"Sometimes I feel like, I've never been nothin' but tired, And I'll be walkin', Till the day I expire"

" Sometimes I feel like/ I've never been nothing but tired/ And I'll be walking/Till the day I expire/ Sometimes I lay down/No more can I do/ But then I go on again/Because you ask me to"

It seems as if it has been a lifetime since I have blogged. Though, much has happened since my last post. I finally retired from the world of banking!!!! My last day was a little earlier than planned, Aug. 26. You would think that no longer working would lend me considerably more time to blog, but this hasn’t been the case. For one thing, I am not at a computer all day, and the one we have at home is pretty slow. And secondly, I stay much busier at home. I was telling my mom yesterday that being a full time house wife is not a glamorous job. You have to make sacrifices when there is only one income, you don’t get much praise or any promotions, and most of the tasks are menial and have to be repeated everyday. BUT, I still feel much more accomplished at the end of the day than I did at the bank. I also feel that my time has been spent doing something that matters, at least to our family. And I feel that communication with Ben is so much better because we are not both drained. It’s not glamorous in a worldly since but I am content and feel this is where God has called me to be. What could be more glamorous and altogether fulfilling than being where God wants me?!!

Although I hadn’t expected quitting on that date it worked out great because Ben and I were able to leave early on Friday to head to the first Auburn game. WAR EAGLE!!! It was a great weekend even though it was really hot and humid. We ate good food, watched tons of football, shopped down town, and cheered like crazy at the game. It was great but I still can’t believe another football season is here. Time seems to pass much more quickly now that I’m married. I don’t know where the summer went. Yet, I am excited about the fall; the cool weather, pumpkin carving, crisp apples, jeans and sweatshirts, and all the holidays.

The weekend after our venture to AU we headed to Birmingham for my cousin Mark’s wedding. He is the youngest cousin on my dad’s side of the family, and we are closest in age. His wedding was tons of fun because we were able to see both sides of the family. We stayed with my mom’s parents. Ben and I arrived pretty early on Friday because he had a meeting. It worked out great because I was able to chat with Granny and Granddaddy before everyone arrived. The ladies, which included my mom, Granny, Dana, Grammy, and I, all went to lunch while the boys played golf. After lunch my mom, Dana, and I all headed off to shop. We ended up at Talbot’s finding things to autumize my mom’s wardrobe. It was so much fun because Dana and I voted as my mom modeled. After the shopping we quickly changed and headed to the Rehearsal dinner. It was a ton of fun hearing all Mark and Kalia’s friends toast and mainly roast them. The next day our family hosted a brunch at my grandparent’s country club. We had some bum around time in the afternoon and then we headed off to the wedding. The flowers were amazing!! They were everywhere in beautiful, huge arrangements. And of course Kalia looked like a supermodel…she is very tall, very slim, very tan, and very sweet. The reception was also amazing with lovely flowers and a spectacular view of Birmingham. I think the best part was my Grandmother getting up on stage with the band and dancing away to a rap song. It was hilarious. The night ended and the next day after lunch with my mom’s family was over, Ben and I headed back home.

This past weekend was not quite so eventful. I was looking forward to a weekend at home because of all our travel. And because I have been waking up at 4am for the last several days. It is just now 5:20am as I type this. Needless to say, I was looking forward to rest. Friday Ben and I went and saw Tyler Perry’s The Family that Preys. We have become huge fans of his is the last few months. His movies talk about serious topics with lots of humor, honesty, no nudity, rarely much langue, and from a pretty Godly perspective as far as Hollywood is concerned. We both loved the movie. Saturday we just bummed around. I fixed a big breakfast and then went outside to read a bit. We made it to Pet Smart to get Lilly’s nails clipped. But as the day progressed I began to feel worse and worse: tired and achy. I assumed it was just from all my early mornings. That night before bed I took my temperature and had a fever of 102 but we thought the thermometer might be broken. The next morning Ben bought a new one and I still had a fever of 101. I didn’t have any flu like symptoms but I was just worn out all day. Monday I awoke with a temperature of 100.6 and it steadily went down all day. By around 3 o’clock I was fever free, and though I awoke at around 3:45am this morning, I am feeling much better. I hate being sick and am glad it was a quick bug.

Well, I guess that catches everyone up on the past few weeks of my life. Sorry, it was probably a frightfully boring read but I felt compelled to post and catch up on life’s little events. I will try to be more faithful though the months ahead will be insanely busy for Ben and me. Hope everyone has a wonderful Week!!!

Note: I actually typed this blog Tuesday morning but did not post till now J

"Our house is a very, very fine house, With two cats in the yard, Life use to be so hard, Now everything is easy cause of YOU"

The misery of selling a house. I can tell you that it is NO fun AT all. I’m a planner. I have an agenda and I always have lists everywhere. As a person my emotions are volatile and my art oriented brain tends to think a little wacky so I like order everywhere else in my life. I like steady. It’s one of the things that drew me to Ben; his steadiness in the midst of my craziness. Selling a house does not fit into the pattern I like. God is definitely trying to hammer some patience into my stubborn heart.

