want. (Unless we were in Neverland.)

On another note, I have so many secretarial tales that I can't wait to share with you. I get to visit with some of the most interesting (old) people. My job certainly has its perks.

For now, here are some instagrams from life leading up to today:

last days of school

graduation weekend

everything since

Memorial Day: hike in Tishomingo and an outdoor movie

my Daddy-O doing a couple of his favorite things. At the same time.

the sun rises early. in case you didn't hear.

Chelsea's shower

Camp Moriah 2012

good times with these kiddos and Rach

4th of July

post Friday night Frisbee!

An Excerpt From the Week In Which I Played Mommy

As I drove out of the George's parking lot, everyone was happily sipping on his milkshake (except Rachel who chose a cone, unfortunately, as we will see), and I was wholly unsuspecting of what the near future held.  It was dark and the headlights were bright as we sang and danced and I drove--simultaneously singing and dancing. You can't do one without the other, unless of course, you just sang, or danced, or drove, or drove and sang, or drove and danced, or danced and sang. Anyway. Back to our story. We laughed and giggled and had a fantastic time while we consumed an inordinate amount of calories disguised as a perfectly spun chocolate milkshake sent from heaven above. I guess Rachel had gotten a little too into the laughing contest because by this time, she wasn't laughing at all, but screaming "Ahhh!! There's ice cream all over me!" and so on and so forth. 
Sure enough, she was right. 
There was ice cream on the floor of my car, on the passenger seat of my car, on her pants (which were in my car), on the dashboard of my car, even on the window of my car. I was the epitome of calm and almost entirely forgot these travesties were occurring in my car. As these thoughts ran through my head, Rachel was scrambling out of her seat and somehow perched entirely on her two hands, closely resembling a monkey in its natural habitat. This image was not a little bit funny. It was a lot funny. The ice cream had slipped right out of the cone and into her seat. This left her no choice but to stuff the rest of the cone into her mouth. She had no choice, guys.

Meanwhile, there was a voice from the backseat. "Um? I think my pants are wet." It was Will. Is this real life? I thought for the thousandth time. Unfortunately, all I could do from the wheel was to glance back and tell him everything would be okay. And breathe. I couldn't forget to breathe. Rachel had to surrender her ice dream endeavor to check his pants. 
Dry.  
Praise to the heavens! There was only one problem: a hole in his milkshake, and ice cream dripping all over the backseat. Oh yeah, did I mention we were in my car? 

This too shall pass. I kept my eyes on the road and thought of things to be thankful for.

The sky is not falling.

The aliens have not invaded.

My tires are not flat.

His pants are still dry.

So are hers.

So are mine.

Rachel's…were.

Pretty soon, I felt fairly cheered up and you might say my middle name is Calm. And Awesome. But that's another story for another time.

Soon enough, everyone was fairly wiped off and only a little sticky and we were singing, dancing, and laughing yet again. We made it home alive and well. And there's only the faintest bit of ice cream residue on my passenger seat.

I'm glad I'm not a Mommy yet. I'll stick with my full-time job, thank you.