Sunday Selah

You answer us with awesome deeds of righteousness,

O God our Savior,

the hope of all the ends of the earth

and of the farthest seas,

 who formed the mountains by your power,

having armed yourself with strength,

who stilled the roaring of the seas,

the roaring of their waves,

and the turmoil of the nations.

Psalm 65:5-7

I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.
I've had a few days to be still.

To be quiet.

To sit.

I am unpracticed.

I love the rigorous regimen of my big family life, caring for my multitudes of little ones. Teaching. Speaking. Scrambling. Cleaning. Hugging. Scolding. Running.

There's just not a lot of quiet, of still, in all of that.

When there is a bit of respite, Mike and I find ourselves just tired.

So well-rested and quiet is unfamiliar.

I'm grateful for it.

But somewhat uncomfortable.

Quiet.

To be still with my Abba. To be quiet, not taking a little pocket of time here or there. But to sit for an extended time. To force myself not to grab a phone, check an email. Not to pick up a book.

To be quiet.

To keep myself in a time out.

For all the right reasons.

I'm not good at it.

But I do want to hear.

To hear what He has to say.

Even if the theme of the conversation is quiet.

Just to sit alongside Him. And to be still. And to let Him quiet the waves and crests of a busy life.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~Snow Cute~

~sorry~

~couldn't resist the pun~

Good as Gold...

These people?

They're as good as gold.

For many reasons.

But particularly this weekend.

Because they've pulled in to town so that Mike and I can sneak off for a couple of days.

And by 'sneak off', I mean 'plan for months in advance, do twelve loads of laundry, print up schedules and car pool requirements, pack, repack, take more vitamins, check the soccer schedule, alert the neighbors and stock the fridge' kind of 'sneak off' kind of way.

And these are the people whose presence in the house will allow us to 'sneak off'.

I just love them.

For many reasons.

Not just because they're letting me run off with their son.

But that is one of the reasons...

Tech Lent...Or Not....

So I thought we should have a little break from technology.

Just for an afternoon.

Clear the mind.

Clear the sinuses.

The boys headed upstairs, volumes of books to peruse.

They had strict instructions to avoid the Wii. The t.v. The phone. The DVD player.

I failed to mention the Flip camera.

So a video was shot and edited and uploaded. During the Tech Lent.

My bad.

And this was the result of what was to have been a tech-free couple of hours....

I think I need to keep a Parenting Contract Attorney on retainer...

Now I'm A Believer...

My apologies to our local meteorologists.

I doubted you.

Not that I don't have reason.

Because the meteorologists have toyed with us before.

Played up our hopes for wintery precip.

Only to have our hopes dashed with sunny skies and high temps.

Not that sunny skies and high temps would constitute an actual complaint on my part.

But I do live with a number of children who put great stock in predictions of the white snowy stuff.

Our confidence was restored yesterday...

There actually was some snow.

And it actually stuck around for a bit.

The kids hustled into our motley assortment of winter wear and hit the, ah, slopes.

Making snow angels on the trampoline.

Rocking the rainbow hat...

Taking it all in.

I won't bother you with the laundry pile this brief winter wonderland yielded. Suffice it to say that it was substantial.

Is substantial, to be most accurate. The pile continues to exist, though I am chipping away at it.

But a laundry mountain seems a small price to pay for the fun they had.

Which I can say since I'm only dealing with snow days about once every three years....

Eye of the Beholder...

                                                                            (Associated Press)
I've been dealing with a bit of Olympic fever.


I've even been watching some curling.


Although I am hopelessly lost as to the nuances of the sport.


I'm watching anyway.


And ice dancing has captured my heart this year, with North American teams performing with such beauty and power.


Tessa Virtue (is that a fabulous name or what?) and Scott Moir took gold last night in Vancouver.  When they took the ice for last night's final performance, I couldn't wait to see them.


Mike took a pause and came to watch with me.


Virtue and Moir came to the center of the ice.  A gentle concerto began.  And they started a ballet of glide and grace, sweeping across the ice, into and out of each other's arms.


And Mike said (and I quote), "Yawn."


Yawn?


Seriously?


I'm seeing gorgeous, transcendent.  Gold-worthy.


And Mike sees yawn?


