Ever since I was little, my family has done what we call “birthday dinners.” My mom cooks up a special dinner, and we eat off of the “nice dishes.” During dinner, everyone takes turns telling the birthday people a character quality/characteristic that they admire in them. It’s always a lot of fun, with tons of laughter (and occasionally, tears). Tonight was the birthday dinner for Daddy, Sarah, Bethany, Amy, and Jacob (The June/July birthdays). I thought I’d share some of the funnier quotes…
John: “Well, Michael said exactly what I was going to say…”
Andrew: “You don’t have that kind of vocabulary.”
Jacob: (after a long pause) “I never rode a cow…”
Caleb: “Daddy, I admire the fact that you work hard and make money and buy us stuff…. Like, toilet paper.”
Joshua: “One hour down, three or four to go…”
Jacob: *falls off chair*
Mom: “Jacob, tell them thank you for the nice things they said to you.”
Jacob: “Thank you for talkin’ to me.”
Jacob (with food that he doesn’t like on his plate): “Daddy, I’m about done with this.”
Mom: “Jacob, I like when you obey me right when I tell you to do something.”
Jacob: “And it doesn’t make you mad.”
Mom: *waving arms* “Ugh pshswssh UH!!!”
(Translated: “Listen to me!!!”)
Sarah: (to Amy) “Now, if I say I have to pick just one thing, I’m lying and stalling for time to think of something.”
Amy: “Hey, I spent all afternoon thinking of something to say to you!!!”
(Everyone bursts out laughing)
Amy: “No, I didn’t mean that that way…”
Michael had random fits of laughter throughout dinner… He couldn’t stop….
Sarah: (after John tells Bethany what he admires about her) “Is that all?”
Jared: “Amy, I like your warped sense of humor.”
Mom: “David, what I like about you is something that annoys me to death.”
Jacob: “Is everyone laughing at me?”
Daddy: “We’re not even looking at you.”
Mom: “DON’T POST THAT!!!!!”
Sarah: “I have a question. How come everything Momma says can’t be posted on Facebook?”
Monday, June 28, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Unbelief
Oh, ye of little faith.
Why didn't you believe me?
Didn't I feed you when you were hungry?
When your parents had no idea where they would get money for groceries--I left them on your front porch.
Didn't I heal your brother?
When all the experts said the hemorrhaging, and the cyst, had done irreparable damage--I wiped it all away. It's gone, without a scar. The doctors couldn't explain it.
I have blessed you beyond measure. Everything I have is yours.
But when you can't see the end, you doubt me. You doubt my goodness, my mercy, my love.
I gave you My own precious Son. When you were dead in the cares and the hurt and the torment and the loneliness of your own pathetic selfishness, He came. He lived for you, and wept for you. He was tortured and whipped and mocked and kicked and humiliated--so that you would never have to be. He died, and went to the gates of hell, and obliterated Satan himself, for YOU!!!!
And at times, you question whether I really care about you or not.
Who do you think you ARE???
To doubt the purpose of the Almighty God, creator of infinite space, mighty mountains and raging oceans and thundering clouds. To think the One who inspects every atom and knows every grain of sand could miss any event in your life. The sheer impertinence of it.
Oh, ye of little faith.
But, in spite of your stubbornness and stupidity, I still love you, so much more than you could ever know. It's not your fault you're blind.
So I will not blast you with my awesomeness, my power, or my knowledge. I will not scorch you with my unending justice. I will not ridicule your lack of faith. Instead, I will continue to bless you. I will reveal my goodness to you again and again. I will shower you with my infinite mercy and love and grace--until one day you fall on your face before me, and see what I have done.
And you will say that it is good.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.
Why didn't you believe me?
Didn't I feed you when you were hungry?
When your parents had no idea where they would get money for groceries--I left them on your front porch.
Didn't I heal your brother?
When all the experts said the hemorrhaging, and the cyst, had done irreparable damage--I wiped it all away. It's gone, without a scar. The doctors couldn't explain it.
