My friend came out of my bathroom one day and announced, “You have a skinny mirror.”

I was confused. Because it’s actually a really wide mirror. So she had to explain, “It makes you LOOK skinny.” And my friend seemed to think this was a good thing.

But it had me worried. Because I’d been looking in that mirror for a year and a half and feeling pretty good about myself.

I mean, yeah, some of my jeans were getting kind of tight. But I looked OK. So you can see how deceptive a skinny mirror is.

I decided to ignore my mirror and listen to my jeans. And then I pulled out a crazy thing called a scale. Boy, that guy doesn’t mince words.

My scale has me convinced to count my calories and my carbs and how much candy I eat. There is actually a piece and a half of cheesecake in my fridge. It’s been there ALL DAY and I haven’t eaten it. So I think things are going pretty well.

I just hope my scale starts saying nicer things to me, or I’m going back to my skinny mirror.

Once a week, I volunteer in my son’s 2nd grade class at school. Most of the time, the kids just read with me. However, once in a while they end up sharing their own stories.

Last week, one of the little girls told me she recently heard jingle bells. So she looked out of her mailbox slot and saw Santa and his reindeer flying. “Maybe,” she said, “he was practicing.”

But he did drop off some packages at her house on his practice run, and they are still there.

She explained that sometimes Santa lies a little bit and writes, “From Mom and Dad” on gifts, because he doesn’t want kids to think the packages are from him. But they really are.

I have never, ever heard this theory before and find it very intriguing. It’s not parents who try to convince their children to believe in Santa. Rather, it is Santa who wants children to believe in their parents. Interesting.

This smart little girl also firmly believes in the tooth fairy and has a plan to save up 3 teeth to trick the fairy out of $3 all at once.

(If you’re curious about why my kids think about Santa, read The Truth About Santa and Spider Man)

Last Sunday, Chris preached at a friend’s church about the God Who Came Near.

I feel like He came near to me today. In the line at the post office, while I was reading Twitter.

I mean, it wasn’t an earth-shattering moment. I didn’t fall on the floor, speaking in tongues. (Thank goodness. That would have been awkward.) It wasn’t even a specific tweet that caught my eye.

But somehow, as I read my twitter stream, I felt the Lord come near and grow my heart for Him. He stretched my understanding of His nature. By His grace, He allowed me to gain a deeper wonder for aspects of His character that my humanity isn’t inclined to “like.”

There are so many paradoxes in that experience. I wasn’t doing anything “Christian-y.” I was using social media, which isn’t considered spiritual. I was mailing a Christmas package, which could be viewed as commercialism. And Jesus met me.

And that’s so spiritual. Because Jesus wants to encounter our hearts in the mundane. He isn’t afraid of social media or the commercialization of Christmas. He’s so much bigger than that.

I kind of feel like we shouldn’t fight and kick and rail against “non-spiritual” aspects of life. Rather, embrace them as opportunities to meet with Jesus. You never know where He might show up. Maybe at the post office.

I’m not panicky, you know? I don’t worry about little stuff.

So when I call 911, I mean it. (Actually, I’ve never called before today. So.)

I was folding laundry and watching a movie and smelling smoke. And I just thought, “Gr. My neighbors are smoking something weird.”

But when I walked into my living room and could actually SEE smoke, I kind of realized that even they couldn’t smoke that much.

So I went downstairs to the foyer/laundry room that is on my neighbors’ level of the house. And the foyer was filled with smoke. This is where I panicked.

Did I call 911? No. I called my husband. Obviously.

And he told me to call 911.

The emergency lady was very nice and calm. She asked my address and my phone number and my name. And told me to get out of the house. OK, that part? Not so calm.

So here is the dilemma we all theorize about: “If your house were on fire, what would you grab?” I don’t have to guess. I know.

1.) Both laptops
2.) The iPad
3.) My purse
4.) The external hard drive (full of family pictures)
5.) Mee-Mee and the ‘Lankies (my kids’ lovies)

Oh. And the dog. I grabbed the dog.

I put my basket full of the important things in life (except the dog) in the back of the Jeep. That way if the “fire” turned out to be something silly, I wouldn’t be embarrassed by having my treasured possessions unnecessarily clutched to my chest.

