In India it is 4 in the morning and Paul has just begun his journey home, planning to arrive tomorrow at 3:30 pm EST. That is 22 hours of travel. This trip was sort of thrust on him at the last minute. Because it was interrupting my family’s visit he told the person who booked his trip that he wanted to leave as late as possible and return the soonest. Because of the time changes and the fact that he often skips a day on his way out and because I am busy here it can sometimes be difficult to grasp his schedule.

I dropped him off at the airport at 2 pm on Sunday. He called me as soon as he got to his hotel at 4 pm on Monday. In India it was 2 am on Tuesday. He was supposed to have gotten in at 11 pm on Monday and was scheduled to do part of his presentation first thing Tuesday. Fortunately there was a change and his time was pushed back to that afternoon.

Paul doesn’t usually shove the things he does for me in my face but quietly does them. He is not the one to yell, “This is me sacrificing for you!” instead he simply sacrifices. Subtlety can be lost on me, but not this time. I got it. To spend 48 hours out of a 120 hour period on airplanes in order to be away from home 5 days instead of 6 or 7 is a great sacrifice.

This is me getting that and acknowledging it and saying, “Thank you.”

It’s definitely a wrap:

The last of the visitors have left
The kitchen is a mess of wine glasses, opened candy boxes and the remnants of breakfast
The furniture in the living room is pushed back from last night’s gaming
The floor of the laundry room is COVERED with laundry (OK – that’s almost a daily given)
Beanie is half-dressed (ditto above) and sticky from the last of the jelly beans
The big kids are on their beds yelling back and forth
I am sqinting my way through a headache that PERSISTS
Paul is in India.

Oh dear.

The bill for a week of nonstop merriment has been presented and is being paid.

I have pulled the dining room back from the cliff of squalor and plan to hit the kitchen next. The living room is just shifting the rug and moving back furniture, but the laundry might be a total loss.

A grandma is coming soon to watch the kids this evening as I have a meeting.

I will probably not post tonight as I am COUNTING the hours until I can lock the doors, put on some pajamas, slip into bed and read just a wee bit before nodding off to sleep this side of midnight. I will do it.

Having guests from the West Coast who are night owls over there are lethal for early birds hosting in the Midwest with children who rise before the sun.

I’m zausted…but back with stories to tell, resolutions to articulate and quotations to quote.

I’ll leave you with this.

The first night Torey and Nathan got in we had a big family dinner. Beansie was asked to pray and she readily bowed her little head and clasped her pudgy hands.

“Dear God, I love you…and I don’t love you…I love you and I don’t…I love you and I don’t…I love you…I don’t love you…I love you and I don’t…I love you and I don’t…I LOVE you and…I don’t love you…

AMEN!”

The adults all lifted their heads and looked around then Paul said, “Well that pretty much sums up the human condition.”

Wouldn’t you agree?

My older brother arrived from California, Thursday. My sister and her daughter (the Peanut of portion of The Legumes) arrived early this morning from Vancouver, B.C. and my younger brother, is probably flying over Lake Michigan as I write. My brother-in-law wasn’t able to take off work and the whole Earth/Heaven divide precludes Dad from being here yet again. But other than that, when Paul gets home from work tonight, the Wolfe family Christmas 05 will begin.

The blog might be a little quiet for another bit.

I love my family.

This is me being unutterably grateful.

See you soon.

New Year’s Day we arrived at church in plenty of time for us to drop Eden off at the nursery, to drop Lydia off at Sunday school, to deliver a lecture to Christopher on our expectations of his personal conduct during the service and to find seats where we like to sit. We even got a good parking spot. I walked in calmly, relishing the peace and unharried pace. And then I noticed the darkness.

The power was out.

The nursery coordinator was at the front door when we approached. She had a sheepish and apologetic look on her face as she informed us that all of the children’s programs were cancelled.

My shoulders slumped for a moment and then I rallied, telling myself it would be good to be together and welcome the new year as a family with our church family.

The thing is, the last time I was in church was on Christmas Eve. Paul was singing with the worship team and I was up front with all three kids having decided not to put Eden in nursery because I wanted us to be together to sing and celebrate Christ’s birth: that was my first mistake.

The second was nodding a cheerful yes when Eden asked if she could wave a flag. Lydia hustled off to get it for her. It was purple and 3 x 4 feet. The pole was taller than Eden, but she grabbed it and began swinging it with all her might. I managed her and noted the only people near us were smiling and enjoying her spirit. The rest of the congregation were filling the left side of the church, as had I until we stepped out to wave a flag. Now I was in the front row of an empty section, affording the rest of the congregation an excellent view.

My third mistake was again nodding yes, when CHRISTOPHER stepped across the aisle and pointed to the pile of flags. Actually it was my fourth, because I think my first mistake was wearing low rise-ish pants that are too loose for me. I came to terms with this while bent over, moderating toddler flag waving in the front row of my very own half of the church.