I have blessed you beyond measure. Everything I have is yours.
But when you can't see the end, you doubt me. You doubt my goodness, my mercy, my love.
I gave you My own precious Son. When you were dead in the cares and the hurt and the torment and the loneliness of your own pathetic selfishness, He came. He lived for you, and wept for you. He was tortured and whipped and mocked and kicked and humiliated--so that you would never have to be. He died, and went to the gates of hell, and obliterated Satan himself, for YOU!!!!
And at times, you question whether I really care about you or not.
Who do you think you ARE???
To doubt the purpose of the Almighty God, creator of infinite space, mighty mountains and raging oceans and thundering clouds. To think the One who inspects every atom and knows every grain of sand could miss any event in your life. The sheer impertinence of it.
Oh, ye of little faith.
But, in spite of your stubbornness and stupidity, I still love you, so much more than you could ever know. It's not your fault you're blind.
So I will not blast you with my awesomeness, my power, or my knowledge. I will not scorch you with my unending justice. I will not ridicule your lack of faith. Instead, I will continue to bless you. I will reveal my goodness to you again and again. I will shower you with my infinite mercy and love and grace--until one day you fall on your face before me, and see what I have done.
And you will say that it is good.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.
Memories
A lot of people, when they find out that I am still a freshman in college because none of my credits transferred, say, “Awww. What a waste.” I tell them, “On paper, maybe.” My mom and my grandma are both practical, and they tend to take the “what a waste” view as well. They have a point—after all, I paid for those classes, and now I still have four more years to go. I’m in debt for classes I didn’t even get credit for. But—I’ve never regretted going to King’s. I’m glad I did, and the fact that I’m still a freshman doesn’t bother me (well, most of the time). I’ve never really been able to explain why. However, driving home from class tonight, I think I finally know why.
Most people who go to college go to lay the foundation for the rest of their life. They want to be trained for the future, and be able to get good jobs. The pressure to go to a good school starts long before graduating from high school. Practical people focus on where they need to be, and take the steps to get there. And that’s a good thing. But I think a lot of people grossly underestimate the enormous value of experience—learning the lessons God has to teach us through circumstances and people He brings into our lives. He also gives us amazing gifts that we call memories. This is what my year in New York gave me—experience, and countless memories.
I remember my parents getting into a taxi and driving off among thousands of other honking horns and crowding people, and realizing that for the first time, I was completely on my own. It was exhilarating, and scary.
I remember freshman initiation—being blindfolded and run all over the city, then formally becoming a member of the House of Barton (the best House at Kings. Where is she? I don’t know, I don’t know!)
I remember random conversations with Phoebe, Tasha, and Darla about childbirth. (Phoebe yelling, “I’M NEVER HAVING KIDS!!! I’m adopting!!” while Tasha says, “But it’s so beautiful! It’s the most amazing thing I’ve seen!!!”)
Oatmeal attacks by Barton.
Staying up all night to watch all three Lord of the Rings movies with Kalina my last night in the city.
Walking down to the Brooklyn Bridge with Laura to take pictures, then Laura spending 12 bucks on ice cream for both of us.
Tasha, Alex, Jonathan, Darla, Laura and I yelling over each other during our New Testament study sessions, and loving every minute.
Hanging out with my Big B.
John Stossel and Tokarev in Economics.
Rabinowitz saying something hilarious. Hendershott saying something hilarious. Dr. Bleattler saying something hilarious.
Singing Christmas carols with Barton to all the guys.
Hanging snowflakes in our apartment for Christmas, then leaving them there until Easter.
Our closet rod collapsing the very first week.
Calling the maintenance man three times to come fix our drain. Calling the mainenance man to fix our fridge.
Waking up to find the pesticide people in our apartment because Darla forgot to tell us that “we were being exterminated today.”
Telling Holly to call the cute waiter at the restaurant where we had Phoebe’s birthday breakfast.
