We Are Home

I remember it well, our first time we attended First Baptist Church Paducah.  Two weeks fresh into a new town, a new school, and a new home.  Boxes still stacked to the ceiling in our rental home.  Physically, mentally and emotionally spinning and soaring on life's merry-go-round.  

Yet walking into the sanctuary, I was overcome by the beauty of that place.  The beauty of His holiness.  The warm color of the tall walls and arched ceilings, along with the 'stained-glass of old' beckoned me forth.  Sitting in the wooden pew that day, I found rest.  God enveloped my spirit, soothing and consoling the deep recesses of my soul.  I will never forget the worship,  sunshine spilling through the stained glass and shining down on the pews, like God's hands reaching into that place saying, 'I am here, child.'  I will never forget how God ministered to me in that very moment, in all His kindness letting me know that He was with us in our rocky, tipsy-topsy upside-down chaos.

I will never forget the people.  Their genuine love for us even though they didn't really even know us.  Their welcoming smiles and hugs.  Their ability to make us feel as if we belonged.  Their help in directing us and our children to the right Sunday School class.  

I will never forget standing and talking with others afterwards for what seemed like hours while our youngers ran around and played with the other kids and our olders hung out with the teenagers.  They all seemed so happy, so at home.  It was as if we had been there all along.  

There was such a sweet, genuine Spirit residing in that place, pouring forth from the people.  His Spirit.

In the months that followed we did the church circuit, visiting almost every church in the city.  Yet, every so often we would take a break from the search and circle back around to that church on Broadway.  Each time I walked back into that place, I would feel the comfort one feel's when returning to his bed after a long trip.  As my head hit the soft, warm pillow, I knew.  

We were home.

And while Eric and I may have felt confirmation, there were five little extensions of us whose opinions mattered too.  This would be the church that would shape them and mold them in the most important years.  We didn't want to make a rash decision.  We needed to move slow and make sure.  

We needed to pray it through.  

So we kept circling, kept visiting, kept praying.  And we kept voting.  Many Sunday dinners involved Eric pulling out a napkin and writing down each of our names and each of our top three churches.  We would not settle until everyone's top choice was unanimous.   

And finally one Spring day everyone's top choice was the other's top choice.  After months of Upward basketball, Wednesday night Awana and youth group, prayer-times with precious ladies,  sitting under a husband/wife team that made the Bible come alive, children who could not wait to go to church on Sundays and Wednesdays, our family had settled.  We had settled.

Finally, we were headed home.

But when you are a family of seven--well, you don't do anything particularly fast.  And about such things, we tend to procrastinate.  So finally, yesterday, we did it.  We walked the aisle to an official membership.

Sometimes, God will show up in the smallest of details, surprising in the sweetest of ways.  Oh, how He did so yesterday, using our procrastination to set the stage for His perfect timing.

One of the first songs our worship team led us in was 'Not To Us' (but to your name be the glory...).  Now, not once have we ever heard this song played at First Baptist.  Not one time.  Until yesterday.  The day we happened to be making our membership official.  What's such a big deal about that song, you ask?  Many years ago, we declared this as our Family Song.  It's OUR song.  It means something dear to us.  Only God knew that.  Only God could orchestrate something so personal, so sweet, so special.

One of my dearest friends happened to be singing with the worship team yesterday.  She is not always up there.  Having her leading on the day that we walked the aisle was another God-surprise, ordered up by God himself.  A God gift.

The passage preached through was Acts 4.  The sermon's message was about God sending out his untrained and uneducated men.  Yet God used them because they went forth in obedience anyway.  He used them because they relied on His power, not anything of their own.  

For me, personally, the book of Acts has been 'the book' that God has led me to over and over this past year.  It was the book we studied in CBS.  It was the book our Vacation Bible School studied this summer.  God has used this book over and over and over to remind me why He brought us to Paducah.  Us--the untrained and uneducated, yet He--the powerful, almighty God.

How like him to circle us back around to this book, to this particular chapter on this particular Sunday.  Showing us He is walking ahead of us, guiding us in His plan and in His purpose.

 Another God gift.

And then.  On the song of invitation, the song that we would walk forward to and commit, they played the song that gets me every time--Amazing Grace.

'Amazing grace how sweet the sound

 that saved a wretch like me. 

