It's been a while...

... and so begins my attempt to give you a brief update on the happenings around here. Which will likely not be "brief" at all. But I'll try my best!

- We returned from youth camp late Friday night. I hesitate to blog about it, since I didn't take the time to blog in any kind of depth about VBS and children's camp, which are equally important ministries. Why didn't I blog about those events? By the time I settled back into a normal routine after each one of them, we were already up and back out the door for the next thing! It was a GREAT month, though, and I would do it all over again. (And will likely get the opportunity to do it again next year. And every year after that until I die. Ha, ha!) All kinds of things happened this past week -- massive fall-in-the-creek injuries, teens being called to ministry, lots o' sweating in the hot sun, combating Mormon theology, etc. While I'm pretty sure that most of those things happened in every cabin, I think we were the only ones expositing on the divinity of Christ. (It's a long story. Praise God for sending that sweet Mormon girl with us to camp, though, because even her very wrong theology was a springboard for a discussion that honored Christ.)

- We had our garage sale... a week ago? Two weeks ago? It's all a blur. The garage sale itself was a blur, too, actually. We were completely sold out after only TWO hours outside! If you're wanting to have a garage sale, I will be more than happy for you to have it at my house, as Duncan, Oklahoma is apparently the garage sale capitol of the world. I've never had a garage sale end so quickly!


- We took Ana and Emma to see their very first movie in a movie theater a few weeks ago. We saw the non-3D version of "Up" (the 3-D would have likely freaked Ana out), and they LOVED it. I was rather shocked that they sat through the entire thing and even more shocked when Ana could recall several details hours later. I guess a "moo-bie date wit Papa" is exciting enough to keep anyone's attention, huh? And speaking of moobie dates, is anyone as excited about the new Harry Potter movie as I am?! Probably not. I don't know if I'm more excited about the actual movie or the fact that I won't be pregnant and running to the bathroom every five minutes while watching it in the theater. Number four came out when I was newly pregnant with Ana and was throwing up constantly, and number five came out a week before Em was born and my bladder had shrunk to the size of a pea. (Pun intended.) Is that TMI? Probably. But yay for Harry Potter movies!

- I almost had a throwdown with a saleswoman at James Avery. I'm a little ashamed to admit how irritated I got... but glad to report that I didn't say anything snippy. I was taking in Ana and Emma's charm bracelets to have the charms for this year's birthdays added on. (You might remember that Wes and I started charm bracelets for them when they were born, adding a new charm for each birthday. Last year, we added "Big Sister" and "Little Sister" charms since it was their first birthday to celebrate together. This year, we're adding Mickey Mouse charms for their trip last spring to Disneyworld.) While I was there, I left my own charm bracelet to add a few charms I've been given this year. One of them, I kid you not, is a toilet charm that my in-laws gave me to celebrate Ana's potty training. (Working lid and everything, y'all.) I thought it was hilarious and am super proud to add it to the collection of charms, as I'm sure it will prompt all kinds of great conversations. Ha! The lady at James Avery, however, told me with derision in her voice that James Avery did NOT sell a toilet charm. Well, duh. They don't sell Mickey Mouse charms either, but she didn't have a problem with us paying the store to put those on the girls' bracelets. I tried to explain what it was for, and she looked at me like I was insane. Am I insane for wanting to brandish a toilet charm like a badge for potty training my child? Is this one of those crazy mommy things that I shouldn't expect anyone to understand? Oh, well. She took it and said it would be ready the next day, and I thanked her for her service. Hmm. Now that I'm re-reading this, I think I do sound a little crazy. Maybe she was right to be snippy and try to save me from making a fool of myself!

- And speaking of birthdays, the computer people who took the hard drive from our dead computer were able to save all of our files, including Ana's first birthday video. What I didn't know until after the fact was that ALL of the videos from Ana's first year of life were on that computer. We've been watching them on DVDs ever since getting them back, just amazed by how much she's grown and changed in such a short amount of time. It almost makes me miss those newborn days... until I hear about Wes's cousin, who just had a baby two weeks ago and is up at 3am (!!!) every night for feedings. Toddlers may not be as soft and cuddly, but they sleep. Hallelujah!


Well, look at that. This was shorter than I thought it would be! Hope you're having a great end to the month of June...

Our computer up and died on us this morning. It was showing some signs of distress yesterday, trying to tell us that it was ailing, but we were still quite unprepared for the dramatic conclusion of its journey with us. (And by dramatic, I mean that it just wouldn't turn on.) We thought it was a cord problem and bought a new cord (non-refundable, of course) to replace the old one. It didn't help. The laptop practically shouted at us, "Let me be!" Which we did. (I suspect that there was a problem on the computer's end of the cord/plug/whatsit. Too expensive to repair likely, on a computer that had gone overseas and back, survived two toddlers, and more than paid for itself. It had lived a long, good life, y'all.)

