the big 5

Mathew turned 5 years old on the fifth day of the fifth month.

That was this past Saturday, on Cinco de Mayo, in case you weren’t followin’ me.

This birthday shall forevermore be dubbed “The Big Five”.

We started the day off bright and early, opening presents. Mommy and Daddy bought him boring educational toys (except for the bike…which is a pretty rockin’ bike, I might add)

…while his grandparents got him super-fun toys that haven’t left his side since he opened them.

Then we all piled into the car for the 10am showing of The Avengers. (sorry for the blur…not much light in a movie theater!)

It was the ultimate comic book super-hero movie. The boys can’t remember their AWANA verses, but somehow they can quote this movie that they have seen only once.

Nice.

Clearly it made an impression.

Then on to lunch for some Cinco de Mayo festivities.

And free chips and salsa.

And all the free drink refills we could handle.

Are you sensing an el cheap-o pattern here?

Don’t worry…we did actually order food. We’re not that cheap.

Then we headed home so that Mathew could take his new wheels for a spin. He asked for a “snake bike” (whatever that is)…this reptilian-looking thing was the closest I could find. It’s pretty scary.

(dontcha just love the cape?)

The man is serious about his stunts. Just look at that crazy foot action.

We are expecting a BMX stunt-man contract to come in the mail any day now.

After a few medieval tricks on the ol’ (I mean, new) bike, we went to our friend’s house for a “Goodbye to Everyone Who is Moving/Cinco de Mayo/Kentucky Derby/Mathew’s Birthday” extravaganzaaah.

It was a perfect day to celebrate our funny, loving, wiry, busy-ever-wiggling boy.

We love you, Mathew, and are SO thankful to call you our son.

(Rylee, you are an excellent candle-blower-outer coach.)

Clearly somebody thought the cake was extra good, and ate it with vengeance.

Seriously, Big Joe…do you ever put a shirt on?

deodorant and butter confessions

So sorry I have been absent lately.

Excuse, excuse, yadda-yadda, blah, blah blah…

It’s been busy around here, m-kay?

Anyhoo…I made two things this morning that I’ve been meaning to make for awhile now. The first one is homemade deodorant.

Weird, right?

Well, I have to confess that I don’t use antiperspirant. The first reason is because the number one ingredient in antiperspirant is aluminum, which has been linked to breast cancer. Regardless if it really does cause it or not, it’s just one more artificial thing to dump into my body each day. So I choose to skip it.

(don’t panic, people…I do use deodorant)

The second reason I only use natural deodorant is because I sweat AND stink through the toughest of tough antiperspirants, like Secret Platinum! And the roll-on crystal stuff I’ve been using for several years at least keeps the stank away.

I recently came across a recipe for making your own deodorant using coconut oil. So I thought I’d try it today. It was super easy to make:

2 T. organic unrefined coconut oil
2 T. corn starch or arrowroot powder
2 T. baking soda
a few drops of your favorite essential oil

Mix this all together and you get a paste that looks like this.

Stick it in the fridge and let it firm up a bit. Then just rub a bit in your pits each day, and there you go.

No more stank.
The natural (and cheap) way.

I just put some on and lemme tell ya…I smell like the beach. I’ll let you know later if it really works and if I like it.

The second thing I need to confess is that…well…I don’t like the butter that’s sold in Uganda. It’s more like a margarine called Blue Band. And if you know me, you know I am
ANTI
margarine.

It’s terrible for you…I don’t care what your doctor says.

Also, if you know my family, you know that we loooove butter.

Us and Paula Deen, right?

(hey…don’t judge…I buy the organic kind, okaaay?) 

Anyway, since we’re leaving for Uganda in THREE WEEKS (ahhh!!), and since I’m not a fan of Blue Band, and since I love the yummy milk over there, I thought it would come in handy if I could just make my own butter from cream and salt.

But I have to do it the old fashioned way, with a jar and marbles, instead of a mixer. I highly doubt our rented house comes with a mixer.

I had Addy (who is home with strep) grab me 5 marbles and I grabbed my good ol’ Mason jar.

(don’t worry…I washed them)

I poured in a half pint of cream.

And then 1/4 teaspoon of salt.

And then we shook it.

And took turns shaking it.

And then Joseph broke it.

