Bluebird

Spring was in the air when they met. She was immediately drawn to him. His voice called to her like it was meant only for her ears. He had beautiful deep eyes that she was sure were able to see into the depths of her very soul. They were meant to be together; mates for a lifetime.

Together they built their home. Piece by piece they arranged things until they were perfectly placed. Every detail was just as it should be.

The time came to begin a family. When he discovered that he was about to become a father his chest swelled with pride and he held his head just a little higher than before. She settled into the role of primary care giver. Their baby boy arrived alert and ready to take on the world.

Too soon he grew old enough to go out into the world alone. At first he practiced by taking short trips but soon the time came that his parent's home grew too small for him. He could hear the world calling his name. It was time to leave, so he hopped onto the side of the nest, spread his beautiful blue wings and flew away. At last the little bluebird was doing exactly what he was created to do. . . soar.

Bluebird

Spring was in the air when they met. She was immediately drawn to him. His voice called to her like it was meant only for her ears. He had beautiful deep eyes that she was sure were able to see into the depths of her very soul. They were meant to be together; mates for a lifetime.

Together they built their home. Piece by piece they arranged things until they were perfectly placed. Every detail was just as it should be.

The time came to begin a family. When he discovered that he was about to become a father his chest swelled with pride and he held his head just a little higher than before. She settled into the role of primary care giver. Their baby boy arrived alert and ready to take on the world.

Too soon he grew old enough to go out into the world alone. At first he practiced by taking short trips but soon the time came that his parent's home grew too small for him. He could hear the world calling his name. It was time to leave, so he hopped onto the side of the nest, spread his beautiful blue wings and flew away. At last the little bluebird was doing exactly what he was created to do. . . soar.

I Hear His Drum

I am not a sinless person. There has only been one perfect sinless person and His own people crucified Him. He was blameless. He not only loved; He is love. Yet, He was accused of things He didn't do, His words were twisted into things He didn't say, He was beaten, forsaken, betrayed, misunderstood, left to carry His burdens alone in His darkest and scariest hour. His best friend denied knowing Him three times in one night after just telling Him that he would never betray Him. He prayed and cried alone in a darkened garden because His closest friends were too tired to stay awake to watch and pray with Him. He was so anguished that his sweat became as blood yet the ones who loved Him the most couldn't see how much He needed them that night.

I do not believe that people are basically good at heart as I have heard people say. That my friend is not a fib, but as a three year old little girl once told me, "that's a lie." I am sorry if that offends you but it is merely the truth. God's Word tells us that all have sinned. There is not one who is good. We are born in sin, it is who we are to the utter core. Lost, wretched sinners. Selfish, lustful, hateful people trying desperately to justify our actions.

I am a detailed person, an information freak, a person who hears about a strange new disease and immediately writes it down so I can research it as soon as I can find a computer. I have to see it for myself so I am able to process it and make up my own mind.

I am a doubter. I can relate to Jesus' disciple Thomas. I feel like Thomas got a bum rap. He was just the kind of person who wanted to see it for himself. If I see Him, hear His voice, and touch His nail scarred hands, then will I believe. That is me. Not about Jesus but about almost everything else. I don't want to take your word for it, I don't need the opinions of anyone in deciding whether something is true or not. I am an educated woman and am capable of looking at the evidence and making up my own mind on a matter. I will go to the source for the information I need and not take the word of others when there is evidence available for me to look at and decide for myself. I guess that rubs people the wrong way. I am sorry if you can't understand that I will not blindly follow the popular path.

I march to the beat of a different drummer and will rise when the sound as that drum turns into the blast of a trumpet when my Jesus returns. I am His, and He is mine. I count it all joy when trials come to me. I know He is perfecting me, allowing me to be broken apart so He can mold me closer into His image.

I Hear His Drum

I am not a sinless person. There has only been one perfect sinless person and His own people crucified Him. He was blameless. He not only loved; He is love. Yet, He was accused of things He didn't do, His words were twisted into things He didn't say, He was beaten, forsaken, betrayed, misunderstood, left to carry His burdens alone in His darkest and scariest hour. His best friend denied knowing Him three times in one night after just telling Him that he would never betray Him. He prayed and cried alone in a darkened garden because His closest friends were too tired to stay awake to watch and pray with Him. He was so anguished that his sweat became as blood yet the ones who loved Him the most couldn't see how much He needed them that night.

I do not believe that people are basically good at heart as I have heard people say. That my friend is not a fib, but as a three year old little girl once told me, "that's a lie." I am sorry if that offends you but it is merely the truth. God's Word tells us that all have sinned. There is not one who is good. We are born in sin, it is who we are to the utter core. Lost, wretched sinners. Selfish, lustful, hateful people trying desperately to justify our actions.

I am a detailed person, an information freak, a person who hears about a strange new disease and immediately writes it down so I can research it as soon as I can find a computer. I have to see it for myself so I am able to process it and make up my own mind.

I am a doubter. I can relate to Jesus' disciple Thomas. I feel like Thomas got a bum rap. He was just the kind of person who wanted to see it for himself. If I see Him, hear His voice, and touch His nail scarred hands, then will I believe. That is me. Not about Jesus but about almost everything else. I don't want to take your word for it, I don't need the opinions of anyone in deciding whether something is true or not. I am an educated woman and am capable of looking at the evidence and making up my own mind on a matter. I will go to the source for the information I need and not take the word of others when there is evidence available for me to look at and decide for myself. I guess that rubs people the wrong way. I am sorry if you can't understand that I will not blindly follow the popular path.

