Ahhhhhhhh....Shopping

It's been a WEEK. Work has, as I mentioned earlier, taken most of my brain from me. It's been pretty humid here too, which means exercising takes most of whatever energy is left after work. And then, of course, there has been the saga of the refrigerator (which has, to a great extent, settled down...so I'm hopeful that it was just ill and not terminal). Slap on top of it some rather unsettling information that had filtered my way throughout the week...I needed therapy.

Today I realized that I hadn't been clothes shopping since May. MAY. This is not like me. Now I'm not a huge shopper, but I do like to get a little something every now and then. (This summer was light on now and heavy on then.) Retail therapy to the rescue of all problems.

This weekend we've been permitted to wear school T-shirts to work - which is a luxury of great magnitude. We can't wear jeans, so that means I have to stick to the khakis. I realized that I had absolutely no appropriate footwear to go with a T-shirt and khakis. We can't wear flip-flops, no matter how dressed up. I don't believe in wearing any sort of athletic/canvas shoes at work. All my sandals are too dressy. So I had no choice but to SHOP.

And ahhhhh what sweet joy. One shirt (work AND church appropriate). One pair of pants (work appropriate). Three pairs of shoes (one pair that will work for both T-shirt days). Twenty dollars and seventy-four cents. Thankyouverymuch.

Vera

This time of year tends to sap my brain. The phone calls roll in at work faster than I can answer them, and after a while, I struggle to make sense of it all.

Yesterday, for example, I had a string of voicemails to return. I picked up the phone, dialed the number of one of the ladies who had called me, and when she answered I said, "Hi Rebekah, this is Vera from the Financial Aid Office." Pause, pause, pause. Then I said, "No, that's not right. You're Vera. I'm Rebekah."

Fortunately she had a good sense of humor and could understand days like that.

But it's my new name now. Just call me Vera.

Bits for Sunday, August 24, 2008

I like to consider myself fairly resourceful. Sometimes this translates to cheap. I’ll drive to three grocery stores to save thirteen cents on a loaf of bread. I’m the person who doesn’t have a stash of pocket change to use toward a vacation because I actually live on my pocket change. I’ll only make a purchase at Hobby Lobby if said item is half price that week. If it’s not, I will wait until it is – because at that point it has become a matter of principle. I view the forfeiting of a “ten dollars off ten dollars or more” coupon at Fashion Bug as actually throwing away ten dollars and will hunt carefully around the store for a purchase that brings me to $10.01 so I can pay pretty much tax only on my purchase and feel ever so excited about my frugal spirit. I purchase glue sticks in ridiculous quantities when school supplies are on sale so I have a year’s supply on hand and don’t have to pay the extra three cents a pack throughout the year.

Those are the minor things. I also heat my house with candles in the winter because I’m too cheap to run any sort of decent heat. If that doesn’t cut it, put on another sweatshirt and get under a blanket. (Thankfully cats have fur coats and so far they’ve not had to chip through ice in their water bowl, so all residents of my home seem to be happy.)

But it’s not just about saving money. It’s about figuring out how to make the best of things that don’t work as they should. For example…the light in my closet broke and I keep forgetting to ask the fix-it guy to fix it…so for now I just drag the floor lamp into the closet to find my clothes. Whenever I don’t have time to do that, I just grab something and hope it matches. If it doesn’t and someone has an issue with that…perhaps he or she would like to contribute to the light fund.

And if you think I’m going to be in any sort of hurry about that light – let me just tell you THIS. A year or so ago, the kitchen light (an Edison original) went out and it was a while before I rounded up an electrician to replace it. I was used to cooking by the glow of the Christmas lights above the cabinets, but when my sister came over to help me make broccoli salad one night, she gave me some strange looks when I pulled out the flashlight to check the status of the bacon on the stove.

I hadn’t realized just how much I temp-fix my house until today when I was talking to Mom before lunch. I told her that the radio in my bathroom has one of those flimsy cord-like antennas, and in order for me to pick up the station I need on Sunday morning (to hear my Dad’s program), I have to stretch it toward the towel bar and then stuff a towel around it to hold it in place. When I’m done, I have to coil up the cord and hide it in my makeup so Braeya doesn’t chew off any more of the end than she already has. The towel, at that point, needs to be relocated to its place over the bathroom door (over the top of it) to prevent the door from shutting…which locks the cats inside.