Getting hooked on LOST, thanks to the girls in 5B6.
Eating Katie Lay’s kitty litter cake.
Spending an entire semester on a 15-page research paper, then spending six straight hours in the library a day and a half before it was due completely rewriting it, making it into something I’m proud to say I wrote.
Actually dancing at Spring Formal.
Figuring out how to make 60 bucks buy 2 weeks worth of food—without just buying poptarts and ramen noodles.
Getting excited every time there was mail in the mailbox.
Getting to the airport and going through airport security on my own.
Having lunch with Kayleigh Darling at the adorable little European café on Madison.
Getting lost on the subway trying to go to church.
Walking with Kalina through Chinatown on our way back from an Intro to the City field trip.
Frantically trying to calculate my GPA for the first time in my life.
Asking almost every retailer on 34th, 6th, and 33rd for a job application.
Doing my first real interview.
Hanging out in 5B6. Hanging out in 4B6.
Going to Chipotle to get free burritos.
Phantom of the Opera.
Falling off the swingset in Central Park.
The Christmas windows at Lord & Taylor’s.
Wandering by myself through the crowds and noise of 5th Avenue to the quiet and beauty of Central Park.
Walking by the East River.
Basketball practice with my house.
Barton Day Away in Jersey.
Getting thrown into a freezing cold pool fully dressed because it was my birthday.
Eating pizza by the Brooklyn Bridge at night, the entire Manhattan skyline in front of me.
Powder Puff football on Roosevelt Island.
Why I Believe In Miracles
This is another paper I wrote for college writing but decided to put up here as well because it's one of my all-time favorite stories to tell.
Wednesday, January 20, 1999—First Southern Baptist Church, Del City, Oklahoma, 8:15 PM.
“David, my water just broke.”
I will never forget the panic in my mom’s voice as she uttered those words. At 9 years old, I naturally had no idea how “water” could “break.” But the way she froze and stared at my dad, her hands holding her stomach, told me that something was terribly wrong.
My dad stood stunned—but only for a moment. Then he jumped into action, words tumbling out as fast as his mind could form them. “Ok, ok—you go get in the van with Rachel—no, find Tammy first—and call your mom—I’ll get the rest of the kids.” He was already running down the hall, jostling through the crowd of parents picking their kids up from the Wednesday night activities at church.
I was confused. “Momma, what does that mean? How does your water break?”
My mom sighed. Paused. Then she looked at me. “It means I’m going to have the babies, Rachel.”
These words exploded inside my head. The twin boys were not due until April 10, almost three months away. I couldn’t move. Then, like my dad, I began talking very fast. “But—but it’s too early! They’ll die! What are we gonna do?!?” I raced down the stairs with my mom. We got into our big green van. My mom’s friend, Tammy, who was a nurse, put towels on the front seat for my mom to sit on. (I don’t remember exactly how Tammy got there—did my mom find her, or did I?). My younger brothers and sisters began arriving in ones and twos—there were eight of us all together. I filled them in on the situation, successfully making them at least as hysterical as I was. “Momma’s-water-broke-which
When we arrived at my grandparent’s house, my parents dropped us off and sped away. We would be spending the night with my grandparents—beyond that no one knew what would happen. After Granny and Papa got us calmed down and we prayed together, all eight of us crowded into the tiny back bedroom for the night—the youngest three on the bed, the rest of us on the floor. I lay staring at the night light long after my siblings drifted off.
Three days later, the doctors were unable to delay the birth any longer. Joshua and Caleb were born January 23, 1999—eleven weeks early. Both weighed less than three pounds. Over the next few months my parents virtually lived in the NICU—Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Ladies from church took turns babysitting all of us and making meals. A lot of people prayed for our family—we found out later that people we didn’t even know from other states were praying for us. It was rough—I got tired of always worrying and never knowing what would happen next. I was tired of having a different babysitter every day and never seeing my parents. I also didn’t understand how my parents could be so calm. Joshua had a 16 millimeter cyst on his brain, as well as severe hemorrhaging. Doctors told my parents that even if they lived, the boys would probably have severe cerebral palsy and would certainly never be normal. Yet my parents believed that not only would my brothers live, they would be completely normal, healthy boys. They hoped and trusted God when all the evidence stood against them.