I march to the beat of a different drummer and will rise when the sound as that drum turns into the blast of a trumpet when my Jesus returns. I am His, and He is mine. I count it all joy when trials come to me. I know He is perfecting me, allowing me to be broken apart so He can mold me closer into His image.

Runts, Nipples, and Nourishment for Babies

Tonight I started reading Charlotte's Web to Sweet G. It is one of the classics I feel needs to be included in every child's education. I wasn't sure how attentive G would be since it is the longest book I have ever read to him added to the fact he really had his heart set on watching tv instead of reading anything.

As I started reading he was sulking. I read using lots of expression and try to capture the spirit of the characters by creating a voice I use for each individual in the book. I came to the line where Fern is pleading for the newborn pig's life and staying true to my typical style I raised my voice as I read. G was caught completely by surprise because he was so intent on not enjoying the book. He jumped and looked like he was about to cry as he said, "Why did you scream, Momma?"

"I raised my voice because that is what Fern did. She is upset that her Father is going to kill the piglet and I read it like I think she would have said it."

I now have his full attention. He begins to ask questions about the characters and is concerned and slightly amused that Fern's 10 year old brother has a gun (air rifle). We continue the story and I get to the part when Mrs. Arable is fixing a bottle for the baby piglet. The story says she put a rubber nipple on the bottle filled with milk. As I read that part I hear little giggles erupting from beside me. G is very amused and snorts, "Huh, rubber nipples? Who ever heard of rubber nipples?"

I begin to explain about baby bottles and the reason they call the tops nipples. G is shocked by knowing where babies get there milk. I explain that some animals as well as human mommys feed there babies from their breasts. He is relieved to find out he and Trey were not breast fed as babies. When I tell him the milk he drinks comes from a cow he is a little disgusted.

We watched a video showing a cow being milked on YouTube so he could see for himself where milk comes from. Now I am unsure if he will eat his typical breakfast of cereal and milk. I personally don't blame him if he doesn't because frankly the whole cow thing seems kind of gross to me too! Who knows what tomorrow morning will bring and just FYI if you see Sweet G and he starts talking about nipples you know what he's talking about and where it came from; complements of E.B. White.

Runts, Nipples, and Nourishment for Babies

Tonight I started reading Charlotte's Web to Sweet G. It is one of the classics I feel needs to be included in every child's education. I wasn't sure how attentive G would be since it is the longest book I have ever read to him added to the fact he really had his heart set on watching tv instead of reading anything.

As I started reading he was sulking. I read using lots of expression and try to capture the spirit of the characters by creating a voice I use for each individual in the book. I came to the line where Fern is pleading for the newborn pig's life and staying true to my typical style I raised my voice as I read. G was caught completely by surprise because he was so intent on not enjoying the book. He jumped and looked like he was about to cry as he said, "Why did you scream, Momma?"

"I raised my voice because that is what Fern did. She is upset that her Father is going to kill the piglet and I read it like I think she would have said it."

I now have his full attention. He begins to ask questions about the characters and is concerned and slightly amused that Fern's 10 year old brother has a gun (air rifle). We continue the story and I get to the part when Mrs. Arable is fixing a bottle for the baby piglet. The story says she put a rubber nipple on the bottle filled with milk. As I read that part I hear little giggles erupting from beside me. G is very amused and snorts, "Huh, rubber nipples? Who ever heard of rubber nipples?"

I begin to explain about baby bottles and the reason they call the tops nipples. G is shocked by knowing where babies get there milk. I explain that some animals as well as human mommys feed there babies from their breasts. He is relieved to find out he and Trey were not breast fed as babies. When I tell him the milk he drinks comes from a cow he is a little disgusted.

We watched a video showing a cow being milked on YouTube so he could see for himself where milk comes from. Now I am unsure if he will eat his typical breakfast of cereal and milk. I personally don't blame him if he doesn't because frankly the whole cow thing seems kind of gross to me too! Who knows what tomorrow morning will bring and just FYI if you see Sweet G and he starts talking about nipples you know what he's talking about and where it came from; complements of E.B. White.

Scars

Until recently if you had asked me to tell you the first thing I thought when you said the word scar I would have probably said unattractive or ugly. I might have said hurt, wounded, or damaged.

If you asked me the same question today I would say beautiful, amazing, healed, repaired, strengthened, improved. You may be asking yourself why my answer would be so different. The reason is simple. My Sweet G now, for the first time in his life has about 10 scars on his body. Up until his tendon lengthening surgery his skin was perfect, flawless.

The reason he had no scars on his body at almost eight years old is because of his cerebral palsy (CP). That may not make sense to you so I will explain. CP has robbed G of countless opportunities. He has never taken a step without physically holding onto something for support. He didn't toddle around the living room as a baby. He has never been able to go outside alone, go into the bathroom independently, or get out of his bed without someone there to assist him. He has never felt the wind on his face as he runs through the grass on a spring day. His heart has never raced after a thrilling game of tag. He has never played hide and seek or climbed a tree. When I saw G's unblemished skin I saw all the absence of bumps and bruises he has missed out on because of his CP.