Of course he broke it. He has super-human strength for a boy of only 4 years. He’s so strong he could throw me over his shoulders and carry me up the stairs.

Have you seen the dude’s muscles?

Anyway…where was I?

Oh yes. The broken jar.

So, I had to transfer all the marbles and cream into a new jar and continue shaking. It thickened up pretty quickly.

When I dumped it into a bowl, there was some watery milk still hanging out. I have since learned that this is buttermilk. Who knew!

So, I poured off the buttermilk and started squishing the butter into a big wad, to squish out all the excess buttermilk. Apparently it stays fresher longer if you get rid of all of that.

And then I poured some cold water over it to be sure I got all the buttermilk off, and then poured out the water.

And voila!

This is what I got. And it really is yellow, people!

And the taste?

It’s divine.

(as you can see from sneaky little hands trying to lick the excess butter off the plate)

When I’m in Uganda, I think I’ll need to use a whole pint or maybe even a quart of cream. A half pint only made enough butter to fill the ramekin.

And that would never be enough.

And speaking of Uganda, we are almost all set to go!

The boys’ passports finally arrived.

We’re all up-to-snuff on our shots.

And we’re headed to the doctor today to get the rest of our anti-malarial meds (and to get rapid strep tests).

And the fundraising?

I’ll save that for another post in the near future.

But for now let’s just say…

that we are
blown
uh-
way.

2 down, 2 to go

Last week the girls got a little somethin’ special in the mail.

Their very first passports.

With all the required shots under their belts, they are officially ready to go to Uganda!

(if you are a nice person, you will kindly ignore all the fingerprints on my glass door)

Addy wondered why her passport book was empty and asked where all the stamps were.

Only 5 1/2 more weeks, Addy…then you can get you a stamp in your’s.

Now let’s just pray the passport office is nice enough to finish up the boys’ before we leave.

Ack!

secret church

Friday night Lucas and I had the privilege of attending a simulcast of Secret Church, led by David Platt. It’s a 6+ hour long study (250 pages of notes!) that starts around 6pm. That means we got home and were in bed by 2am.

(that would be 2 o’clock…IN THE MORNING!)

That’s unheard of for codgers like us.

But it’s not like you have time to doze off or get sleepy. David teaches so fast, and throws so much information at you, it’s like drinking from a fire hose. I’m just sayin’, that man never missed a beat, stumbled over a word or even said “um”.

Not once.

I think he had a super-secret IV in his ankle, delivering Red Bull directly into his blood stream.

But there’s nothing “secret” about Secret Church. It’s called that in honor of the thousands of our Christian brothers and sisters who really do have to meet in secret for church. They gather in cramped basements during the middle of the night and listen to some seriously non-fluffy teaching for hours upon hours. They are so hungry for the Word, they care not about their discomfort.

It’s quite the antithesis of how we do church here in America, where we debate whether or not we should also go to Sunday school that morning, complain that we missed the first quarter of the football game because the preacher “went on” too long, and critique the music as if they were contestants on American Idol.

We’re so lame.

The topic of this particular Secret Church was suffering.

Mr. Platt does not mince words on this subject (nor any subject for that matter). He teaches the good and the hard, regardless of its popularity.

Oh boy.

When I hear lots of teaching on suffering, I tend to brace myself for the possibility that God might be preparing me for it. After all, it’s not likely that I will escape this life without enduring suffering, so I should be be prepared for it.

Nothing in scripture teaches us that we will skate through life without scars. We would like to believe that we will, though. Why do you think prosperity preachers like Joel Osteen and Kenneth Hagin are so popular? And so rich.

They deceive millions of “followers” into believing that if they would simply obey God’s commands, their lives will be full of health, wealth and happiness. Name it and claim it, people, right? They take scripture completely out of context and bend it to preach their “good news.”

The Bible teaches quite the opposite. Did you ever read about a disciple who ended his days in a phat house on the Med, eating hummus, playing golf and watching his grandchildren grow?

Nope. Most of them were martyred.

The Bible says when you face trials of many kinds”, not “if”. (Jas 1:2) It also tells us “if anyone wants to be His follower, he must take up his cross” (Matt 16:24). 

Here’s a paragraph from InterVarsity Press’ Bible commentary regarding ‘taking up your cross’: (read it…I promise it’s good!)