We have those moments every now and then in our marriage.


It's always a bit of a surprise to me, idealist that I am.


Like the very first fight we ever had when we were dating.


It was over the poet e.e. cummings.


And I can't remember exactly what the topic of the disagreement was about except that we were definitely seeing things differently.


But the marriage has matured.  And our likes and dislikes have come more into alignment on a variety of topics.


Except for ice dancing, it would seem.


But I'm okay with that.


I've got a gold medal to back up my opinion.

As The Memory Card Turns...

We've got multiple cameras and photographers in this house now.

Which is great, because more of the photographic record is being captured.

Which is bad, because I have enough trouble keeping up with the images on one memory card.

Case in point.

My beloved bestie JK emailed a couple of days ago.

"Can I have copies of our night at TransSiberian?"

From two months ago.

Um.

Sure.

As soon as I locate that memory card.

At the end of December, Mike's company graciously allowed us to use the box at the American Airlines Center to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra. The suite was fantastic, the food delicious, the company delightful.

We took along JK and her hubby SK, who just conveniently happens to be Mike's beloved bestie. Very convenient. Though I doubt SK and Mike would refer to each other as 'besties'. But I am the author of this blog and I have teenage daughters and I'm rolling with current vernacular.

SK is a perfect blend of two parts acerbic wit to one part Stay Puff Marshmellow Man. He is a compelling figure. Particularly at a concert featuring lasers and all things electric guitar.

I learned some things about myself that evening at the performance, things I didn't know until I had this experience. I will share that wisdom here:
1. Seeing any event while safely tucked in a catered, beautiful suite/box seats is THE way to go. THE way. I would probably sign up to see a monster truck rally if a suite was involved.
2. I have an uncanny ability to butcher the name Trans Siberian Orchestra. I called it Mannheim RailRoller. I called it Siberian Railroad. I called it various iterations of all the names and had to be corrected many times that we were going to see Trans Siberian Orchestra (and I actually had to really think through it again to type it in correctly just now...)
3. The Trans Siberian Orchestra has no basis in Russia. They are a group of musicians from Dallas. Yea. I know. I was a little surprised myself. Took away some of the mystery.
4. My tolerance threshold for 80's electric guitar is 64 minutes. 64. Once the Christmas music of the show was over, somehow the electric throb lost its magic for me. Particularly because the Trans Mannheim Roller Rail Band thingy began performing their own music. If they had chosen to do cover songs from the 80's, I probably could have hung in there another 17 minutes or so.
5. Going to see any event, film, stage, whatever, is far more entertaining with SK's running commentary...though I don't recommend sitting through a boring church service with him. You run the danger of getting kicked out...

So there you have it, JK and the rest of Blogdom. Pictures. From the Trans Siberian Steamrolling Train thingy. Just a couple of months behind. Not bad for a Monday morning.

Sunday Selah

Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight.

I Peter 3:4

It's running at full blast now.
This event we call the Olympics.

All manner of sports on ice and snow. Jumping, skiing, twirling, racing.

Curling.

And losing.

And winning.

There is something so poignant to me, that moment an athlete takes the stand and receives a disc of gold and the accolades of the crowd for what he has achieved in his given sport.

I found myself more that once during a few of the medal ceremonies this week looking at the faces of the newly crowned Olympians and thinking, "Now what?"

To have reached the apex of all they've been training for. To have set a high goal and achieved it. To have pushed beyond the limits.

For a small moment on a stand with an anthem playing in the background.

And to head back to one's country of origin.

And back to daily life.

Now what?

And what of those competitors who don't realize their goals at this Olympics? The misplaced blade of the skate on the ice that leads to a fall. The soggy conditions on the slopes that grip the skis at just the wrong place. And the games are over and it's time to head home.

Now what?

And it's in that season of the 'Now what?' that the true champions will be revealed.

Because the season of the 'Now what' reveals the true character and caliber.

It's the time of reassessment, re-focus. Without the eyes of a huge audience as motivation. Without a competition just around the corner.

It's the time of character.

It's the season that shows the inner life.

Because for any of us to have true victory in life, for any of us to leave a legacy of character and example, it will be those long seasons away from the medal stand that prove our metal.