I may sound like a nutcase but I mourn the fact that I have never cleaned up a skinned knee or picked a splinter out of his little finger. Anyone with children knows that a typical child goes through hundreds of bandages. Some are necessary while others only provide comfort or serve as a badge of pride. I still have a vivid image of T sitting on the bathroom counter, his knee skinned and bleeding. He has tears running down his little face as I clean his boo-boo and cover it with a band-aid. I can still smell the disinfectant and the scent of a freshly opened band-aid. I don't have those memories of G.

I caught a glimps of G's scars as we rode in the car today. What will others think when they see them? I couldn't help comparing G's physical scars to the emotional scars we all carry. In the beginning the thing that caused the scar was painful. Slowly over time healing begins to take place. Soon there is a scar where the damage had been. At first the scar is very obvious but as time passes it fades and becomes less noticeable.

The scars on Sweet G's legs serve as a beacon of hope to me. They remind me that we have new possibilities in front of us. His scars show that he has been improved, stretched farther than in my wildest imagination. He stands taller and prouder than before. The progress he has made is amazing. We are moving in a new direction. Sometimes it gets lonely and a little scary but we stay together and find strength to make it through another day. Each day gets brighter as we move along knowing that we did the right thing even though it wasn't easy.

Scars

Until recently if you had asked me to tell you the first thing I thought when you said the word scar I would have probably said unattractive or ugly. I might have said hurt, wounded, or damaged.

If you asked me the same question today I would say beautiful, amazing, healed, repaired, strengthened, improved. You may be asking yourself why my answer would be so different. The reason is simple. My Sweet G now, for the first time in his life has about 10 scars on his body. Up until his tendon lengthening surgery his skin was perfect, flawless.

The reason he had no scars on his body at almost eight years old is because of his cerebral palsy (CP). That may not make sense to you so I will explain. CP has robbed G of countless opportunities. He has never taken a step without physically holding onto something for support. He didn't toddle around the living room as a baby. He has never been able to go outside alone, go into the bathroom independently, or get out of his bed without someone there to assist him. He has never felt the wind on his face as he runs through the grass on a spring day. His heart has never raced after a thrilling game of tag. He has never played hide and seek or climbed a tree. When I saw G's unblemished skin I saw all the absence of bumps and bruises he has missed out on because of his CP.

I may sound like a nutcase but I mourn the fact that I have never cleaned up a skinned knee or picked a splinter out of his little finger. Anyone with children knows that a typical child goes through hundreds of bandages. Some are necessary while others only provide comfort or serve as a badge of pride. I still have a vivid image of T sitting on the bathroom counter, his knee skinned and bleeding. He has tears running down his little face as I clean his boo-boo and cover it with a band-aid. I can still smell the disinfectant and the scent of a freshly opened band-aid. I don't have those memories of G.

I caught a glimps of G's scars as we rode in the car today. What will others think when they see them? I couldn't help comparing G's physical scars to the emotional scars we all carry. In the beginning the thing that caused the scar was painful. Slowly over time healing begins to take place. Soon there is a scar where the damage had been. At first the scar is very obvious but as time passes it fades and becomes less noticeable.

The scars on Sweet G's legs serve as a beacon of hope to me. They remind me that we have new possibilities in front of us. His scars show that he has been improved, stretched farther than in my wildest imagination. He stands taller and prouder than before. The progress he has made is amazing. We are moving in a new direction. Sometimes it gets lonely and a little scary but we stay together and find strength to make it through another day. Each day gets brighter as we move along knowing that we did the right thing even though it wasn't easy.

No Longer Their Victim

Lately I have spent a lot of my time thinking about the things that really matter to me-the principles that I refuse to waiver on. I have learned so much about the things that I am passionate about that I never realized before. The thing that is first and foremost on my list at the moment is standing by someone who is being hurt or persecuted in some way.

As a young girl I was extremely shy. I remember a time when I only spoke in front of around 7 people who were all part of my immediate family. I probably wouldn't have spoken aloud in front of them if more than 3 of them were present at one time. I remember being so afraid to talk to my aunts and uncles. I never remember speaking directly to my paternal grandfather aside from common pleasantries-and then only when absolutely necessary. My granddad was a man of few words and I guess I perceived him as being cold, harsh, and unapproachable. Looking back I am not so sure I was right about him. We kind of danced around each other every weekend that I spent in his home while visiting my dad which is really sad to think about.

I guess being a child of divorce caused me to have a victim mentality. I wonder if I would be the same person I am today if I had not experienced the pain of living a broken family life. Would my self esteem and confidence be stronger? I don't think I will ever heal completely from the hurt I endured silently, unnoticed by everyone around me. However, it was all allowed by God. He knew me before I was even conceived. He knit me together in my mother's womb, taking special care to create me uniquely and perfect for the purpose He had in mind for me.

I went through much of my life feeling victimized and bullied. I was timid and vulnerable. That may sound like a bad thing to you because it did to me until recently. Looking at it now I am beginning to see God's purpose in planting me where He did and in allowing me to experience the hurt that I did. In the course of the last few days I have seen that I have a passion for protecting the innocent no matter what it may cost me personally.