There are two reasons selling a house makes me crazy. The first is having to clean the house in a split second because some one wants to see it in an hour. Yesterday, during my lunch, I scrubbed tile in our shower and Windexed windows in my work clothes. I came back to work pitted out and smelling of Clorox wipes. It’s not that I hate cleaning so much; it’s just that I hate not having advance notice. My mom teases me because when I know people are coming over I have a set cleaning routine. I think part of this is due to the fact that when one is off at work all day it’s hard to fit all the cleaning in and it’s the last thing I want to do at 8pm at night. I would not say I am a total slob, I HAVE to have a clean kitchen and I’d say I keep some areas up to pare. But I’m a project person, so there is always random stuff lying about. And it seems that I can never get on top of clutter that creeps in everyday. Where the heck does that stuff come from?!! Another difference is that it’s not my mom coming over, it’s random people that I don’t know so I feel like toothbrushes and birthday cards must disappear. All the personal effects must be (literally) swept under the rug or in the nearest cabinet. Ben and I have so often rushed to hide things in random drawers that we can’t seem to find anything.

Yet God grant grace, even for the cleaning. Monday I had back home bread and fix shrimp and grits so the evening had been full. But I still had an itch to clean, partly due to the fact that my brother and sister-in-law will be coming in this Friday. I worked hard that night to scrub the kitchen and make sure the guest room was looking nice. I even made an attempt to get on top of that endless clutter. And when Tuesday morning came I actually neatly, made the bed and tidied up our toiletries before work. All this is to say, the house was in more order than usual. So when Ben called yesterday to say I needed to clean during lunch because people wanted to see the house, I was not thrilled but I had a doable amount of work. I even thought, as sweat trickled down my back while wiping our bathroom counter, that God might be helping me to learn to be more orderly.

However I am in need of God’s grace when it comes to timing. This is the second item which I despised about selling. You have worked your heart out to make your home shine to the buyer. It is houses which you love, have made so many memories in, but know it is time to leave. And they come and peak into your life, yet you have no idea of their judgment. You don’t know if they will call or not. And if they don’t, what was wrong with this home you love so much. The unknown. I hate it. I like things to flow from one situation to the next. When I make a decision I want the consequential action to be taken immediately. The timing of selling our house is driving me a bit coo-coo.

Once again, I must remember that God is both sovereign and good. He has a plan for me and it is good. He has also given me tools to use to handle the trial ahead. Soon I will be through with work (yippee for Sept 3) and be able to spend the bulk of my time on keeping up our house. I count this as a blessing from God. His way of giving me a break during the insanity. He has also given me a loving husband who works extremely hard to keep me happy. Ben has been a rock since day one of our marriage and continues to be even when I’m nuts. And greatest of all, God has given me Himself to lean on and rely on. All I must do is submit. I’m stubborn and do not come by submitting naturally but God is wooing me as He always does. His love and comfort are undeniable far greater than anything here on earth. I know that if I open my heart to Him He will teach me great things in the midst of my trials and refine me. I must not be scare of having to be refined but run to it.

Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart; Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.

"Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light."

Lately I have been absorbed in post about “mommy-hood” and the tasks of staying at home. I will soon be quitting work (yippee) to pursue this role. Though I am not a mother yet, I hope to be one in the not too distant future. And lately my mind has been on Homeschooling; if, when the time comes, I should pursue this option with my children. My heart says yes, “it would be wonderful”; but my mind says: “what are you thinking?!…are you nuts!!! You don’t have the abilities needed for that…things like patience and intelligence…you really shouldn’t.” Alas, I am hoping that when the time comes my heart and mind will be on the same page.

I wrote on my homeschooling experience a little while back and decided to post my views. Hopefully, the words will encourage those who choose to teach at home; and give insight to those who don’t. I know it is a huge decision and I want people to understand why I might choose this route some day. God give me the grace when the time is needed to choose the option that will produce children whose sole purpose is to glorify You!

Southern Bell
Dixie land, the Bible belt, this is where I grew up. My home town of Covington lies forty-five minutes south east of Atlanta, which gives some people the idea that I am from a the big city; however, this is far from the truth. The little square in Covington which contains Claudia’s Flowers, Ace Hardware, and the Court House, is the heart of the town. We do have a Kroger’s and a Wal-Mart, but there are not any malls or fancy restaurants. The town is growing fast because of its close proximity to Atlanta and I suppose one day it will just be part of the urban sprawl, but I will always remember it as the “one horse town” in which I spent my childhood. Nevertheless, my childhood was slightly different than some of my friends. Like many southern children I grew up playing in red Georgia clay and going to visit our grazing cows on sunny afternoons. However, my education did not start in a preschool with ten other children.

My Mother is from Alabama and my Father is from Dalton, Georgia. They met at school in Vanderbilt and eventually moved to Covington where my father started his medical practice. Going against the tide, my mother decided to home-school my two older brothers and I because she was unhappy with the public school systems in the town. Two of her close friends also decided that home-schooling was the best option for their children. Soon several families had started to home-school and agreed to start a group. They named the group Excel as a reminder of their goals for their children: to excel in school, and in the knowledge of God. Excel met weekly for group activities and frequent field trips. The rest of the week my brothers and I would eagerly get up at dawn with the aim of finishing our school work early.