And then I knocked on my downstairs neighbors’ door. Just to see if maybe they WERE smoking something. No answer. Which kind of freaked me out with visions of them dying from smoke inhalation in there.

The fire department arrived about this time. Two big fire trucks, complete with sirens. And there were firemen crawling all over the place. Firemen in my laundry room. Firemen in my house. Firemen in my neighbors’ house (they didn’t answer the door to me, but they sure did for the fireman!). Firemen in the crawl space under the house.

And do you know what the firemen determined? The washing machine’s motor burnt out.

They said, “Whoever was doing laundry in here, I think it’s done.” Yes. I had the fire department out to tell me that my laundry was finished.

But they were super nice. They didn’t think I was an idiot. The guys that had arrived first told another fireman that the room had been filled with smoke when they came (meaning I wasn’t crazy). And they assured me that it was better safe than sorry. And that it could have caught the laundry on fire and then moved on to the wall (again, I wasn’t crazy).

They did, however, laugh at me for taking a picture of them. But hey. You don’t have the fire department out every day.

Do you ever buy crazy clothes? Obviously crazy is different for everyone, but I think we have all purchased something that stretched us in the fashion area. Whether that item ever gets worn or not says a lot about our character. (I have no idea what it says, but I’m sure it’s significant.)

So I had a thrift store find that was hanging in my closet for awhile. I loved it. But that blouse was not boring. I couldn’t wear it and expect to blend into the crowd. And sometimes, I like to not stand out like a sore thumb.

But we had a pretty fall day, which was just what the shirt needed for an outing. I put it on and it really was great. And it really was not subtle. I was a little hesitant.

When I brought the kids home from school, Leah took one look at my blouse and exclaimed, “Mommy! Your shirt is beautiful!

And somehow, I found that comforting. It’s not that Leah has great fashion sense, because she is convinced that sparkly red shoes match everything. And that a flowered skirt should definitely be paired with a top striped in purple poodles.

But you know, sometimes you just need an encouraging word. You need someone to take your side, even when you’re a bit crazy. You need a friend who tells you, “go for it!”

And my Leah is great at that. She never hesitates to encourage. I can learn a lot from that girl.

Chris likes to tease that my parents raised me to get married. This is mostly based on the fact that I’m completely helpless without him.

And he’s convinced Leah is headed down the same path. He might be right…

This morning she said to me:

“But Mommy, when I grow up, how will I have lots of money?”

I told her that she could get a job.

She replied, “But I don’t want to get a job.” Long pause. “I KNOW! My husband can get a job. Because girls DO NOT get jobs.”

There you go, Leah. Problem solved.

I’ve come to this point in my life where I need something to blame.

I mean, I’m almost 30, so I can’t blame my issues on the fact that I’m young. I can’t say, “Oh, I’m just a kid, so I don’t know how things are done.” People just aren’t buying it anymore.

And I can’t blame it on lack of awareness of the culture. You know, like, “Oh, we just moved here, so I had no idea.” Because we’ve moved like a bajillion times, and really every place is the same. They all want you to pay taxes and get your car registered and that stuff.

I can’t blame it on my kids. I can’t use the excuse, “Oh, I’m not going to make it. You know, with little kids, it’s just so hard.” My kids are both in school and they don’t really tie me down much.

So yes. I need something new to blame. And I’ve got a great one.

I’ll blame it on being homeschooled!

I was “schooled at home” from Kindergarten through my senior year of high school. So you know I’m a total FREAK of nature. I might as well cash in on that. For real.

Whenever I can’t pull it together, from now on I’m going to explain, “Oh sorry. I was homeschooled, you know.” If I have an etiquette faux pas, I’ll say, “I was homeschooled, so I wasn’t sure what was appropriate in this instance.” When I can’t remember what year the Revolutionary War was or how many States are in the Union, I’ll just blurt out, “Homeschooler, right here!”

I could even use it for stuff that’s non-homeschool related, because most of the adult population was not homeschooled. They have no idea the reason I’m unable to light a pilot light has NOTHING to do with my elementary education.

It will take a little bit for me to settle into this new excuse pattern, because most homeschooled kids spend their formative years trying to NOT act like a “homeschooler.” So to boldly blurt the secret out at every opportunity is going to be foreign to me. But I think I can adapt. I learned how to do that in homeschool.

