Things That Only I Can Do

I'll have you know that my position in this household is assured. I have job security. I am made aware of this regularly. Because there are things that only I can do in this house. I have hypothesized this formulated upon the following postulates:

1. I am the only one who does them.
2. My darling husband looks at me blankly when I mention them. 
3. He actually tells me that he's waiting on me to do them. 

Ignore bad handwriting. And water spots on my bathroom sink.
And terrible photography.

But in all fairness, there are things that only he can do, too. Not because I'm incapable of doing them, necessarily, although that is the case regarding things that my current level of education/knowledge doesn't cover.

Like automobile repairs. I could probably learn how to do that stuff, but it's not my thing, and it is his thing. Sometimes it's because I'm forbidden to do them, on pain of stink eye.

For instance:

• I am not allowed to take out the trash. I'm capable of this, and if it needs to be done, occasionally I'll do it just to get it done. But, and here's the really wonderful thing about my darling husband, I'm not allowed to. So I get the "that's my job" speech, while he gives me the stink eye, and takes the garbage can out of my hand and empties it. He actually prefers that I tell him that a trash can needs to be emptied, rather than emptying it myself. Isn't he a dream boat? 
• I'm not allowed to mow the lawn. Or run the weedeater. Not because I can't do those activities. When I was single, I did them. Because they're in his domain. Not my problem. He doesn't want me doing those tasks. He doesn't even want me thinking about them. His domain. I am allowed to help with weeding, plant watering, etc., and occasionally, we'll do outdoor, lawn, or garden projects together. But he runs the yard. 

Getting back to the origin of this post, however, my job security as a housewife is not in question. (Not that it was ever going to be, anyway.) This is why.

• Only I can purchase toilet paper. Way back in the day, when I was single, I got hooked on soft,
  three-ply toilet paper. I always preferred the extra-cushy stuff, but when I became an Amway IBO, I started using the brand they carried, and it was three-ply, pillowy softness. It came to my door on a regular basis, and I got in the habit of knowing it was there, not having to think about buying it. When we got married, I quickly got my new husband hooked on it, too. He didn't even know there was such a thing as three-ply, until I introduced him to it. Poor thing. 

  

  My new TP holder that my darling husband installed for me.
  It pivots on a hinge instead of doing the squeezy bar thing.
  I love it. 

  But then, Amway stopped carrying the paper products that I had become reliant upon. I found myself venturing into aisles of the store I hadn't traversed in years and wondering what was most similar to what we were accustomed to using. Through lots of trial and error, I finally found the toilet paper (and paper towels, napkins, etc.) that we are now using. Ordinarily, because he's still working full-time and I'm not, I do the shopping, but occasionally he will go with me. This week, that happened. He watched me, mystified, as I rooted around in the toilet paper aisle, finally coming up with a case that matched our preference of brand, type, and roll-size (mega-rolls don't fit on all our TP dispensers), and was budget-friendlier (because of the case size). I looked up and realized that if I was ever in a coma, he would be clueless about how to provide for the needs of his tushy. Clearly I need to educate this man. 

• Only I can make doctor appointments. My darling husband tells me that the moment we were wed, his brain dumped all of the information and ability it had to locate new medical service providers, therefore, if I don't find him a doctor, he won't have one. We moved to Kansas from South Carolina almost a year and a half ago. We're due for checkups, dental cleanings, glasses prescription adjustments, etc. He claims complete ignorance (while calling it "delegation") of what to do to find these professionals. So, I'm finally getting around to doing that. We're still in a standoff over who makes the appointments, which I will explain. 
• I, as you may know, occupy the far, hermit-end of the introvert spectrum. Talking on the phone is anathema, unless there is a really good reason to do so. Also, the really good reason must be on my end. Answering calls from numbers I don't recognize is the technological equivalent of picking up a hitchhiker. Now that I'm no longer required to answer by an employer, it's never gonna happen. Also, I keep my voicemail full, so that I don't have to worry about ever getting new messages and having to deal with them. I carry a smart phone. I text. I use it to google stuff so I don't have to actually converse with anyone. There are apps for all kinds of things. It is a phone call prevention device in my hand. I'm available via multiple routes on my phone that don't involve talking to anyone. YAY for technology! I need to find us doctors who allow appointment scheduling via website, app, or text. Hmmmm... Surely doctors do that now. Right?
• He, as you may not know, will go to an appointment, if I make it. But he will not go out of his way to subject his body to regular maintenance. When we got married, I made appointments for him to have a medical checkup, an optometry appointment, and all of his dental care/prevention/and repair. He hadn't gotten around to these things for some time. I found the doctor. I found the optometrist. I found the dentist. I made the appointments. He went. The thing is that he has the schedule of meetings for his work, and I don't, so I'm going to use that as a reason for him to make his own phone calls. So there. 

Of course, he takes excellent care
of the yard.

I could continue about all of the activities that I prefer to do myself, like laundry (which is my favorite chore), and all the things that I like to do but aren't strictly necessary (insert art/craft of choice here), but you get the gist. There are, of course, all the necessary evils that we toss back and forth, along with applicable guilt-monkeys, like washing dishes, and the tasks that we each accept as assigned to one or the other, without having strong feelings about either way, and the tasks that we share, in the interest of mutual benefit. But some things are mine to do. Mine, and mine alone. Because only I can do them. 

Co-dependence is really working out for me.

Much love,

LL~

P. S. Of course, my darling husband is an adult, and he is perfectly capable of all of the tasks that are necessary for his life and maintaining a household. He did them for years before I was ever around. He just chooses to allow me to add value to his life. I don't mean to give the impression that he is a bumbling fool without his obnoxious wife keeping him going. He's amazing, talented, capable, generous, and kind. But he lets me think that I'm helping, and that makes me feel good. :)

Christmas/Winter Decorations

My little tree, as decorated at my home in Vero Beach.