“‘Taking up one’s cross’ in antiquity hardly meant simply putting up with an annoying roommate or having to live with ingrown toenails. It meant marching on the way to one’s execution, shamefully carrying the heavy horizontal beam (the patibulum) of one’s own death-instrument through a jeering mob. Jesus anticipated literal martyrdom for himself and many of his followers by the Romans’ standard means of executing lower-class criminals and slaves; his kingdom was ultimately incompatible with Rome’s claims. If disciples “come after” and imitate their teachers, Christians’ lives are forfeit from the moment they begin following Christ; to come after Jesus, Peter himself had to return to walking behind Him.”

Yikes.

Here’s a great quote by the awesomesauce Randy Alcorn:

“When Paul was taken in chains from his filthy Roman dungeon and beheaded at the order of the opulent madman Nero, two representatives of humanity faced off, one of the best and one of the worst. One lived for prosperity on earth, the other didn’t. One now lives in prosperity in Heaven, the other doesn’t. We remember both men for what they truly were, which is why we name our sons Paul and our dogs Nero.”

The good news is not that we will escape this life unscathed, but that when we suffer, it accomplishes a myriad of purposes:

  • to refine our faith
  • to reveal His glory
  • to teach us to rely on Him
  • to bring us to repent and renounce all sin in our lives
  • to lead us to our reward in Him

And the one common end…our JOY in Christ, to the GLORY of God.

(all The Platt-ster’s points…not mine…I could never be so concise)

I can say that in my life I have never suffered significant loss. I’ve never lost a child or a husband. I have never been afflicted with serious physical illness or life-altering mental illness. Lucas has never lost his job. We’ve never lost our home to natural disaster. I’ve never been persecuted for my faith.

I think the suffering I’ve endured has been moderate, at worst. And when it hits, I am squirming so hard, trying to wriggle my way out from under it, and clawing my way out. I throw temper tantrums. I become anxious and fearful.

I beg God to take it away.

Clearly I am an excellent suffer-er.

But the point is not that we bury our pain and plaster on a fake smile and tell people it’s all okay when we go through horrible circumstances.

To suffer well is to cling to Christ, to press into Him, and find your deepest satisfaction and joy in knowing Him.

“But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when His glory is revealed.” 1 Peter 4:13

Good stuff, people.

On a lighter note, my other takeaway from Friday night’s Secret Church is that I don’t understand Twitter.

At all.

And that’s frustrating for a semi-tech-savvy person like myself.

I don’t understand how this symbol #, which used to be called a pound sign but is now called a hash mark, can trend things. And what is a trend? I thought it was tight-rolled jeans in the 90′s, and Live Strong bracelets 2 years ago. And where do these trends go?

See? I don’t get it.

And I don’t get the significance of this symbol either @, and why it matters when you tweet.

And I don’t have the time to sit down and figure all this out anyway.

So…all this to say, my three takeaways from Secret Church are:

  1. I don’t get Twitter.
  2. Suffering is inevitable, but it is ultimately for our good and His glory.
  3. David Platt rocks.

The end.

Oh, and PS – if you ever want to attend a Secret Church simulcast, you don’t have to have a big group or grand facility. We gathered in a friend’s house with the Young Adult Ministry (or the YAM’s, as they like to call themselves) that we help out with. All you have to do is register at the radical.net site, pay a nominal fee for the materials and they send you the study guides and tell you how to hook up the simulcast. It’s easysauce. And well worth it.

a beautiful surprise

My sweet friend, Teresa, has been warning me about a hand-crafted gift that she’d be mailing to me soon.

She told me she wanted to make me something SixtyFeet-ish. And that she would send a couple of them so that I could keep one and then “do whatever I want” with the other one.

Well, today the package came. And I was stunned.

This is all hand-stitched (by Teresa) on linen, framed in a super-cool black square. And the adorable heart is a button, plopped right over where Uganda lives.

I love its simplicity and its texture.

And I love that my friend made it just for me.

I immediately put it right on my entry-way table so that everyone who comes through my door can see it.

I love it so dad-gum much. Seriously.

And guess what…she sent me two of them!

So you might be seeing it’s twin on here sometime in the near future…enticing you to enter our giveaway.

Thank you SO much, Teresa. You’ve got some serious skills and a big ol’ heart.

I
love
it.

(and you!)