My heart exposed

I want to write something, but I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts. So forgive me if I ramble.
I want to write to the children. The children who tonight have met our Lord. I cannot imagine the horrors you saw with your last blink. The fear that you felt. The confusion. As a mother my heart is overwhelmed with such an ache for you. I have prayed and cried, and prayed again. You had no idea that this world was even capable of such tragedy. Your innocent soul could not have been ready for the events that you endured. But rest assured, you will not go unnoticed. You will not be forgotten. You will forever remain in the hearts of America. You are the heart of America. Parents and children all over the world will absorb into each other tonight, in your honor. And Heaven will embrace you as you begin your new life, your everlasting life, as princes and princesses with your Father, The King.
I want to write to the parents, but the words are not there. I want to hug you. I want to love you. I hurt for you. Words can do nothing to express the loss that you should never have to experience. The only words I can offer you is my prayer.

Father God I am on my knees. I pray for a blanket of comfort for this town, this community, these families. God I know that the pain that is circling these people has a name. And I pray that you squash him like the bug he is. I pray that mothers would fall into your arms, and lean on you for the strength to carry on. God please be there for the ones that don't know you. I pray that your voice would be so loud in their lives, that hearts would be softened. I pray for wisdom for the police officers, investigators, and doctors. That answers would be provided for these families, these parents.
Father please be with the surviving children. Provide them with an army of counselors and loving people that can help them deal with the things they have witnessed, the things they have survived. I pray that you would cover the finances of the families. Thank you God. In your precious name I pray these things. Amen.

Psalm 10:14 But you, O God, do see trouble and grief; you consider it to take it in hand. The victim commits himself to you; you are the helper of the fatherless.

Be Blessed.

To Santa, or not to Santa?

It is the question of the month. I have seen blogs and posts galore, all asking the same thing; should I let my children believe in Santa? What age is the right age to tell them the truth if I do? Will they hate me when they find out I've lied to them all of this time? Will they question every thing I've ever taught them, namely Jesus?
I get it. I really do. As a parent we are always second guessing every decision we make regarding our children and we are terrified of the outcome if we make the wrong choice. But I have read some serioiusly crazy stuff lately. Blogs demanding that Christians everywhere not participate in any secular traditions. How we will surely send our children straight to the nuthouse should they be encouraged to believe in something that is not real. I actually saw someone make the statement that you cannot be a Christian if you allow your children to believe. And further more, they will then turn around and say that Jesus was a magical myth, just like Santa!
I would never put myself in a position to judge someone's heart, but I don't believe that a statement like that should come from the mouth of a Christian!
In the Ferguson house, we do not believe in Santa. We believe Christmas is a time to celebrate that sweet baby Jesus and his entrance into this world. We do, however, follow some Santa traditions. We talk about who St. Nicholas was and what his mission was all about. That he was a Godly man and that when you see "Santa's" on the streets, they are celebrating his life. We put cookies out for Santa, because we love to make cookies 'round here, and big momma needs a tasty treat as she is up all night playing with...ahem..I mean assembling toys. We also make reindeer poop out of brownie mix and sparkles to make a trail from the children's doors to their stockings. What? That's not a tradition in your home? Weird.
So, now you know where I stand.That is what is right for our family BUT that does not mean that it has to be what is right for your family. To each his own, and however or whatever you do with the Santa story is cool with me.
I just can't help but churn this idea of our children questioning Jesus and His story around in my head. Would that really be the worst thing? Come to think about it, don't we all question Jesus at one point in our lives? Don't we all test Him? I know I did. I struggled and questioned and tested and guess what? God proved Himself to me over and over again. And friends, it is because of those moments that I am who I am today. It is because of my questions, that I have answers!
To those parents that are terrified of that moment that their precious little ones look at them with big eyes and say "WHAT? Santa's not real?? How can I ever trust you again? Is Jesus even real and powerful like you said he was?" I say, you haven't crushed their dreams and ruined their lives. You aren't going down under. You haven't damned them to a Godless life. You have just opened their eyes. You have given them a great gift! The opportunity to experience God on their own. To not just make an assumption of who God is based on what you say is true, but to get out there and get answers for themselves. Scary? Yes. But I beleive God is fully up to the task friends.
So don't choose your Christmas rituals based on the scare tactics that are out there. Decide what is right for your family and go with it. And trust God to be able to handle things on His end should your children decide to start questioning His existence.
Be blessed.

Nice to mole you.

I always find it a bit uncomfortable when people speak to my children and then actually wait for an answer. Evie is almost 2, and I feel that she is super duper intelligent. That being said, I don't think she is going to answer a strange old man when he asks her where she got her beautiful hair. I just smile and watch them stand there in silence, wondering if I should muster up my best baby voice and attempt to throw it into Evie's mouth or if I will just look like I'm on drugs. Either way, it would end the awkward silence that has now gone on way too long and maybe this guy will just move on down the produce aisle and let me get my tomatoes and get out of there.