Historically, I have had a mish-mosh style of Christmas decorations. Most of my decorations were gleaned from my parents' collection, or varying other gifts/re-uses. This year, I knew we were buying a new tree (to replace the one I had purchased right out of college that was small enough to work in little apartments), so I knew I wanted to re-think how I decorated the house.

Our new tree!

We also have mostly completed the interior of the house (except the kitchen - yick!), and I wanted our Christmas decorations to look like they belonged with the rest of our home.

Aside from the bathrooms and kitchen, the entire house has wood floors, and we've done the main portion of it in 2 shades of the same gray, with white trim. (Gray is neutral, and much prettier than beiges and creams, as well as less clinical/stark than straight white. I hate, hate, hate beige. It looks dirty. It's depressing. I refuse to do beige in anything. Blechth!) Most of our accents throughout the house are purples and greens, which is partially borne of our wedding which was pewter gray, silver and purple. We've been able to use a lot of the wedding decorations in the house, and it looks like we meant to do it!

Jingle bell ornaments on our kitchen
cabinet doors are from the dollar
store. I call that a win. :)

 All of that adds up to mean that our new Christmas decor was going to be tied together with silver and purple. Beyond that, I like to decorate and have my decor be seasonal, rather than based on a holiday. I went mostly with a snow/snowflake theme, so that even when the "Christmas" decor comes down (trees, ornaments, etc), the winter decor can remain until it's time to usher in spring.

Cute, huh?

I started early. I wanted the decorations to be mostly in place before Thanksgiving, so that we could enjoy them when my parents were in town. I also wanted to take my time and not just rush to put things up. We bought our new tree in October, and thus it began.

I went to the dollar store, and they had all kinds of purple decorations, so that helped me begin to incorporate the color scheme I wanted into the decor throughout the house.  My kitchen cabinet doors are festooned with cheerful jingle bell ornaments from the dollar store, and these pretty purple tinsel trees (above) were there, too. I made a little snowy vignette with them on top of the living room shelves.

We have this monstrous kitchen, of which we seldom make adequate use, so I decided it was a good place for my little tree to live, since the new one is now in the living room. I wrapped the pictures hanging on the walls on either side of the tree to make them look like presents, and it really made the kitchen feel like it was supposed to be part of the house, for the first time.

Our front door always has
a wreath, with a cross in
the center.

 
Having been inspired by something I saw on Pinterest, I had been contemplating making a snow-flake tulle wreath, but I couldn't figure out how to do it in a sturdy enough way to put it on the front door, so I went with our regular evergreen wreath on the front door. At the orders of 2 of my friends (our teen-aged neighbor girls), I needed a wreath for the wall inside the front entry, so that's where the snowflake wreath was destined to be. I'm still making adjustments to it, and now that I look at the pictures I took, I see more that I want to do. Here it is at it's current point (below). My darling husband is gracious enough to allow me to put girly-looking decorations right in the front entry where everyone sees them. That's a man who is secure in his manhood, let me tell ya. Smile.

One of the things that I've been giving a lot of serious thought in the last months is the reality of the eternal spiritual world and what impact it has on my day-to-day life. (Some of this will be in another post.) You know, the just day-in and day-out living? What impact does eternity make on how I take care of my body? Washing my face, brushing my teeth, fixing my hair, getting dressed? What impact does it make in how I decorate my home? Present myself? Act in public and in private? How much am I willing to cede to the world, as opposed to living peculiarly in this world? (Titus 2:7-15)

New cross that will remain
out all year.

When it came to Christmas decorations, I had to consider how much of my home I'm willing to cede to frivolity, not that frivolity is entirely bad, in itself. It's just that if I'm living a life that's eternal, shouldn't my home show that? So, I very carefully considered what we kept from prior years' decorations. I gave thought to each Santa/Father Christmas or Frosty themed item, each instance of secular folklore, and was careful to weigh them against what we really celebrate in the Christmas season.

A Christmas gift 2 years ago,
from my godparents. 

For that reason, things that might be considered "seasonal" didn't make the cut this year. Things that didn't have sentimental value or a reason for being displayed were taken out of consideration. That helped me to severely curtail the clutter, too, and it left me with a much clearer picture of why we believe that this world is better because of the coming of Christ, and why we celebrate it every year.

This year, there are more crosses, because that was the point of His birth-- His redeeming death and resurrection. This year, there are at least 5 nativity scenes, drawing our eyes and minds to that ineffable moment when God became a little, helpless child, entrusted to the humans who were created in His image, so that He might experience life as we know it, live it fully in submission to the Holy Spirit, as we're called to, and ultimately take my place in a brutal death to pay the price for my sin.

This nativity scene is a year-round decoration in our living room book case. My dad had it carved for me in Sierra Leone, West Africa, and gave it to me some years ago. I love the image in my mind that he described of the little old man with his carving knife creating his view of the birth of my savior. It makes me smile, that He was here for all of us!

Great gift!! Wish the picture was
better.

A dear friend of ours dropped by to bring me a birthday gift, this year, not knowing that these were the thoughts I was mulling. She brought me another reminder that, yet again, the Holy Spirit was doing His mysterious work and tying together the thoughts of two of His girls, without aid of our communication with one another. She brought me this lovely silver cross, with the nativity scene in it. How perfect is that!?!

I am working on finding the perfect place to hang it for year-round display in our home. It's so loaded with imagery that I don't think I could bear to put it away for most of the year. For now, it's lying on our coffee table, as a focal point in our living room. I love it!