I’m afraid if the cats are locked inside and get bored, they’ll figure out how to get around the Tupperware onion storage container that currently hides the toilet handle. Braeya has a flushing addiction. That’s life at Bekah’s…flashlights, towels, and onion holders in the oddest of places.

There are some things, though, that the temp fixes just won’t cover. Remember how I just bought a new washer and dryer? Ever heard the saying that things happen in threes? Yeah. I think I have a second appliance about to croak. Literally.

I told Mom and Dad today that my refrigerator sounds like a pig being strangled. I even imitated the lovely screeching sound that has occasionally emanated from deep within it for the past several months. This weekend, said sound moved up to full time. I about moved out of my own house. Let the pig die!!!

Mom thought I was exaggerating. So I came home, called her, said, “Listen please” and stuck the phone in the freezer. When I returned to the phone, she said, “That is your REFRIGERATOR??? That doesn’t sound good.” As I was saying. Strangled pig.

Sigh. Yesterday I stood in the kitchen and shouted, “I don’t want to buy more appliances!!!!” The pig continued dying. I see another trip to the store in my very near future. Meanwhile, if things really do happen in threes, I hope the next appliance to go is something more along the lines of my toaster.

But I'm Too YOUNG!!!!

While I am grateful that hair and pudgy cheek conditions have improved since these photos,

I am still much too young to have a niece going to college!

My good little buddy...


...is a little too tall for things like this now.

But I'm very proud of her and very excited for her. College was definitely the beginning of the defining part of my life - and I am looking forward to seeing what it brings for her.
Still...let the record show...I am too young for this.

Fifty-Four Years

To go with my earlier post....

I know. I know. I look exactly like my mom. But what I'd actually like to point out is all that HAIR my dad has!!



This one is one of my favorite pictures from their wedding because I guess I just never expected this sort of photography that many years ago. The whole soft glow thing....very cool.
I would have posted this last night...but I was knee-deep in a typical Bekah overbooked night. I finally had to quit doing chores because I'd run out of room to write them in the day planner so I could proceed to cross them out as completed. (Oh come on - at least one of you does that!)

Anyway, yesterday was my parents' anniversary. Fifty-four years. I think it's great. Fifty-four years is milestone enough to celebrate with much thankfulness but not milestone enough to require a party. :D (I think my sisters and I are still recovering from the fiftieth shindig we threw.)

I shared in devotions at work that I'm very thankful for their long-standing marriage, though. It's given me many good examples of how to work hard and keep going even when it's tough. I know they don't' always see eye to eye on things, but I appreciate their determination to not let those things drive them apart.

Given that I did NOT get married at seventeen like my mom did, chances are, I'll never see the same length of marriage (and if I do, I'll probably be too out of my mind to know I've arrived) but I hope that if I ever do get married, I can enjoy a good long life with my husband!

So even though I'm a day late, congratulations, Mom and Dad! Love you!

Bits for Sunday, August 17, 2008

I know you’ve already seen bits and pieces of this story, but this is one that deserves to be told from the beginning, so I’m just going to start at the beginning and work my way forward.

My washer died. Yes, the infamous washer that ate my sheets about a year ago and at a later point in time ripped the ties off one of my long-standing dresses. That washer. I have no idea how old the washer was. It was quietly parked in its corner of the bathroom when I moved into this house eight years ago. It wasn’t anything fancy, and it had been known to cause the entire house to shudder during the spin cycle, but apart from the isolated incidents of clothing sabotage, it had been a good little washer.

The night it died, I planned to do three loads of laundry. Hot, warm, and cold. I put the first load in, went for my walk, came home, put that load in the dryer, put the second load in the washer…and suddenly I was very aware of wet socks. Never a good feeling. I looked down to see a stream of water rushing to the center of the room from underneath the washer. I hoisted myself over the top of the washer to look at the hoses (as though I would even know what I was looking for in this situation…but it seemed the thing to do) and found nothing that looked strange. Nothing spewed water anyway.

So I called Dad. It was that or 911. Dad (who is so good with appliance-challenged-daughter-emergencies) got in the car, toolbox in hand, and drove over to take a look at it. We formed an assembly line with plastic tumblers, emptying water out into the sink while beach towels (that otherwise get little use) mopped up the river that had slowed a bit from under the washer. By the time Dad left, having concluded that a plumber should be called, I was left with one half-soaked load of clothing staring at me from the laundry basket.