Do we keep training, pushing ourselves, striving for greater personal growth, more maturity, improvement in our weaknesses? Or are we only working for those moments when the audience of our lives can observe a well-played event and clap accordingly? Do we blend our time of accomplishment in front of others with a healthy helping of humbleness and mindfulness? Or do we climb that medal stand and somehow think we have arrived?

The inner life. The training track of the true champion. The willingness to run well when no one is watching.

Well, not no one.

Our Abba is always in the stands. Pulling for us. Coaching.

He's far more interested in the integrity of our training in the 'Now what' season. He wants to know if we will keep training with Him.

Now what?

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~6 of 8~

~Math Whiz~

~her favorite number is 25~

~...for now...~

By The Numbers...

We do a lot of math drills around here.

A.

Lot.

I'm sure there are more creative, cute, artistic ways to get basic math facts into the general traffic of the mind.

But math drills it is in this homeschool.

6 of 8 was working on a page yesterday and kept popping her head around the corner of my office.

"Hi, Mom!"

"Get back to work, 6 of 8..."

"Okay..."

More, ah, diligence took place, i.e., it was quiet for a bit, and then she popped her head around the corner again.

"Um, Mom, 3 plus 4 is 25, right?"

"3 plus 4 is 25? Honey, you know better than that. We have covered that one many, many times. You tell me, what is 3 plus 4?"

"Why can't it be 25?"

"6 of 8, come on. What is 3 plus 4?"

"Okay, okay, it's 7. But, ohhhhh, I like 25. I wish 3 plus 4 was 25..."

Math by popular vote.

I'm thinking 6 of 8 and I are going to have loads of fun with algebra.....

Plaster of TP

So you're thinking to yourself, "That Octa. I emailed/called/texted/Facebooked/im'd/commented her and haven't heard back yet!"

Just know that it's not because I don't love ya.

I've just been solving some housekeeping mysteries, one two-year-old at a time.



8 of 8 has created a new faux wall treatment...I'm calling it 'Plaster of TP.' The procedure is this; you very, very, very quietly sneak into the guest bathroom while your mother is just on the other side of the wall and you very, very, very quietly dip toilet paper into the toilet and proceed to throw the moist remnants of said paper at the wall. And be sure and get yourself soaked in the process so that your mother knows who the, um, artist is.



It does bring a unique texture to the space.

Maybe I'll just paint over it.

Yeah, that's it. A nice coat of latex is all this needs.



So if you've emailed/called/texted/Facebooked/im'd/commented me and haven't heard back yet, just remember, I do love ya.

I've just been a little busy.

Figuring out this latest mystery. Determining who the creative genius behind the Plaster of TP is.

And googling ideas for cleaning up toilet paper blobs.

Mama Mamiya

My first love was a Pentax 35mm.

And my deep obsession was my Mamiya 645AF.

Medium format film.

Ridiculously expensive.

I loved, loved, loved it.

That shot above?

It's of 6 of 8.

Back when she was 6 of 6.

And I took it with my Mamiya.

Oh, sure, it was a fickle, finicky rig. I spent untold dollars (no, seriously untold. I still haven't given Mike the final tally...) repairing the crazy thing. The medium format film was crazy expensive. The processing was expensive.

But my devotion was undaunted.

Because of shots like this of 4 of 8...

...and this, of 5 of 8...

And while I'm quite happy in my new digital relationship with Canon, I keep that Mamiya in a dark corner of the closet. Because I still heart the creamy finish of these shots, the clear blues on the film, the fact that I truly cut my teeth on it.

Ah, Mamiya. You still get to me.

So Fast...

I actually calculated it at one point.

From the time that I was about 6 months pregnant with the twins until they were 15 months old, I only slept in hour-and-a-half stretches.

Just 90 minutes at a time, here and there.

There is a lot about those months that is lost to me.

It was during those months that I began to blog. I suppose that somehow I instinctively knew that if I didn't begin recording that season, both photographically and in word, the page would turn and it would be gone.

We had moved 5 weeks before they were born, away from the support system it had taken us 3 years to develop on the coast. We were juggling six other much loved and very active kiddos.  We were closer to our hometown of Tulsa, but still several hundred miles away.

Photography.

Words.

Time machines.