As the night closes in and we turn on our lights, I'm reminded of the Light that came to this world, and of the light I'm supposed to be in it. As I walk through a lovely home that was entrusted to us for our care and keeping, I think of all the little miracles that I've witnessed in the creation of this story woven around my life and marriage, and I pray that God will give us opportunities to extend His hospitality and love to those around us. As I survey the decorations, I think of the purple robe of the Eternal High King of Heaven, and the precious metals that show the abundance of His wealth and generosity to us. As I go from piece to piece, I remember the people whose lives have touched mine, however much or long, and the places that they occupy in my heart and the Heart of their Creator.

Our entry table (under the snow-flake wreath)

When this Christmas has passed, and the trees come down and the ornaments get packed away, I will leave the snowflake decorations up until spring to remind me that God creates us to be unique expressions of His Image, and the "Christmas"decorations that remain around our home will remind me, as we move through the next year of the inscrutable mystery of the birth of God, when the Eternal Creator became a normal guy and got dirty and had to trim his toenails and lived and breathed and died and rose again to save our souls from eternal death.

May the breath of God be on your face. May you see His hand at work around you. May you marvel at things that are too great for us to ever wrap our minds around. May you be blessed by the simple faith of little children experiencing the joys of this season for the first few times. May you learn to know Him, grow to be like Him, and become holy as He is holy.

With love and Christmas blessings,
LL~

A Tiny Little Life

This is the story of a life. It was a tiny little life, though not as tiny as some others. To some of us, it was a very important one. This is the story of Zoe, my precious sweet-faced baby girl. She had lots of other nicknames, but those are the things that describe her in my mind, more than anything else. She died, Saturday morning.  (11/3  -- I've been having a hard time finishing this post.) Zoe means life, and that's why she had that name. She was so FULL of life and energy, just bursting to explore and snuggle, and run, and popcorn, and play. (Piggies popcorn-- they hop straight up in the air, just for the fun of it, when they're happy.)

Zoe, as a baby.

I say it was tiny, because it was short, and because it belonged to a little animal, not because it didn't have value. It did. It mattered. She mattered. She still does. To me, anyway. 

L-R Zoe, Zelma, Zephyr

In the spring of 2010, I decided that I needed a little animal to keep me company. I lived alone and telecommuted, so my interactions with others were fairly minimal. I visited a local pet store, which was advertising a free guinea pig with the purchase of a cage. (I think.. Maybe vice versa.) 

I picked the one that made me smile most, because of a full-body mohawk and white rear end, and took "him" home. They told me at a store that this piggy was a boy. He turned out to be a pregnant girl. Smile.

Babies were so little that they sat in the food dish. :)

On 7/22/10, I was in my office about 3 feet away when my precious little mama pig gave birth to 4 babies, one of whom didn't make it. One of the remaining pups was a boy, and the following Thanksgiving, he went to live with his cousin in Kansas, the boar who belonged to my niece. He still lives there, fat and healthy, today. (Though, sadly, his cage-mate has died.)

The two little girls and their mother stayed with me, and they all got names: Zelma (mama pig), Zoe (brown baby), and Zephyr (pink baby). They were so stinking cute, and I watched them grow up and turn into fat, healthy piggies with individual personalities and tastes. It's kind of funny, because there are times when I forget that all kinds of critters have personalities. These three are very different. 

Zoe was a people person. She always wanted to know what the people were up to. If I was working at my desk and it had been awhile since I'd said anything or interacted with the girls, she would come over to the side of the cage closest to me and watch me until I noticed her and spoke to her, or came to pet her. She was very naturally curious and always wanted to know what was going on. 

She seemed to really enjoy being held, and was always curious about whatever the holder was wearing, smelled like, or was doing. She didn't care about watching movies or TV (the mama pig is a movie watcher), but she'd snuggle right in under my jawbone and nuzzle my neck. She always licked and tasted everything, and the first thing you'd see of her, most of the time, was her little pointy nose, up in the air, checking out her surroundings. 

She liked cucumbers. (Zephyr always chokes on cucumbers.) She was the vocal one of the group, and if she thought it had been too long and they needed weggies (that's piggy speak for vegetables), she would speak right up and send me after them. (Now Zelma asks, sometimes.) She was the first of the babies to figure out how to use the water bottle. (Something Zephyr still makes harder than it needs to be.)

I called her my punkin pig, because she looked like a piece of pumpkin pie. The reddish brown looked like pumpkin. The dark brown looked like spices-- nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice. And the little wedge of white on her side looked like a dollop of whipped cream. 

Little noses, sniffing out weggies.

When she got sick, I may not have noticed right away. I kick myself for that. It was a weekend. I spend all week in the office, ordinarily, which is where the pigs live to keep me company, and especially during my busy season (Sept-Nov) I don't even want to SEE the office when I'm not working. I take care of the pigs, and I'll go get them to hold them, but I don't spend time in the office on the weekends, if I can help it. I didn't notice her being unwell until Sunday night, but she could have been struggling for awhile, by then. 

You see, guinea pigs are prey animals in the wild. Being weak or unwell is a strategic disadvantage, if a predator is anywhere nearby. If one gets sick, it masks the symptoms until whatever illness it has kills it or goes away. Most piggy illnesses are fatal, unless they're treated quickly. I tend to be around them enough that I would notice if one was in any way acting unusual. 

Last fall, Zephyr got sick. We got her to the vet, put her on medication, quarantined her, and a week later, she was well enough to return to the herd. 

Not so with Zoe-pig. Zoe wasn't eating at all by the time I knew she wasn't well. I should have immediately started her on the critical care food, but I waited until I got her to the vet the next morning. I kick myself for that, too. The vet gave her shots of vitamins and an antibiotic, put her on oral medications, told me to feed her the critical care food (which I already had from Zephyr's illness), took an x-ray and sent us home with a plan to get her well. 

Piggies nap a lot.

