Well, things have been busy around here. I guess it hasn't been any busier than normal, but this time the busy-ness has a purpose. On Thursday, a representative of our landlord (a developing company) informed us that we have thirty days to move. They are going to turn the surrounding fields into ballfields and parks, and our house will be used as a clubhouse of sorts (you mean officially?). The representative was apologetic and obviously uncomfortable having to tell us, which is to her credit. I mean, really, who can watch five young children playing in the front yard with their mother standing on the porch, 9-month pregnant belly extended past all reason, and NOT at least feign regret at saying, "Hope you can find another place"?

But we are actually very calm about it. We ended up reassuring her that it is the Lord's timing and we were anticipating a move this summer anyway (not with a two-week old, but whatever...). It has been God's wonderful provision that has allowed us to stay in this wonderful house, up on this hill with fields in every direction, neighbors far enough away to never hear our shouting (always gleeful, of course), with a month-to-month lease and ridiculously low rent.

He has provided, and He will continue to provide.

And so we continue to toss and pack, and I am loving the tossing part (Ethan can tell you I am no great packer). It feels so good to finally be getting rid of things that I don't know why we ever had in the first place.

And the adventure continues...

"But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ..." Phil. 3:20 (ESV)

My friend Kelly sent me a very kind and concerned email, worried that I was on bed rest or something since I haven't posted in a while.

Bed rest? Well, not officially. Does it count if you're so plumb tuckered it's all you can do to muster a feeble "Move over" before you flop on the couch for the fourth time in an hour? All right, all you gals who have been on bed rest, calm down. I know it doesn't count.

No, nothing's wrong. Nothing abnormal, anyway. I'm just too tired to be ... well, to be. My left leg is blue from veins that protest too much, my ankles are the same circumference as my thighs, and I no longer need eye shadow -- my eyelids are a deep plum color au naturale. My tone of voice is annoying, even to me, and my sense of humor has gone missing. It's probably hiding under the stacks (HA! that's a gracious word for the disorganized chaos) of winter coats, blankets, and boots that are waiting for me to sort through them. In the middle of the hallway. The downstairs hallway. The one to which the front door opens.

I've been in a funk, and I know part of it is due to the ... well, closeness of the due date (something like 7 weeks? I've lost count and am too tired to go to the calendar...see what I mean?). There's also the fact that Ethan graduates at the end of next week (oh, glorious day!). But first, there are papers and exams to be completed (and for some reason, I stress out about this way more than he does). And since we will be going to the graduation (two states away) and camping in our camper, there are lists to be made, swimsuits to be found, lotions to be packed, and food to be prepared. And since he will be graduating from seminary, we will be much more aggressively pursuing a call to a church. So there are decisions to be made, possessions to be de-possessed, and familial bonds to be stretched as we move away from family.

The last few weeks of pregnancy are sort of like the first for me -- I cry easily and often, although rarely in front of others, and I am better not seen nor heard. I always remind myself of that horse (or whatever it was) in the movie "The Never-Ending Story." I'm not even exactly sure of the scene, as it was the first movie I saw as a kid on our brand new (**Beta!**) VCR and I haven't seen it since, so pardon me if I butcher this...but they are travelling through some sort of slough or bog or quicksand or something and if they think sad thoughts, they just keep sinking deeper and deeper and deeper. So the trick is to think happy thoughts. But the horse (or whatever it is) can't think happy thoughts and ends up sinking.

My self-misery enjoys the entrapment, I think. I look at the hallway, and then the dishes, and then the boxed-up books, and then my puffy toes...and I just want to call it quits. That's when I am thankful for women who won't allow giving up...writers of sites like this and this and this. It's when I have to force myself to read God's Word, and not just to the children, but to myself...to see what the reality is. It's not in the mess or dirt or discomfort or anxiety of these things that will (YES, THEY WILL!!!!) pass away.

So, no, I'm not incapacitated or hampered (although, speaking of hampers, there are quite a few clothes that need folding...).

I've just been trying to figure out how to get out of this Sulky Susie get-up.

Anybody got an extra Wonder Woman outfit?

Benjamin (6) came up with the idea of planning a "Family Fun Night." He decided that Wednesday was the day to buy the supplies (balloons) and Friday would be the night to have fun. Lily joined in with an additional idea ("Why don't we light that candle of mine?"). Ben agreed but on the condition that the fun night still be on Friday.

"I get to decide, because this was my idea."
  

"Yeah, and mine, too," said Lily.

"No, it wasn't! You don't even know what Family Fun Night means!" retorted Ben.

Lily: "Yes, I do! It's about loving your family, so LEAVE ME ALONE!!"

We're off to a good start.

"A Christian comes to contentment, not so much by way of addition, as by way of subtraction. That is his way of contentment, and it is a way that the world has no skill in. I open it thus: not so much by adding to what he would have, or to what he has, not by adding more to his condition; but rather by subtracting from his desires, so as to make his desires and his circumstances even and equal . . . But now let God give a man riches, no matter how great, yet if the Lord gives him up to the pride of his heart, he will never be contented: on the other hand, let God bring anyone into mean circumstances, and then let God but fashion and suit his heart to those circumstances and he will be content."

-Jeremiah Burroughs,

from Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment (1651), ch. 2

If I were trying to explain morning sickness to someone who has never had it, I think I would bypass the never-strong-enough description of the physical illness aspects (think chemotherapy treatment) and would instead focus on the one word that best encompasses the entire ordeal for me:

DIRT.