I remember the first time I went into the NICU. Joshua and Caleb were kept underneath heating lamps because their bodies were too tiny to retain enough body heat. Their eyes were covered with little masks to shield them from the light. Monitors and tubes were everywhere. Their diapers, although roughly the size of a playing card, were too big. I wanted to cry; they looked so small and helpless--how did they stand a chance?
Caleb stabilized fairly quickly and soon learned how to breathe on his own. Joshua, however, quickly became known as "the roller coaster child." He was on and off the ventilator for about 8 weeks. The hemorrhaging in his brain continued, killing more brain cells every day, weakening his chances of survival.
"Know therefore that the LORD your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commands."--Deuteronomy 7:9
About 7 weeks after the boys were born, Momma and Daddy met with one of the doctors for a routine scan of Joshua’s brain. They had nicknamed this particular doctor “Joe Friday” because he “just gave the facts.” He picked up the most recent scan and glanced over it. His brow furrowed. “Well, this looks encouraging,” he said.
My parents were surprised. This was equivalent to any other doctor doing back handsprings down the hallway. They asked him what he meant. As my parents listened to the medical jargon they had grown so familiar with, they realized with shock what they were seeing.
Joshua’s brain was completely normal. There was no cyst, no hemorrhaging. Nothing. All of the damage had completely disappeared. It was just--gone. The doctors had no explanation for what had occurred. It was, quite simply, a miracle. Our prayers had been answered.
Soon after that, both of my brothers were allowed to come home. They are now almost 10 years old—completely normal, rowdy, mischievous boys. They are living proof that God is good and that He knows what He is doing.
Wednesday, January 20, 1999—First Southern Baptist Church, Del City, Oklahoma, 8:15 PM.
“David, my water just broke.”
I will never forget the panic in my mom’s voice as she uttered those words. At 9 years old, I naturally had no idea how “water” could “break.” But the way she froze and stared at my dad, her hands holding her stomach, told me that something was terribly wrong.
My dad stood stunned—but only for a moment. Then he jumped into action, words tumbling out as fast as his mind could form them. “Ok, ok—you go get in the van with Rachel—no, find Tammy first—and call your mom—I’ll get the rest of the kids.” He was already running down the hall, jostling through the crowd of parents picking their kids up from the Wednesday night activities at church.
I was confused. “Momma, what does that mean? How does your water break?”
My mom sighed. Paused. Then she looked at me. “It means I’m going to have the babies, Rachel.”
These words exploded inside my head. The twin boys were not due until April 10, almost three months away. I couldn’t move. Then, like my dad, I began talking very fast. “But—but it’s too early! They’ll die! What are we gonna do?!?” I raced down the stairs with my mom. We got into our big green van. My mom’s friend, Tammy, who was a nurse, put towels on the front seat for my mom to sit on. (I don’t remember exactly how Tammy got there—did my mom find her, or did I?). My younger brothers and sisters began arriving in ones and twos—there were eight of us all together. I filled them in on the situation, successfully making them at least as hysterical as I was. “Momma’s-water-broke-which
When we arrived at my grandparent’s house, my parents dropped us off and sped away. We would be spending the night with my grandparents—beyond that no one knew what would happen. After Granny and Papa got us calmed down and we prayed together, all eight of us crowded into the tiny back bedroom for the night—the youngest three on the bed, the rest of us on the floor. I lay staring at the night light long after my siblings drifted off.