I recently found myself in a situation where I was forced to make an instant decision to stand and listen to a verbal rant about a person I see as a victim or to come to that person's defense. I chose to bear my claws and come out fighting. I now see why I reacted so strongly. I see myself in that young girls eyes. I see it in the way she carries herself, the way she talks, the way she tries to please those around her. Just like me she is looking for acceptance. She is searching for a way to fit into a world where she doesn't belong. Alone, afraid, silently carrying her burden. Unlike me she is not alone any longer. I stand with her. I take up her fight even though she may never know what I did for her or how very much I was required to pay when I stood in her place. I know someone else who stood in another's place. It cost Him His life. When faced with the decision to stand for those too weak to save themselves He stretched out His arms and allowed the attackers to nail Him to a cross.

I am a weak, fallible person. I make mistakes day by day, hour by hour and sometimes minute by minute but I serve a God that understands my weakness and loves me in spite of it. Just as He stood in my place I will stand for those I see in need. I will daily take up my cross and follow Him. I am not a victim. I am not alone. He walks with me.

No Longer Their Victim

Lately I have spent a lot of my time thinking about the things that really matter to me-the principles that I refuse to waiver on. I have learned so much about the things that I am passionate about that I never realized before. The thing that is first and foremost on my list at the moment is standing by someone who is being hurt or persecuted in some way.

As a young girl I was extremely shy. I remember a time when I only spoke in front of around 7 people who were all part of my immediate family. I probably wouldn't have spoken aloud in front of them if more than 3 of them were present at one time. I remember being so afraid to talk to my aunts and uncles. I never remember speaking directly to my paternal grandfather aside from common pleasantries-and then only when absolutely necessary. My granddad was a man of few words and I guess I perceived him as being cold, harsh, and unapproachable. Looking back I am not so sure I was right about him. We kind of danced around each other every weekend that I spent in his home while visiting my dad which is really sad to think about.

I guess being a child of divorce caused me to have a victim mentality. I wonder if I would be the same person I am today if I had not experienced the pain of living a broken family life. Would my self esteem and confidence be stronger? I don't think I will ever heal completely from the hurt I endured silently, unnoticed by everyone around me. However, it was all allowed by God. He knew me before I was even conceived. He knit me together in my mother's womb, taking special care to create me uniquely and perfect for the purpose He had in mind for me.

I went through much of my life feeling victimized and bullied. I was timid and vulnerable. That may sound like a bad thing to you because it did to me until recently. Looking at it now I am beginning to see God's purpose in planting me where He did and in allowing me to experience the hurt that I did. In the course of the last few days I have seen that I have a passion for protecting the innocent no matter what it may cost me personally.

I recently found myself in a situation where I was forced to make an instant decision to stand and listen to a verbal rant about a person I see as a victim or to come to that person's defense. I chose to bear my claws and come out fighting. I now see why I reacted so strongly. I see myself in that young girls eyes. I see it in the way she carries herself, the way she talks, the way she tries to please those around her. Just like me she is looking for acceptance. She is searching for a way to fit into a world where she doesn't belong. Alone, afraid, silently carrying her burden. Unlike me she is not alone any longer. I stand with her. I take up her fight even though she may never know what I did for her or how very much I was required to pay when I stood in her place. I know someone else who stood in another's place. It cost Him His life. When faced with the decision to stand for those too weak to save themselves He stretched out His arms and allowed the attackers to nail Him to a cross.

I am a weak, fallible person. I make mistakes day by day, hour by hour and sometimes minute by minute but I serve a God that understands my weakness and loves me in spite of it. Just as He stood in my place I will stand for those I see in need. I will daily take up my cross and follow Him. I am not a victim. I am not alone. He walks with me.

Jesus Weeps

Tonight as I was casually browsing through my long list of blogs I came upon a post entitled "Love Never Fails" from Big Mama's blog. That post as well as an article a friend linked on facebook today have spoken to me or rather God spoke to me through them.

Today was Sweet G's long therapy day so I met my husband for lunch. As we ate we talked about all that is going on in our lives. We questioned how our intentions and feelings could be so misunderstood. We are heartbroken that others see us as the bad guys in a situation we had nothing to do with. We saw where things were headed and in our obviously poor communication failed to get our message across clearly.

I told my husband after he prayed over our food that I cringed when he prayed for those involved. I went on to say how wrong I know it is for me to feel that way. Realizing my feelings are wrong is the first step toward forgiveness. I know I need to, that I am commanded to, but right now I just don't want to. I am hurt and feel like I have been backed into a corner. That isn't such a good place for me to be! I don't like being bullied and don't stand in corners for long. I know that is something that God is working on because He keeps allowing me to face situations that place me directly into the corner so to speak.

I also need to ask for forgiveness from a few people. Don't ya just love doing that. I am struggling with feeling justified in my anger because I keep hearing a little voice say, "They started it. They yelled at me first. The first insult came from them and was aimed at me."

The truth is that I don't want to be the kind of person who won't ask forgiveness or give forgiveness. I will do both in time but it is hard to ask forgiveness when you have been accused of things you didn't say or didn't mean in the way the person perceived what you said. It is also impossible to explain your point of view when the other person attacks you verbally and won't give you a chance to talk without being interrupted.

The article I read today spoke about overcoming fear. Although I am not experiencing that particular emotion right now there were things in that article that spoke straight to my heart. One thing the article said was to imagine Christ kneeling in a room of your house praying for you. I will describe what I see.