 I once was lost, but now I'm found.  

Was blind but now I see.

Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, 

And grace my fears relieved,

How precious did that grace appear 

The hour I first believed.'

I hate to kill the mood right about now, but well, this is when things got kind of weird.  This is fitting because I often have two left feet at the most inopportune times.  First, Eric stood singing forever--so long I wondered if he was going to miss the invitation.  He had his eyes closed and there were like three kids in between us so I could not get his attention.  Jason, our youth minister kept looking at me like, 'well, are you guys coming down or not?'  I looked back like, 'Ummm, I'm not sure???'  

Finally, Eric opened his eyes and gave me the nod.  Except I thought our whole family was walking down, not just he and I.  Yet, none of our kids between us were budging.  They were just standing there.  Maybe they didn't realize we were walking forward?  This didn't surprise me, this was just par for the course, as things are often miscommunicated when you live in a home of seven.  Anyway, we kept having this conversation without words, just eyes, while everyone around us sang Amazing Grace.  Finally I realized Eric just wanted me to get out of the pew without our non-budging kids, so I stepped all over their feet, almost tripping.  When we finally walked forward, my first Spirit-filled words to our youth pastor were, 'that was so awkward!' 

Ah, such a moment.  

Thankfully, pastors are good at smoothing over the uncouth.  He motioned for our children to join us and we all stood on the front pew, the stumbling-awkwardness soon forgotten.  After the offering and announcements, the pastor introduced us to the congregation.

When the service was over, people stood in line to shake our hand and introduce themselves.  To welcome us and let us know they were so happy we were there.  

Kind of like a wedding.  Walking the aisle.  Being greeted in a receiving line.  It was a great feeling. 

And finally, almost one year from the day that we moved, coming full-circle,

WE ARE OFFICIAL.  

OFFICIALLY HOME.

Circling and Re-circling

This is the first summer that every one of my children are old enough to completely entertain themselves at the pool.  While my kids play, I can sit pool-side and do one of my most favorite things in the world--read!  House-work, ringing door-bells, making meals--none of these things can claim your attention when you are at the pool.  It is a glorious thing.  

To my delight, I am actually reading and COMPLETING books.
This week I have been reading 'The Circle Maker' by Mark Batterson.

This book is about exactly what the caption says: 'Praying Circles Around Your Biggest Dreams and Greatest Fears.'  The author tells about the process of circling and re-circling prayers over and over in his own life.   It is a great reminder of praying hard and praying through, of persevering in prayer even when it doesn't seem like God is listening. 

It's made me think back about the prayers we circled and re-circled over the past couple of years.

It's got me thinking about how...

In our fast-paced, 'I want it now' society, taking the time to sit still and pray doesn't really fit into our hurried life-style.  Not to mention the 'waiting' that prayer requires of us, because the act of true prayer isn't like placing a 'to go' order.  No, it's quite the contrary.  It's more of the sit down dinner variety, except that you may not receive your food for days or years and when you do finally receive it, it may be a completely different entree than you were expecting.  

Yet, we fell to realize in our impatience that it's really not about what we ordered.  It's about the wait as we circle and re-circle our Waiter with our desires.  Interesting that the one we give our food order to is called a Waiter, isn't it?  The Waiter--listening to and submitting our requests, then waiting along with us.  Kind of like Jesus, isn't it?

In the wait, we have a choice--we can either get up and go to a completely different restaurant that will feed our appetite immediately, or we can stick it out.  

Re-circling.  Re-asking.  Re-questing.  

A quest for the answer to our questions.

If we are willing to wait and re-circle, the aroma and scents from the kitchen will entice us and draw us...until our thirst and hunger will only be satisfied here and here alone.

And the Gourmet Chef in all of His kindness will have the Waiter bring out an unexpected and most exquisite appetizer.  Treated by the Gourmet Chef himself.  Circling the table, circling the circle, our Waiter serves it up.  A small, satisfying, temporary fulfillment to sustain us in the wait. 

We fellowship with those He's put around us, enjoying the present sampling.  All the while our vigilant Waiter is there,  attending to our circle, and partitioning the Chef on our behalf.