This was my routine: hold the flag, pull down my shirt, hitch up my pants, glance over at Christopher, correct Christopher with subtle gestures, grab Christopher gently and lovingly because it’s Christmas and we are in the front row, and that’s the right thing to do always – 0h dear! PULL DOWN SHIRT, HITCH PANTS…so church on Christmas Eve was a little exhausting. Normally it is a fairly small, candle lit service. Half the church was packed and the lights were bright and harsh. The sermon was good, but seemed long from where I heard it at the back after running Eden for an emergency potty session then checking her into the nursery.

I waited there until prayer and then the closing song when I hustled back into my seat just in time to catch some sort of exchange between Christopher and my mom where he was not adequately respectful and she seemed to just leave him in it. I slid next to him and tapped him on the shoulder, he jerked away and then I pulled him onto my lap holding him tightly. It was so frustrating. I might have had 5 billion extra hormones surging through my system and so began to cry. As did Christopher. We sat there, tears streaming down our faces, me clutching him in a vice grip needing to hitch my pants again, having those, “I am a terrible mother and he is a terrible child and why oh why can’t it EVER be different – we need to start sitting in the back of the church” thoughts while Christopher tried to wiggle free and had the “She is a terrible mother and LIFE IS UNFAIR!” thoughts, while everyone around us sang “Joy to the World.”

At home, everyone apologized and forgave and talked things through and cried a little more before the children opened a small gift and then went to bed.

Christmas day we all awoke with runny noses and opted to stay home from church.

So New Year’s Day we found ourselves sitting in a darkened church, without any power, again in the second row. It was peaceful.

The music began and though we couldn’t hear the singers as well and didn’t have the words, we sang along just fine. And though the leader had to bend close to a candle to read scripture, we heard it clearly.

Our pastor came forward and was going to pray but paused and said, “The childrens’ programs were cancelled today so if you find yourself distracted by some of the extra sounds during the service I encourage you to thank God for it and take that time to pray a blessing on the children.”

Something in me I didn’t know was there lifted. And then he prayed.

It was a good prayer, a prayer of repentance asking for forgiveness for ways we have shut out God and minimized Him, for ways we have sinned against Him. Pastor Dave was using the Ten Commandments as the guide in his prayer. He asked God to forgive us for making Him smaller and for putting other idols before him

And then the lights came on.

Pastor Dave just kept praying but I couldn’t help but note that the light returned the moment he repented for worshipping idols. I have spent the last couple of days thinking about what I put before God – it’s a long list, but a lot of it can be piled under My Feelings.

It is clear that God is inviting me to offer them up to Him.

I am figuring out that worshipping my feelings hasn’t helped me to live fully and boldly. Feeling worship has mostly led to depression, hopelessness, inactivity and despair. I’m sick of it.

Last year God invaded my life so profoundly and powerfully. He interrupted me. He came close and asked me if I wanted to follow Him as if that wasn’t what I had been trying to do all along…and I realized it wasn’t. The truth I was living in was that it was up to me me me me Me Me Me ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME – but it isn’t…

And it never was.

As many of you know I have been sleeping terribly lately. I awoke at 6:30 Christmas morning relieved to have slept through the night. I lay there wondering if I had time to run and plug in the tree and set the bottles of sparkling grape juice by the stockings.

One of the big pleasures of Christmas morning, now that I am the mom and this is a working holiday, is hearing the kids scurry around to get each other and then come in to wake Paul and me. They are so excited and I love seeing that anticipation on their faces. The thought of them catching me running from the living room just wasn’t as fun. So we waited…and waited…and waited. Finally we heard a little voice and then a little scurrying, followed by the shuffling sound of slippers approaching our door – and walking right past it. I minute later we heard a soft knocking, then, a loud “Merry Christmas, Grandma!”

They had gone to my mom’s room!

I tiptoed through the house and peeked around the corner. Christopher and my mom were down the hall in the laundry room. Lydia was perched on the guest room bed and Eden was wiggling under the covers. I hissed “Psssst!” and then ran back to bed.

There was no movement.

I knocked on the adjoining wall and a little knock replied. We were sure this would summon them.

It didn’t.

I knocked again…and again.

Paul and I were beginning to consider our next move when the shuffling slippers approached followed by a little knock.

“Come in!” we shouted.

And they did.

…………………

Later we asked why they hadn’t jumped on our bed to “wake” us, as is tradition. Lydia had awakened around 6:30, “…but I told myself, ‘Don’t get up yet. That’s too early. And then Eden woke up and so we got Christopher and then we went past your room and it was dark so we went to see if Grandma was awake and there was a light.”

When we knocked she had thought we were telling them to quiet down.

As if!