History and literature were normally the first classes of the day. A Child’s History of the World told us who Zeus was, how pyramids were made, where Columbus landed, and why the North and South raged against one another in the Civil War. My mother strived to make events of the past interesting to us by incorporating skits, art projects, and anything else that would help us learn. Henry, my middle brother, and I ate pomegranate as we played kings and queens of long ago empires. A time line stretched across the kitchen counter where I was able to display my artistic talents by adding pictures to note historic events. I can remember drawing the pyramids of Egypt and Moses as he parted the Red Sea. My brothers and I also built miniature teepees while learning about the Native Americans. We often spun the globe and where it stopped was the next country to visit. Home-schooling allowed my brothers and I to learn through interaction instead of merely sitting in a class room and listening to a teacher drone on about history. I had an appreciation of the world and all its many wonders which stimulated my yearning to travel, and to taste the foods in their countries of origin.

Soon the aroma of foreign foods was a distant memory and I had to learn mathematics. My mother tried her best to make the subject interesting but my art-oriented brain rebelled. Flash cards and videos were only a part of my mother’s effort. It seemed we owned every “learn math in no time” book, game, or pamphlet. I have numerous memories of sitting at the “little table,” a miniature table that still holds its place of prominence in our kitchen, and trying to memorize eight times seven. My mother taught me all the tricks, such as using your fingers to multiply by nine and many other ploys. Eventually multiplication tables engraved themselves on my brain and long-hand division started to come naturally. Before long “Nock-out,” a math game, did not seem such a daunting task and became enjoyable. Math still is not a subject I enjoy but thanks to my mom’s persistence I can now add and subtract without too much trouble.

I preferred science to math because my father came home everyday at lunch to teach me the unexplained mysteries of the universe. Roy G Biv was the anachronism my father taught me for the colors of the rainbow. Sitting around our table Dad taught me how I was made up of little tiny things called atoms that worked together to form my fingers and toes. He showed me how I and all things were unique and had our own special traits. Learning the difference between vertebrates and invertebrates always seemed a struggle but my father frequently reminded me that it would take diligence and hard work to progress. On sunny days cumulus and sires clouds were prevalent as my father explained precipitation and condensation. Mount Saint Helen was recreated in the backyard as chemicals flowed out of our paper Mache volcano. My father was a hard teacher and expected much from me but he also loved science and his teaching glowed with his enthusiasm. He believed that God’s handiwork displayed itself throughout the wonders of science, and showed how His fingertips touch all of creation. A butterfly was the artistic expression of God.

God seemed to be prevalent in science but He was no where to be seen when it came to my ability to read. English was difficult because, try as I might, I could not learn to read. My mother was my source of encouragement because she believed that children learned at their own time, and she had no doubt that I would accomplish the task. Poster saying “Never Give Up!” and “Every Expert was Once a Beginner” littered our walls in my mother’s hope to encourage me. However, I thought I was truly stupid and could never learn. In a public school my ideas about myself would have been reinforce because they would have held me back or put me in special classes. But I was doing well in all my other courses and my mother knew that I would catch on. I learned through Phonics like many children; it merely took me longer to catch on. Finally, with time and much practice, my reading improved. Because of my mothers faith in me I was able to learn to read and enjoy it as well. I was captivated as a new world of adventure opened to me. Books now became an escape in which I could lose myself; traveling to distant lands, meeting Kings and Queens. I sat at the Round Table with Arthur’s men and heard tales of Arabia through my journey in books.

Our course material was made by Calvert, a school in Baltimore, Maryland. They had set reading assignments everyday, but I always read ahead and finished books early. Writing was never as much fun as reading but it was a large requirement in Calvert. I had a journal that I kept daily, which still makes me laugh when I read the entries. Short papers were also required, along with special outlines. Calvert had one outline that was called the spider because there was a bubble for the main idea and then multiple circles branching off. I learn to brain storm and write in a somewhat orderly fashion, but to my mother’s dismay I never liked outlines. I prefer to write as things came to me and hope the words were had some semblance of coherency.

I visited many places through books, but I was also able to go on trips with Excel. Soda sprayed out of the ceiling as our home-school group tasted all the different flavored soft drinks at the World of Coke. I discovered Norman Rockwell was my favorite painter at a trip to the High Museum of Art in Atlanta. Panda bears from Japan and a prowling tiger were just a few of the animals I was able to see on frequent trips to the zoo. While Native American mounds were intriguing at the Indian reservation; Six Flags was even more exciting and a group favorite because the lines were so short on home-school days. We tasted delicious cookie dough as batter swirled in industrial size mixtures on a Jacquelyn’s bakery outing. Although we did not go to Gettysburg, we watched as soldiers shot cannons and brothers fought each other in battle reenactments. Field trips with Excel are some of the best memories I have of home-schooling. The trips open a whole new world to me and exposed me to things and ideas that I probably would not have experienced had I been at a public school.