Morning sickness is just ... so ... dirty. There is the obvious dirt of retching every half hour or so. There is the dirt of being so weak that even standing in the shower takes too much energy and so hair doesn't get rinsed as well as it should. There is the dirt of not being able to find clean clothing because you haven't made it downstairs to do laundry for, well, far too long. There is the dirt of stinky diapers, the dirt of retching yet again at the thought of changing the stinky diapers, the dirt of dishes that are awaiting some kind of glorious cleansing, and the dirt of floors that haven't seen a vacuum in ... months.

Despite all of this, I have to say that these past four months have been the easiest in dealing with morning (and yes, I have to say it..."morning" HA!) sickness and all of the accompanying dirt. I am the kind of person who always has to tell people that I am pregnant when I am about 6 1/2 weeks along. It's not that I'm that excited...it's that I'm that green and they always fear I'm dealing with some terrible disease. But this time, it was 11 weeks before we told my parents (who, admittedly, called and said, "Is there SOME REASON you've been so tired lately?" -- a nice way of saying, "Is there some reason your house is such an ABSOLUTE WRECK?" after they stopped by unannounced); and it was 15 weeks before we told anyone else. While I could easily attribute this to the chemical 1/2 Unisom and Vitamin B6 I tried to take every night, I have to say that I know it has to do with my husband.

Ethan orchestrated the dirt beautifully. He never mentioned it, taught the kids to wade their way through the paper plates (wonderful invention!) lining the floor in order to heat a bagel for themselves, picked up a sandwich for me on the way home every day so that I wouldn't have to smell dinner cooking, kept small "protein bites" (yummy steak and hamburger cut in bite-sized pieces) in the fridge that he could pull out in a moment's notice if he thought I was looking pale(r), promised us a big outing when Mommy was up to it when we would go to a LAUNDROMAT (this is still a place of wonder to our children) and wash what turned out to be all fourteen loads of laundry, went to work, prepared for his seminary classes, preached his senior sermon in South Carolina, took five licensure exams, and got his preaching license at the December presbytery. And he never once commented on my being more helpless than our nine-month old.

And in the midst of this, he helped our 5-yr. old turn 6, our 3-yr. old turn 4, and we celebrated Christmas. WITH A TREE, EVEN.

So if someone asks what morning sickness is like? First, it's messy. It's dirty. Stress just makes it messier and dirtier. It's nothing like the movies where the beautiful mother-to-be suddenly grimaces, grabs the nearest trashcan, loses her grilled chicken salad from lunch, wipes her mouth, says, "I'm fine, really," and then puts her lipstick on. It's more like the scuzzy mother-to-be who is lying on the couch, her twisted face twisting even further, a loud "GET OUT OF MY WAY!" erupting in a monster-like manner as she pushes her hands to her mouth, dashes in an amazing rush of adrenaline to the nearest bathroom, pushing children and toys and, yes, food from the floor in order to get there, counts it all joy if everything makes it into the toilet (and by everything, we mean nothing close to grilled chicken salad...try a Burger King Whopper or some Pringles or whatever it is she could actually fathom eating), and then after she loses her lunch, she loses anything additional that might have been in her stomach as she glances at the state of the bathroom.

I'm just saying.

But now, at 16 weeks and counting, things are finally starting to look better. Not necessarily cleaner (although I am wearing all clean clothes and my  hair has been washed, rinsed, and COMBED!!), but we've got all afternoon to work on that.

Hee hee hee.

OK, so I'm new at blogging. Well, at writing one . . . I have been a blog junkie to 2 or 3 blogs for quite a while now. But being the mother to five young children (five 5 and under -- there's a pair of twins in there) and the wife to a very talented (if I do say so myself) seminarian who is admittedly stretched a little thin (work, school, church, kids, ahem . . . wife), I find myself needing a place to organize my thoughts. So at least SOMETHING of mine will be organized!

I am realizing that there are 3 main things that help my sanity:

1) Getting a shower before the kids are up. Well, OK, before the kids are out of their room and into the kitchen and . . . eating lunch.
2) A large cup of homemade iced coffee, especially if it's a mocha.
3) Sunshine! Pouring in the windows, splashing across the floor . . .

But these are really incidentals. Of course, I have to include the No. 1 Priority, which is . . . Time in the Word (you knew that was coming, right?). Spending time in the Scriptures will not clean my kitchen OR re-wind the tape that my 22 mo.-old daughter has (AGAIN!!!) pulled out of the Hank the Cowdog audiocassette OR fish the cereal out of the milk carton (courtesy of my 22 mo.-old son) OR take away the responsibilities that come with the blessing of children.

BUT!!! Spending time in the Scriptures WILL bring me to where I am supposed to be. It WILL remind me that I am just a temporary citizen in this (very messy) Kingdom of Man but a permanent citizen of the (cleansed through the blood of the cross) Kingdom of God. It WILL take my focus off of myself and my eensy teensy little part of the world in this eensy teensy little part of history and WILL show me God's focus and His hand in history.

Spending time in the Scriptures reminds me, once again (because, like those ever-grumbling Israelites, I am more than a little forgetful), that cleaning my kitchen and re-winding an audiocassette and fishing cereal out of milk are not stumbling blocks to my sanctification. They are part and parcel of my day, to be used for the glory of God.

And, when I can order them, so are showers and iced coffees and sunshine.

"This is the LORD's doing;
   it is marvelous in our eyes.
This is the day that the LORD has made;
   let us rejoice and be glad in it" (Ps. 118:23-24).