Luckily, we have another laptop. Ironically, this one is older than the one that died. And unfortunately, this one only has our pictures/videos up until our move to Japan. That's right, folks, all of my pictures from the last three years of our life were saved to the dead computer. I have actual prints of most of those pictures, though, so I'm not too stressed over the possibility of not being able to retrieve those files. What I AM stressed about, however, is a two minute video clip of Ana's first birthday that is somewhere on that hard drive. Why did we not make a hard copy of that video? Yours truly was nine months pregnant and off in lalaland when we took it, and I've been busy ever since. I was just thinking a few days ago that I should probably burn that clip onto a DVD. Did I do it? No. Do I feel really stupid now? Yes.

But all is not lost. Or at least we hope not. Wes rescued the hard drive, took it to some computer people (like my technical term?), and they assured him that they would be able to save our documents, pictures, and videos from that hard drive. Of course, they'll be charging us an arm and a leg for it, but I'm willing to pay three times as much for Ana Bear's birthday video.

I started crying after I heard this, relieved by the news, which prompted Ana to ask, "Why you sad, Mommy?" I explained to her that I had lost a very special "moo-bee" about "baby Ana" and that I was worried I wouldn't be able to get it back. She scrunched up her face at me and said, "I Ana! I here! It's oh-tay, Mommy!" And she's right. I'll remember her words of wisdom if the video can't be retrieved. A talking, walking, sassy, real life Ana sure beats out a cake-covered, teething, jabbering, video Ana.

On a more positive note, our garage is about to explode. Not literally, of course, but every day, we manage to stockpile more and more junk for this elusive, someday garage sale that I'm going to have. So much so that Wes has had trouble finding room to park his motorcycle. Hmm... I decided that this needs to happen sooner rather than later, so we're having our much anticipated garage sale tomorrow and Saturday. We have a lot of big items, which is why we have no room in the garage, and I can't wait to see it all carted off and gone. GONE! Wes will be glad to have a parking space again, I'm sure.

I introduced the girls to Alf today. Did you watch Alf? For those who don't remember, it was a show in the late eighties/early nineties about a furry alien who lived with a family here on Earth. Cheesy and silly -- but oh, how I loved that show! I was pretty sure the girls would like it, too, especially since I found my old stuffed Alf and introduced the show and the toy to them at the same time. Ana couldn't stop talking about "Owlf," and Em carried him around all day in her arms. There's something very sweet about watching your kids enjoy something you yourself enjoyed as a kid.

And here's a totally random piece of trivia -- Ana and Emma know more today than they did yesterday about the birds and the bees. I won't even get into the story of how this all happened (trust me, you don't want to know), but apparently, they're never too young to ask questions or wonder out loud about things. Ana is super pleased with her new knowledge and proudly exclaimed yesterday that, "I was in your tummy, Mommy!" Of course, she thinks that the stork put her there, but... that's close enough for a three year old, right?

Youth camp is next week. Wes and I have been working on putting together the new youth room at the church, diving into the curriculum for Sunday nights (a recently re-added program), and getting ready for camp. The girls are spending the week with Gram and Gramps. I can't wait until they're old enough to go with us! I'm thinking as soon as they're both potty trained and can both sleep in regular beds...

I told Wes this morning that today was our four and a half year anniversary. He informed me that married folks only celebrate annually. Hence the term "ANNiversary." Well, he's got me there. If he wasn't so great at celebrating real anniversaries, I would be a little hurt that he's snubbing this non-anniversary. Ha!

Well, I think that's about it. Hope your weekend is great!

Snakes, Chickens, or Toddlers

You meet a lot of interesting people on this road called ministry. The body of Christ includes the extremes of the spectrum and all the in betweens, and quite often, you find yourself rubbing elbows with folks that... well, would your paths have EVER crossed if you weren't both following Jesus?

I can think back to my first real ministry experience and the treasure chest of lessons it offered to me. I had just finished my sophomore year of college and set out for nine weeks of student-led revivals in the coastal plains area of Texas. My job on our three member team was youth and children's programs, but we soon discovered that our biggest ministry at these churches was what we did outside of the services, events, and studies we led. The ministry was in hanging out with the redeemed... and more often than not, the redeemed taught us a thing or two.

There was the Harley-riding, tattoo covered, long haired, self-proclaimed "hippy man" who took us out to his place, where he had turned an old school bus into a psychedelic reptile house. (Seriously, y'all. I couldn't make this up if I tried.) He did custom motorcycles for a living and told us all about how ever since he had gotten saved, he started witnessing to the bikers who came across his path. They called him Loco Bob, which fit him just fine. "Crazy about the Lord!!!," he'd say. (And pythons.)

And there was the dental student a few towns over, who took a simple, "How are you?" as an invitation to begin a theological discussion. He was brutally honest about the kind of life Christ had saved him from, and I was told by several members of the church that he spent entire dental exams telling patients (who couldn't really talk back, of course) about how Christ had changed him.

There was the congregation that loved one another so intensely that they literally spent every night of the week together, hanging out at the church or around town, laughing so loudly while out and about that people had to ask about the joy that they had. There was the pastor in his eighties who regularly hung out with the teenagers in his small, small town, serving as the only father figure that many of them had. There was the youth minister who poured his life into his small youth group, discouraged, not seeing what we saw as outside observers -- teens who were actively sharing Christ with their family and friends, living the Gospel, soaking up the truth that he had been teaching to them.