Leisure time was spent painting flowers in Ms. V’s art class or tumbling in gymnastics. My brothers and I also enjoyed going to the library as often as possible to hear story book readers or watch Curious George on an old slide projector. The Library was three stories with the bottom as the children’s area. The stairway down was painted with scenes from different children’s stories. Wilber, Corduroy, and Winnie the Pooh greeted us as we rushed down the steps to find our choice of ten books; a rule which my mom imposed to keep us from trying to carry forty books back to the house. My mother often took away our television when she thought we were watching it too much; hence, being a coach potato was never part of my day. Many Saturday mornings were spent in the back yard jumping into piles of leafs we had just racked, while our friends watched Saturday morning cartoons. We just recently acquired a satellite because my parents hold to the idea that television only hinders the imagination. When I got a little older our church started a girls group that met on Wednesday nights to try our hand at quilting. It seemed to take a life time to finish my log cabin quilt but I also had a wonderful time talking and laughing with friends as we poked ourselves with needles.

I have never regretted my years spent learning with my brother’s about arithmetic and writing. My mother exemplified everything a teacher should: she believed in hard work, strong discipline, and also the idea that learning could be fun. But most of all, she loved us and always had our welfare at heart. Home-schooling gave me the opportunity to be educated in an environment which allowed me to learn at my own pace and encouraged me to use my imagination. I also was able to develop a close relationship with my parents since they were such an integral part of my learning. But most importantly, it grounded me in my faith in Christ. Everyday the importance of Christ was reaffirmed and absolute truth was taught. I sometimes wonder at the person I would be had my younger, most impressionable years not been spent in the care of a mother, whose chief purpose was to raise children who loved the lord.

While home-schooling was a wonderful time in my life, I would soon decide to go off to school because I wanted to be in a class with children my own age. I would start a Piedmont academy my seventh grade year, which was very difficult for me but soon turned into a great experience. Yet, home-schooling would always be my fondest memories: my brother’s, my mother, and I all together learning about the world and all that God had endowed it with.

"Blue, Blue windows behind the stars, Yellow moon on the rise, Big birds flying across the sky, Throwing shadows on our eyes."

A continuation of Canada memories…

As you can see from the past post, Ahmic is quite routine and unchanged by time or events. I think it is that which has made me so completely in love with the Lake; the unchanging, in the midst of change and chaos. My time on the lake has always been defining. Possibly, because it is there that I reflect and think on the numerous events of life. It is there that I find solace in the past and traditions. I am a free person but I have always loved the routine of Ahmic; no surprises, because the bells will ring heck or high water. It reminds me of our relationship in Christ. His laws are not meant to bind us down but to free us of our sinful live. Ahmic is full of routines but it never feels binding.

I remember finding such comfort in all that Ahmic is the summer after my seventh grade year in high school. It was my first year off to school, because my mother had home schooled me till then. It was one of the toughest years of my life. I learned the reality that I did not look to the world like I looked to my mother. I learned that not everyone thought my laugh as cute as my Father. I learned that I did not really fit in. I wore home made bell bottoms in a school full of wranglers and loved to read while those around me loved country music. I made it through the year, but I was ready for summer. Summer that brought outings to the pool, watermelon, fresh tomatoes, and most importantly, a trip to Needle Point.

We drove the long 22hours, like we had done before, passing the time with books on tape. I always loved seeing the first few white birch trees standing out among the forest because I knew I was only hours away . Soon after the birches, we would reach the Mag (Magnetawan). The air seemes to change as Ahmic nears. It becomes more pure, permeated with the smell of earth and fir trees. I can recall Granddaddy waiting at the dock with Tug Boat Annie. Tog Boat Annie is famous on the lake for being one of the most beautiful wooden boats in the area. It is large boat with a small cabin and lovely wood work. It is like stepping into a time capsule. Granddaddy hugged us all and help load our luggage. We set off in the misty afternoon air towards Needle Point.

Every year, Granddaddy would put up flags with symbols which we would rush to decode. They flapped in the wind as we made our way to the dock. Here I was, a million miles a way from the kids who had teased me, the petty fights over best friends, and all my insecurities. I was with family, family that loved me despite my shortcomings. I was in Canada, where I could sing at the top of my lungs all the way to Edmund’s Thumb (a granite outcropping); or I could still pretend to be the Little Mermaid as I swam to the Island. It didn’t matter. On Ahmic things were the same as they had always been, so I was free to be whoever. It was a summer of bliss.

I imagine my Grandfather felt much like this the summer after the war. He was a pilot for the Marines in WWII. He had lost one of his best friends during the War, Cousin Howdy, who used to summer in Canada as well. There is an old, faded photograph of Cousin Howdy and Granddaddy, arms around each other’s shoulders, huge smiles on their faces, standing on a sail boat. I can only imagine the escape Ahmic felt like for Granddaddy. I think of him coming up, much the same way I did, in a car, and sighing as he got his first breath of Ahmic air. I imagine him unpacking at Indian Point, putting his clothes away, and setting his uniform aside. Howey was not there to fish and swim with, but I’d like to think that Ahmic was still a place of peace for Granddaddy; where he could remember Howdy as the happy and good humored friend he had been. I can see Granddaddy diving into the cold smooth waters as he still does today, laughing as a shiver ran through him. How far away the world’s troubles must have felt.

I can see my Grandmother too, dignified as always. She once told us that she had not liked Ahmic from the beginning. It amazed all of us for she loves it now. She came up, the new bride, and found she was in the middle of nowhere with tons of family and every woman wanting to be “mother Hen.” I can visualize her brushing her coiffed locks and wondering who she can play bridge with and how she will ever suffer through the summer. But Granny is not one to complain. She is one to do whatever needs doing, and being in her eighties has not slowed her down. I can see her putting to order what once was chaos; young and beautiful, helping wash dishes without a complaint. I imagine her and Granddaddy’s excitement as they built Needle Point, establishing their own camp. She would now run her own house, tend the garden, and make sure that the hummingbirds where all fed. Granny was and will forever in my mind be the Matriarch of Needle Point.