She should have gotten better. She didn't. She got weaker. I fed her every hour or so. I gave her one medication twice a day and another 3 times a day. I had alarms set on my phone to remind me what time she needed which treatment. We went back to the doctor, and she was very concerned. Zoe should have gotten better. We added a pro-biotic and an anti-inflammatory. She seemed to get worse, every time I gave her medicine. I finally decided that I wasn't going to give her more medicine. I would just feed her. 

I went online to see what I could find out. I should have done that sooner. I kick myself for that, too. One link led me to a forum string that said that a few guinea pigs have an intolerance for the main antibiotic administered to guinea pigs. That was what she was on. That day, Friday, she had developed the symptoms of that intolerance, continuing to weaken, and had gotten to the point that she couldn't walk. She was barely moving at all. She had started having muscle spasms, which eventually seemed to be brief seizures. 

I know it's a stupid look on my face. I think I was
frustrated with my phone camera at the time...

I went to bed Friday night, sick to my stomach. I couldn't sleep. She was barely even lifting her head. With my husband sleeping soundly, I sneaked back in and carried her back into the living room with me. I tried to feed her. I gave her some water. I held her. I napped with her. I cried when she twitched and seized. I prayed for this precious little life. I asked God to show me how I could help her. 

It got cold. In our living room, we have several large windows, and it got very cold on the couch next to those windows. I wrapped us in a blanket, then covered us with a down-filled throw. I kept her warm. I held her. I kept praying, as I dozed in and out. 

Forgive the poops & the red eyes. This was the last picture
I took of the three of them, before I found out Zoe was sick.
It was taken 10/26/12.

She was so soft, so weak. My heart ached for the little body resting on my chest. Finally, she had a massive seizure that seemed to just go on and on. I cried and prayed for God to save her, to make it stop. It did, eventually, and she took her last couple of breaths, then died. It was about 2:30 in the morning. 

I went in and woke my husband. My poor little punkin pig who had been so sick wasn't sick anymore. I went to bed, broken and sick at heart.

After I woke, my husband built her a little coffin, and we wrote on it. It says:

Zoe

7-22-10

11-3-12

Blessed be the Name of

the Lord.

The Lord gives, and the 
Lord

takes away. 

She was a precious gift.

Sweet faced li'l bown baby girl.

We buried her in the corner of our back yard, in the mum bed. We went out and found a new mum to look over her grave. It's darker-than-blood red. Almost black, in some lights. It was covered with buds, when we bought it, but only a few had opened into blooms. Now, it's mostly covered with flowers, and they stand guard over that little lifeless body buried in a box that was built with love.

Very few days have gone by, since then, that I haven't gone out and spent at least a few moments in that quiet place. Few days have gone by that I haven't cried at least a few tears for the loss of this precious little animal.

I kick myself in circles that I didn't do more, do better by her, treat her sooner, have the vet change her medications, or just appreciate what a gift she was quite as much when she was alive.  I don't know how many times I've said I'm sorry. To her grave, to her mother, to God. The truth of the matter is, she was my responsibility. While I didn't succeed in helping her get well and live, I hope that I wasn't such a horrible steward of her life and care.

My husband assures me that I treat them well. He says that it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't have known or done anything better, that I tried everything I knew to do to save her. He says, "You're not a vet, and you were treating her the way the vet said to treat her. You couldn't have known. You did the best you could." And I just keep kicking myself. And missing her.

The grave, the day she was
buried. 11/3/12

I try to pay more attention to the two remaining pigglies, now, though truth be told, I have given them lots of attention all along. They remind me how much she loved people, just by being less interested. The first time I held Zephyr after Zoe's death, when I took her back to the cage, she spent several minutes looking in all the tunnels, making the mama pig move so she could see behind her, and basically asking, "Where's my sister?" it was heartbreaking. I broke down and wept.

When I feed them, I still subconsciously look for that little nose, then sadden when it's not there. She used to sit in this almost perfectly round ball with her hair puffed up when she'd eat. If you'd pet her while she was eating, she'd scoot straight backwards really fast to get away. It was ridiculously cute. No one does that anymore.

Sometimes, when I'm working, I look over, half-expecting to see her little face pointed my direction, wanting to know what I'm doing. It's not there. I wish I had a picture of that.

Maybe it's ridiculous for an adult to have little pets like these. Maybe I'm a little too crazy about them. Maybe I should be less emotionally attached to animals, who have such short life spans. Maybe. 

Maybe my grief should be easing now. Maybe it is. Maybe she has become a bit of a symbol of more regrets than just my care for her. Maybe the fact that this was my first close experience with death as an adult has made it all hit harder. Maybe.

Here are some things I know. I understand more about how God feels about me because I have little, helpless animals. I know that eternity is real and that death is unnatural. I know that my husband is the kind, caring, considerate man that I thought he was when I married him, because he has treated my grief and love with such gentleness and respect. I know that God understands my grief, probably better than I do.

And one final thing I know is true. 

Tiny little lives matter. 

Much love and many tears, 

LL~

Modesty Begins in the Heart: Part 2

Source

See Part 1 here.

I have been brought to, God only knows how, blogs written by a couple of lovely ladies who have, in gentle loving-kindness given me much to consider. I say "God only knows" because I wasn't searching for these blogs, but just came across them while web-surfing. I couldn't tell you how I found them, only that God brought me to them because He wanted me to hear His heart in a way that each of them are excellent at communicating.

The two blogs in particular are The Modest Mom (Caroline) and Large Families on Purpose (Erika), though there are also others that have helped me think through these things. Both Caroline and Erika are homeschooling moms with multiple children. I can tell you from reading their blogs that they each love the Lord, and their hearts are all about their families, and the women that they can love and serve through their writing.