Anyways, today was Walmart day. So Evie and I are perusing the frozen burritos (don't judge me) when she approached. Now, we've all seen People of Walmart, right? Well, this lady was a front runner. Not only was she wearing neon purple yoga pants and flip flops, she had her hair in at least three different pony tails. Topping that all off with a giant fur coat and a mustache that could shame Yosemite Sam, she was setting off every fashion alarm in the city of Reynoldsburg. And she was headed my way.

Fitting her stereotype, she dove right into a conversation with Evie about ravioli and some restaurant she loves where she has a longstanding relationship with the owner who is 75 years old but now his daughter has taken over and doesn't even make the ravioli homemade anymore and...(pause for breath)...how her husband ordered a steak last time they were there and it was totally messed up and they got mad at her for complaining and.........................here's where crap got ugly. Because all I could do was stare at her mustache/hair cheeks (as Cailynne calls a beard). Does she not see it? Does her husband not see it? Does she not have any good friends that could somehow find a way to mention to her that there are ways to get rid of a mustache? Or at least leave an anonymous gift of a razor or free wax job? Man, that would be a serious wax job! That is a serious beard! I'm such a jerk...stop thinking and listen to this poor hairy woman.................so she just doesn't even eat ravioli anymore which is a shame and what were we going to be having for lunch today?

So I'm trying to answer her. I'm trying to conversate with this woman, all the while Evie is pinching my chin and I'm trying to keep eye contact, but my stupid eyes keep wandering down to the 'stache. It's about the most uncomfortable strange old lady conversation that I've ever had. And seriously, how does a woman grow a mustache and beard that thick? And then God layed the hammer down. Evie pinched me on the chin once again and it hurt so bad my eyes started watering. What the heck?! As I reached up to smack her hand away, I realized that she was not pinching me. I had been so fixated on the bearded lady that I couldn't discern the difference between a pinch and a child tugging on the 3 inch whisker that had grown out of a mole in my chin during our outing at Walmart!!! (I swear it was not there this morning!)

The shame. OH the shame. Nice to meet you, humility. I almost apologized to her outloud. Instead I smiled and listened to the rest of her story about her sister's husband and his love of pasta, and watched her walk away, all the while still talking to me, or Evie. I'm really not sure. Then I climbed into my cart and used my whisker to paddle myself at the speed of light to the tweezer section of the store. Ok, I made that up. What really happened was that I used my whisker as a lasso and Tarzan'd my hairy humiliated conceited judgemental ass out the store and immediately repented.

Moral of the story:
Women with whiskers... (say it with me) IT'S A BUMMER!

Get it together people!!

I will apoligize in advance. I always try to keep everything I write light and humorous, with the intention to inspire. But today I am deeply saddened by my fellow Americans and I need to say something.
What in the H-E-double hockeysticks is happening to us America? I got on Facebook this morning and was utterly sickened by the posts and conversations that were happening. Obama fans are gloating and cussing out the "idiots" that voted for Romney. Romney fans are damning Obama voters to Hell. It's insane! Is this really who we have become? Two sides of one country that cannot respect each other.
Let me put myself out there for a minute. I voted for Romney. I am a republican. I am pro-life. I also, however, (and you may want to sit down for this) support gay marriage. I am a mother who is very concerned about the future of my children, who will absolutely be paying their own way through college, unless we win a lottery. I am a wife who is scared that my husband's salary will not be able to cover our health care next year. BUT above all of these things, I am a child of God! And I believe He loves Obama and Romney supporters all the same. And I believe we should follow suit here.
What is America if we are not free to feel and say who we are and what we believe without being thrown to the wolves for daring to be different than our neighbor. I voted differently than many of my friends and family, but I love them just the same. I respect that they feel differently than me when it comes to politics and issues, and I would never condemn their souls! Ridiculous!
I didn't support Obama, but he won. If you voted for him, then why are you still mad that others didn't? If you didn't vote for him, than don't be a sore loser. Don't tell the opposing team that the demise of this country is their fault. Get off of your high horse and get on your knees!
Pray for our country people. Pray for Obama. Pray for your FRIENDS. Don't let the issues of politics make them enemies. Love each other. Respect each other. Because however this world ends, it will be a lot harder if your alone.
The best status update I have seen today came by way of my brother.

Complaining is like vomiting. It makes you feel better, and it makes everyone around you sick.
Excessive celebration and gloating is like the smell of your own farts. What smells as sweet as honey to you is just a stinky fart to others. 

Think about it friends! Here's to the next four years. May Obama turn to God and follow Him in leading this country into it's next chapter. May you all be blessed, no matter who you voted for. And may our relationships be healed and the division in this country be replaced with one common desire to see lives improve. You're the God of this city. You're the Lord of this nation. And greater things have yet to be done! AMEN!

What was I thinking?