All of that. And an 800 pound pig. And lots of firearms. Lots and lots of firearms. (It was an interesting summer.)

I learned a lot during those nine weeks. But perhaps the greatest lesson I learned was during a week we spent at a very small church, way out in the country. It was different from all the others in that the majority of the membership (actual baptized members) were children and preteens. There were probably only four families with adults in the church. The pastor had a heart for children's ministry, and you could see the fruit of his ministry in the many, many children who made decisions to follow Christ. (While we were there, the father of three of these children was saved. He had seen the church love his boys, had seen the change in their lives, and wanted to experience the same change in his own heart. Amazing!)

This church had one of the nicest buildings we had seen that summer. And the parsonage? Was over-the-top posh. We were scratching our heads at first over how this was possible, given how few adults there were in the church and how tithing couldn't have been very high. Then, we met one of the host families. Each week, the three of us stayed with three different families from the church, and during this particular week, the family I stayed with were chicken farmers. I was a little apprehensive about this, imagining a yard full of squawking poultry chasing me to and from the car every night. I couldn't have been more wrong. My first night with them, they took me to see the "plant." Buildings as far as I could see, a fleet of eighteen wheelers, hundreds of workers, and miles and miles of chicken coops -- oh, the chicken coops -- where hens were stacked five rows up, long rows deep, scrunched up tightly next to one another, producing egg after egg after egg. So many chickens! So many eggs!

I expressed no small amount of amazement over this, much to the amusement of my hosts. They explained to me that they held the contract for eggs in all of the regional Wal Marts, which meant that their chickens were making a whole lotta moolah. (Which explained the church and parsonage. Y'all, their tithe alone could have supported a whole association of churches.) My host went on to say that during this particular season, though, things weren't so great in the egg industry and that he was losing about $100K a week. $100K A WEEK! In my way of thinking, this surely meant that it was time to close down production and sell the farm.

But they kept on. Because this short season of loss would be nothing when compared to a greater season of gain that was sure to come. Sure, they were having a bad time right then, losing money... but they knew it was going to get better, and they kept on keeping on, knowing that the best would outweigh the worst. It was all a matter of perspective.

Today was not the best day at the Faulk house. Ana kept pushing all the limits, and Emma was quick to follow her example. They whined, they fought, they disobeyed, and Mommy... well, Mommy just felt like she was losing it more than a couple of times today. On days like today, I'm encouraged to remember my chicken farmer friends. The lesson they taught me was most definitely meant for this season of my life. These few days of loss (loss of obedience, loss of patience, loss of SANITY!) are nothing in comparison to the many days of blessings. The few hard days (and they are few) are far outweighed by the thousands and thousands of good days that are ahead. It's like comparing a drop of water to the ocean.

And in a greater sense, I'm reminded that our sufferings and our trials here on earth, even those that we are honored to partake in as we serve Christ and honor Him in and through them, that these adversities are NOTHING in comparison to the joy of eternity we have and will have in Him. Amen!

So, I'm thankful for the body of Christ. With its varied members, its differing perspectives, and the myriad of lessons we have to share with one another as we walk this road together. Whether it's about snakes, chickens, or toddlers (don't know which of the three are the scariest!), we all have something in common. Perseverance through Christ and hope in Christ for our eternity...

I'm a Parenting Pharisee...

Why are women so catty? And why does motherhood make them ten times worse?

I stumbled, quite literally, into a passionate discussion between a couple of mommies who could NOT fathom why a woman would have an elective induction before week forty of her pregnancy. They went on to call any woman who would choose to induce at say, thirty-eight weeks of pregnancy, selfish and cruel because they couldn't just "suck it up" and be pregnant for two more weeks. Hi, perhaps we haven't met, but my name is Jennifer, and I had Emma induced at thirty-eight weeks. And NOT for medical reasons. Maybe my reasons were selfish. I didn't want to go into labor an hour's drive from the hospital during typhoon season, the only English-speaking doctor was leaving for the US for a month at week thirty-nine, my parents had to fly halfway around the world to be there to help us with Ana, etc, etc, etc. But I hardly think that delivering an almost eight pound baby two weeks early qualified me for parental neglect or anything.

Then, they moved to the topic of breastfeeding. (Oh, y'all. I was like the worst mother ever in their book!) Thankfully, I've gotten to the point where I hear the word "breast" and just zone out for my own sanity. I'm not even going to go into what they were saying because it's easy enough to guess. It honestly doesn't hurt my feelings anymore when formula mommies are verbally bashed in front of me. But still. Have a little class, ladies.

I wish it ended there. You know, with the criticisms and judgments tapering off after your babies are born, weaned, and well into toddlerhood. But I'm guessing that it just goes on and on. We just can't help being critical, no matter what the subject or how little we actually know about it, can we? And in Christian circles, it's even worse.