The thing that struck me about these two beautiful women was that, while they have strong, unwavering, unshakable beliefs, they are so loving and kind that they present their beliefs in ways that make you want to hug them and know them better, not in such a way that you want to punch them in their respective noses. That is, in my experience with "church people" over the years, a unique grace, and one that I hope someday will be true of me. These women are living examples of that old saying about tact. You know the one. Tact is getting your point across without stabbing someone with it.

I know, as I read their blogs, that no one will ever convince Erika or Caroline to change their minds on something that God has taught them. I also know that, when either of them is confronted by people who have convictions opinions that are contradictory to what God teaches in His word and through His spirit, that she will love that person well, and instruct her in righteousness with grace. I know this, because I've read it. You can hear their hearts in their words. Modesty's not just a rule they live by, it's an outpouring of their love for God and their desire to live as God's woman, regardless of what others may or may not think.

The reason I'm talking about that here is that it is foundational to what modesty is all about. As C.J. Mahaney discusses it, modesty is about three things: the attitude, the appearance, and the allegiance of the modest woman. A woman who is truly modest, is modest in her heart first, due to the transforming effect of the gospel. This affects her appearance, and it conveys her allegiance. What Caroline and Erika write on their blogs is evidence of this transforming effect. Their hearts, their attitudes, and their allegiance are all evident, and the love they share is poured out visibly in their modesty of dress and appearance.

Caroline from The Modest Mom and Amy from Raising Arrows did a series called She Wears Skirts that bounced back and forth between their blogs. The series talks about why they wear skirts, and not pants. It talks about the convictions that God had given them regarding the modesty of their appearance, and it goes into much more detail than I will here, about why they believe it's more modest and less distracting, more feminine and less lust-provoking to wear skirts.

The bottom line of these ladies' personal dress codes? They are motivated by love. They want to love their Christian brothers well, by not distracting them from what God has for them to do, and by not inspiring in them anything that would cause them to fight a battle with sin and lust.

As I began to say in the first part of this series, I have been realizing that my personal clothing choices are evidence of the state of my heart, and that has become a matter of great concern to me. I'll tell you this, it's hard to look attractive, and be modestly dressed, when you're busty. Even if the rest of me is appropriately attired, sheer volume in the chest area can be an issue. It's difficult to find shirts or dresses that fit properly in the chest and don't look like a sack of potatoes on the rest of me. I'm growing resigned to the fact that I fare better wearing skirts and blouses/shirts than dresses, in most cases, and many times more than one layer on top.

It's tough, for someone who is as warm-natured as I am, to wear multiple layers in the summer without overheating. I've learned that certain fabrics are more comfortable than others, and that tighter layers are often less breathable. Nobody wants to sweat all the time. Want to know something funny? I've found that wearing sleeveless or strappy shirts doesn't create as much of a wicking effect as wearing a couple of layers. I actually sweat less, and look (and feel) fresher if I'm wearing a shirt with sleeves, and more so with a cami or tank under it. All that moisture gets absorbed and dissipates faster. I don't know how it works, but it does.

My personal opinion on this is that when I make modesty a deciding factor in what I choose to wear, God honors that, and He takes care of my comfort, too. He knows when I'm doing right, when my heart is right, and He honors it. If it wasn't important, it wouldn't be addressed in the Bible. If it's important to God, then it should be important to me. If I seek always to please my heavenly Father, then why not do something He's already said is pleasing to Him?

Let's look at a little bit of Mahaney's sermon, taken from 1Timothy, chapter 2:

The 'women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel.' That would be her appearance. And her attitude is emphasized... 'with modesty and self-control.' All respectable apparel is the fruit of a godly heart. Ladies, your wardrobe is a public statement of your personal and private motivation. And if you profess godliness, your motivation is to be distinct from our culture... It is to be motivated by modesty and self-control... 

A modest heart always precedes modest dress. Modesty is humility expressed in dress, a desire to serve others, particularly men, and not promote or provoke sensuality or lust. Modesty, self-control... Moderation for the purpose of purity...

John MacArthur has written, 'How does a woman discern the sometimes fine line between proper dress and dressing to be the center of attention? The answer starts in the intent of the heart. A woman should examine her motives and goals for the way she dresses. Is her intent to show the grace and beauty of womanhood? Is it to reveal a humble heart devoted to worshiping God? Or is it to call attention to herself and flaunt her beauty, or worse, to attempt to allure men sexually? A woman who focuses on worshiping God will consider carefully how she is dressed, because her heart will dictate her wardrobe and appearance.'

Whose attention do you desire, and whose approval do you crave?...

Is your wardrobe modest, evidencing self-control and respectable apparel? Every outfit, no exceptions?

...what is to be noticeable about a woman professing godliness is not her wardrobe, but her good works. There is to be this observable lifestyle of serving others. That is the appropriate... godly adornment for women who profess to be Christians. That is, in effect, the transforming effect of the gospel...

What is most eye catching about you-- your clothing, or your character?

See, Paul isn't simply advocating modesty in dress. He is insisting that more time be devoted, more energy be devoted to spiritual adornment in the form of good works. And he is warning about excessive attention devoted to appearance to the neglect of good works. 

Please, please do not misinterpret. Do not misunderstand. Do not misapply this message. Paul is not a conservative... This isn't some general appeal for morality. This, modesty, it is about the gospel... That is the transforming effect of the gospel. Modest hearts, respectable apparel, good works. The woman who loves the Savior avoids immodesty because she doesn't want at any time to distract from or reflect poorly upon the gospel.

That is the godly woman's concern-- that her attitude and her appearance reveal her allegiance to this Savior who was her substitute and provided her the ransom from her sin. And so, there is to be no contradiction between her profession of godliness and her practice of godliness. 