I see His nail scarred hands folded in prayer. I hear Him as He pleads for God to show me grace and mercy. Tears fall as He asks the Father to soften my calloused heart. He begs for me to be comforted and protected from the fiery darts being shot at me. "Keep her safe Father. Send healing to her heart. Forgive her stubbornness and remove the scales covering her eyes so she may see Your truth. She's mine, Father. Pick her up and hold her in Your loving arms. Whisper comforting words in her ear. Surround her with Your presence. Dry her tears and lead her to the throne. Strengthen her to make it through another day. Renew her joy and fill her with your Holy Spirit until it splashes all around her. Carry her through this storm until she is strong enough to walk beside You. I love her Father. She is covered by my blood. I paid the cost for her. Show her she has a future and a hope and thank you dear Father for the plans you have in store for her."

Jesus Weeps

Tonight as I was casually browsing through my long list of blogs I came upon a post entitled "Love Never Fails" from Big Mama's blog. That post as well as an article a friend linked on facebook today have spoken to me or rather God spoke to me through them.

Today was Sweet G's long therapy day so I met my husband for lunch. As we ate we talked about all that is going on in our lives. We questioned how our intentions and feelings could be so misunderstood. We are heartbroken that others see us as the bad guys in a situation we had nothing to do with. We saw where things were headed and in our obviously poor communication failed to get our message across clearly.

I told my husband after he prayed over our food that I cringed when he prayed for those involved. I went on to say how wrong I know it is for me to feel that way. Realizing my feelings are wrong is the first step toward forgiveness. I know I need to, that I am commanded to, but right now I just don't want to. I am hurt and feel like I have been backed into a corner. That isn't such a good place for me to be! I don't like being bullied and don't stand in corners for long. I know that is something that God is working on because He keeps allowing me to face situations that place me directly into the corner so to speak.

I also need to ask for forgiveness from a few people. Don't ya just love doing that. I am struggling with feeling justified in my anger because I keep hearing a little voice say, "They started it. They yelled at me first. The first insult came from them and was aimed at me."

The truth is that I don't want to be the kind of person who won't ask forgiveness or give forgiveness. I will do both in time but it is hard to ask forgiveness when you have been accused of things you didn't say or didn't mean in the way the person perceived what you said. It is also impossible to explain your point of view when the other person attacks you verbally and won't give you a chance to talk without being interrupted.

The article I read today spoke about overcoming fear. Although I am not experiencing that particular emotion right now there were things in that article that spoke straight to my heart. One thing the article said was to imagine Christ kneeling in a room of your house praying for you. I will describe what I see.

I see His nail scarred hands folded in prayer. I hear Him as He pleads for God to show me grace and mercy. Tears fall as He asks the Father to soften my calloused heart. He begs for me to be comforted and protected from the fiery darts being shot at me. "Keep her safe Father. Send healing to her heart. Forgive her stubbornness and remove the scales covering her eyes so she may see Your truth. She's mine, Father. Pick her up and hold her in Your loving arms. Whisper comforting words in her ear. Surround her with Your presence. Dry her tears and lead her to the throne. Strengthen her to make it through another day. Renew her joy and fill her with your Holy Spirit until it splashes all around her. Carry her through this storm until she is strong enough to walk beside You. I love her Father. She is covered by my blood. I paid the cost for her. Show her she has a future and a hope and thank you dear Father for the plans you have in store for her."

Jesus Understands Momma

Today will always be remembered as one of the worst days of my life. I say that not to be melodramatic but simply because I know it to be true. My world was forever changed almost four months ago when someone I love dearly was arrested for an unspeakable crime. After months of hearing everyone around me make excuses for this person's behavior I lost my temper and spoke my true feelings about the situation.

Although I love this person I cannot excuse or overlook what they have done. That person alone is responsible for the situation that they allowed themselves to be in. I also refuse to listen as other people I love sit and place the blame for this situation on others. Each person in my family with the exception of one has said that they believe the allegations are true and yet they blame others and try to rationalize that this person does not deserve the punishment our judicial system sets for this crime.

It was never my intention to cause anyone pain over this situation. I only tried to tell them what I saw coming. My warnings were not well received. Things I said were twisted and I am accused of being happy that this person eventually plead guilty for their crime, was convicted, and given a fair and reasonable sentence under our current laws. Contrary to what they believe or say I can assure you that there has not been a party going on around here, no celebrations to last throughout the year.

The only difference between me and everyone else in this situation is that I believe in the power of truth. I believe that although our judicial system is not perfect it does work well most of the time. I refuse to give up on the court system of my city, my county, my state, and my nation even when that system is required to send one of my own to prison for breaking the laws of man and the laws of God.

A strange thing happened today just prior to my hearing what had transpired in court. Sweet G was having his first therapy session since having his casts removed. He is in terrible pain when his legs are bent in the least amount but in order to heal he must endure the pain. As his therapist patiently worked to measure Sweet G's range of motion he looked directly at me and said with tears streaming down his face, "Momma, Jesus understands. He's the only one who understands." Immediately after he made the statement a dear friend sent my husband a text message asking if we had heard the verdict.

I didn't think about the significance of G's statement at the time or see God's Devine timing in the delivery of the message. It wasn't until tonight as my husband knelt beside our bed and held me as we prayed that I made the connection. God was preparing me for the assault that I was about to face.

"Jesus understands." A simple statement of faith by a child. Jesus does understand. He understands the pain that sin has cost Sweet G. He understands the betrayal of my family. He understands our broken hearts. When I pray for this hard time to pass over me He understands. He understands because He was beaten for our transgressions, he was misunderstood and forsaken by his family, and He too prayed for God to let His cross pass over Him.

