Fast forward to the last two weeks.  I’ve left no challenge uncursed.  My children have have endured my stress, judgment and exhaustion.  From a mysterious “Walking Dead” rash on my face to the torn pantyhose encasing my tired toes - I have just stumbled and grumbled through each day, allowing activity and worry to suck my joy.  Until tonight – when Rachel showed me her latest doodle.   Her “What I’m Thankful For” list made me do my two favorite things: laugh and think.

If I composed my own Top 50 list, it wouldn’t contain “25 Wiggling My Ears,” or “38 Guinea Pigs.”  But it would certainly include “2 My Family.”

I’m surprised “Sunglasses” didn’t make her list.  She’s always loved them. 

Thank you, Rachel – and everyone – who makes me laugh and think.

If I had a list – the good kind! – you’d be on it.

Tonight she helped lead worship for the students at church. Of all the things I will miss when she leaves, her beautiful harmonizing alto will be among them.

And really – when I see her leading the many to focus on The One – she could tell me she was going to drop out and dig ditches and I’d be just fine with it.

Maybe.

Well, not really.

But I do love to her my girls sing.

Speaking of music….we sang “Happy Birthday” to a certain 12-year-old this morning….but more on that later….

We could be the spokesfamily for air mattresses.  We have several Aerobeds and they are so handy for holiday visitors, hurricane company and sleepovers like Disciple Now.  We left three upstairs for the boys to use (in addition to Lois’ and Julia’s bunkeds) and inflated one in our room for Julia’s slumber.

We made waffles, sausage and pig candy (candied, spicy bacon) for breakfast Saturday.   There is no such thing as too much pork when boys are hungry.

And they’re always hungry!  We provide snacks and they bring some, too.   We’ve known some of these boys – like Billy (cap)-  since we joined the church in 2000.  It has really been fun to see them not only get older, but also mature.   No more rounded scissors in Sunday School, or melting popsicles in VBS.  Billy is off to the Citadel in the fall, and I know his parents are proud.

Nine pairs of “boy shoes” at the door.  Not a piece of glitter or a buckle in sight.

Lois (far right) and her group showed up in homemade tutu’s Sunday morning.  Why?  “Spirit!”  I don’t think they were talking about the holy one.

Hannah (glasses) with her group leader Kelly Sunday morning.  All the leaders study at Mary Hardin-Baylor University and drove to San Antonio for this opportunity.

The students – like Lois, Alex and Katie – were seated in the sanctuary Sunday before we more seasoned saints could hobble  in.

The shaved head of Brody Holloway, director and co-founder of Snowbird Wilderness Outfitters, where our students attended camp last year and will again this year.  Brody challenged us parents to be personally holy.  That phrase has been rolling around in my head all afternoon.  I expect it will be for awhile.  Might even dribble down to my heart.

Love these kids!  And no matter how old they get, they’ll always be kids to me.

The theme of the weekend was “Undistracted,” with our students urged to define and master those things which keep them from being whom and what God calls them to be.  I loved eavesdropping on their conversations, lessons and insights. I found the message quite personally relevant as I am (far too easily) distracted.

Guess I still have a lot to learn – especially from these students.

My sister Judy (pictured), my brilliant niece Sarah and I did quite a bit of thizzzz.  We are always ready to settle down for long winter’s naps.

This was my usual view of the kids this week – the backs and sides of heads clustered around whatever iPod, DSi, Nook, Android, iPhone, etc. was handy.  Laura – age eight – picked up Rachel’s Android tablet for the first time and had pulled up Netflix in moments.  They all amaze me.

And now we’re on countdown for the happiest of birthday parties.

Merry Christmas!

179 shoe boxes breaks down to:

179 shoe boxes also means at minimum (usually more than):

537 rubber bands

1074 small toys, brushes, etc.

179 toothbrushes/ toothpaste

358 bagged clothing items – T-shirts, socks, undies, caps, etc.

179 decks of cards

179 foldable bags of some sort – mesh backpack or whatever

716 pencils

179 sharpeners

179 erasers

358 pens

179 boxes of crayons

1074 plastic zipping bags

4,296 bagged pieces of non-chocolate candy and gum

….plus innumerable small “fill in the holes” tops, magnifying glasses, hair barrettes, temporary tattoos, etc.

179 shoe boxes also means:  The chance to catch up with great friends like Renee and her kiddos Allison and Arthur.  They’ve helped pack for years – this year, 21 boxes. Renee also put out the word to some media buds, which is how we got the KSAT interview last week and now…..

……Operation Christmas Child is going to be featured on our local Fox affiliate “Daytime at 9″ TV program Wednesday, 11/16. Fox’s Juan Pardo (shown “mike’ing me up”) came to our house Saturday to talk to me as their “Woman of the Week,” and also to….