Three days later, the doctors were unable to delay the birth any longer. Joshua and Caleb were born January 23, 1999—eleven weeks early. Both weighed less than three pounds. Over the next few months my parents virtually lived in the NICU—Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Ladies from church took turns babysitting all of us and making meals. A lot of people prayed for our family—we found out later that people we didn’t even know from other states were praying for us. It was rough—I got tired of always worrying and never knowing what would happen next. I was tired of having a different babysitter every day and never seeing my parents. I also didn’t understand how my parents could be so calm. Joshua had a 16 millimeter cyst on his brain, as well as severe hemorrhaging. Doctors told my parents that even if they lived, the boys would probably have severe cerebral palsy and would certainly never be normal. Yet my parents believed that not only would my brothers live, they would be completely normal, healthy boys. They hoped and trusted God when all the evidence stood against them.
I remember the first time I went into the NICU. Joshua and Caleb were kept underneath heating lamps because their bodies were too tiny to retain enough body heat. Their eyes were covered with little masks to shield them from the light. Monitors and tubes were everywhere. Their diapers, although roughly the size of a playing card, were too big. I wanted to cry; they looked so small and helpless--how did they stand a chance?
Caleb stabilized fairly quickly and soon learned how to breathe on his own. Joshua, however, quickly became known as "the roller coaster child." He was on and off the ventilator for about 8 weeks. The hemorrhaging in his brain continued, killing more brain cells every day, weakening his chances of survival.
"Know therefore that the LORD your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commands."--Deuteronomy 7:9
About 7 weeks after the boys were born, Momma and Daddy met with one of the doctors for a routine scan of Joshua’s brain. They had nicknamed this particular doctor “Joe Friday” because he “just gave the facts.” He picked up the most recent scan and glanced over it. His brow furrowed. “Well, this looks encouraging,” he said.
My parents were surprised. This was equivalent to any other doctor doing back handsprings down the hallway. They asked him what he meant. As my parents listened to the medical jargon they had grown so familiar with, they realized with shock what they were seeing.
Joshua’s brain was completely normal. There was no cyst, no hemorrhaging. Nothing. All of the damage had completely disappeared. It was just--gone. The doctors had no explanation for what had occurred. It was, quite simply, a miracle. Our prayers had been answered.
Soon after that, both of my brothers were allowed to come home. They are now almost 10 years old—completely normal, rowdy, mischievous boys. They are living proof that God is good and that He knows what He is doing.
Why Having a Big Family Is the Most Amazing Thing Ever
I wrote this as a personal persuasive essay for college writing.
Straw wrappers flew across the table. Surreptitiously, of course. Mom and Daddy were at the other end of the chain of tables, but we had to be on our guard, just in case. Giggles (and the occasional whiny voice) punctuated the ceaseless chatter surrounding our table. We loved coming to eat at Boomerang, a burger place in south Oklahoma City. Actually, we loved going out to eat anywhere--with 11 kids in the family, going to a sit-down restaurant was a rare treat.
"Hey guys. Hey. HEY! GUYS!" I popped one of my brothers with a straw, momentarily breaking up the wrapper-flicking war. They glanced at me, and I continued, "Look over there. That little kid is STILL staring at us."
The fact that someone was staring at our table wasn't all that unusual. Every time my family goes anywhere together we get more than our fair share of double takes. Still, this particular girl couldn't have been more than 4. All we could see were her large brown eyes and her little knuckles gripping the top of the booth. I grinned as I turned back to my brothers. "Ok, on the count of 3--just stare back. Don't laugh. Just stare." My plan was greeted with snickers and whispers as it was passed down to the other end of the table. It grew hushed as everyone awaited my signal. "Ok, ready? 1,2....3!"
All heads swiveled around in unison, focusing a few tables away on those big brown eyes. Our faces were stone, devoid of any emotion. The little girl stiffened, eyes opening even wider. Slowly, she sank out of sight. We all burst out laughing and resumed our straw-wrapper war.