WHY do we do this?! I'm convicted about it, thinking that there must be a whole long list of things that make me a Parenting Pharisee. (In other words, I attach a whole lot of "non-essential extras" to being a good parent and judge anyone who doesn't live up to every single one of them.) What thoughtless things am I saying around others? What judgments am I making that I have NO RIGHT to be making? And why do I feel a need to speak to someone else's personal situation like I know everything about them? Honestly, would I have even recognized that I do this unless I had happened upon a conversation that attacked the choices I made? Probably not. I'm watching my attitude and my words now, though, after seeing the ugly, ugly side of such a critical spirit.

Maybe we should all just shut up a little more often and actually hear what people are saying and where they're coming from instead of jumping up on our collective high horses and pronouncing judgments as though we have any real authority. I mean, really. Am I simplifying the problem? I'm irritated with myself, knowing that I've done the very same thing over and over and over and over...

So, here's to me shutting up! Especially when it comes to telling you how you should deliver, raise, and train YOUR children. I'm no expert, and it's high time I traded in my Parenting Pharisee attitude.

Whew!

Religion vs. the Gospel

I wish I could claim this as my own, but it was taken from another blog writer who took it from Tim Keller, senior pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Manhattan. It's excellent and has been good food for thought around the Faulk house this morning...

RELIGION: I obey-therefore I’m accepted.

THE GOSPEL: I’m accepted-therefore I obey.

RELIGION: Motivation is based on fear and insecurity.

THE GOSPEL: Motivation is based on grateful joy.

RELIGION: I obey God in order to get things from God.

THE GOSPEL: I obey God to get to God-to delight and resemble Him.

RELIGION: When circumstances in my life go wrong, I am angry at God or my self, since I
believe, like Job’s friends that anyone who is good deserves a comfortable life.

THE GOSPEL: When circumstances in my life go wrong, I struggle but I know all my punishment fell on Jesus and that while he may allow this for my training, he will exercise his Fatherly love within my trial.

RELIGION: When I am criticized I am furious or devastated because it is critical that I think of myself as a ‘good person’. Threats to that self-image must be destroyed at all costs.

THE GOSPEL: When I am criticized I struggle, but it is not critical for me to think of myself as a ‘good person.’ My identity is not built on my record or my performance but on God’s love for me in Christ. I can take criticism.

RELIGION: My prayer life consists largely of petition and it only heats up when I am in a time of need. My main purpose in prayer is control of the environment.

THE GOSPEL: My prayer life consists of generous stretches of praise and adoration. My main purpose is fellowship with Him.

RELIGION: My self-view swings between two poles. If and when I am living up to my standards, I feel confident, but then I am prone to be proud and unsympathetic to failing people. If and when I am not living up to standards, I feel insecure and inadequate. I’m not confident. I feel like a failure.

THE GOSPEL: My self-view is not based on a view of my self as a moral achiever. In Christ I am “simul iustus et peccator”—simultaneously sinful and yet accepted in Christ. I am so bad he had to die for me and I am so loved he was glad to die for me. This leads me to deeper and deeper humility and confidence at the same time. Neither swaggering nor sniveling.

RELIGION: My identity and self-worth are based mainly on how hard I work. Or how moral I am, and so I must look down on those I perceive as lazy or immoral. I disdain and feel superior to ‘the other.’

THE GOSPEL: My identity and self-worth are centered on the one who died for His enemies, who was excluded from the city for me. I am saved by sheer grace. So I can’t look down on those who believe or practice something different from me. Only by grace I am what I am. I’ve no inner need to win arguments.

RELIGION: Since I look to my own pedigree or performance for my spiritual acceptability, my heart manufactures idols. It may be my talents, my moral record, my personal discipline, my social status, etc. I absolutely have to have them so they serve as my main hope, meaning, happiness, security, and significance, whatever I may say I believe about God.

THE GOSPEL: I have many good things in my life—family, work, spiritual disciplines, etc. But none of these good things are ultimate things to me. None of them are things I absolutely have to have, so there is a limit to how much anxiety, bitterness, and despondency they can inflict on me when they are threatened and lost.

Now That I'm a Mommy...

Maybe you can relate to some of these. Now that I'm a mommy...

1. Sleeping until 8am is sleeping late. I never imagined that this would be part of parenthood. Ana's newborn days were a real shocker to us (feedings every two/three hours?!), and we just assumed it would get better. And it has. Everyone sleeps through the night, but as soon as the sun is up, so is at least one of the girls. (And Ana is always gracious enough to come to our room and wake us up with much poking, prodding, and shouting, "GOOD MORNING!") By the time they get to be teenagers who sleep all day, it will be too late. 6am will be my new "sleeping in" hour. I'm sure of it.

2. We actually use our kitchen. Gone are the days of eating most of our meals out and about. There are four reasons for this. The girls are a handful at most restaurants. I'm too tired after watching them all day to go out and about. Dining for four is a wee bit more expensive than dining for two. And our oldest is just as picky as Mom (so sorry, Wes!) so finding something for her to eat at most restaurants is a reward-less and exhausting task. So... eating in it is!