I think of my Grandparents lives and how they have been so defining to my own life. I think of how much they have done to make Needle Point the place that I remember: full of traditions, good food and laughter. My Grandparents have been an integral part of all my family’s summer trips. I did not realize their essential role on the lake until this summer. It was mentioned at lunch that this would most likely be their last trek to Ahmic. My heart lurched and tears formed in my eyes. My grandparents are now in their mid and late eighties. Although we all knew that one day the rigors of life on the rugged terrain of Canada would be too much, I had pushed it to the back of my mind.

My Grandfather has hurt his leg and is moving slower in general, and although my grandmother is still sharp as a tack, her body is starting to fail her. I want what is best for them but I cannot imagine Ahmic without Granddaddy telling funny jokes or Granny making strawberry preserves. I have always felt that it is a magical place but now, as I come to the realization that they will not be the faces that greet me, I feel they were the magic. It was Granddaddy whose happy smile made my day when I would bring him back sugar babies and black licorice from town. It was Granny who let me help with flower arranging even though I was awkward and clumsy. It was my grandparents who took me on canoe trips and taught me how to paddle. It was Granddaddy who made Henry and I cry from giggles as he snored loud enough to shake the room. It was Granny who taught us card games and helped us with puzzles on rainy afternoons. It was my grandparents who cultivate my love of this beautiful and majestic place. They were the reason that we all longed to be in Canada. It was their love that made it magical.

I hope that the fall will revive them and they will be able to spend yet another summer on the tranquil waters. I hope to one day bring my own children to Ahmic and let them feed Chippy, the pet chipmunk we train every summer. But I want to tell them about my Grandparents as well. I want them to know all that was done before them so that they could enjoy the beauty of Ahmic. I will tell them all of Granddaddy’s funny jokes and let them know that he is where I get my insatiable sweet tooth. I will show them Granny’s flower gardens and try to attempt her strawberry preserves. I will try and make Ahmic as enchanting as Granny and Granddaddy made it for me. It is a place of rest, of laughter, of feasting, of love, and a place where bells sound every day.

***the picture are from years past but I thought y'all might enjoying seeing them

"There is a town in North Ontario, With dream comfort memory to spare, And in my mind I still need a place to go, All my changes were there.

“There is a town in North Ontario,With dream comfort memory to spare, And in my mind I still need a place to go, All my changes were there.”

I know, I’m the world’s worst Blogger. I just can’t keep up with all the posts. What has it been? It’s probably close to a month since my last post, but time passes so quickly.

Ben and I have spent the past week at my parents’ cabin in Canada. It was a wonderful trip but before I give all those details I’d like to give a bit of background information. I’m pretty sure it was my great, great grandfather Kelly who first purchased land on Ahmic. Ahmic is a small secluded lake in Ontario, Canada, about four hours north of Toronto. Grandfather Kelly was fishing with a friend, I believe, and came upon the lake, empty of any human life. He, being a very successful doctor, bought up about half the property on the lake and established one of the first “camps” or cabins there, known as Indian Point. As the years passed, many more camps were built around the lake by two main families, the Kellys and the Candlers. We all tease that if someone from the two families married, the whole lake would be related.

Many years after Grandfather Kelly built, my mother’s parents, known to me as Granny and Granddaddy, built Needle Point. It is there that I spent one or two weeks every summer. There are too many wonderful memories to name, so I’ll save some for a later post. But I do want to give you a mental picture of the place.

Needle Point has a main cabin with a lovely porch, a kitchen, a great room, three bedrooms and two full bathrooms. My grandparents have their own sleeper cabin. I grew up staying in the boat house with its two bed rooms and one bath. My parents occupied one room and my two brothers and I shared the other. A typical day would start with the ringing of the bell at 7:45 am to wake you and the next bell would ring soon after at 8am; which meant that you should be waiting in the dining room by this point. The bells were always the same and Granny meant business with them. If you did not show up by bell time you missed the meal; however, I haven’t known anyone to try, because no one crosses Granny.

My Grandparents had a cook name Ann that would prepare the meals which Granny carefully thought out. After a lavish breakfast, which always included fresh fruits with cream, cereal, an egg, bacon, juice, toast, and the best strawberry preserves you have ever put in your mouth; we would sit at the table and listen to the walkie talkie for lake news. There were no phones, TVs, or electronic conveniences. Conversations on the band waves would always begin “Rose Camp calling Needle Point, Needle Point come in.” After all news was heard we would then change clothes and work on whatever tasks were at hand till around 10am. Men normally did duties such as chopping wood or clear paths, while the woman picked wild blueberries or weeded. After work we would all pile in the fast boat to go to town. There are no roads to Needle Point. The town of Magnetawan consists of a few churches, a post office, a general store, a small eatery, and a couple of houses. We would go every day to fill up the boats at the Marina and buy groceries; but most importantly, to get a luscious scoop of mouth watering ice cream from June’s. It is pure heaven because Canadian dairy products are far superior to those in the States. After the errands we would head back to camp.