Two years ago when Eric lost his job, we prayed and prayed and prayed.  Circling, Re-circling, re-asking, re-questing.  We kept giving our order to the Waiter:  a new job that will provide well and by the way, we'd like it in the medical field, please.

And as days and weeks past, our Waiter brought out the most unexpected appetizers.  Just when we thought we were going to faint from hunger, our Waiter would appear just in the nick of time with the most delectable hors d'oeuvre.  It would be just what was needed and just enough for the moment.  Delicacies such as:  An anonymous check to pay for our car repair, a gift card to Target right when a child needed a pair of shoes, a washing machine when ours quit working.

Month after month after month, we kept circling and pleading for the main course.  Month after month after month, an appetizer would show up just as the hunger pains were about to overtake.  

As time went along, becoming regular patrons of the establishment, we grew accustomed and familiar with the routine.  We began to learn to be satisfied with the appetizers and to trust the Chef to provide exactly what was needed when was needed.   

Then one day, quite unexpectantly, our Waiter appeared with the Chef's choice entree, served up on the finest platter.  Finally, after all of the waiting, we were being served an entree!

As the Waiter removed the shiny lid, exposing what was underneath, right away we new it wasn't wait we had ordered.

In fact, it was no where near our initial request.

Yet our Chef had prepared and whetted our palette for such a dish. Through hours of intense beating, chopping, whipping and stirring, it was made-to-order and grilled to perfection.

Our Chef had known all along what we had needed and served it up at just the right time.  Our intercessory Waiter circled and re-circled us as we circled and re-circled our request.  

How thankful I am that we didn't leave and settle for some fast food cheap substitute.

What have you been circling, re-circling, re-asking, re-questing?  Whether your dining experience includes four courses or 465, I encourage you to wait on the Culinary Artist to divinely deliver upon His dinner hour.  

The Special Plate

When our children were younger, our preacher, Dave Stone, shared from the pulpit about a mealtime tradition that he and his wife did with their family.  As young parents eager to establish meaningful rituals in our own family, we began practicing this mealtime tradition most nights as we gathered for dinner.

It was called the Special Plate.  

Here's how it worked:

Whoever was in charge of setting the dinner table that evening got to select one member of the family to eat off the Special Plate.  The Plate would be set at the designated person's spot.  As we ate dinner, we would each take turns telling something we liked about that person or something in particular we saw him do recently that we were proud of.  Sometimes it was something as general as, 'I like how you always play with me,' to something specific like, 'I was proud of how you went out of your way to help our neighbor bring in her groceries today.'

The plate we used was nothing special in appearance.  It was the result of a project Eric made at church when he was six years old.  It was a white hard plastic plate that he had drawn and written on in his childish scrawl.  Not only was it nothing fancy, it really wasn't especially artistic; Eric would be the first to tell you that he did not inherit one iota of his mother's drawing ability.  Not one.  Yet this plate was treated in our home as sacred as the Mona Lisa.  When one was given this plate to eat on, you would have thought he was eating on premier china.

I never tired of watching the person walk into the kitchen and see the Special Plate at his spot.  His demeanor would literally become joyful right in front of our eyes.  

Neither did I tire of the actual tradition itself.  As each one of us would take turns telling the chosen one what we liked about him, his stature would change.  He'd become a little taller and a little more dignified, the words inflating him as air inflates a tire.  You could almost literally see these words breathe life into the soul, witnessing the power of encouragement right before our very eyes.  Proverbs 16:24 reminds us that, 'Pleasant words are as a honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.'   Encouragement infuses courage, strength and well-being into our inmost places in a way that nothing else can.

Not only did it build up each member of our family, we often would give the Special Plate to a guest who came to eat with us.  This was a fun way to encourage, honor and build up those outside of our family.  Our children never tired of presenting our dinner guests with The Plate.

At some point we brought another plate into the tradition.  I'm not really sure why we brought a second plate into the line up, except for the fact that we are Cardinal-loving fools and wanted to give this plate a worthy place:

From then on, the Place of Honor got to pick between two plates:  a Cardinal head or 1975 plastic.