You know you have good friends when you can call them at 10:30 at night and ask to use their laundry room. I packed up the load (wet clothes are heavy!) and drove to the other side of town to use Marie’s washer, and then drove home and stayed up until 2 in the morning drying all these wet clothes.

The plumber came a few days later and pronounced the washer dead at an unknown age. Cause of death? Hole in the drum.

While the next step may seem simple, it was anything but. Obviously I needed a new washer…but did I also want to get a dryer? Or did I want a glaringly unmatched set residing in the path of everyday life? Did I want to pursue the idea of getting a space-saving stacked set? (That would require rerouting the plumbing, the dryer vent, and calling the siding boys back to the house for more work.) I spent hours online reading prices, sales, rebates, customer reviews, and appliance specs. I marched back and forth from the computer to the bathroom measuring and re-measuring.

As the dirty clothes piled up, I reminded myself that my mother could not do my laundry forever, so finally I jumped in the car and drove to the store to make “the decision.” I think choosing a husband must certainly be easier than the agony I went through of choosing a new washer (and dryer, since my OCD won out and I knew I could not function in a house of mismatched appliances). As it went, the salesman had an accent like the Geico gecko. He could have sold me every appliance in the store. I paced around in the washer aisle while he watched (with amusement, I might add) from behind the cash register. Finally I summoned him, pointed at the washer and dryer nearest me and turned away before I could change my mind.

He promised me next day delivery, until he discovered that my careful choice was on backorder for another two weeks. I told him I could just turn my underwear inside out for the next two weeks. I think he thought I was serious.

I came home, receipt in hand, much poorer, and spent the days following carefully choosing each day’s clothing, knowing I could ill-afford any spills or mishaps until the washer came.

This week I came home to find a message awaiting me from the automated delivery guy, announcing he had an important announcement for Frellanrebekah. After the second time through the message, I discovered that was their interpretation of my last and first names smashed into one and somewhat re-spelled. They left a toll free number for me to call and confirm, which I did, assuming it would be automated. Oh if only I had been so lucky. Frellanrebekah boy was nothing compared to the man I got live.

His accent sounded like Bella Karolyi's - and probably listening to him so much over the course of the Olympics was what gave me the one thing I did get out of the conversation. The end said “WewilluhcalluhyouondeuhFriday.”

When they “uh called me on de uh Friday” to confirm the two hour window for my Saturday delivery, the magic time fell between ten and twelve. I assumed that meant sleeping until eleven was out.

Or seven. Because that was when the delivery service first called to remind me they were coming. I don’t accept calls at 7 on a Saturday. Or 8. Or 9. Or 10. If you’re going to wake me up on a Saturday, somebody better be dead. I didn’t answer the seven a.m. wakeup call, but I did answer the one at 8. I answered it in my best “you just woke me up and someone better be dead” voice. It was the delivery service. Running an hour ahead of schedule. That okay?

What’s the point in a delivery window if you deliver outside the window? Fine. Whatever. I met them at the door with full bedhead, smeary mascara, and pajamas still on.

But for all my annoyance, I must say that it is nice to have a washer that doesn’t jar the house on spin…a dryer that buzzes to signal it has entered the anti-wrinkling stage…and a floor free of rivers.

In Case You Have Nothing to Watch...

I know, I know...there's just NOTHING on TV these days! ;)

Lori sent this link to me - if you want to check it out for the full scoop. The summary is this: Doug Wilson and Faber Dewar (both from Trading Spaces) did a six week design series which will air on TLC starting next Saturday night, August 23rd. They helped six Greensburg families settle into their new homes.

Lori and Cassie have been keeping me up to date on their treks about town. I happen to be a rather ridiculous admirer of Doug Wilson...and Cassie told me she'd said hi to him a few times. You know...while just out and about. I would have passed out.

So if you're looking for something to watch on Saturday nights, check it out.

Ick to Stress

I'm stressed.

I try not to let it get to me, because I absolutely cannot afford a sick day right now, but truth be told, I'm stressed.