…..film us completing a few shoe boxes.  This publicity is great, and I love it but it’s not about “me.”  It’s about Operation Christmas Child.  I hope that comes through in the interview.  This is not false modesty, or some cute little ploy to have my friends pile on compliments.  I know myself.  I’m not some super woman with a perfect spirit and a heart always focused on God.   Operation Christmas Child has long outgrown “me” anyway.   There’s no way, no how I could do this without good friends who donate so much time, money and materials – and by the way, several of them have explicitly told me not to mention their names. They’re not looking for glory. They know what they’ve done.  Anyway, I am thrilled with this publicity – for the ministry, not for myself.  You can bet, though, that I’m going to watch “Daytime at 9″ on Wednesday, 11/16!  Oh, yeah!   

179 shoe boxes means filling the entire back of  Keith’s two-rows-of-seats-folded down Expedition, plus (not shown) the back of my mini-van.

179 shoe boxes means lots of unloading in the church parking lot.

179 shoe boxes means a good start in one of five San Antonio collection centers.    Find your nearest collection center here.

Rod  – our missions minister – used one of our boxes as an aid this morning, encouraging families to support Operation Christmas Child.  There’s still plenty of time to make a box!  Or two!  See the packing guidelines here.

So 179 shoe boxes means all kinds of things, depending on your perspective.

The perspective I care about – that my WOW class cares about – that Renee and many other friends care about – is detailed in Matthew 19:13 and James 1:27 .

Christmas morning – when we are assembling our breakfast tacos and wading through a small mountain of wrapping paper – we’ll take a minute and thank God for the opportunity to share with 179 children “somewhere.”  It’s likely they’ve never gotten a gift before.  It’s very likely they’ll use their plastic shoe boxes to carry water.  It’s almost certain it’s the only “thing” they’ll get for Christmas.

So the boxes matter.

Know what I mean?

Our dear family friend Jean was coming to visit.  Jean was at the hospital the day I was born and holds in place in my heart like no other.  She arrived a-okay and that – at least – went according to plan.

Jean and me today.  She’s recently moved to Mexico and – at age 87 – is learning Spanish so she can minister to those near her.  We spent part of yesterday afternoon in search of new walking shoes because she doesn’t use a car in her community.  Why exactly do I whine about church committee meetings and having to drag myself through Costco?

Part of our plan was for Keith, Lois, Hannah and Julia to go visit Rachel yesterday at Highland Lakes, the summer camp at which she’s working. Keith – knowing her passion for all things tie-dyed – bought white T-shirts and fresh color kits so they could create custom shirts to wear for the visit.   They did get to go – that part of the plan went well.

Me thinks she was surprised when she opened the door and saw their tie-dyed shirts.  They brought two new ones for her, too.

They spent the day together messing around Austin.  Keith planned to leave by 7 p.m., but here’s where the plan crumbled.

Highland Lakes is gorgeous.  And Rachel was in no hurry for them to go.  So they tramped around until 9 p.m.

Mighty pretty scenery!  Julia – 11; Lois – 17; Rachel – 20; Hannah – 15

In the meantime, Hannah got a email.  If she wanted to volunteer the next few days at Girl Scout camp – which she did – she needed to be there by 1 p.m. today (Sunday.)  If we had known that earlier, Keith and the girls definitely would have left Highland Lakes earlier.

They got home after 11 p.m. last night.  Hannah had to get packed for camp.  Keith had to leave with her by noon today.  So —–

      We didn’t eat breakfast together.  Oh, sure, I made Keith’s favorite quiche, but he and Hannah were up late getting her somewhat ready so they slept late. 

      We didn’t go to church together.  Hannah and Keith stayed home – she to finish packing, him to get lunch ready so he could leave by noon.  This was particularly disappointing.   He missed (the most excellent) Father’s Day sermon, plus acknowledgement with the other fathers by the congregation.

      He had to rush opening his gifts after lunch.

It occurred to me that while we had plans for Father’s Day that were derailed – they were changed only because Keith is a real father.  He wanted to visit his eldest child and surprise her with tie-dyed shirts for the whole family – neat!  They stayed longer than expected because Rachel didn’t want them to leave – sure.   He stayed up with Hannah last night, then shepherded her this morning – fine.  He made lunch for all of us so we could hurriedly eat and he could transport Hannah – uhhh, okay.

So instead of getting fussed over all day today – Keith spent most of it ensuring his family had what he wanted them to have.

Happy Father’s Day to the man who knows that his children replace our ”plans” in any equation for celebration.

I shared one Rachel took Sunday of Julia and me in the church parking lot.

Rachel always takes better pictures than do I, even though I shoot a Nikon and she generally uses her iPod.  Sigh.

