Striving

I have been reflecting on the verb “to strive” of late. In part, I suppose, because I find myself striving so much. When my head hits the pillow at night, I simply switch from physically striving to mentally striving as I turn over new ideas in my mind. Now, while the fine line between working hard and being a workaholic is lost on me, I am smart enough to know that it matters what you are striving for. I am one who is not prone to strive for worldly things - gold, glory, and girls as Ray, a missionary in Ethiopia, once told me.

Or so I thought.

On the way home from church yesterday we were listening to “Peter and the Sword of Mercy” on CD. Having spent the morning thinking over my motives, I started a conversation around motives at lunch.

“So kids. What do you think motivates the bad guys in this story?” I asked.

“They want the Sword of Mercy!” K.D. said excitedly.

“But why?”

“So they can get the star stuff,” said K.D.

“But why do they want the star stuff?”

“Because they want to rule the world!” said Little Foot.

“Yes, they do. They want to rule the world. They want the power to make everybody do what they want them to do,” I said.

But seeking power is not my vice.

I have been telling myself, “so whether you eat, or drink, or whatever you do, do all for the glory of God.” If it is for God’s glory, then I had better do a fantastic job, I tell myself. And so I strive to do a fantastic job at all of the things that *I* have put on my plate.

But Sunday morning, as my thoughts on striving mingled with the congregation singing “I’d rather have Jesus,” I was not able to convince myself that my motives were so pure.

“I’d rather have Jesus than men’s applause,” we sang.

“Glory,” I could hear Ray saying. One of the three things we men strive for.

So do I strive to do things well for God’s glory or for my own? I fear that is another line that is lost on me.

Lord, help me to live for Your glory and not my own.

Easter

Clutter 2

OK, this anti-junk thing could get addicting. Since it was Easter weekend, none of the soccer teams were practicing. With a chunk of our Saturday morning free, I decided to motivate the kids to reduce the clutter in our house even more.

“Family meeting!” I called out shortly after breakfast. “Let’s go!”

The kids descended on the family room from all corners of the house. “I love family meetings,” Anna said as she found a spot on the couch.

“Here is the deal. You guys have to bring me 100 items this morning to either throw out or give away,” I announced. The moans and questions started rolling in.

“What if I want to get rid of something, but someone else does not?”
“What if a toy has several pieces? Does each piece count?
“Is it only toys, or do clothes count?”

After clarifying some rules, I upped the ante.

“Now, if you are able to find 200 things, I will give each of you a dollar.” Little Foot and K.D. perked up, but the rest of the kids did not really think the extra work would be worth a dollar.

“If you are able to find 300 things, then I will take all of you to Graeter’s.” The kids erupted like they had won the lottery. Obviously, ice cream is a real motivator in our home.

“If we get 400 things, can we go to Graeter’s AND get a dollar?” asked Little Foot, sensing that the time was right to get even more out of dad.

“Sure,” I replied.

So the kids ran off. It was striking to me with the apparent effortlessness that the kids generated well over 300 items. They would have gone for 400, but CrazyMom and I had had enough for the morning. Here is some of the junk.

We nearly filled a large green garbage can as well as a large box to give away. After lunch we headed out to our favorite ice cream shop. Spending $20 on ice cream normally drives me nuts. But this time I was all smiles.

Clutter

Clutter. Stuff. Junk. It permeates our house to the same extent as air and dust. Rather than taking the nuclear approach to clearing it out, I have been trying the lifestyle-change approach. Just about every day I send the kids off to go find three items they can get rid off. Since over the last few weeks I have not been able to discern any difference in the level of junk in our home, today I asked the boys to go find 11 items (the girls were off at a Spanish lesson). Here is what the three boys brought to throw out.



Maybe tomorrow I should ask for even more . . .

Birthday Traditions

“Dad,” Anna was saying, “don’t forget to say what you say on somebody’s birthday.”

I had just tucked Anna in on the eve of her birthday and I was trying to get the door closed so I could get on with my evening.

“OK, Addison. I won’t,” I replied. Then, after a pause, “Can you remind me again what I say on somebody’s birthday?”

“You know, Dad. Like what you said to K.D. ‘Here comes the birthday boy!’”

K.D.’s birthday was just a month earlier, so Anna had picked up on what she perceived as a very important tradition that happens on somebody’s birthday.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s right. And when do I say this?”

“When I come down the stairs in the morning. Just like you said it to K.D.”