It happens every year right before school starts. The work load increases, and because I'm a perfectionist, I demand a ridiculous amount of production from myself. (This is the sort of annoyance that allows me to understand exactly why Michael Phelps was annoyed even while breaking a record and winning gold...because he knew he could have done better.) Though I'm thrilled beyond words at the impending end of DST, the shorter days are forcing me to hurry much more in the evenings to get all the chores done before dark (and now before the Olympics start, too, so I can continue to find more life analogies in the daily happenings).

And there's just been lots of "stuff" going on in my life. I wish I had time to sit and ponder it more than I do. Pondering makes me happy.

But here's the laugh for today. Always gotta have a laugh in the stress, right? Remember my dead washer? Its replacement is scheduled for delivery soon, and today I had an automated voicemail telling me what I needed to do next in the great delivery proceedings. Automated male voice #1 announced the call and the purpose, and then about halfway through the message, he paused and automated male voice #2 inserted my name. I've been called a lot of things, but this was a new one for me: Frellanrebekah.

There you go, Chris. You can start a second list - name mess-ups. In this case I think I'd rather be Ralphetta.

Mom and Bekah Watch the Olympics

If I am going to succumb to the bad habit of being a grouch for the next couple of weeks due to Olympic-induced lack of sleep, I would like to drag others down with me. :) I'm starting with my Mom. She's retired. She's got time to watch hours and hours of TV. Right?

So anyway, I called her a couple of times tonight to see if she was watching. My sister (Julie) works with the mother of one of USA's synchronized divers, so I wanted to make sure she saw them dive. Later we watched some gymnastics - the floor routines.

But here's the crazy part. Mom (still operating on a rabbit ear TV until February 2009) was watching the same channel I was watching (on cable) - but hers ran about 3-5 seconds faster than mine. So on the floor exercises, she could tell me everything ahead of time. "Ooh...he stepped out of bounds..." and sure enough! A few seconds later, he went right out of the little line. The suspense of these things kills me, so I've decided she should just stay on the phone with me the whole time and let me know what to expect.

Bits for Sunday, August 10, 2008

I was halfway through the writing this week when I realized I’d already written about that particular topic. This is a very good example of why you should not try to watch the Olympics while writing something meaningful.

Normally I’m not such a sports girl. At all. If you asked me to tell you the channel location of EPSN on my TV…well…you’d have to wait for me to find the TV guide and read it to you. But there’s something about this Olympic spirit that gives me just a bit of sports fever. And this weekend I’ve kept very close to the TV…watching swimming, diving, biking, gymnastics, sculls (is that the right word?), volleyball…and taking crash courses on each thing as it flashed across my screen.

But aside from my fresh every-four-years encounter with sports this week, I have to tell you that God did a lot of teaching in my heart this week – and it was completely aside from anything Olympic-related.

For the past week, as part of my daily devotions, I’ve been following this little prayer guide I received. I loved it so much because every day had a theme (yay!) and all the theme words started with the same letter (double yay!) Search, Surrender, Seek, Silence, Stand, Secure, and Sing.

Sing is actually today’s, so I’ve not really explored that one too much yet, but the study on Secure last night really hit me.

I had stayed up far too late (as is the norm for Olympic season for me) and knew I was really going to regret that decision when the alarm sounded for church. I crawled into bed with my Bible and my journal and put the Olympics on mute. My heart was pretty restless, and I needed to know that God was aware of that. (As if the audible “AAAHHHHH” hadn’t been clue enough.)

I settled in with my prayer guide and flipped open the Bible to Joshua 1:9. The reference seemed familiar even before I arrived on the right page: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Perfect verse. I could have closed the Bible right then and known that I’d been heard, but I kept reading the other verses on the card. Deuteronomy 31:6…8…23…pretty much the same words in a slightly different order. It was exactly the confirmation I needed.

And it took me back to another time many years ago…when I was in junior high. The youth pastors at my church were newlywed college students, and they were just so sweet to me. They were very good influences during a time in my spiritual life when I was first starting to get excited about having my own thriving relationship with God. They encouraged all of us in the youth group to memorize verses and told us how the verses they knew best were ones they’d learned when they were younger.

This verse, Joshua 1:9, was the first one I learned under their teaching. It seemed an appropriate junior high verse…don’t be afraid, don’t be terrified…God is with you. Maybe life has become an extension of junior high…I’m not sure. I am sure, though, that I was very glad to re-encounter this verse this weekend. I needed these words. I needed to know that I could be strong and that God was going to be with me. I needed to be reminded that all security comes from Him and to try to find it anywhere else is futile.

