Sunday Brunch With Fiery Wife- Jalon and Mallothi

Let everything that has breath, praise the Lord. Praise the Lord! -Ps. 150:6

Today at church, I had a couple of proud momma moments. Today's service was a little different as there was no sermon but a cluster of testimonies fellow congregants shared. Two personally touched me. The first was from a woman who sings on the worship team and the other, from a man who was to be baptized that day.

Jalon's text telling me she was indeed going to share her 

testimony. She truly is a hilarious woman and I have great 

fun teaching her and in turn learning from her example of 

Godly obedience. 

I asked my friend/team member/student whom we shall call Jalon*, (which means abiding, 1 Chronicles 4:17) to share her testimony about finding her voice on this particular Sunday. She was hesitant at first and I understood. There is a vulnerability about sharing the personal workings of God in your life to a mass of people whose reactions and responses you cannot control. But I waited for her response. And waited. And then I forgot to call Jalon back by the deadline I gave her. Then we played phone tag. I was "it" she was "it"....... So, when I saw a text from her, I braced myself for the "no" I surely believed she was going to deliver.

But instead, Jalon said her testimony was ready and asked me if she could read it to me over the phone. Over. The. Moon. Excited. I tried to compose myself while on the phone and relocated to the bedroom so I could fully concentrate on her words without the distraction of my 2 little friends screaming and running and shooting nerf guns and dollar store arrows whizzing across the tip of my nose and Uh-Oh the dog pouncing on my feet and causing me to coil and not so secretly desiring to punch that dog her in her ribcage. I lay on my bed, ready to listen and allow the words to be absorbed into my core.

Jalon spoke, and it was beauty. God's beauty couldn't help but radiate from the words on her computer screen. She shared her struggle with having a very strong voice (presence) with family and friends but being reduced to a knotty bundle of timidity and hesitation on Sunday mornings no matter how much she practiced. She understood that her fears of disappointing leadership (me of all people!) and singing the wrong notes were an attack of the Evil One to silence her very strong, very powerful voice.

I had the privilege to witness Jalon find her voice for the first time. During a lesson I taught, I asked her to sing "ugly"; the worst she could do and do it loud and strong. It was ugly. Poor placement, bad tone, off pitch. Everything was wrong. But I wanted her to face her worst fears and then laugh about them. I desired God to allow her to understand those things had no power! And we laughed and laughed some more. It was horrible! I then asked her to sing "pretty"; the best she could do while still maintaining the volume of her "ugly" voice. Instantaneously, the timidity came back and it broke my heart.

"Stop it Jalon!" I surprised myself with my boldness. "Sing it ugly again." That second "ugly" time something broke free. Jalon opened her mouth and this full-bodied southern sweetness emerged from her lips. I was so happy for her! I was excited that God allowed me to witness His work in her life. She sang only a couple of lines from the song and then began to weep. I stopped playing the piano. Honestly, woman tears freak me out. I never know what to do with them. Maybe I don't need to feel obligated to do anything with them. But I tried to keep my cool.  After a long pause, I asked "What is it?" I didn't know if these were "you're pushing me way too far" tears or some other more joyful variant.

"Jalon, what is it?"
Through her tears she explained "I heard my voice how God hears my voice and it was beautiful."
Our lesson was done for that day. To hear her tell this same story from her perspective today was encouraging. From her testimony came the realization that God wants me to find my voice as a church leader. God is calling me to order some things in my life; spiritually and practically so I can be a better leader to the people God has called me to lead.

Mallothi being baptized by Pastor. Mallothi had 

family from all over the country come to witness this. His 

ex-wife even came out to celebrate this occasion! 

The next testimony, was given by a man whom we shall call Mallothi* (which means fullness/circumcision, 1 Chronicles 25:4). Today, Mallothi was baptized and I had the privilege of hearing his testimony. Mallothi is dear to my heart because he was the first person to come to know the Lord through our 3rd annual Christmas event.
During the preparation for the 2013 Christmas concert, I was seriously contemplating whether this would be our last. We, as believers, are called to go make disciples (Matt. 28:19, Acts 1:8). Although our Christmas events were well attended, I hadn't seen any disciples made, no conversions had......nada. Nothing but a pretty and well-attended performance. Well-attended doesn't equal success in the kingdom of God so I was ready to have a conversation with my pastor and 86 our next concert to make room for what God had planned for me and my church. But we had to get through this event, so I prayed for just one person to come to the Lord that evening.