At 12:45 another bell would ring and then soon after the 1pm lunch time bell would sound. Once again we would gather around the table and delve into another scrumptious meal. Lunch always consisted of some variety of soup and an assortment of meats and cheeses to prepare a sandwich. At the end of the meal the candy jar would be passed around the table and we would each get to pick one. I can’t remember everyone’s choice but I do remember my father always chose a Sweet Marie, Brother Henry almost always chose Junior Mints and I could always be found swiping the toffee bar. Oh, that wonderful toffee. There is absolutely nothing like it in the States. I would hand it to Granddaddy so he could smack it on the ground and break it into bite size pieces for me. Granddaddy was so strong and I can remember asking to see his big muscled arms when I was small. I was Granddaddy’s little Squirt and still am. I’d be sad if he called me by any other name.

After gorging ourselves (everyone gains the Ahmic 10lb) we would lay on the day beds and let our meals settle; often falling asleep. I still feel that Canada is the only place where I can take a nap. If it was sunny outside we would spend our time skiing, tubing, and swimming in the cold green water. If it rained we would contently read or work on one of the many puzzles my grandparents had laying around. Yet, rain or shine, whoever was old enough would make the swim to “the Island” and back. It is an island, Birch Island to be exact, which lies about two football field’s distance from Needle Pointe. It was a big deal to swim to the island because when you could swim there and back with no help, you were allowed to ride in the boat without a life jacket. Even our visiting friends which we brought up had to make the trek.

After the days events we would have cocktails at 6pm. I don’t think my Grandparents have ever missed their bourbon drinks a day in their life. My father attributes their long and healthy lives to their one drink a day. At 6:45pm the first bell would ring and then the bells would sing again at seven. Dinner was yet another monstrous meal with meats, veggies, and rolls. There was always a lovely dessert at the end, ranging from crème brulee or lemon curd to zebra cake or meringues with chocolate ice cream. My grandparents ate like “a king at breakfast, a queen at lunch, and a popper at super” but fed us like Kings all day.

The evenings came quietly and filled the sky with a moon so clear you could see his laughing face or stars so bright you could see the Milky Way and numerous constellations. We would usually sit and talk or play card games before bed. The best was Spoons, which can be dangerous in my family since we are so viciously competitive. My mother continues to be the reigning champ although we all plot to take her down. My grandparents would drift off to bed and we soon after. Since we shared a bathroom, many nights as many as four would be shoved into the room, trying to brush teeth and wash faces. Often a game of touch back would ensue with fits of laughter. My brother’s and I would stay up late telling stories or making bodily noises while my father would tell us through the thin walls to go to sleep. We never took it very seriously though, because we could hear the laughter behind his words. We would finally drift off to sleep with the sound of stormy winds or a loon’s sad song on a clear night.

This was the typical day. Sometimes they would vary with a day long canoe trip or a drive to the Maple store. And as we got older we would go out more at night. But the days only vary slightly and they always began with the enchanting sound of bells in the misty, cold Ahmic morning.

Since I have written such a long reminiscing story I will save my words on our last trip for another day. I hope that this gives you a mental picture of this peaceful and majestic place although my words do it so little justice.

"Go to sleepy-sleepy little baby, and when you wake, we will have some cake, and ride the pretty little ponies."

My mom tells me that even from birth I was a morning person; waking up not with cries, but with happy gurgling, giggles. In junior high I refused to participate in Lock-In because I thought they were ridiculous. I even had a code with my mom. When I did not want to sleep over at a friend’s house for fear of being kept up, I would call her and she’d ask me if I wanted to go. I’d say no quietly and then she’d say I couldn’t, so I wouldn’t hurt my friend’s feelings. She was and is an awesome mother. In High School I still was a morning gal, always getting up in plenty of time to take a shower and make the long drive to school. I occasionally had my late nights but all in all, my schedule was fairly set.

I look back at those days with such longing. Days when I slept. I think my troubles started somewhere around the end of my freshman year in college. And my sleep depravation was not from parties (I went to maybe three of four all through college) or crazy schedule (I always had and wanted 8am classes). But I do think it stemmed from anxiety. I was anxious about who I was, my looks, where my future would be, when I would ever get a boyfriend, and how to handle the ever increasing difficulties of college. I feel like before college, decisions where never all that major and I had my parents right beside me every step of the way. But at FSU I was on my own, making choices that would have such influence on my life.

Sleep troubles followed me through college graduation, engagement, Ben and mine’s first year of marriage, and into the second. It’s a bit crazy because God has blessed me above and WAY beyond my needs. In fact, when I think about my life it is rather easy. Yet, something still creeps in during the night and stirs me from my dreams. Most nights I have no clue why I am not snoozing away like my husband. My mind is racing with only one thought: “Why, at 2am, am I awake.” I have tried numerous solutions: exercise, go to bed earlier, sleep in total darkness, put my alarm clock in the bath room, a million different pills, and the list goes on.

I’ve even memorized the verse:
“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guards your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” (Phil 4:6-7)
Yet, a head knowledge or mere memorization is completely different from heart knowledge. Truly giving up my fears to the Lord seems to be so hard. Although, He has always proven to be faithful and abounding in generosity. God has to constantly remind me that He is ruler of the Universe and must be ruler of my life as well.