3. Body fluids don't gross me out anymore. Barf, poo, snot -- it just doesn't phase me anymore. Em threw up in my mouth, in my hair, and down my back earlier this year, and I just went on like nothing had happened. Yay for that... I think...

4. I officially speak a foreign language. Two, actually. And while there are no dictionaries written for the Anaese and Emmaspeak languages, I find myself translating their chattering to everyone without too much difficulty. (Until they lapse into their own "twin" language. Then, I'm just as clueless as the next person.)

5. No trip is a small trip. Before I had children, I traveled all over Vietnam for two weeks with only a backpack. A very small backpack. I didn't require a whole lot of stuff. Now? I can't even go to Wal Mart (only a mile from our house) without taking a little bit of everything in a diaper bag and a huge purse. Admittedly, it's gotten better since those newborn days, but still. Goodbye, small backpack days!

6. My two eyes can focus in separate directions -- one for each girl. Not literally, of course, but it sure does feel that way since my attention is always split in half, following the girls. I'm not sure how moms of more than two do it. I'm thinking that you all must grow a third eye during pregnancy, right? (Which would be super convenient!)

7. All pain is measured against natural childbirth. Maybe I've been luckier than most, but I have yet to encounter pain that in any way rivals childbirth. I love the women who describe birth as a beautiful, natural, and rewarding "journey" and all, but my "journey" was full of screaming, crying, and telling the doctor that it was NEVER too late for an epidural, even as Emma was taking her first breath. Every other pain I've experienced since then has paled in comparison. Perhaps one day I'll be maimed and have to eat my own words. I'm not holding my breath on that one, though.

8. I have no shame. None at all. The humiliation that began with the random loss of bladder control during the third trimester (seriously, y'all!) continued on rather steadily as I delivered, as diapers blew out at the worst times, as body parts escaped from underneath nursing wraps while around town, and as shrill screams were sure to happen in the middle of somber church services. It's been one thing after another until now... eh. My nearly three year old has taken to stripping out of her clothes at the most inappropriate times, explaining her actions with a simple, "I goin' to the beach, Mommy!" (The nude beach, apparently.) I would have been totally appalled had she not prepared me for this moment so consistently these last few years. Whew! Thank you, Ana!

9. I sing songs about using the potty. And about cleaning up toys. And about eating all of our fish sticks. And just about everything. I don't think I ever sang before I had children, but now, our house is a 24-7 musical, complete with dancing. (Wes is actually quite talented. The girls just can't contain themselves when he does a big finish with jazz hands.)

10. I know that I don't have all the answers. Most of the time, I don't even know the questions. I had this whole parenthood thing figured out before July 24, 2006... and remember so clearly breaking down in tears that night over my five hour old baby, begging the nurses to please explain to me why she was crying. This is a humbling journey, to say the least. As we walk this road with our children, I sure am thankful that God grants us wisdom and grace as we go -- aren't you?

College Memories

I've recently gotten back in touch with a long-lost friend from college. And it's gotten me to thinking about the four years that I spent at the University of Houston. I've jotted down just a few of the memories that stick out the most, not in an effort to relive the past but simply to remember and thank God for such a full college experience. Here's what I think about when I think of those years that I left smalltown Alvarado and lived in the big, big city of Houston...

1. American History with Orson Cook (the Honors section, which made us all even more pretentious, of course)

2. Late nights at House of Pies (the first place this smalltown girl ever saw two men openly kiss one another in public)

3. Hanging out and talking till all hours of the night on the first floor of Taub, where a group of guys set up a couple of couches at the end of the hallway

4. Driving around in my little red Mustang

5. Scatterpong at the BSM

6. the Human Situation (hated it at the time, but it prepared me for seminary)

7. Fall Rush, mainly bid night when all of the pledges (excuse me, "Phis") would walk into the student center with everyone cheering

8. Metro Bible Study at Houston's FBC

9. Listening to Carolyn Boone destroy dreams in her acting classes (you kinda had to love her after she'd rip you apart, then pat you on the shoulder and call you "baby" while telling you that you would starve if you tried to make a living as a performer -- ha!)

10. The apartment at Cambridge Oaks

11. Combat Kroger

12. Flower shopping on Fannin Street

13. Capture the Flag late at night using the whole campus

14. Taking the bus to the Astrodome for football games (remember that?)

15. Shopping at Rice Village

16. Being up for critique in the upper level writing workshops alongside students you knew were talented enough to be published (Dr. Cambor's class was the best)

17. Those rare times that we would get discounted tickets to the Alley Theater downtown

18. GoNow Missions

19. Group dinners at the Towers (awful food, great company)

20. Sorority business meetings (never thought I'd say this, but the real world DOES operate by Robert's Rules of Order!)

21. Frontier Fiesta (loved writing the script, loathed the practices, enjoyed the actual performances)

22. Random trips to Galveston at 3am... just because!

23. Biology labs with graduate students who didn't care how well you did the lab, just as long as you did it

24. the Hair Spa (which wasn't for getting your hair done; they sold tons and tons of Phi Mu stuff that we all still have packed away somewhere)

25. Great friends, most of whom were nothing like me...

What about you? What are some of your favorite college memories?

