If He's renewing my youth like the eagle, why do I have all this gray hair?

Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name. Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget none of His benefits; who pardons all your iniquities, who heals all your diseases; who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion; who satisfies your years with good things, so that your youth is renewed like the eagle. Psalm 103:105

Lest you think that every day I grow more and more like Doris Day, that I am somehow morphing into June Cleaver and vacuuming in my high heels, I thought you'd enjoy my harrowing tale of yesterday.

It all began with toilet paper. We didn't have any. Okay, we had a little, but it's what we call the "emergency toilet paper," because if you draw a line down the middle of it, it is about the consistency of a kindergartner's writing tablet. No one in the house will survive for long with just the emergency toilet paper, so I had to strike out for the store early. We decided to let the kids sleep late and watch a little tv, because my sister has purchased for us a wonderful thing called a sling box, which allows us to watch her tv over our internet. It's something we first heard about at ILC, because lots and lots of missionaries are getting them. She's installing a dvr this weekend, so we can tape whatever we want. So, when my kids get up, they can watch Disney channel shows they love and give me a little peace before school. (I am not going to win mother of the year for the last sentence, but I'm past the point of worrying about that.) So I didn't get home until 10 from walking to the store, and the kids had not had breakfast, because Marc was in his language lesson. So after feeding them something, I realized it was too late to give John the medication he takes for ADHD. This always makes for a long day. Really, really long. I love him, but even medicated he's a handful. Without medication, he can be disastrous. So it all started with toilet paper.

I never got things together enough to really do a good day of school. It was spotty at best. I ran back and forth between the kitchen, where Hannah was working on math and getting ready for a history test, and the kids' room, where John was setting up empty bottles like bowling pins and teaching his stuffed animals how to subtract. Sarah Beth was in our room, reading about Robert E. Lee (who is beyond fascinating, by the way) and getting ready for a math and science test today. But between all of that, trying to look over my homework one last time before my lesson started, and getting lunch prepared for everyone...it was not my best home school day. So now, I'm not going to win mother of the year or home school teacher of the year. And to think that I spent all that money on formal gowns for the ceremonies!

My lesson went pretty well. Irina and I laughed our way (as usual) through the lesson. When she left, I did some research on a home school curriculum I'm really interested in, and started dinner. Then it all went downhill. John decided it would be fun to absolutely terrorize his sisters by acting like a dog. And not even a nice dog, but a biting dog. From there, it went to dinner, where John continued to act like a dog until he realized it was his favorite meal, and I wasn't going to give him any if he didn't quit the dog act. Then we put him in the bathtub, but the girls got into a fight. Then the straw that broke the camel's back--the cookies.

I don't want to brag, but I really make a great cookie. It's one of my strengths, and I've even kind of figured it out here, where the flour is different. So when the first grade teacher asked me to bring cookies to the Christmas party today (they invited John as a class...wasn't that great?), I was thrilled. Here is something I can do and do well. I decided to make sugar cookies, because John doesn't eat chocolate, and that way there are cookies there for him if everyone else brings something chocolate. Marc came in and I snapped at him. I don't even remember about what. When he asked me what was wrong, I collapsed in a sobbing heap. I didn't get to bring my cookie cutters. My Christmas cookies don't look like Christmas cookies. They look like little round circles. That's not Christmas-y. From there, it went downhill again. Suddenly, Christmas should be canceled because we simply couldn't have Christmas without my cookie cutters. And I can't make Christmas punch, which my children have had every single Christmas mornings of their lives, because they don't have the stuff here for it. And I can't make sausage balls for Christmas eve, because I don't know what sausage looks like here. You get the idea. Then it really went further downhill. When Marc wanted to know what was really wrong, the sobbing reply was that I missed my Mama and Daddy. I missed my church. I missed singing in the choir. I missed my best friends, who live thousands of miles from me now. How can I possibly do Christmas when I miss so much? How can we have Christmas without lunch at Gigi and Raleigh's? Then we had trouble getting John to sleep because he kept hitting against the wall, so I pulled the bed away from the wall. What I didn't know was that one of the legs was loose, so when I moved it, the legs fell off. You can imagine the gales of sobbing that brought on. Thankfully, we got John to sleep, and I went to bed myself, and I have to say that this morning, I feel better, though my eyes are puffy from all that crying.

So not every day is good. Not every day is even okay. But we are not alone. Even without my cookie cutters, Christmas will come. And like the Who's down in Whoville, we will gather around our Christmas tree and sing a song, welcoming the newborn Savior once again to a planet longing for His arrival. It will not be the same as always, because it can't be...but we will make new traditions in our new home, and God will show us the faithfulness, lovingkindness, and mercy that He always does. I pray that your family, no matter its circumstances, looks forward to heralding Christ's birth with us, wherever you happen to be on the globe. But let's agree to sing something normal, like "Silent Night," and not that weird song the Who's sing. Blessings to you and yours!
His,
Kellye