However, lately I have felt that my sleepless nights are more than anxiety. I know a restless mind is a large contributor, but I think my sleep issues may also be a trial in my life. I’ve always thought of trials as the major events: death of a loved one, sickness, etc., but I’m beginning to see they are daily things and don’t always have to fall under “major” events. Sleep issues seem minor to most but I think they are one of God's ways to refine me as a christian.

My lack of sleep can definitely affect my productivity and attitude in negative ways. Much of the time it makes me grouchy or depressed. But in recent months God has been working on my heart. He has shown me that I must strive to be Christ like, not only on Saturdays when I get to sleep in but on the days when I’ve gotten 2 hours of sleep. It does not mean I won’t be tired, but I think it’s how I handle the fatigue. I’ve also started trying to pray when I wake up in the night, instead of spending that time mad that I can't sleep. On the nights that I do this I might get as little as 3 hours of sleep and my body is tired, but my soul feels much more rested and prepared to handle the day ahead.

I’m still a million miles away from handling my sleepless nights correctly. I still am grumpy some mornings, and I still get overwhelmed by anxious thoughts. Yet, I know God’s grace can cover my inadequacy and He can soothe my anxious heart. He can use my restless nights to mold and shape me so that I can glorify Him. On my own, fatigue is overwhelming but with God as my guide, it is only a season.

"First to fight for rights and freedom. And to keep our honor clean; We are proud to claim the title of United States Marines"

I’m not even sure that I will be able to finish typing this blog because it hurts just to press down on the keyboard. No I didn’t burn my finger tips baking, bruise them in a car door, or get them bitten off by a snapping turtle… I wake boarded.

My Grandparents have a lake house out in Tennessee where all my Dad’s family typically gathers for the 4th of July. Ben and I headed up after work on Thursday. We got in around 8pm eastern and waited on my parents, brothers, and sister-in-law to arrive, which didn’t happen till around midnight. Of course, we had to stay up talking and laughing with them and I believe it was around 3am before we all were soundly sleeping. That was probably the start to my “body” troubles, because your body needs rest in order to recuperate from activities and mine didn’t get much.

The 4th ended up being a beautiful but choppy day on the lake. I spent most of the afternoon working to change my rather pasty skin to a shade that wouldn’t cause blindness. And amazingly enough I managed not to get burned; I’m accounting that to the fact that I slathered on the SPF 50 after about 30 minutes with no protection. We had an offer to watch a firework show at another home and after dinner most of my relatives and me packed on the boat and headed over to another lake house. The fire works were definitely impressive but even more fun was the “caroling.” I don’t know who started the first song but we ended up tooling around the lake singing everything from the Star Spangled Banner, Yankee Doodle Dandy, and My Country Tis of Thee, to humming the theme song of Top Gun. And none of the time were we in tune. I could hardly stop laughing long enough to sing. We ended the night by playing a rousing game of Scrabble in which I managed to beat the socks off of my competitors. J

Saturday was another beautify day with a few drops of rain but mostly clear, blue sky’s. This was the beginning of my body’s battle to kill me with a slow and painful death. Since it was nice I decided to wake board, which I enjoy but don’t get the chance to do often. I only wiped out once or twice the first run but realized I was in bad shaped because I was already feeling muscle fatigue. My brother’s and Ben decided to go for a spin as well. Once they were through, I decided to go one more time but it didn’t last long because my quads would not cooperate and quickly gave out of strength. I knew I’d be sore but didn’t think much of it the rest of the day.

That evening we celebrated my Aunt Laurie’s and my Pawpaw’s Birthday. But the night got a little strange from there. I don’t know how it started but somehow we got my mom to showcase many of her hidden talents which include: shooting a bird with her toes, crossing one eye while moving the other around, and her amazing belly roll dance. (Note: if you were wondering why I’m such a goof, this is why) The night got weirder when we started trying to play one of my Grandparent’s musical instruments from Australia. It looks like a branch of wood with a hollow middle and makes quite an odd noise when blown correctly. If I’m being honest it sounds like an elephant passing gas. Needless to say, we all had tummy aches from laughter.

Sunday came all too quickly and, although Ben and I wanted to leave early, I decided to go for one more wake-board. I guess you could say I’m a glutton for punishment. After the boat run Ben and I packed up, ate lunch, and headed back to Huntsville; both a little worse for wear. I think sitting in the car for a few hours only worsened our condition. I knew when Ben merely gave me a hug and I screamed as if I’d been shot, that I was in trouble. We ended the night doing stretches in hopes to alleviate some of the pain. Yet, this morning I still woke with the feeling that my body had been put through a giant sized pasta press and would never be the same again. It hurts to walk, lie down, write, raise my arm, tie my shoe, and breathe. I don’t know why I ever thought that being pulled behind a boat a high speeds on a flat board is worth this agony, but even if I could, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Well, I guess I need to stop this ridiculously long post to avoid any further pain to my appendages. I hope everyone had a wonderful 4th and if you know a good masseuse, call me!