Peace is mine because I am His. Jesus understands.

Jesus Understands Momma

Today will always be remembered as one of the worst days of my life. I say that not to be melodramatic but simply because I know it to be true. My world was forever changed almost four months ago when someone I love dearly was arrested for an unspeakable crime. After months of hearing everyone around me make excuses for this person's behavior I lost my temper and spoke my true feelings about the situation.

Although I love this person I cannot excuse or overlook what they have done. That person alone is responsible for the situation that they allowed themselves to be in. I also refuse to listen as other people I love sit and place the blame for this situation on others. Each person in my family with the exception of one has said that they believe the allegations are true and yet they blame others and try to rationalize that this person does not deserve the punishment our judicial system sets for this crime.

It was never my intention to cause anyone pain over this situation. I only tried to tell them what I saw coming. My warnings were not well received. Things I said were twisted and I am accused of being happy that this person eventually plead guilty for their crime, was convicted, and given a fair and reasonable sentence under our current laws. Contrary to what they believe or say I can assure you that there has not been a party going on around here, no celebrations to last throughout the year.

The only difference between me and everyone else in this situation is that I believe in the power of truth. I believe that although our judicial system is not perfect it does work well most of the time. I refuse to give up on the court system of my city, my county, my state, and my nation even when that system is required to send one of my own to prison for breaking the laws of man and the laws of God.

A strange thing happened today just prior to my hearing what had transpired in court. Sweet G was having his first therapy session since having his casts removed. He is in terrible pain when his legs are bent in the least amount but in order to heal he must endure the pain. As his therapist patiently worked to measure Sweet G's range of motion he looked directly at me and said with tears streaming down his face, "Momma, Jesus understands. He's the only one who understands." Immediately after he made the statement a dear friend sent my husband a text message asking if we had heard the verdict.

I didn't think about the significance of G's statement at the time or see God's Devine timing in the delivery of the message. It wasn't until tonight as my husband knelt beside our bed and held me as we prayed that I made the connection. God was preparing me for the assault that I was about to face.

"Jesus understands." A simple statement of faith by a child. Jesus does understand. He understands the pain that sin has cost Sweet G. He understands the betrayal of my family. He understands our broken hearts. When I pray for this hard time to pass over me He understands. He understands because He was beaten for our transgressions, he was misunderstood and forsaken by his family, and He too prayed for God to let His cross pass over Him.

Peace is mine because I am His. Jesus understands.

Sleeping in a Stranger's Bed

For the last six weeks I have slept in the bed with my husband a total of two nights. One of those nights was while on vacation and we had Sweet G snuggled between us so it really doesn't count. I became quite comfortable with my nightly routine and the setup I had arranged in G's room. I didn't realize how accustomed I had become until last night.

As I laid down sleep evaded me. I found myself feeling oddly out of place in my own bed. You see, during the weeks I spent in G's room my husband let our bedroom become a bachelor pad of sorts. Shoes tucked in odd places, clean clothes laid across every available horizontal surface, dresser piled with receipts. He has been busy working and has been a tremendous help around the house but since I have been absent from our bedroom he had allowed things to become disorganized to a point that I don't feel comfortable with.

I didn't realize that those things were going to bother me until J was fast asleep. As I lay there my mind drifted to another time and place when I experienced the same feeling. The first time I remember feeling this way was almost 27 years ago on the first night of our marriage. You see, I am a night owl and J is not. I realized that quickly on our wedding night. Joey is like Pavlov's dog when he comes in contact with a bed. Bed means sleep. I however require several hours of wind down time of reading or watching tv before I can relax and go to sleep. I remember laying there for the very first time in my life with a man snoring softly beside me. It was an eyeopening experience. I faintly remember crying and wishing I was at home with my night owl mom watching the George and Gracie Show.

That is somewhat how last night started out. Here I was trying to be quiet, relax, and go to sleep and instead all I could do is stare at the walls. I will never know how long it would have taken me to fall asleep because G called out and I ended up sleeping with him again. Tonight before turning in I managed to declutter much of the bachelor pad before getting into bed. I am feeling much more at home in my room than I did last night, I am much more tired tonight, so maybe I will be able to fall sound asleep as soon as I publish this post. Good night, sleep tight, and I will let you know how my night was tomorrow.

Sleeping in a Stranger's Bed

For the last six weeks I have slept in the bed with my husband a total of two nights. One of those nights was while on vacation and we had Sweet G snuggled between us so it really doesn't count. I became quite comfortable with my nightly routine and the setup I had arranged in G's room. I didn't realize how accustomed I had become until last night.

As I laid down sleep evaded me. I found myself feeling oddly out of place in my own bed. You see, during the weeks I spent in G's room my husband let our bedroom become a bachelor pad of sorts. Shoes tucked in odd places, clean clothes laid across every available horizontal surface, dresser piled with receipts. He has been busy working and has been a tremendous help around the house but since I have been absent from our bedroom he had allowed things to become disorganized to a point that I don't feel comfortable with.