Two Hours of Sleep...

I'm functioning on two hours of sleep. (Thank you, Ana!) So, if this seems a little disjointed and random... well, two hours, y'all.

We bought a new television yesterday. Our old one had begun to turn off on its own (and not with the help of a certain Emmy hiding in the corner with the remote, which had been the case before), so we knew its inevitable death was approaching. We were prepared and knew just which flat screen to get. Well, Wes knew just which one to get. (I don't know much about electronics. So, it's good that I'm married to someone who stays up to date on the all of the latest gadgets and doo-dads.) Wes set the television up last night, which involved moving some furniture, cleaning out our armoire, and rearranging and reorganizing our living room. I thought I liked the layout of the room before, but this? This is much better. It feels like the room has grown a few feet! Or maybe that's just the two hours of sleep talking. Hmm.

After a month of Ana waking up with a dry Pull-Up every morning, I finally switched her over to all panties all the time on Sunday. She's done great so far, with no accidents at all. Woo-hoo! I don't know what I'm going to do with myself at this time next year, when Emma does the same (hopefully) and there are NO MORE DIAPERS in our house. It's too wonderful to imagine, y'all.

Speaking of Emma, I think we've reached the terrible twos. I used to hate that term, thinking that everything with children would be bliss and that even unpleasantness would be rewarding. Emma flinging herself on the ground in a fit of rage is not rewarding, nor is it bliss. The only rewarding part of it is watching Ana, who was ten times more dramatic, quietly observing her sister's outbursts and calmly commenting that, "Emma is so sad." Yes. Yes, she is. I'm encouraged to see how far Ana has come and how they do grow out of this stage. Emmy will make it just fine... and we'll hold onto our sanity extra tightly until we safely reach the other side.

I think I'm all ready and prepared for VBS. I set up my room on Thursday and have everything ready for the first day of teaching. I'm going to tweak the other lessons for the week based on how Monday goes. I'm doing the Bible story sessions for preschool through first grade and am wondering just how much to change things up for the older kids. Hmm... we shall see on Monday...

My mom and I have been planning a baby shower for my sister for June 13th. One of the bad things about living in Oklahoma when the whole rest of the family is in Texas is that I can't host much of anything out of my own home -- baby shower, extended family Christmas, get-togethers, etc. I wanted to do something for my nephew, though, so my parents graciously offered to let me do this at their house. We're going to be doing a cookout/baby shower for all of our extended family, and I'm really looking forward to it.

And I think that's about it. Not bad for two hours of sleep!

We're All Bubbas, Really

It was the summer of 2004. I was in Beirut, Lebanon where the constant mood was gloomy, tired, and sticky hot. It wasn't what I signed up for -- door-to-door Bible distribution in crowded Muslim neighborhoods -- when I had read about the call the serve Christ in the gateway city of the Middle East. Slamming doors, lots of words screamed at us in Arabic, and discouragement in every building was what we got. Things were even more complicated with the team already on the field that we came to work alongside, and Wes and I, newly engaged, just wanted to leave. It wasn't easy, and we spent a good portion of the beginning of the summer feeling lost.

Literally lost, actually. Beirut was big, and the crude maps we had sometimes missed huge buildings and included buildings that weren't even there. We'd get lost -- totally and completely lost -- in neighborhoods that we didn't even recognize. On one such occasion, I had to use the restroom, and we walked until we found a hotel, The Phoenician, that allowed me inside. On my way in, I passed television crews, reporters, and a line of limos. Once inside the lobby, I brushed elbows with a few men in full-on traditional white galabayas and head coverings. I stopped to see them exit to a flurry of flash bulbs and thrusting microphones. That's weird, I thought. Later on that evening, I saw the same men on the news. They were members of OPEC, in Beirut from Saudi for a meeting. And, yes, there I was on televisions all over the Middle East, just trying to find a restroom. (Oh, the humiliation.)

We were having one of the most discouraging days of the summer when we came upon a corner of the Dar al Fatwa neighborhood that was charted out incorrectly. I remember standing in the hot sun, pointing to a five-story building as the call to prayer from the neighborhood mosque started up, assigning the whole block a random number since there was no such group of buildings on our map. As Wes and I discussed whether or not to even go in, an armed guard came out and mimed that we were to follow him. Since he was the one with the automatic weapon, we opted not to argue in a language we didn't speak and just went. He led us to a small waiting room that gave no indication of what kind of building we were in and made us wait. Lots of things went through my mind as I was sitting there. Mainly, I should be planning my wedding right now. Instead, I'm going to die in the middle of Dar al Fatwa Beirut, and they won't ever find my body because this building isn't on any map.

Before we could continue on with this discouraging thinking, the strains of the call to prayer died down, and a receptionist led us into an office, past the armed guard at the door, where an elderly gentleman sat behind a conference table. He stood and welcomed us, in perfect English, and offered us a seat and Turkish coffee. We accepted, as we had been taught to do, and settled in for.... we had no idea. Our host asked us why we were in Beirut. We told him we were there to give "Injils" to the people of Beirut. ("Injil" is the Arabic word for the New Testament.) Our host smiled at this and told us that this building, the building we were trying to pass out Injils in, was the headquarters for all of the Muslim elementary schools in Lebanon. Oh. Wes, in a totally Spirit-led moment, pointed out that even the Quran says that "blessed is the man who reads the Injil." This made our host smile even more, as he affirmed that it does indeed say that.