~Excerpted from "The Soul of Modesty"

C.J. Mahaney

29 January 2008 

Moderation for the purpose of purity. The fruit of a godly heart. A public statement of my personal and private motivation. Humility expressed in dress. There is to be no contradiction between my profession of godliness and my practice of godliness.

I can tell you, when I've ever thought about modesty, before now-- in all those high school conversations, in all the teaching I've heard-- it's always been about rules. It's always been about meeting some standard, measured in inches. Inches of length on skirts or shorts. Inches from the collarbone on the necklines of blouses, and heaven forfend you should even consider a halter top. Those are OUT. (Funny how some halter tops are more modest than some blouses with sleeves or tank-tops with the required one-inch width straps.)

1 Timothy 1:9 says that "the law is not made for a righteous person, but for the lawless and insubordinate." In all those debates about the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law, we somehow missed this point. Modesty of dress is outward evidence of the state of our hearts. Immodesty is an expression of arrogance. Modesty is an expression of humility and love. It's not about the rules defining modesty as certain length or width. It's about being humble and loving, as Jesus is.

As I continue to pursue holiness, as the Holy Spirit brings to mind things that He wants me to address, I pray for humility. Pride has always been an issue for me. I believe it's the most ubiquitous and insidious of sins for all of us. It's what Lucifer embraced and got him kicked out of God's presence, and it was there in the garden of Eden. It's the seed of nearly every kind of sin I can imagine. As God continues to work in me to purge me of this, I have to keep addressing different areas. Now, modesty is the main one that God's working on in me.

I put a yellow sticky note in my closet where I can see it each time I dress. It says, "Immodesty is an expression of arrogance." I pray, when I see it, or when I think of it, that God would kill the root of pride in my heart. That He would overcome my arrogance and give me humility. I try to dress in ways that reflect the character that God is developing in me. I don't always succeed completely, but I'm learning as I go. God is faithful to teach me, each day. He is producing holiness, His holiness, in me. I pray that He would make me pure so that I can bring glory to His name.

Much love,
LL~

"This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our savior who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth... that the women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with propriety and moderation, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or costly clothing, but which is proper for women professing godliness, with good works."  ~1Timothy 2:3-4, 9-10 (NKJV)~

Modesty Begins in the Heart: Part 1

(Created here)

I just finished taking 5 pages of notes on the sermon "The Soul of Modesty" by Pastor C.J. Mahaney (sermon audio and transcript available at the link), which is excerpted in the video I embedded in this post. (Video found, courtesy of The Modest Mom.) I hadn't realized that the link to the entire sermon was in the description on the video's youtube page. I'm SO glad I found it and was able to hear the entire sermon.

I grew up in a Christian home. My parents sent my brother and I to Christian schools. We were at church every time the door opened. We learned to volunteer, to serve, to have manners, and to live differently than those around us. 

I developed early, probably linked to my Polycystic Ovarian Disease. I was wearing a bra (not a training bra, mind you, the real thing) by third grade. I remember wearing a sun dress to my brother's baseball game one evening, right after getting bras. My mom looked at me, at the field, and said, "How come you're not wearing your new bra?" My response was, "I could see it through my dress." The dress was pretty, and girly, soft sunshine yellow and the front of it had white eyelet lace on it. She replied that if I could see my bra through the dress, then it was also possible to see my body through my dress. I think that was the first time that modesty, in an adult body sense ever dawned on my brain. 

Source

At some point around the time of junior high, I suppose, I became aware more fully of the issue. My parents were always careful with my appearance. They made sure what I wore was modest, and I vaguely recall that being something discussed with clothing choices. 

In High School, I remember conversations about legalism in relation to modesty. Whole class periods were sometimes devoted to "discussions"  about the spirit of the law versus the letter of the law, legalism, what an appropriate standard should take into consideration, exceptions to the rules, etc. Sometimes I wonder what the teachers were thinking, letting this stuff rage on and never addressing the heart of the issue.

Our school had a policy that skirts (which were worn every day) must touch the floor when you kneel. Another school had a policy of 3" longer than fingertip length (which I thought was really odd, because especially during puberty when bodies are changing, arm-length doesn't always change at the same speed as height & leg-length...). Kneeling-length made sense to me. The rule even applied to our cheerleading skirts (which were actually skorts), and some people tried to play the "That's dangerous! They'll get tangled up when they do stunts!" card. (Which is ludicrous, I might add. We were never endangered by the length of our uniforms. Besides, if a stunt couldn't be done safely, we wouldn't have been permitted to do it.)

Having slogged our way through these murky waters, and having conformed to the touches-the-floor-while-kneeling standard, I (and probably most of the girls from my school) thought I had a pretty basic understanding of modesty. Got it. I'm good. I know it when I see it. No, really. That is, until God started bringing it to my attention, just this year.

I'm thirty-two years old. I'm a very visually-stimulated person. I have to be very cautious with shows that I watch, pictures I see, books I read, because I get mental images in my mind that I can't get rid of. 

Source

That creepy scene from that movie? Yeah, it may not give me a nightmare tonight, but 6 years from now, I might have one. It stays in there. I've learned that if the preview is creepy or seems dark or twisted, it's better that I don't see it at all. I've learned that it's safer for me to avert my eyes when I see a guy jogging down the street shirtless, because I don't ever want to compare my husband to him, or have that image of him pop up at a time when my focus should be on something else. I've learned that my mind will construct images to go with things I read, so I need to restrict my reading habits to things that are going to give me good mental images, not sinful ones.

In this way, my brain is wired much more like a man's than like most women's. Part of that is probably due to the over-production of testosterone and androgen in a woman with polycystic ovaries, but whatever the cause, the end result is the same. It makes me more aware of what men deal with on a daily basis. So I've become very protective of my mind and my imagination over the last few years. 