And I needed to be reminded that it’s good to memorize verses. That’s one of my commitments for this decade – to work on Scripture memorization. (The memorization of the actual words…not just saying “I know it’s that yellow verse in the lower left hand corner of the page.”) What a perfect verse to push me forward in that commitment.

Pancakes, Toilets, and Volleyball

Nah, they don't really have anything in common.

It's shaping up to be a pretty perfect Saturday to follow a lovely Friday evening. It was so beautiful outside last night, so I went for a walk, cooked dinner, and settled in for a long evening's scrap while I watched the opening ceremonies for the Olympics. I was prepared to be unimpressed, but I was wrong. I thought the pageantry part was amazing. I loved the part that showed the movable-type "art" - but I had no idea people were powering that! Of course I loved the "human stamping" with the larger than life stamp pads that the athletes walked over to get into the center area during the parade of nations. And my favorite moment was that little boy that got to march with China at the end. That was great.

This morning I slept in late (the making of a perfect Saturday) and had pancakes for breakfast. That's my favorite Saturday morning gig, but I don't always get the chance to do it.

Thought I'd update you on the feline flushing in the house. Christina suggested I try double stick tape on the handle and given it was the most cost effective option of the list, I started there. Worked GREAT. The first time Braeya sneaked up to the toilet and stuck her little paw on that handle...she recoiled and I cheered. But never underestimate the perseverance of that little critter. I woke up two days ago to the sound of a toilet flushing...

...So back to brainstorming I went. I am now to plan B which seems to be working, but I guess only time will tell how LONG it will work. I'll have to take a picture of this for you, but a few years ago, I got an onion storage thing from a Tupperware party. It's designed to hold half an onion (so it's flat on one side and round on the other) and has a bit of a handle that you're supposed to use to hang it from a wire shelf in the refrigerator. I've never used it for that purpose, but I had to wonder if I could stick the flat side with the handle under the tank lid and let the rounded part hang down and cover the handle. It fits beautifully, but we'll have to see if she figures out how to move it. Plan C is to tape it down so I can lift it up but she (hypothetically) can't.

As for now...it's time to get ready so I can go back to scrapping. But I want to see how the volleyball ends. It's USA vs Japan and right now we're precariously close to winning...but could lose without a lot of effort too. My ex-boyfriend was a volleyball coach, so I thought I'd see if I remembered anything from what I tried to learn while we dated. Verdict? Not so much.

Summer Fun

I'm very bad about taking pictures in the summer because not much happens in Bekahland then. Not a lot of parties, not a lot of birthdays...not a lot of memorable moments. :)

But here's a small sampling from the past couple of weeks.

Faith came over to stamp with me. Faith's table:


Bekah's table: the coffee was what got me through starting at 8:00 AM...after having been up until 2 with the laundry fiasco.


Our matching scrap day shirts. Yes, we do this on purpose.

This past weekend I went to Ft. Wayne to see my best friend. We had our little birthday celebration. Belle (her dog, in case you're not able to discern that from photo below) helped me unwrap my gift.

And then she helped Lynnette with hers. Oh how I wish Kaegan and Braeya got into this sort of thing. It was hysterical.

Bits for Sunday, August 3, 2008

Today I lovingly bring to you what I like to call “the peril of the drive-thru window.” I’ll start by saying that I grew up in a home vastly divided on the issue of the drive-thru. My Mom (much like most mothers, I’m sure) loved the creation of the drive-thru. My, father, on the other hand, had nothing to do with them, insisting upon the extra personal touch of actually walking into the business.

In seasons of rain, sleet, snow, wind, ice, and extreme heat (so in Indiana…95% of the time) I agreed with my Mom. Why bother exiting a comfortable car to brave the elements for an ice cream cone? In seasons of social need (so in Bekahland…95% of the time) I agreed with my Dad. Nothing could top that actual face to face meeting, even if it was just to make a bank deposit.

I think you see the dilemma.

But the event that pushed me entirely to my Dad’s side happened when I was fairly young. It was probably a Friday because I’m pretty sure the bank drive-thru line was long with paycheck owners. Obviously the fact that I was in the drive-thru line tells me I was with my Mom. As we waited our turn for Mom to do whatever she came to do, we noticed some commotion in another lane. Long story short (and I’m not entirely sure how we figured all this out unless we overheard the hysteria), the woman trying to cash her paycheck ended up losing it somehow, somewhere in the bank chute. I don’t remember if the whole canister got lodged somewhere between her car and the inside of the bank, or if it came open and the check came out. Maybe we didn’t even know. But we knew that the woman and her “I need this to survive” money had been separated and it was not a pretty picture. And that soured me toward drive-thru windows for years to come.