And so began a rather strange friendship that last throughout the summer. We spent many hours discussing religion, politics, and our common goal for peace. Earthly peace for him; eternal peace for us. Our new friend was still a mystery to us in many ways, but as he introduced us to very influential men and women of Beirut over the next several weeks, we began to get a clearer picture of who he was. We visited schools with him where Lebanese children chatted with us excitedly, the youngest of them using all three languages -- English, Arabic, and French -- interchangeably while giggling at our lack of comprehension. We watched our friend interact with all of the students and teachers, wondering who he was and why they stared at him with such adoration. I remember passing by a prominent statue in the city and being told that the man commemorated was the father of Beirut, the great-grandfather (or great, great?) of our friend. We also learned that he was over not only the elementary schools in Lebanon but the secondary schools as well, that he didn't answer to anyone in the department of education, and that we... well, who knows how we even earned an audience with this man. We were just lost in Dar al Fatwa!

He clued us in one afternoon on why he was being so generous with his time and the resources of his position. Many years ago, he had gone to the US to begin a doctoral program at the University of Southern Mississippi. This was to be just one of many PhDs, but this one was a lifechanging study program, as it gave him the opportunity to live in a truly foreign culture with his young family. (I think most of us would agree that Mississippi is foreign. Even to mainstream Americans, right?) He told us how they had gone shopping one day fairly early in their life in the US and came back to their car to find that the battery was dead. Having no cables in the car, no one to call for help, and no idea what to do in such a different culture, they were slightly alarmed when a loud, old, pickup truck pulled up close beside them as they peered under the hood. A man in a dirty T-shirt, holey blue jeans, and work boots jumped out and came over to see what the problem was. He told our friend that it was a battery problem, and that he could take care of it. Our friend watched as the man hooked up his own truck to the car in an effort to bring the battery back to life, and when it proved futile, he told our friend to wait and that he'd be right back. Minutes later, the American arrived with a brand new car battery and installed it. With the car running again and his small children once again happy in the air conditioned comfort, our friend tried to pay the man for his trouble, but he wouldn't have it. Just grunted in response to the gratitude, got in his truck, and drove away.

Little did he know, of course, that his simple act of kindness forever impacted a man of high esteem and influence in the gateway city to the Muslim world. Little did he know that his simple act would forever be associated with "Christian" in our friend's mind. Little did he know that our friend would strive to communicate tolerance for Christianity to young Muslim students in one of the most literate and educated countries on the planet. He was just a regular old Bubba on his way home from work who took the time to notice a young family in need and ran down to Wal Mart to get them a car battery. Our friend retold us the story, commenting that for the rest of his time in the US, he remembered this man's kindness as he met other followers of Isa of the Injil (Jesus of the New Testament). This is why he smiled when he heard about the Injils we were carrying and about the Isa they proclaimed.

Before we left Beirut, we visited our friend one last time. We gave him an Injil, written in modern Arabic, and he said he would read it. We left Beirut at the end of the summer. Less than a year later, the US news made small mention of the assassination of Rafik Hariri, the face of democracy in Beirut. Tumult ensued as the Lebanese forced the Syrian army out of their occupation, and shortly after, skirmishes between Hezbollah and the Israeli army resulted in conflict that leveled most of the homes in the south and destroyed parts of the city that had been rebuilt after the Lebanese civil war twenty years earlier. We remembered our friend, his hope for peace, and the way he spoke of Isa of the Injil. Isa, eternal peace where earthly peace is not possible. How we pray that he will truly know this!

I don't know why I'm thinking of this today. I just wonder what opportunities we have, living our lives every day, to impact the world through kindness in the name of Christ, not knowing whose life our witness may be ministering to or how small that window of time is that we can reach them. I doubt Bubba even knew where Beirut was, the conflict there, or how far-reaching his simple act went to open a man's heart to the Gospel message. Do we have similar opportunities where God has placed us? How far are we willing to go as we give testimony to how the eternal Prince of Peace has changed us?

Who knows what we might doing for Christ in a global, massive, lifechanging way as we simply live for His glory?

Facebook Updates...

What I've been tempted to post most recently...

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk just found a Dollar General store that sells faux Vera Bradley handbags for $8! That's right -- you're all getting one for Christmas!"

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk wonders why Ana has decided to start licking people as a form of greeting."

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk is sad that LeBron James didn't make it to the finals this year... mainly because she'll miss the puppet version of him who was always throwing the powder up in the air. Love those Kobe and LeBron puppets, y'all!"

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk is thinking that Emma needs some cheese to go with her whine."

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk is convinced that she'll never be able to run more than three miles at a time. At least not without the aid of an oxygen tank."