I made the mistake of praying for patience last week. Obviously, I'm saying that sarcastically (slightly), but let me just let you in on a little secret that I temporarily forgot. God does not usually just wave his hand in your direction and give you exactly what you ask for. In my experience, He instead gives you the opportunity to obtain what it is you are asking for. If you pray for holiness, God will give you the opportunity to be holy. Pray for courage and you will be given the opportunity to be courageous. Pray for patience, and holy crap will you receive chance after chance to develop patience!
Anyways, I was at the end of my rope with my daughters and their shenanigans. So after putting them in bed for the 16th time, I ended up on my knees asking God why they are so rambunctious and to please give me more patience to deal with their insatiable desire to send me to the loony bin within the next five years. Strangely, I thought I heard a faint chuckling from somewhere in the distance, but decided it was the lack of sleep.
I'm positive that this was the longest week of my life as a mother. It was as if my children had become possessed with the love child of the Tazmanian Devil and The Brain (insert maniacal laugh here). And there was a moment. Somewhere, between them tag-teaming the dogs with Baby Magic and skittles, to the fabulous new toothpaste paint job they did down the hallway, to me fishing the 13th Barbie doll head out of the toilet, I had a serious moment. A moment where I realized that I was one piece of gum filled panties away from understanding the thought process that lead that woman to take a quiet nap at the bottom of the lake.
And this time I am sure I heard laughter. So, I just joined Him. And God and I had this great moment on the bathroom floor. Laughing til the tears came running down. What am I going to do with these children God?! I love that He laughs with me, and not at me.
So today I was ready. I made it through the entire day without completely losing it. No children were beaten. There were no thoughts of the lake. I had a nice talk with God to let Him know that I was pretty sure that my lesson in patience was received and completed. And then the next moment came.
I stood in the kitchen cooking dinner and listening to my husband play with the kids. I don't know if it was having him home, the sound of their precious laughter, or the fact that dinner came out exactly as planned and every one of them cleaned their plates without a single protest, but it was a moment that filled me with instant peace of heart. You see, it's not easy being a mother. Especially on those days where you feel like your kids are really tiny terrorists, whose only objective in life is to see just how far they can push you before you burst. But friends, it is well worth it. Because at the end of the week, there was always that one moment. That one moment where you realize nobody tried to drown their sister in the bathtub, and bedtime went so easily. That moment that everybody was happy today, even if just for 15 minutes. That moment that you realize God gave you exactly what you asked for.  Well played God, well played.

Why the strange title?

We all have heard them. If you are a mother, you have already used several of them on your children. It's the "momisms". We catch ourselves smack dab in the middle of "I will turn this car around!" and roll our eyes at the realization of what just came out of our mouth. It's like something inside of moms everywhere is pre-programmed with the automatic response to an open door of "Were you born in barn?" I remember as a kid thinking, "what a dumb question, mom. Weren't you there?" You would think that after hearing all of those sayings that were deemed absurd as a child, we would not be bound to repeat the nonsense. But, alas, I still can't help but remind my children of how things were "when I was a child" in an obsolete attempt at helping them understand how blessed they are to live in these times.

Now maybe it's just because I was such a perfect kid, but there seems to be a whole set of other "momisms" that I do not remember ever hearing my mother say to me. There are times that I hear something coming out of my mouth and think how incredibly strange I must sound yelling at my child over and over again to "STOP drawing on your vagina!" And everytime I have to say "stop licking the back door" I wonder if I'm coining a new momism, or if I should call the pediatrician. How many meltdowns do you suppose I'm going to have before my children realize "crayons aren't candy!!" and "tampons aren't for your fingers!!" or that they have to"stop putting nail polish on your eyes!"

But out of all of the crazy sayings that exit my mouth, old and new, the most common phrase uttered by many a mom around this house is "WHERE ARE YOUR PANTIES??" So when I was trying to decide on my new blog title, that was the only one that sounded appropriate.

Here's to all of the mommies out there that are looking for panties right now! Look in the toilet. That's where I usually find them.

Welcome Home!

Well, the first mortgage check has been written and cashed so I feel it is time to publicly announce that the Ferguson family has officially been relocated! In an incredibly odd turn of events, God has placed us in our new home, which just happens to my old home. How cool is that? My children will grow up in the same house that I made some of the best memories in. I can barely even say that sentence without tears welling in my eyes. That is just so incredible to me. My son will play in the same dirt that kept us entertained for hours. My girls will learn to swim in the same pool that I celebrated my 8^th grade graduation (a great memory for me, a not so great one for the parents). Hopefully one of them will get married in this house, where their father and I were married. Maybe one of them will sneak out of the same windows that I did in order to run away from the oppression of such evil parents who really don’t understand her…which reminds me, anyone know where I can get a good price on prison bars for basement windows?

I just want to say thanks to God for blessing us with such an amazing home and opportunity. I have been so humbled these past few months as God has brought us to the end of trial after trial. Every time I would think of how much I longed to have a house that we could call our own, I felt like the road to our driveway got longer and longer. But God always gently whispered to me that He knew where the road ended. I never in a million years imagined it being here, but I couldn’t be happier at His hand in our dreams.

As we get settled in, it gets easier and easier to let go of that tiny voice that keeps trying to convince me that at any moment I am going to be ripped out of this dream. I know that we are where we are supposed to be. I feel it in my bones. And even though I keep referring to our bedroom as “mom’s room” and to the family room as “dad’s theater”, I know that this is our home, and cannot wait to continue making memories and home videos on this piece of property!