It all happens in the drive-thru. The lid comes off the drink in transit between the worker’s hand and yours and 32 ounces of Mountain Dew showers your freshly washed driver’s side door. (This one is obviously not a personal example since anyone who knows me knows my driver’s door hasn’t been “freshly washed” since the last rain.) The quarter you’re trying to hand over slips through your fingers and rolls back to the car behind you, leaving you to scour purse and car seat for a new one while drivers six cars back start slapping the steering wheel and muttering lovely things.

And of course there’s the final acceptance of the food, followed by the merging into traffic only to discover that something is missing….a straw, or worse, the burger, which was the only thing scheduled to get you through the afternoon.

Because of these things, for years, I followed my Dad’s leading and boycotted drive-thru’s, but recent years of laziness have caused me to follow my Mom’s perspective.

Yesterday, however, provided a “this is why I should side with my Dad on the drive-thru issue” moment for me. I’d gone to Ft. Wayne to see my best friend and I had a great time hanging out with her…shopping…all the fun stuff. On my way home, I began to crave a Starbucks caramel frappuccino. The farther I drove, the more I craved.

So I found the nearest Starbucks, drove in, and headed for the drive-thru. It was blessed hot yesterday and my car was so cool (okay frigid) from a solid hour of blasting air, and I didn’t want to walk outside even for three steps to the front door. I was welcomed by the chipper barista and placed my order for a caramel frappe (because I normally order at Tree of Life, it just spills out that way). She verified my order and I scooted around to wait. I saw her coming toward the window and my mouth watered for the frozen drink.

But she was carrying a hot drink. She pushed open the window and said (rather cheerily, I might add) “Here’s your caramel latte!” NOOOOOOOOO!! Not latte. FRAPPE!!! I didn’t argue it. She’d repeated the order to me and through the magic of garbled drive-thru systems, she said and heard latte, and I said and heard frappe. I knew I should have said the full “frappuccino.” But then…doesn’t that sound exactly like “cappuccino” on the other side of electronic devices? I can’t win.

So until Starbucks gets a camera in their drive-thru to lip-read the orders, I think I will join my Dad in the persuasion that in-person transactions are better.

Eight Years Ago Today...

...I watched a baby's birth for the first time...and not on TV. As a rather big fan of A Baby Story on TLC, I'd seen a lot of births. But this was the first live and in person one I'd seen...and let me just tell you, they sure don't happen in 1/2 hour. Try 21 hours. No commercial breaks.

My friends were expecting their first baby and asked me to be present to video tape and take pictures. I was so excited when "the call" came (after a couple of false alarms), and I rushed to the hospital ready to document.

Before we got to that point, however, we had several hours of labor to get through. During that time, I learned how to count through contractions, administer ice chips without dropping any down the front of the fabulous gown, have my hand squeezed until circulation almost never returned, and PROMISE that this would be the very last push...knowing full well there might be twelve more to go. (Finally got caught on that one. Women in labor are very intuitive.)

I arrived at the hospital around 9:00 a.m. on July 31, and little Carol arrived at 2:54 a.m. on August 1. I had to drive home (45 minutes) and get up at 6:00 for a full day of work. Needless to say, I think at this time eight years ago, I was sacked out on a couch catching up on lost sleep.


In later years, I attended the births of her little sister and little brother, but there was something so very extra special about hers. She was the only one whose gender they chose not to learn ahead of time, and that made the entire thing extra exciting. Definitely sold me on that method. I was crying so hard when she finally arrived that I could barely see to tape!

This is one of only three pictures I have with baby Carol. We only got to keep her here with us for six months - another one of those very difficult moments of life that sent me questioning God and finding Him to be so faithful to comfort His hurting children.

I wondered today what we would be doing this weekend to celebrate an eight year old's birthday. I felt I needed to do something to honor her on this day. I've been flipping through the scrapbook, remembering her cute facial expressions and sweet smile...and the miracle of her birth...one of the most significant moments of my life.