And as I flip back through the archives of this blog, as I click through my digital photos, I find myself thankful again. Thankful for the blog friends made, for the old friends rediscovered, for the friends that are held close through little daily updates and stories and pictures.

And those sleepless nights are restored to me.

And I can see what that season looked like.

And I can read the words of a tired and lonely mom.

Who found an outlet and open hearts through CPUs and microchips and internet settings.

Thank you.

Varsity Romance

The doorbell rang Saturday morning.
The FedEx guy had come for a visit.

And in his arms he carried an enormous, long, slender box.

On the address label was 1 of 8's name.

Inside the box were twelve gorgeous hot pink roses.

From Da Boy.

And somehow, across the literal miles of their romance, Da Boy, through his card and thoughtfulness and phone conversations, made Valentine's Day feel very special.

Even from half a country away.

Even from a different time zone.

You're so good about bringing your A game, Boy.

And it makes the miles seem much shorter indeed.

Sunday Selah

"Haven't you read," (Jesus) replied, "that at the beginning the Creator 'made them male and female,'and said, 'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh'? So they are no longer two, but one."

Matthew 19:4-6

It seems a little odd.

Valentine's Day.

The day meant to celebrate romantic love. The day we give candy and roses and hearts. Pink and red, Cupid and kisses.

Odd.

Because this day of romance is named after a martyr.

Ouch.

Doesn't really jive with the hearts and roses theme.

History actually records that there may have been two or three saints who bore the moniker 'Valentine'. In ancient Latin, valens, the origin of the name, meant worthy and those who gave up their lives for their beliefs were honored with this designation.

There are actually three 'Valentine's Days' observed throughout the year, the one we celebrate on February 14th and two others that are observed by the Orthodox church in July.

While there is some controversy, most historians point to Geoffrey Chaucer, the poetic writer of the Middle Ages and celebrator of courtly romance and love, as the influence behind the metamorphosis of the feast of Saint Valentine from commemoration of a martyr to a celebration of love.

Martyr to amour. Saint to sweetheart.

But perhaps it is more apt than seen at first blush.

We forget sometimes in our infatuated era that love does require sacrifice. There may be roses, there may be ardor. Hopefully there is, when it comes to our romances. It is right for there to be fulfillment, trust, attraction.

But sometimes love requires for a season that we go from sweetheart to sacrifice.

Just like the one for whom this holiday of romance is named for.

And you usually don't see that on the Valentine commercials.

While every kiss may begin with 'Kay', every true binding of two hearts is forged in the struggle of putting the other person before yourself. Not so that you can be abused, used, refused. But so that as you adjust your step in the interest of your partner, he can be adjusting his.

And the dance across the floor begins.

An ebb. A flow. An adjustment here. A slight hiccup there. A beautiful move. A step in time. Each partner sensing the movement of the other and making room and compensation for it as the other does the same.

And the two become one.

By setting aside self.

In the spirit of Saint Valentine.

In the spirit of real romance.

May the dance begin.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~My Valentine~

~my funny valentine~

~I heart you, Baby~

~big time~

The Free (For a Price) Market

There's got to be a phrase for it. Some Adam Smith/Keynesian economic term that would capture the essence of this phenomenon.

But I think I sold back the economics textbooks at the end of college.

Or I'm using them as a doorstop out in the garage.

Either way, I'm going to stay here next to my coffee.

But back to our free market lesson, such as it is.

1 of 8 saw a few of the Super Bowl commercials during the game broadcast but wanted to see a couple others she missed. I went over to Hulu and sure enough, Hulu had the commercials...with a twist.

The Super Bowls commercials on Hulu are sponsored by Coca Cola.

Read it again.

Ads for Doritos and Snickers and ETrade are sponsored on Hulu by...Coca Cola.

Would you call that irony? Hypocrisy?

Genius?

We at least know this:

Profitable.

Broadway Bound, Baby...

Look at that face.

I know.

What a peach.

I was delighted to do a few headshots for a dear friend of 2 of 8's. Let's call her Broadway Girl.

'Cuz I think that's where this one is headed.

She's a whole lot of sparkle, fun and big personality wrapped in talent and song...

...and is a great friend, with her eyes on the stars and her heart in her hands.

Hugs and kisses, Broadway Girl. We're so proud of you!