Personally, though, the revered white plastic was my favorite.  Just the fact that my husband made it when he was six years old at church--well, it has a history behind it that our Cardinal Bird can't touch.  The 1975 Eric plate often ended up being the subject of many of our dinner conversations.  Everything from--'Dad, it's a good thing you're not an artist' :), to 'where did you go to church when you were growing up and what was it like?'  My questions about the plate went even deeper.  I wondered if anyone else from that class still had theirs?  I wondered if their teacher remembered them making them and what she would do if she knew how we used that plate now?  Better yet, had his teacher held and prayed over those plates, asking God to use them in each of those children's lives?  Wouldn't she be blessed to know that certainly that prayer was being answered in our home, even a generation later.  

When we began the whole long process of moving across the state and starting over, many things fell to the way-side.  Unfortunately, one of those things was our Special Plate.  In our hustled and bustled and reshuffled lives, our Special Plate got lost in the frantic and became a thing of the past.

Finally, over the past month, our life has fallen into a steady rhythm.   The whirlwind of the last eighteen months has slowly stopped spinning out of control and the pieces of our life have begun their steady descent, gently falling piece by piece in place.  And with the calmness and the quiet has come the question, 'What about the Special Plate?' 

So, a few nights ago we re-instituted the Special Plate.  Our daughter Sophie received the honors of being the Chosen One.

As we took our turns with our life-speaking words, I watched Sophie's eyes become a little more sparkly and her spirit soften, as words pumped nourishment into a starved soul.  I realized how much our family had missed this simple yet powerful tradition--it was like getting re-acquainted with an old friend.  So sweet was the moment, I wanted to freeze-frame the memory, to wrap my arms around it and never let go.

The rest of the evening I felt we had a closer connection with Sophie, that some walls had come down, walls that I hadn't even really noticed that were there.  She seemed more relaxed and open to talking about all kinds of things.  There was a little more trust. Uplifting words had provided a safe haven. 

So powerful was the change, it made me wonder--have we been encouraging our children enough?  The conclusion I came to was this:  while I believe we try to be encouraging in the normal course of our day, so much of our time as parents is spent on correcting wrong behavior.  Could it be that our attempts to praise the good things was getting mulled over and forgotten in the discipline?

And this is when I realized why the Special Plate is so powerful.  It intentionally sets aside a time in our day when we only build up and affirm.  It is remembered and cherished by our children because the whole tradition is built around the positive.   Encouragement doesn't get lost in correction.

Often, we don't appreciate something until we've lost it.  This is true for me and our Special Plate tradition.  Its 'cherished-status' has grown one-hundred fold for me this week.  If you don't do this easy meal-time tradition, or if you used to but it has fallen to the wayside, I urge you to start it.  I strongly believe that the pay-off of a little dinner intentionality will be a legacy that will bear fruit for generations to come.  Never under-rate the power of encouragement!

'Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.' 

                                 1 Thessalonians 5:11

ENCOUR'AGEMENT, n. The act of giving courage, or confidence of success; incitement to action or to practice; incentive. We ought never to neglect the encouragement of youth in generous deeds. The praise of good men serves as an encouragement of virtue and heroism.

1. That which serves to incite, support, promote or advance, as favor, countenance, rewards, profit.

***definition taken from 1828 Webster Dictionary***

'No shoes, no shirt, no service' 

Not a requirement in Western KY

Baseball, Shaving Cream and Line Dancing

Monday began the week of tournament play.  Every evening we packed up and went to the ball park and cheered on one of our three ball players teams.  Each tournament was single elimination so if you lost, you were out.  

Owen played on Monday--and as the prior post recalled, the expansion Racers lost putting an end to their season.

Tuesday Wes' team--the Hammers--played.  As the top seeded team, they got the advantage of playing the lowest seeded team.  



Wes rounding first:



...making the first run for the night:



Here is Wes' buddy Garrett being congratulated after a home run!



They ended up winning easily by several runs and were scheduled to play again Thursday evening.

Wednesday Jeremiah's team played.  They were the top seeded team and got a buy in the first round of games.  As they were undefeated their entire season, I was a bit nervous about them winning.  When a team has yet to lose, you worry that a loss could be right around the corner.  The game was a tight one for the first three innings.  In fact, here is a picture of an impromptu meeting out on the field prompted by the shortstop, Drake:

  

Later, I asked Jeremiah what they talked about.  He said, 'Nothing. We just all stood there and looked at each other.' 