When my mom first married, she swore she would never have a large family. "In big families, the kids aren't special. They're just a number." In fact, pretty much the opposite is true. We often tease her about those ignorant words. Every kid in my family adds a little "something extra" to the atmosphere of our home. Amy is the blonde--athletic, funny and cute. Bethany is the tomboy, always smiling. Michael is the leader of all bb-gunning raids, backyard football games, and rooftop expeditions. Sarah is our resident musician and poet. Joshua and Caleb are the clowns. Andrew is the nosy one. John and I are the stubbornest, always butting heads yet impossible to defeat when we finally unite. Jared is the one who will blurt out what everyone else is thinking but would never dream of uttering. Jacob is the baby--the world's most adorable and intelligent 3-year-old. I could not imagine my life without any of them. Sometimes we all congregate in the living room and talk about nothing in particular for hours. If we get together and decide we want to do something--go swimming, for example--we camp outside Mom and Daddy's bedroom until, eyes rolling, they give in. On New Year's Eve we all gather in our living room and dance, laughing at the younger kids' attempts at rhythm. Sure, we have our spats, just like every other family. We get into arguments over stupid little things, like whose turn it is to feed the dogs or who didn't fold their load of laundry. But when all else fails, I know that my brothers and sisters are there to back me up. I'm proud to be on their team.
"Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord.....Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them; they shall not be ashamed, but will speak with their enemies in the gate." Psalm 127:3-5
Faith, or What God Has Taught Me About Jumping
I wrote this during the summer of 2008, just before heading to New York for my freshman year of college.
We're standing on the edge of a huge cliff
And God wants us to just--jump off.
We don't know why. But we definitely know He wants us to. We've tried to rationalize it. We've told ourselves there's no way that's really what He's saying. We misunderstood Him. I mean, we're humans, right? We mess things up. We're probably not supposed to be on this cliff at all. God probably didn't even want us here in the first place.
Right?
But in your soul, you KNOW you have been called here, to jump.
The Israelites were called to jump. Their parents had been slaves in Egypt. After testing God too many times, they died without ever seeing the Promised Land. Now their children stood on the bank of the Jordan River. The Promised Land was so close, except for that one river. It was huge. God told Joshua to tell the priests to take the Ark of the Covenant and step out into the river. He had already parted the Red Sea--a river would be nothing.
The river was wide--at least a mile.
But God split the sea, didn't He?
Yes, but that was a long time ago. Maybe God didn't do miracles like that any more. Maybe they weren't supposed to come this way at all. Maybe Joshua, eager but inexperienced, had dreamed this and just thought it was God. It didn't make sense--and surely God wouldn't expect millions of people to just do something that didn't even make sense.
But in their souls they knew He wanted them to jump.
So the priests stepped out into the raging, flooded river.
And nothing happened.
They waited.
...and waited...
...and still they waited.
And then, when the priests felt like fools and maybe even Joshua had begun to doubt, the river began to fade. Like an enormous sigh, the waters sank and flowed away, leaving only a wide ditch to show where they had once raged. For a moment Israel stood in awe. Then, with a mighty shout, they surged forward, a river of people sweeping across the now-dry river bed. Their God had come through for them again.
As soon as the priests' feet touched the water, God began to pile up the waters at Adam, a city over twenty miles away. But the priests didn't know that. They only knew what they were supposed to do. They could not see what was happening over the horizon. But they trusted God. So they stood. God was worth trusting.
We know that God wants us to jump. We know He promises not to just let us "splat" on the bottom.
Will He?
It doesn't make sense. Yet we know that we have been called.
So we jump.
What happens? Sometimes we fall for a long time, and then, just before we hit the bottom, we realize that He has given us wings. Sometimes we fall and suddenly feel the jerk of a parachute snapping open.
Or maybe we discover that the cliff was only 3 feet high.
Or maybe, God just puts a massive mattress at the bottom, something that makes hitting the bottom not such a bad thing after all.
But no matter what happens, God will absolutely NEVER let you splat.
You will never regret jumping.
You know you have been called. What will you do with it?
He is worth trusting.
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not yet seen." Hebrews 11:1
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