 Mallothi is a neighborhood man who attended (through an outreach invitation the previous week) the 2013 Christmas event. At the end, our pastor gave an altar call and Mallothi recommitted his life to God that night. I was overjoyed. Mallothi began regularly attending our church and his life began to transform right in front of us. Again, I was given the privilege of observing this transformation God had initiated in him. Mallothi shared today in front of a full sanctuary, his transformation. He spoke of his decades long struggle with drug addictions and how he had been fully drug free now for 2 months! The room erupted in praises to God with a standing ovation. It was great! Mallothi had a fullness in God's presence. God had circumcised some significant hinderances from his life. He had about a dozen family members from all over the country come to see him get baptized. They too were overjoyed.

I had the opportunity after service to tell Mallothi how I full-heartedly believed we put on that Christmas play/concert just for him. God had wanted him so bad He wooed him through music and acting and the prayers and tears of His servants. And it worked! God was yet again victorious! Mallothi's testimony encouraged me to never give up just as God never gives up on His people.

So, like a proud momma, I snapped pictures and cheered and applauded (and squealed a little) these two wonderful creations of God. I am humbled that I was witness to some pretty awesome events in their lives. Thank you Jalon, the One Who Abides in God's call; the one who sticks with it when many others would have cowered and disappeared. Thank you Mallothi, the One Whose Heart was Circumcised and now has a fullness and abundance of God to see him along the rest of his journey. You are an encouragement to me and my faith walk with God.  

*Names in this post were changed but the people are definitely living and real. It wouldn't be a Fiery Wife Blogpost if everyone weren't anonymous!

Sunday Brunch happens every Sunday as a spiritual encouragement for readers of the Fiery Wife blog. Come back next week and see what God is serving up for you to eat. "Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! (Ps. 34:8)". 

My "Fiery" Day

Today, a little reluctantly, I went to a fire engine expo. I was dreading it because I knew I was going to meet some of Husband's fellow firemen and really wasn't feeling like being social. But the whole family went. Except Forever Mom, she never goes anywhere. She's kinda like a house cat......but I digress. During the car ride, I looked at my face in the visor mirror and realized I should've waxed my chiskers (chin whiskers) before leaving. But, couldn't do anything about it so I cast my chisker worries to the wind and fretted no more. We got to the fire academy grounds and it was HOT AS EVER. I could feel the sweat beading down my spine (kinda like Youngest's pee down the baseboard). It wasn't intolerable just annoying to know that I not only had chiskers but also had a sweat mark on my back the shape of California. Couldn't do anything about that either so I let it roll off my back ;).

The nerd in me definitely had some fun. There were loads of antique fire trucks and I clicked away at some of the cooler ones. I'm definitely not a journalist, so I didn't note make, model, or year. Ah well. My captions are way cooler than any stuffy inventory notes. Take a look below and enjoy.

A Dodge pickup truck (year unkown) converted into a
firetruck. It's siren was weak. 

A military green firetruck. Looks like it could've been in the Car's Movies! 

I think some Amish people got mischievous and repainted one of their buggys

A nifty custom water bucket. (They threw water on the fire) 'MERICA!

Everyone stay calm! The thing that's going to put your house fire
out has to create fire and steam to do so! 

OOH. Shiny. Can anyone say Wizard of Oz? 

The Queen of Pee

Pee stain by Youngest

I Know My Youngest Son is Not a Territory - Marking Alley Cat. I know he isn't. So why does he keep peeing on different carpets throughout my house?!? Now, he is three but has been potty trained now for the past six months. But all of a sudden, he's peeing everywhere except the toilet. It is infuriating! I'm no stranger to the perils of potty training. Eldest used to like to wait until we were in the van, mid trip on the highway, right past the rest stop to have a body- thrashing-high-pitched-squeal potty emergency. The first couple of times I totally freaked out with him; erratically pulling over to the side of the road so he could make it 2 inches from the blanket of plush grass waiting to receive what he had to offer, only to pee all over himself! Yeah. Stopped doing that quickly. It got so bad we took him to the doctor and gratefully found nothing physiologically wrong. So, we took precautionary measures. He peed before we left, peed if we stopped for anything, peed when he didn't have to pee. But still he would get utterly hysterical. The potty "emergencies" quickly stopped after I got clever one day and said "Pee on yourself. We're not stopping."