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk, sadly enough, sometimes feels left out when Ana and Emma chat in the Emmaese language. I just can't translate, 'Ooh bee, donna wanna eaahhh? Bwah, ha, ha, ha!' Ana will just look at me, mid-giggle, and give a general translation like, 'Emma is so silly, Mommy!' I got that, but what did she say!?!"


"Jennifer Yawn Faulk has been trying to finish reading the same book for two months now. The book gets picked up, and my children take it as their signal to turn into wild monkeys."

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk thinks that Dora was created in an effort to needlessly frustrate parents. Can't. Get. Annoying. Dora. Songs. Out. Of. My. Head!!!"

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk is experiencing what she experiences every year before VBS -- total panic that she is unprepared for the hordes of children that will be coming to her room! AHH!!! I'm now transitioning to the 'just teach them Bible and have fun, stupid' phase of this panic. Ahh..."

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk literally had to scrub Em's feet tonight before putting her down for bed. They were so stinky that the normal bathtime footwashing was inadequate. Eegads, girl! You smell like a teenage boy!"

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk loves the Top 40 radio station we get here in Duncan. They keep playing all of these songs that were popular from my college days... which means they're not really Top 40, seeing as how they're ten years old and all. Hmm. Oh, well, I still enjoy it!"

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk really misses that wonderful park that was just a couple of kilometers from her house in Okinawa."

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk still can't believe that she's married to the greatest guy she's ever known."

"Jennifer Yawn Faulk is blessed. Tired. But blessed."

I'd Like to Check You for Ticks...

I found a tick on Emma. The blame rests solely on the shoulders of BC, Reese, and/or my dirty laundry from Falls Creek, which Emma rolled around in on laundry day. Since discovering our little friend, I've been conducting thorough "tick searches" on the girls. They are absolutely thrilled by being checked and picked over like baby chimps, let me tell you. Ana got a good look at the offender who was clamped to her sister's scalp and proclaimed, "Ew!" Yeah, "ew" just about sums it up.

Despite this unpleasantness, I'm certainly glad to be back home to a normal schedule. Being thrown off of our routine is good once in a while, but I sure do enjoy the laundry being done, the house being clean, everyone on schedule, all of life being well organized -- routine, routine, routine. My girls seem to be following in my OCD footsteps, as Emma told me exactly when lunch was supposed to be today (she was right) and Ana told me exactly when naptime was supposed to be today (she was right). Makes me wonder if I can just take it easy and let them run things for a while!

Sunday was my last day in the children's department at church. (Except for VBS next week, of course.) I'm sad to be switching departments, especially since the boys who made decisions at camp were in my class and were actually beginning to get excited about studying the Bible. I get all nervous about kids making decisions for Christ, because... well... I don't know. I know kids are able to understand their own depravity (to an extent), but I don't know that kids are able to really make a lifechanging decision to follow Him to eternity. I'll probably get all kinds of heat for saying that, but I prayed a prayer for Jesus to save me when I was seven and only truly committed my life to Christ at sixteen. (Wes has a similar story.) I guess it could/would be different for a child who grows up in a home with parents who are actively discipling that young faith. I don't know. I do know that I'll be thrilled if a 6, 7, or 8 year old Ana or Emma comes to me wanting to accept Jesus... but I'll be even more thrilled when they come to me as young ladies who want to be set apart for a life of service to Christ. Tell me I'm wrong if I'm wrong, but I sure do remember at 13, 14, and 15, sitting there wondering if I was REALLY forgiven for my sins (as I most definitely and finally knew I needed to be!) and how that prayer prayed at seven years old was such a stumbling block for me. I had to get beyond thinking I was saved to actually be saved and begin to live a radically different life of following Him. This is why I cringe when children's evangelists say, "If you love Jesus, pray this prayer, and you'll be saved!" Oh, friend. Let us be as careful as Christ was when He spoke about what following Him REALLY meant.

Anyway, next Sunday I'm with the youth. You've got to love teenagers. None of them will be praying a prayer to please the adults -- that's for sure! Ha! (Seriously, though, I'm super excited. I can't wait to get to know these kids and be a part of this ministry.)

And for a totally random but very cute story, we went to the grocery store today. Wes was pushing Ana in a cart, and I was pushing Emma in a cart. (Em spent all of her time with her back to Ana, screaming, "Ana! Ana!" again and again, in an attempt to locate her. Ana, of course, would answer with, "Emma! Emma!" Back and forth, over and over, all through the store. So nice. So caring. So loud.) A 3 or 4 year old little boy was shopping with his mother, and after his cart passed Wes and Ana, he whispered something to his mother. Since I was behind Ana, I heard this woman's response to her son's proclamation... "Yes, that little girl IS very pretty!" Oh, Ana. You're not even three years old, and you're already turning heads! (He didn't get a good look at Emma, or I'm quite certain he would have been repeating himself!)

Well, speaking of the pretty miss, she's up from her nap and trying to climb on my back as I write. I keep turning around to look at her, and she keeps saying, "Ah-ha!" like she's really got me under control. I guess the fact that I'm now getting offline to get her a snack means that I am, huh?

Hope your week is off to a great start!