I didn't realize that those things were going to bother me until J was fast asleep. As I lay there my mind drifted to another time and place when I experienced the same feeling. The first time I remember feeling this way was almost 27 years ago on the first night of our marriage. You see, I am a night owl and J is not. I realized that quickly on our wedding night. Joey is like Pavlov's dog when he comes in contact with a bed. Bed means sleep. I however require several hours of wind down time of reading or watching tv before I can relax and go to sleep. I remember laying there for the very first time in my life with a man snoring softly beside me. It was an eyeopening experience. I faintly remember crying and wishing I was at home with my night owl mom watching the George and Gracie Show.

That is somewhat how last night started out. Here I was trying to be quiet, relax, and go to sleep and instead all I could do is stare at the walls. I will never know how long it would have taken me to fall asleep because G called out and I ended up sleeping with him again. Tonight before turning in I managed to declutter much of the bachelor pad before getting into bed. I am feeling much more at home in my room than I did last night, I am much more tired tonight, so maybe I will be able to fall sound asleep as soon as I publish this post. Good night, sleep tight, and I will let you know how my night was tomorrow.

Baby Got a New Pair of Legs

The day we have been anxiously awaiting arrived full of sunshine and promise. Birds sang at the windows like those in the Disney films of my childhood as I dressed for our trip to have Sweet G's casts removed. My sweet husband took the day off in order to accompany us to the doctor's appointment in Atlanta.

We packed up the van and started out our adventurous day that we had so perfectly planned. Stop at the bank, go to the doctor, head to the farmer's market for a fun day of shopping, and then return home. It never ceases to amaze me how the best laid plans can so quickly fly out the window but I am learning to take each day for what it is and not what it could have been.

Our stop at the bank was the first small glitch of the day. J pulled in, parked, and walked up to the door to discover it locked. No big deal-we were there 15 minutes before they opened. The drive-thru window quickly solved the first glitch for the day.

The drive down to Atlanta went well and we arrived nearly 30 minutes before our appointment. We began questioning which building we needed to go to as we took our exit but quickly agreed on the one we needed and headed for the parking deck. First, J passed the entrance to the parking deck and we had to turn around at the patient drop off. After pulling into the parking deck J asked me where the handicapped parking was. I had been engrossed in my iPad and hadn't been paying full attention until that point. When I looked up I said, "you have to pull around and go out the other side of the parking deck to get to the handicapped parking for this building." When he attempted to do that we realized that we were at the wrong building. We pulled out of the lot after explaining our mistake to the attendant and drove across the street to the second building. We immediately recognized the garage and quickly parked and unloaded G's enormous adult wheelchair and loaded the boy with the full leg casts separated by a 26" bar into the chair putting his walker on the back in case the doctor wanted to see him walk. Into the building we head armed with my humongous camera bag.

When trying to decide which floor we needed I discovered that G's doctor wasn't listed on the directory and there wasn't a pediatric orthopedic group. Houston we have a problem. We were at the correct building earlier and left it because we were sure it was the wrong place only this time we had unloaded all our junk and our Sweet G before making the discovery. We are no longer 30 minutes early but have five minutes to load everything and backtrack to the office we went to in the beginning.

Those of you without a special needs child may think anyone who can't remember where their child's doctor's office is located is an incompetent idiot. Let me explain. We have been to three different specialists in the same two block area in the past three months. This was only our second time going to this particular office even though G has seen this doctor for years at the Spacticity Clinic. We were just at another new specialists office last week and his neurologist's office a couple of months ago. All the trips start to blend together after seven years of appointments because if you've seen one office you've seen them all. We did finally make it to the right office and were only a few minutes late.

Being the perfect mommy that I am I had been preparing G for the cast removal. He hates loud noises and usually freaks out over something new and scary. The technician came in and gave G a quick explanation and started to cut. I was overjoyed when our Sweet G started laughing uncontrollably. It was the sweetest thing I've seen in a long time. Now right before this the doctor had come in and said that G would probably freak when the casts come off because they had been confined for so long. He tried to prepare us but there was no way I could have prepared for what came next.

G's sweet giggles quickly turned to a look of horror as the casts were pulled away from his legs. He didn't cry or scream out but had the most terrified look on his sweet face. It took some time and several doctors to get him to relax and keep his legs straight and still. A "sucker shot" as the doctor called it worked wonders temporarily until we could get out of the building. Having brought no meds for itching, leg spasms, or pain meant not only canceling our plan to visit the farmer's market but also meant a long stressful ride home. We had no idea what trauma came along with taking off those casts.

We are now safe at home, had a great bath in which G was able to sit up independently in for the very first time, took our meds, had several massages with lotion, put leg immobilizers back on and cuddled for the first time in six weeks. There have been no attempts to stand and most likely won't be for a week or so. But the casts are gone and we have two new and improved legs waiting to show us all their new tricks.

Baby Got a New Pair of Legs

The day we have been anxiously awaiting arrived full of sunshine and promise. Birds sang at the windows like those in the Disney films of my childhood as I dressed for our trip to have Sweet G's casts removed. My sweet husband took the day off in order to accompany us to the doctor's appointment in Atlanta.

We packed up the van and started out our adventurous day that we had so perfectly planned. Stop at the bank, go to the doctor, head to the farmer's market for a fun day of shopping, and then return home. It never ceases to amaze me how the best laid plans can so quickly fly out the window but I am learning to take each day for what it is and not what it could have been.

Our stop at the bank was the first small glitch of the day. J pulled in, parked, and walked up to the door to discover it locked. No big deal-we were there 15 minutes before they opened. The drive-thru window quickly solved the first glitch for the day.