Dear Christopher,

I’m glad we got married 9 years ago. I couldn’t live without you!

No, seriously. If you weren’t in my life, who would pay bills and figure out a budget and all that? And who would take out the garbage? (FYI, the kitchen one is a bit full.) Who would open pickle jars and fix my phone when it’s not working? Who would get the oil changed on my car? (Actually, it’s saying it needs one.)

And who would love me unconditionally? Who would listen to me ramble and never judge me for silly stuff I say? Who would do that?

Who would think I was pretty without makeup on? Who would say I smelled good when I haven’t showered?

Who would discuss theology with me and set me straight when I’m off? Who would watch silly Sci-Fi with me and like it as much as I do?

Who would be my best friend?

I love being your wife.

Hannah

We like to go to community festivals as a family. The “we” being Chris and I and the “like” being that it seems like a good idea until we get there.

Most of the neighborhood festivals in our area consist of booths of pottery, art and handmade jewelry. And festival food. So our kids pretty much spend the whole time whining about being bored and wanting ice cream. Their process of sanctification is slow.

Disregarding all of our previous neighborhood event experience, we ventured out to the Belknap Fall Festival last Saturday. The crowds were moderate. It was sunny, with a nice breeze. Everything was perfect.

And the kids were doing OK too. They got to sit in the middle of a blocked-off street and draw with chalk. One booth had an assortment of instruments to try out. And a realtor company was handing out balloons.

I don’t know what it is about balloons, but my kids go crazy over them. If they happen to see a couple of kids with balloons, they are suddenly on mission to a get a balloon for themselves. From that point, all they can say is:

“Where did they get a balloon? I want a balloon. Can we have a balloon? Where are the balloons?”

…While Chris and I intone, “I don’t know. We’ll see. I don’t know. We’ll see.”

So they got their balloons. But just as we were about to head to the car, Leah’s balloon decided it had enough of earth-dwelling and headed off for outer space.

Leah had seen other kids’ balloons flying in the clouds and had cheerfully proclaimed, “That balloon is going up to God!” But when it was HER balloon, there wasn’t anything cheerful about it.

We tried to console her as we walked. But the whole, “There will be other balloons,” line wasn’t cutting it.

We had gone about half a block when Chris reached into a little tree and pulled out a balloon, identical to the one Leah had just lost. Like Abraham’s ram in the thicket.

It was so perfect, that even the older couple walking behind us, observing the whole fiasco, exclaimed about how “lucky” it was.

But it wasn’t lucky. Jesus cares about a little girl named Leah. And in His all-knowingness, He made sure a balloon was waiting for her. Just so He could show her He loved her.

Kind of makes you wonder what He’d like to do for you today. Just to show you He loves you.

Leah has barely gotten going in Kindergarten and she only turned 5 a couple of days ago. My baby girl is just getting started in life, but she’s already found love.

Her first day of school she came home and told me all about a boy in her class who didn’t speak English and had plugs in his ears. I inquired if the “plugs” were skin colored (hearing aids?) and that seemed to be the case.

As the days went on I heard more and more stories about this little boy, who Leah referred to as “That ENGLISH Guy,” because she couldn’t remember his name (it’s Yaziel) or the name of the language he spoke (it’s Spanish).

Leah told me she frequently bounded over to Yaziel, threw her hands up in the air and exclaimed, “I LIKE you!” Another day, she informed me that Yaziel always had a little smile on his face because, “he is happy being by me and I am happy being by him.”

When the Kindergarten class went on a field trip to the nature center, they visited the “hugging sycamore,” where you have to hug someone. I asked who she had hugged and she replied, “One of the girls. I can’t remember her name. And Yaziel!”

Yesterday on the way home from school, Leah told me about a game they played where she got to be partners with Yaziel. She babbled on:

“I love Yaziel! The first day I saw him, I loved him! I loved his name and I loved who he was. He’s so handsome. I wish I was a Spanish person. I wish I spoke his language. I know some words he says, like ‘Hola’ and ‘Ocho.’”

And I know I should be freaked out or something, because she’s only 5 and she’s already crushing on boys. But I can’t.

Because I’m so undone by her big heart of love that sees people for who they are. Leah doesn’t look at language barriers or physical difficulties or differences of any kind. She sees a person and simply loves. She loves lavishly and freely.

I wish I could be more like her.