Yet, I still thought I didn't have any misunderstandings about modesty, even while wearing clothing that showcased my cleavage, my hourglass shape, or was simply too tight. God has been systematically revealing to me, over recent months, that the things I know I have to guard my mind from and avoid are the same things that I have exposed my brothers in Christ to, and that they must guard their minds, eyes, and hearts from me. Whoa. 

Stay tuned for Part 2.

Much love,

LL~

My Best Friend(s): Mumsy

Mumsy by our pool in Raymore

Yes, I really do call her Mumsy. Or, occasionally, Momma. Mumsy can be abbreviated Mmz, but if your phone (or other tech gadget) has the feature where it announces who is calling, or a voice recognition feature, it will NOT, I repeat NOT recognize MMZ as "Mumsy," just in case you were wondering. A few phones back, I had the caller announcement feature turned on, and it always said, "Incoming call from M. M. Z." She calls me "Tootsie" which gets abbreviated as 2tz. Aren't we cute?

{Random sidenote: a few weeks ago, I had my phone on the car dock while driving and somehow it decided it was going to read incoming text messages to me. My husband responded to my most recent message (sent before driving, by the way) with "Kk" and it sounded like it was clearing its throat. It was hilarious! "Message from Husband: (gagging sound). Say 'repeat' to repeat." Of COURSE I repeated it. Half a dozen times. "(gagging sound)" "Repeat!" "(gagging sound)" "Repeat!"...}

I just got off the phone with her and was thinking about how I needed to write this post. Part of the trouble I've had is deciding where to begin on the posts about each of my parents. There's just so much to say, and it's so personal, and important, and heart-felt. How do you begin to say all that a parent really means? Where do I start? Childhood? Now? Parenting? Friendship? What aspect do I feature first, and how do I begin to cover all that I mean to say?

All that, and a snappy dress-er, too!

Last night I finished a book (shocker) called "Managers of Their Homes" by Steven and Teri Maxwell. I was telling my Mumsy about it, and after we hung up, I started getting a little teary-eyed. You see, she has always been the very best example of what godly womanhood looks like. I don't think I've ever heard anyone speak badly of her, or even neutrally of her, for that matter. She is a woman of honor and grace, kindness and gentility, an embodiment of the fruits of the Spirit, if ever I've met one. I've never known a person, male or female, who was as caring and considerate as my mother. If I've ever needed an example, a word of encouragement, good advice, or listening ear, she's the one who could provide each of those things best.

I may have mentioned previously that when I got married last year, I had high expectations of myself. Part of the reason for that is due to the fact that this beautiful lady has shown me all my life that it's possible to have an organized, clean home, deliberate relationships, be calm, cool, and collected, yet warm, open, and inviting, and look good doing it. Let's just say that I found out that takes practice. Lots, and lots, and lots, and LOTS of practice. I'm getting there, little by little, and she's my own personal cheerleading squad, encouraging from the sidelines, handing out compliments, encouragement, and even the occasional (much-needed, usually) kick in the pants. *Smile*

Momma visiting me for my birthday,
my semester in Europe.
Zurich, CH airport.

My mom was amazing when I was a kid. She managed our home with aplomb, baking homemade bread on a weekly basis, keeping up with countless correspondents, volunteering in the church, and creating such a welcoming environment that we seldom went to friends' houses. They all wanted to come to ours! She taught me songs like "Ferdinand the Bull" and "Summertime" (from Porgy & Bess), Bible verses and lessons, and poems that taught me more about who she was and how I want to be than she might ever know.

"I have wept through the night

For the shortness of  sight

That to somebody's need made me blind,

But I never have yet

Felt a twinge of regret

For being a little too kind."

No wonder no one has anything bad to say about her! What mean thing can you say about someone whose whole mission in life is always to be a little kinder to everyone around them?

And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you. ~Ephesians 4:32, NKJV~

There was this one time that she was trying to get us to read this book ("Enthusiasm Makes the Difference," by Norman Vincent Peale) together as a family. I don't remember where she got it, or why she wanted to read it to us, but it, for whatever reason, wasn't something we wanted to read. I still remember the little cheerleading cheer she used to do around the house, trying to get us excited to read this book. I also still remember some of the places we used to hide that book from her. :) When I called her to ask if that was the right book, she said, "Yes, why? Would you like me to send it to you?"

Mumsy, my sister, and I were
bridesmaids in my sister's wedding.
August 2005

Back to the Managers of Their Homes book... This book was written for homeschooling families, to help them develop a livable, functional schedule when there are many people doing many things in what is sometimes a very small space. It is an EXCELLENT book. I actually bought two, one for me, and one for a gift for someone else. It's going on my favorites list.

So I was telling Mumsy about this book that I had just finished, and how excellent I thought it was. I sat there and read her a few of the parts I had underlined, over the phone, and then told her how well I felt it fit in with how she had taught me to order my homemaking to-do items.

I'll probably write a whole post on this later, but when I was in elementary school, Mumsy taught me to keep track of the things I need to get done, using an index card file. I'm naturally a "creative" type individual. (Yes, in quotation marks.) In other words, I don't naturally fall on the organized-and-squared-away side of things. That doesn't mean that I don't have order around me, just that my version of "order" may not appear orderly to any outside observer.

I, like my father, tend to live in piles. They drive me bonkers, but that's my tendency. My mother, on the other hand, lives by lists. She's a very squared away individual, but she's so warm that it's not a condescending form of order. (My mind goes to Martha Stewart, here.) When I got married, she (Mumsy, not Martha) spent a whole day with me helping me prepare and organize a new index card file, because I asked her to. I knew that if she could do it so well for so many years, that she could help me do it, too. She did.

Correspondent Extraordinaire!