After the third inning, though, the Braves began exploding at bat.  Here is Donye hitting a home run:





Jeremiah getting a piece of the action:



 The Braves won 23-6, sending them to the Championship game on Saturday!

The Hammers came out strong on Thursday.

Here is Wes leading them off:



Throughout all the tournament games, Wes either played short stop or third base.  Here he is playing third:



Wes didn't get this guy out, but I thought it was a cool picture.



Trying to pick this guy off:



While the Hammers were pounding away, there was lots of fun happening on the sidelines:



These boys can make a competition out of anything, even jumping over chairs.  I think A.J. was the fastest jumper--I almost didn't catch him.









But back to the game.  The Hammers won easily, 11-3.  They too were headed to the Championship game on Saturday!

I was so happy for them!  Yet so distraught about the fact that they both played at 4:30 PM clear across town from one another!

NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

What's a mom and dad to do???!!  What are grandparents to do????

There was only one answer, as much as I hated it.  Split up--divide and conquer.

Such decisions are hard on a mama's soul.

Saturday afternoon, Wes and Jeremiah wished each other luck, good-byes were said in the driveway, and Eric and his dad left for Wes' game and his mom and I left for Jeremiah's.

and Eric and his dad left for Wes' game and his mom and I left for Jeremiah's.

Before the game, Jeremiah's team gathered, removed their hats, and bowed their heads in prayer.

All faced the flag for the National Anthem.

'PLAY BALL!'

And for the next hour and twenty minutes, I chain smoked and bit my nails  I cheered on the Braves up-close while cheering for the Hammers via text status reports from Eric. 

Here's a picture of the center fielder catching a fly ball:

Jeremiah swinging:

Drake hitting a homerun:

And the team congratulating him:

So here is Jeremiah going to second and obviously beating the ball.

But the umpire called him out.  

Jumping out of my chair, I ran screaming out in the middle of the field, waving my camera in the air and showing him the evidence. 

No, I'm just kidding.  I didn't do that.  

I just wanted to liven you up.

Actually, there was no drama in this game.   The Braves led almost the entire game and ended up winning 16-5 (or something like that).

When the game was over, the team gathered together and bowed their heads in thanksgiving.  Loved this.

Then we got some pics in front of the scoreboard that you can't read:

We celebrated for a moment with silly string,

Then hurried on out to try to make it to the end of Wes' game.  The Hammers were down 2 runs.

Oh, good gravy.

As we tracked clear across town, I spent much of the time on speaker phone with Eric giving me the play by play.

By the time we pulled up, the game was tied 6-6 in the bottom of the last inning and the Hammers had two players on base with no outs.  Tense, it was.

We hung on every pitch...



Finally, the end we were all hoping for...

The Hammers won!



And here is the other coach apologizing for losing his temper in the middle of the game.  What a way to own up.  If only more of us adults could learn to do this when we mess up.



Two championship games and two wins.  You'd think we'd go celebrate  privately with our teams with a little pizza and trophy presentation, then go home, kick back and relax, right?



No, oh, no.  That's not the way they do things here in Western KY. 

No sir-ee.

The party's just getting started.

Every first and second place team that played in a championship game from every division--both young and old--AND every team that placed first in the regular season, along with ALL the family and fans, come together at the Lone Oak ball field.  All 2000+ of us,  cars parked every which way, as far as the eye can see.  

And then the most bizarre event ever in the history of baseball unfolds.

First, the emcee calls the baseball teams forward and plays the Cha Cha Slide so they can all dance:





Then the emcee calls on the moms of the baseball players forward and they play the Cha Cha Slide for a SECOND time so the mamas can boogie.

Then the emcee calls all the dads of the baseball players up and guess what they play for a THIRD time?  Yep, you guessed it--dads all around us bustin' a move to the Cha Cha Slide.

And as dust is a flyin' from all the dancing, people run left and right, squirting shaving cream at one other:

The experienced people bring goggles.

But most just wing it:

And sometime in the midst of the shaving cream flinging, trophies are presented and fireworks are set off.  

But I never really could get past the line dancing and shaving cream...I could only stare at everyone, dumbfounded, trying to understand this yearly tradition.

This madness.

It still makes me laugh and the only thing I know to say about it all is:

WELCOME TO WESTERN KY, Y'ALL!