My co-worker’s comment on the picture?  “She (Julia) looks just like you.”

I didn’t tell her Julia was adopted.

I think as an adult, Julia is going to be what my grandmother called a “handsome woman.”  Not frilly, not fru-fru, but “handsome.”  She has the most incredibly beautiful tanned skin, dark brown hair with individual gold strands and a lithe athlete’s body.  Her eyes have a small slant that intrigues me.  I can’t take credit for a bit of that.

Rachel, Lois Hannah and I do look alike – or so I’ve been told.

Here are the girls on Easter Sunday -

Lois – 17; Hannah – 15; Rachel – 19; Julia – 11

And me at age 17 .  I’ve supplied half of the gene pool in which Rachel, Lois and Hannah swim.  Can you tell?

I was flattered my co-worker thinks Julia and I look alike.

But what I really want for my girls is not that anyone looks at them and sees me. I don’t want them to see impatience, fatigue and such limited understanding.

I want for them what the Apostle Paul spelled out in 2 Corinthians 3:18. I want people to look at my girls and see Jesus.

I want them to look like their real Maker.

Then I can try to look like them.

If Peter – the big fisherman – looks familiar, there may be a reason.

No dying his hair this year.  Our worship reminded all that the original Peter was more “seasoned” than the other 11 apostles, therefore, this modern-day enactment should reflect that age definition.   So Keith went the natural salt’n'pepper look.  We’re proud of you, Keith!  And Phil, Bill, Rodger, Brad, Travis, Jeff, Jason, Ray, Jon, Zachary, Daniel, Wade, Chris, Brian, Jonathan and Kyle.

Interestingly – Lois has the same tiny veins that plagued my mother, and now me.  Three or four sticks is the norm, usually by more than one phlebotomist.   Unlike me, Lois is apparently a “squirter,” which accounted for her nickname today of “Squirtle.”   Step back!

What pleased me so about this donation:  Lois and I are transfusion recipients.   I got three units the day she was born prematurely, and she got red blood cells when she was about a month old.   That red blood cell transfusion enabled her oxygen saturation rate to climb enough to come home after 37 days in the NICU.

Christmas Eve 1993 – And preemie Lois 26 days old and still in the NICU.  I might look a little tired.  Sarah came over every evening to stay with two-year-old Rachel so Keith and I could visit the hospital.  We could gently rub her little stick legs, speak soothingly and watch her oxygen saturation rates climb.  No one else’s voice had the same effect. My mom often took me during the day for another visit, and I’d sing to Lois.  Keith joked she’d know the entire Baptist hymnal by the time she came home.

Blood donations are not only the gift of life, but also a gift from life.   There’s no substitute for whole blood, and it takes a human being to give it.  It’s a sacrifice, and one especially poignant in the Easter season.

I’ve long believed that what goes around, comes around – whether in this life, or the one to come.   And while some debts cannot be repaid exactly, they can be “paid forward.”

I pray my girls keep paying.

*Keith’s donor mug from the Blood Center in Houston caught my eye the first time I visited his house.  How refreshing it was to date a guy who wasn’t all about himself.  Single guys – Blood donations are chick magnets!

Facebook was a great vehicle for updating Keith’s friends and family.  By tagging him in photos, my updates posted not only to my wall, but also to his.  Last Friday, he was fitted with an electromagnetic “shock collar” to help stimulate bone regeneration in his neck – that post prompted lots of comments.  He’ll wear the collar four hours a day for five months, so there’s still plenty of time to send him your tacky remarks.

My Women on Wednesday bible study class just started a great book - Having A Mary Heart in a Martha World.  I know it’s great, because it makes me squirm.  I am – without a doubt – the most “Martha” of all women.   This last few weeks have proven it.  Very few things have fallen through the cracks.   Our laundry has been done, meals made, school papers signed, games cheered, prescriptions filled and medicines administered.  According to First Rebecca 1:23, “Yea, verily, all thou hast needed to do, thou hast done.”

Except….well, to stick my neck out here…..what Jesus called the “better” choice. I haven’t spent much time at the feet of the Savior.  While I’ve read my bible, I can’t say I’ve pondered the verses.  Yes, I’ve worshiped – but I’ve had to work at not letting my mind and spirit wander.  Yes, I thanked God for Keith’s successful surgery – but I’ve spent more time fretting about bills.

I am very, very thankful for Keith’s successful surgery, and committed to helping him stay on the healing path.   He’s come so far – we’re not messing it up now with anything silly like “not wearing the brace,” or “sneaking in a trip to Home Depot” or whatever.   He needs to keep his neck in that brace with that stimulator humming four hours a day.

So while his necks heals – I need to remember to seek the better choice.

And I’m sticking my neck out by saying so.