This is the woman who remembers to send greeting cards for all occasions to most of the people she's met in her life. Birthdays, Anniversaries, Condolences, Easter, Thanksgiving, St. Patrick's Day, Tuesdays-- all are worthy of cards. Anytime she travels anywhere, the kids and grandkids get postcards. She travels often, though not usually very far.

I have no idea how much she spends on postage and cards each year, but I'm betting it's its own line item in my parents' budget. She taught me her secrets to that, too. Now, my husband's side of the family are surprised to have begun receiving mementos and cards as times and seasons pass. It's something he says I do well. I know better. It's something I wouldn't think to do at all, but my Mumsy taught me to make others in my life a priority.

So, the woman who has told me regularly for the last however many years that I'm her hero, is really mine. If the subject has ever come up in conversation, you've probably heard me say, "I hope that someday I can be half the woman that my mom is." And it's true. She's the truest of friends, the noblest of mothers, the most honorable of women, the most steadfast of prayer warriors, and the humblest of Christ-followers. When I look at her, I see all I want to be, the goodness, the honesty, the love, the kindness, the faithfulness, the (yes) enthusiasm, the organization, the intentionality, the awareness, the loyalty, the humor, the delight, the dignity, the hilarity, the joy... The list goes on and on. This is the woman I am blessed, beyond belief, to call my Mumsy. My Best Friend.

Much love,
2tz~

Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things. The things which you learned and received and heard and saw in me, these do, and the God of peace will be with you. 

~Philippians 4:8-9, NKJV, Mumsy's favorite passage~

Sharing Five: Random Fun

It seems like a lot of my posts have been heavy, lately. A lot of topics that aren't fun, light-hearted, and enjoyable. I need a break. Do you? Here are some things that make me smile, in the order of how they happen to occur to me at the moment.

1. Little furry animals. Specifically, these three, but also little furry animals in general. Aren't they cute?

Precious piggies. (L-R = Zoe, Zelma, & Zephyr)

It's entirely possible that I'm a little too tender-hearted when it comes to little fuzzy things. I love the chipmunks that live in our yard, while my husband wants them to stop digging holes. I call the mousetraps my husband keeps setting "death machines." (He's so good, though, he always makes sure I don't find whatever gets caught. I don't do well with killing little critters. Melt-down trigger!) I even had a conversation two mornings in a row with a squirrel that was climbing our brick exterior bedroom wall and sitting on our window sill, chirping. (Apparently, he didn't enjoy the conversation much, because he doesn't do that anymore.)

I have a Pinterest Board labeled "Cute." Here are a few of the pictures from it. Fuzzy animals, see?

Source.

Source

Source.

Source.

2. Lying in bed, late at night, wide awake, listening to my darling husband snore like a congested lawn tractor breathe.

Now, I know that there are some people who can't deal with snoring, but I remember all too clearly the dozen plus years I would lie in bed at night wondering what it would be like to be married and be snuggled up to my husband instead of 9 feather pillows. I remember nights, lying awake, wondering how I'd manage to defend myself if someone broke in, or crying into a pillow in the darkness because of a heartache caused by my own selfishness or some guy's, or trying to imagine what life would be like in 5/10/20 years and who my husband would be, or hearing my mind spin with all the things that I had to do as a single woman living alone that would have been my husband's privilege and responsibility.

I remember those nights. Crystal clearly. Perhaps it's because I haven't yet been married a year, but I think it's more because I purposed to. I determined that I wasn't going to be a miserable person. Not single, and not married. I have known people who were miserable as single people. "I'll be happy when I'm in a relationship." They tended to be miserable as engaged people. "I'll be happy when we just get married and get all this waiting over with." Then, when they were miserable as married people, it wasn't that much of a surprise when they were miserable as divorced people, as well. I decided I wasn't going to be one of those people, holding themselves emotionally hostage. I enjoyed being single, with intention, and I looked forward to my engagement and marriage. I loved being engaged, with intention. I love being married. LOVE, love. <3

I guess it follows naturally that I love to lie in bed next to my dashingly handsome husband, listen to him breathe, and snuggle up to his warmth.

One other thing. About a week after we were married, I woke up in the middle of the night, and I couldn't hear him breathing. He was facing away from me, and in all probability, he was probably just breathing quietly. But, I couldn't hear him. And the way he was lying on his side, I couldn't see his body rise and fall with breath. It scared me. It scared me to think I was lying in bed with my brand new husband who might not be breathing, after all this waiting I did to finally get married, and we were just starting out, and I wouldn't even begin to know what to do, and what if he really was dead and I wouldn't even have any real memories of being married because we hadn't been married that long, and at this point I was kinda freaking out. Just a tad. So I reached over and tried to feel if he was breathing, and it woke him up and startled him. I can tell you I had never been so happy to be near a grumpy man in my life. It scared me just enough that when I lie there and he shifts position and goes into snore mode, I am happy to hear that sound. I thank God for that sound. I pray a prayer of thanksgiving for my husband.

Oh, and just to be clear, he's really not much of a snorer. His snoring isn't loud enough to be obnoxious. I'm a pretty deep sleeper, so if he snores while I sleep, I don't know it and it doesn't wake me. Most of the time he doesn't snore at all, but he does breathe deeply, and I love the sound of it. :) LOVE, love. <3

3. Reinterpretations of familiar icons. This one is from Pinterest, and because I don't have a tumblr account, I don't have any way of seeing the source. If you have it, tell me in the comments.

4. Genuine smiles. I can't help but smile when I see people smile and laugh in a genuine, heart-felt way. I came across this picture on Pinterest, and I just couldn't help but smile, so I pinned it to my "Giggles" board to help brighten some day in the future. 

Source.

5. Random stuff. Here are a few examples, also from my "Giggles" board. I don't have valid sources for any of these, so if you know them, tell me in the Comments. 

I think that's all for now. I hope you have a happy day!

Much love,
LL~