I feel like I should say something about the tornadoes, but my emotions are spent.

To all of my friends out of town, we are fine.  Once again, we dodged the bullet.   This storm hit a lot closer to home than the April storms and trashed several neighborhoods in the community next to ours.

I can’t bring myself to go over the hill and see it, and I know they don’t need people gawking at the loss.

I know it won’t be too long before I have to drive that way anyway.  I’m over there at least once a week.

Once again, I feel like I should be doing something, but I don’t know what at the moment.

I don’t want to be over-dramatic, but you’ll understand it I seem a little blue.

For the past couple of weeks, my pastor has challenged our church to write out our testimonies, to actually put pen to paper, in the hopes that if we get the opportunity to tell our story to an unbeliever that we’re prepared.

I always shy away from talking about my faith on this blog, not because I’m ashamed but because I’m just afraid my words won’t do Him justice.  I read some blogs written by amazing women who are much better writers than me, talking so eloquently about what God is teaching them, and I clam up because I fear that if I try and write about the same thing, it’s going to sound like a child in Sunday school explaining why people need Jesus.

But here goes…

I love Jesus.  I always have. I don’t have one of those fancy stories where I was in a rock and roll band, partying every night, and Jesus pulled me up from the gutter.  In fact, I’ve never hit rock bottom, and I know that’s because of Him.

You see, I’m pretty head-strong.   Once I believe something in my head, it’s hard to convince me otherwise.  I’m not always proud of this trait, and there have been many times that it has come back to bite me in the butt.  But God has also used it as a tool to hold me close.

I made up my mind about God when I was around nine.  My folks are Christians, both of them.  So for as long as I’ve lived, I’ve been going to church, hearing people talk about the Bible.  And one summer at church camp, I decided it was for me.

I know what you’re thinking, “How much can a nine year old really understand about salvation?” And I am right there with you.  I’m sure I didn’t understand much at that age, but I believed in Jesus.  And when I look back over my story, that’s where it begins.

I knew even at a young age that I wanted a relationship with God. This is where being head-strong paid off.  I knew that sin separated me from Him.  So when all my friends were partying and sewing their wild oats in high school and college, the Spirit gave me a conscience.  I remember thinking as a teenager, “It doesn’t matter if my folks catch me because God knows.” That fear of being separated from Him guided most of my decisions.

I shutter when I think about what my story would be without the Spirit pursuing me throughout my life.  Most mornings, my prayers begin with the question, “Why do I get to live this blessed life?  Aren’t there others more deserving?”  The answer is “Yes, there are.”  But for some reason, God saved me.

There are times when I pull away, not intentionally but because I get distracted.  In those times, I’m given a glimpse as to who I would be without God’s grace.  At my core, I am a hopeless, depressed person.  I’ve even had panic attacks when I let mind go down some of the dark roads it tends to wander towards.  I don’t care about others.  On my own, my life feels meaningless.  I hate who I am apart from God.

When I start to entertain those thoughts, I know my Heavenly Father is calling me back to Himself, to a life filled with hope and purpose.

I’ve often said that if you could take Heaven out of the equation, I would still pursue a relationship with God.  I can’t imagine living life thinking it’s all for nothing, knowing there’s no grander plan, and we’re just going through the motions to end up six feet under a pile of dirt.

I don’t have all the answers.  Like most believers, I’m still trying to figure out what happened on that cross and why it had to be so, but I know my life would look very different without it.  I still mess up, pretty much daily, and question God’s wisdom in loving me, and yet, He loves me anyway.  He has saved me from a life of despair.

I know, I know. I haven’t posted in like…FOREVER. And I actually have a couple of very good excuses as to why.

My first excuse is that I have been a single parent for the past couple of months.  Ken has been working out of town for what has felt like an eternity.  In short,  over the past two months, he has been home for about two weeks…mainly for the holidays.  My second excuse is that I have been potty training my son.

Now I know, I could have posted some on the blog, but I chose not to, mainly because I was just not in a positive frame of mind.  And I really try not to  harp on that when it happens, but it does happen from time to time.  So instead of whining, I just disappeared for awhile.

But now, the grey clouds have cleared up.  I’ve put on a happy face.  Ken is home! Roark’s sporting his new underwear!  All is right with the world!

Ken pulled out the video camera on Christmas Eve while the kids spread reindeer food in the front yard. Enjoy!

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”

Luke 2:11

So I took the kids to see Santa today.  I’ve given up on the idea of capturing that magical moment of the kids whispering in his ear what they want this year, and instead, I am happy with something I consider to be passable.

Notice how Edie is on her best behavior in front of the big guy.  Her hands are folded in her lap, listening quietly while her brother has a turn.   Trust me.  That’s all for Santa.

I mentioned a while back that Edie has been very concerned this year about the Naughty/Nice list.  She decided that she was going to go straight to the source and just ask Santa himself.  As I was snapping my last shot, she came barreling towards me, “Mommy!  He said I was on the nice list!  He said I was on the nice list!”  I guess now she can rest easy on Christmas Eve night.

I don’t get the sense that Bessie is enjoying this photo-op as much as Edie.

But maybe it’s just me…

He turns three this month.

He hates it when I call him “my baby.”

He crosses his arms, lowers his chin, and sticks out his bottom lip.

“I’m NOT a baby!” he’ll say all grumpy-like.

And even though it doesn’t make him feel better, I always respond the same, “I know, but you’ll always be MY baby.”

Dear Santa,

Have you been doing good? Are you working hard? Where you the real Santa Claus in the parade yesterday? Am I on the naughty list? I think I’ve been a good girl.

Will you please bring me a princess doll house with an elevator and rooms for the princesses? I would also like to have some more Polly Pockets that are NOT made out of paper. (Sidebar: since only one Polly Pocket doll came with the party boat she received for her birthday, she kept part of the packaging so her Polly would have some friends…those are the paper ones she is referring to.)

My brother is too young to write letters.  He would like a toy firetruck that will not break into pieces like the one he has, and my mom won’t have to fix it all the time. (Sidebar #2: A gift for everybody really). Also, my brother would like some Bob the Builder books.

How do you get down the chimney? And how do you get back up? I saw a movie where you touch your nose–is that real?

I have tried hard to be good.  I’ve painted pictures for people.  I think that’s pretty nice.  I’ve helped Mommy clean around the house.  I feed Momma Kitty, and I sometimes do my chores.  I also scratch my Mommy’s back and brush her hair when she’s tired.  Is that enough to put me on the nice list?

I hope you have fun on Christmas giving all the nice kids presents.  Merry Christmas!

Love,

Edie

Final Sidebar:  This year, she’s been very concerned about the naughty list.  I love that this comes across in her letter to the Big Guy.  I also love how quickly she goes from one thing to the next.  That’s pretty much her thought process all the time.  And even though I did help her with proper letter etiquette, I really tried hard to let it be her words.

We made sugar cookies on Saturday, and salt dough ornaments today.

Roark learned a valuable lesson: the dough for these two projects tastes VERY different.  Even though I told him repeatedly that he shouldn’t eat the salt dough, he couldn’t shake off the sweet taste of cookie dough from the weekend.  I guess everybody’s got to learn that lesson the hard way.