The drive down to Atlanta went well and we arrived nearly 30 minutes before our appointment. We began questioning which building we needed to go to as we took our exit but quickly agreed on the one we needed and headed for the parking deck. First, J passed the entrance to the parking deck and we had to turn around at the patient drop off. After pulling into the parking deck J asked me where the handicapped parking was. I had been engrossed in my iPad and hadn't been paying full attention until that point. When I looked up I said, "you have to pull around and go out the other side of the parking deck to get to the handicapped parking for this building." When he attempted to do that we realized that we were at the wrong building. We pulled out of the lot after explaining our mistake to the attendant and drove across the street to the second building. We immediately recognized the garage and quickly parked and unloaded G's enormous adult wheelchair and loaded the boy with the full leg casts separated by a 26" bar into the chair putting his walker on the back in case the doctor wanted to see him walk. Into the building we head armed with my humongous camera bag.

When trying to decide which floor we needed I discovered that G's doctor wasn't listed on the directory and there wasn't a pediatric orthopedic group. Houston we have a problem. We were at the correct building earlier and left it because we were sure it was the wrong place only this time we had unloaded all our junk and our Sweet G before making the discovery. We are no longer 30 minutes early but have five minutes to load everything and backtrack to the office we went to in the beginning.

Those of you without a special needs child may think anyone who can't remember where their child's doctor's office is located is an incompetent idiot. Let me explain. We have been to three different specialists in the same two block area in the past three months. This was only our second time going to this particular office even though G has seen this doctor for years at the Spacticity Clinic. We were just at another new specialists office last week and his neurologist's office a couple of months ago. All the trips start to blend together after seven years of appointments because if you've seen one office you've seen them all. We did finally make it to the right office and were only a few minutes late.

Being the perfect mommy that I am I had been preparing G for the cast removal. He hates loud noises and usually freaks out over something new and scary. The technician came in and gave G a quick explanation and started to cut. I was overjoyed when our Sweet G started laughing uncontrollably. It was the sweetest thing I've seen in a long time. Now right before this the doctor had come in and said that G would probably freak when the casts come off because they had been confined for so long. He tried to prepare us but there was no way I could have prepared for what came next.

G's sweet giggles quickly turned to a look of horror as the casts were pulled away from his legs. He didn't cry or scream out but had the most terrified look on his sweet face. It took some time and several doctors to get him to relax and keep his legs straight and still. A "sucker shot" as the doctor called it worked wonders temporarily until we could get out of the building. Having brought no meds for itching, leg spasms, or pain meant not only canceling our plan to visit the farmer's market but also meant a long stressful ride home. We had no idea what trauma came along with taking off those casts.

We are now safe at home, had a great bath in which G was able to sit up independently in for the very first time, took our meds, had several massages with lotion, put leg immobilizers back on and cuddled for the first time in six weeks. There have been no attempts to stand and most likely won't be for a week or so. But the casts are gone and we have two new and improved legs waiting to show us all their new tricks.

New Beginnings

As I lay here tonight I am filled with excitement and anticipation. Tomorrow morning the surgeon will cut G's casts off and his legs will be exposed for the first time in six weeks! Do you realize what that means? Water will flow over his skin tomorrow night when he takes his nightly bath. His hair will be washed and rinsed without the use of this:



His feet will touch the floor and he will attempt to stand on those tiny legs that have not held him up for 43 days. He will be free to scratch where he itches, sleep in any position he desires, and be free to once again roam freely through the house. We will get rid of this:



We will replace it with this:



And this:



We will be able to eat dinner at the dining room table and will be able to resume our schoolwork at a desk instead of the sofa. I will no longer be mistaken for a leper due to the loss of skin from rubbing the casts. We will no longer get the weird looks and questions from people when we take G out in public. We will just get the typical ones we have become accustomed to over the years. I will no longer be tempted to tell people that I hit him in the legs with a baseball bat or that he jumped from the roof breaking both legs.

But the best thing is-I will sleep in my bed with my husband for the first time in 43 days!!! That does mean that I will be required to move all my junk back to my bedside table. I will be loosing a much used drawer in G's nightstand but I will once again be able to snuggle up to my sweet hubby on cold nights.

New Beginnings

As I lay here tonight I am filled with excitement and anticipation. Tomorrow morning the surgeon will cut G's casts off and his legs will be exposed for the first time in six weeks! Do you realize what that means? Water will flow over his skin tomorrow night when he takes his nightly bath. His hair will be washed and rinsed without the use of this:



His feet will touch the floor and he will attempt to stand on those tiny legs that have not held him up for 43 days. He will be free to scratch where he itches, sleep in any position he desires, and be free to once again roam freely through the house. We will get rid of this:



We will replace it with this:



And this:



We will be able to eat dinner at the dining room table and will be able to resume our schoolwork at a desk instead of the sofa. I will no longer be mistaken for a leper due to the loss of skin from rubbing the casts. We will no longer get the weird looks and questions from people when we take G out in public. We will just get the typical ones we have become accustomed to over the years. I will no longer be tempted to tell people that I hit him in the legs with a baseball bat or that he jumped from the roof breaking both legs.

But the best thing is-I will sleep in my bed with my husband for the first time in 43 days!!! That does mean that I will be required to move all my junk back to my bedside table. I will be loosing a much used drawer in G's nightstand but I will once again be able to snuggle up to my sweet hubby on cold nights.