So as I was reminded today is actually Tuesday. It came as a big suprise because I was under the impression that is was wednesday. HAHAHAHA. I'm such a goober. I'm at work but I can't stop giggling cause I really truly belived it was MOSt definetly Wednesday when I wrote the following post. HAHAHA I swear, I live in one big blond moment and occasionally have brunett insight. Now y'all know what my husband has to deal with :) Anywho, I just wanted to let all those know that I am back on the right day and sadly tomorrow will be Wednesday!!!

"She wears silk underwear"

“She wears silk underwear while I wear last year’s pair. That’s where my money goes, to buy my baby clothes and keep her in style.”

I meant to write on Monday but somehow it slipped into Tuesday and Tuesday melded its way into today. So, Wednesday will have to do. All the sermons Steve preaches are powerful and make me reflect on my position in Christ. They speak of sin but a grace which shall cover my deepest betrayals towards God. Yet, this Sunday I was struck, struck by a burden that has been hiding in the back on my heart, not wanting to surface.

Steve spoke a little on submission, which can be a touchy subject in an age where women have pushed the feminist movement, minorities speak constantly about equal rights, children demand their own life from their parents and our greatest pursuit is our own happiness. However, as a Christian we hear the word often referring to our submission to Christ, the church body’s submission to its leaders, and a wife’s submission to her husband. In my mind I thought submitting to Ben would be easy. That I could live by the verse:
“22 Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. 23For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. 24Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.”(Ephesians 5)
My idea of submission was staying home, raising kids, cooking meals, and keeping up the house. Though I know it’s not a glamorous job, it is what my heart desires.

But Steve’s submission was something more, a deeper calling. He talked of the authority that God has established. His law is one of grace. Steve talked of submission to others being about obedience and love for God. I do not merely submit to Ben out of love for him but out of my love for God. It made me realize that so often I only submit to Ben when it is pleasant. It’s funny because I was so proud of my desire to be a house wife. The sermon gave me the realization that my pride was misplaced, as pride always is. In and of myself I am a constantly failing wife whose motives are always wrong.

I can cook the must decadent meals, clean till the house glistens, have 12 children, but duties are meaningless if my heart is not in the right place. To thrive as a wife my “chief purpose must be to glorify God and enjoy Him forever”. He can place my heart and motives where they need to be. That means submitting to Ben in the easy things like attending Church and the not so easy things like the budget.

I quoted the song in the beginning as a way to say that Ben is a wonderful provider and gives me above and beyond my needs. He is a great husband because he is trying to live for God. I must do the same. I must submit to the God who gives abundantly and accept what my husband says. This is the man who God has placed in authority over me. And He did so in grace, knowing that I would need Ben, WHICH I DO, TONS!!!

On the road agian, just can't wait to get on the road agian

On the road again, just can't wait to get on the road again....

Yesterday, Ben and I spent a lovely afternoon with my in-laws riding around the booming metropolis of Scottsboro. The house-looking was grand but what I truly enjoyed was the laughter...my stomach is still sore. Most of the time we commented on Ben's KIA tendencies and my goof-ish ways. I also learned some very useful information as well...such as the fact that Mike Bratton is known in many circles as the Scottsboro Crime Buster. This might come as a surprise to many of you, but Mr. Bratton pretty much saved the whole town a few years back with his stealth detective skills. I also found that Mrs. Bratton and I have a shared passion for knock-out roses. We all three share a common bond of loving to tease Ben. It is perhaps a favorite past time for the three of us. Thankfully they raised a grounded son who can handle our jabs.

Laughter and humorous spirit seemed to surround all those in the car, but there was also something else. There was ease and comfort, the kind of relaxed communication and openness only to be found when surrounded by close friends. It hit me today as I was reminiscing about our fun car ride, that I feel at ease with the Brattons. I no longer just get along with them because they are my in-laws, and it's much more than mere politeness. It's friendship and it took me by surprise. I knew from the start that the Brattons were wonderful people. Yet, there was a part of me that thought they would also be a second rate relationship coming in behind my own family. It might sound silly or mean, but I thought I would always feel a slight loss and wish Ben and I were with my own family instead of his.

My love for my own family hasn't changed. My mom is still my best girlfriend, my father is still my spiritual mentor, and my brothers are closer and more loved than ever. But the Brattons... they are now family too. Maybe I thought my heart had a limit to love or we have to have some special order in our hearts. I knew in my head that wasn't so, but my heart was still set on keeping the Littles and the Brattons separate and in proper order. And I realized today that my heart had failed, all order had left the building. Yes those Little's will always be the family God bless me with and I will share so much with. But God blessed me with the Brattons as well. They are not a loss but a glorious gain sent from the Father who is both sovereign and good. I'm convinced that He knew I would still need the close connection of family when my own was far away, so He placed both Ben and his family in my life.

I still miss my family and wish they would pack up and moved to AL, but at the same time it's been wonderful getting closer to my family here in Hollywood. I'm excited by the comfort I feel when I'm with them and by the prospect of what God has in sort ahead of us. I no longer feel loss but enjoy the blessing. My only fear now is that they are merely putting up with their son's crazy wife and are wishing I wasn't so talkative. But regardless, I'm immeasurably thankful for family both near and far.

I complain all too often about silly things, but all it takes is a little self reflection to realize all that God has done and is doing in my life.