“OK, Anna. I won’t forget,” I said, very relieved that she had filled me in on the details.

Now while I would not put saying “Here comes the birthday girl!” on our birthday tradition list, we do have several traditions surrounding birthday events in our home.

First, when the birthday child comes down in the morning (and I greet them with Anna’s new traditional saying) they find the window by the kitchen table decorated.

That night for supper, the birthday child gets to have mom cook the meal of their choice. This year K.D. picked an Ethiopian meal and Anna picked tacos.

When we open presents, the birthday child always sits in the brown chair in the family room. The child who is giving the gift joins the birthday child on the chair when their gift is being opened.

Unless the gift is from mom and dad. Then they have to sit there by themselves. . .

And as if getting to request a meal is not enough, they also get to have mom make a cake of their choosing. This year Anna requested a princess cake, and, as you can see, CrazyMom went all out. It was certainly a stunning cake.

Now those are just the birthday traditions that I can think of.  Maybe I should check with Anna and the gang to see what they would say.  I hate to think about all of the traditions that CrazyMom and I forget to do each year because we did not know it was a tradition!

Bridges to Prosperity

I just came across this. It is one of those great stories about the tremendous impact that people can have when the reach out and lend a hand to others, even if they are as far away as a remote part of Ethiopia.

Valentine's Day

Buddy’s Pickle Lightning

When Buddy’s science teacher announced that each student was going to have to do a science demo, Buddy knew instantly what he wanted to do. He had seen a chemistry teacher do a demo over the summer and he wanted to try it. It combined two of his loves in one demo – pickles and fire. Unfortunately, it was not a demo that was safe to do at school, but the teacher agreed that he could make a video of the demo and show that to the class. Here is the result.



This video sheds some light on the type of interesting fellow Buddy is. He certainly likes electricity, fires, and all things mechanical. If you go to throw away a piece of trash and it is made of plastic, metal, or wood then Buddy will ask if he can have it. Every nook and cranny in his room (as well as every horizontal surface) is crammed with these “supplies” for future creations.

One such creation came on a recent snow day when he built a basketball hoop. He then strapped it to a pole in the basement and the kids had a good time playing indoor basketball.



If you are familiar with “The Encyclopedia of Immaturity,” then you are familiar with our son. The other day he came to me with a glue stick and a paper clip because he needed some help. Here is the result.



Now while I could live without the fake impaling of a paper clip, it certainly is a lot of fun to live with a kid whose mind is always running in creative ways.

Life Markers

When God led the Israelites into the promised land, he had them pick up twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan from which they made a memorial. Joshua 4:6-7 tells us, “Let these stones be a sign among you, so that when your children ask later, saying, ‘What do these stones mean to you?’ then you shall say to them, ‘Because the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the Lord; when it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off.’ So these stones shall become a memorial to the sons of Israel forever.”

God knows that we need markers in our lives – things to help us remember the significant events. So it seems that baptism is more than simply an “outward sign of an inward change,” but it also one of those life markers from which one can draw strength.

What a joy is was as parents to watch Miss Bookworm get baptized on Sunday. I loved her testimony where, when speaking of when she decided to follow Christ, she said, “Well, I was laying on my bed thinking things over . . .”. Thinking things over led her to a decision nearly 10 years ago now and she is still growing in the Lord to this day.

Teenagers and Music

On Saturday I was up on a ladder taking down Christmas lights while CrazyMom was “supervising” from the ground. (Yes, supervising. When I lean as far out as I can on the ladder to try to reach some lights, I can feel her we-have-too-many-kids-for-you-to-be-doing-something-so-dumb look burning through my back.)

Miss Bookworm popped her head out the front door and said, “Mom, can I buy a song?” She was on the iTunes store on my laptop and wanted to add to the collection on her new grandparent-provided iPod.

“Sure,” said CrazyMom. Then, as Miss Bookworm’s head was disappearing, CrazyMom suddenly realized that she never asked what song it was – she was lapsing as a parent.

“Wait!” she called after Miss Bookworm. “What song is it?”

“Lead Me To the Cross,” Miss Bookworm called as she stuck her head back out and then disappeared into the house.

As the door closed, CrazyMom and I chuckled.

“I guess that song will be alright,” CrazyMom said as she smiled.

“Yeah, I am pretty sure that one does not have an ‘explicit’ tag,” I said . . . and then I had to catch my balance because my chuckling had caused me to lose my focus on the ladder.