 I know sometimes children regress but this is a bit much. Yesterday I heard him peeing on the baseboard. It's a very distinct sound; one you'll never forget if you are so blessed to hear it. When I went to see what on God's glorious earth I was hearing, I saw the urine beading down the baseboard onto the carpet creating a golden pool of human liquid byproduct. Last week he peed in the playroom just standing and looking at me as the pee trickled down his leg. Doesn't he have any sense????? Haven't I taught him better than to pee in weird places? At least do it in a random parking lot or on a tree or out the open sliding door on the minivan. That I can understand. But a carpet? Oh, that's so malicious. Where did I go wrong?!?

Tonight not but 10 minutes ago, he met me in the living room with damp underwear. It was an
understandable leak. I told him to go to the potty and I heard it again! That very distinct sound of piss hitting the rug that is RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE TOILET. I cared a little less, knowing it was Forever Mom's rug, but still! It's the principle of it all. He was literally maybe a centimeter away from the toilet.

Now that I'm thinking about it, when he turned and started making his way toward the bathroom, I saw a little smirk come across his face! He's doing this on purpose!!!!!! He's deliberately peeing on the carpet. He delights in this. I think Eldest and Youngest have meetings where they discuss who will be the primary misbehaver that particular day. Because when Eldest has a phenomenal day, Youngest's day sucks! Just like today. Youngest- peeing on everything, but Eldest asked to stay up late to finish a "very special project".

Me, the Queen of Pee

Eldest gave me a self-authored, self-illustrated book, made from the 2 sheet of printer paper I begrudgingly allowed him to have (yeah, I definitely was a jerk about it) titled I Love You momy and DaDy! It also came with a diamond-studded crown (please see the picture to the left). Who is this child?!? I think Jesus knew Youngest was going to pee on the carpet. Jesus knew and probably giggled a little in a very reverent and Jesus-y kinda way. But because He's Jesus and, to lessen the insulting blow of having to clean up some more piss; He, through Eldest, gave me a crown and a thank you book. I really am appreciative but tonight, I'm the Queen of Pee.

The Book Eldest Penned. Amaeeeezing!
(A couple of strategic edits have been made)

         

Youngest Son and His Not - So Battle with Sickle Cell Disease

Youngest Son was born into this world in November of 2010. He is three years old and fully feeling out his wonderfully unique personality. We have yet, in this household, to go through the dreaded "terrible two's". For this family, it has eternally  been the "terrible three's". I think that being terrible and three years old is much worse than being terrible at two. Three year olds can speak a lot clearer and are much more understandable than two year olds. I was much more gracious with my sons at two for things like defiance or sassiness. I could write it off as an inability to fully communicate. But at three, ohhh, they know what they're saying and how they're saying it! Youngest Son is no exception to this phenomenon.

Tonight I had to put Youngest Son to sleep a full hour early because he was just plain nasty today. It was almost like he couldn't control himself. Eldest Son created a beautiful "race track" using printer paper, markers and strategically placed paper loops taped to the track. Youngest Son snuck into the dining room and tore the paper loops off the track and came to his brother to laugh and gloat about what he had done. 

"I broke your paper! I broke your paper!" he chanted with the cutest grin on his face; his large brown eyes sparkling with mischief. Eldest Son was miffed. He drew his mouth to holler at his little brother but I stopped him. Calmly and quietly I called Youngest over. 

"Did you break brother's racetrack?"

"No"

"Tell the truth young man...."

Youngest turned to his older brother, "Sorry brother." 

"No no no. Tonight little boy that's not going to cut it. Go to your bedroom and wait for me." 

Oh the tears! How they fell across his scrunched up face; those doe eyes widening and continuously filling and overflowing. He almost had me. I've seen that same face, those same tears many times in many hospital rooms over his brief three years of life. 

Youngest was diagnosed with Sickle Cell Disease (hemoglobin SC) about two weeks after his birth. We, as a family were utterly devastated. The agony of answering your phone to hear some tinny voice on the other end regurgitate lifeless test results about your perfectly perfect brand new baby was unbearable.They hang up the phone, bidding you a good day. But they get to go to lunch and eat their lean cuisine in the doctor's office break room; cracking jokes and waiting for the next appointment to book. I was left holding my baby, uncertain of what was in his future. The threads of my optimism unraveled into a colorful pile of mess on my living room floor. 

But despite all that, God is good (church folk know to say "all the time")! Youngest's diagnosis wasn't too big for God. Nope. The doctors spoke things like bone pain, anemia, splenic sequestration, skin ulcers, blindness, delayed growth and seemingly a hundred other anomalies over my baby. But my God spoke one word over Youngest: Health. For three years Youngest has not had a pain crisis, or problems with his spleen, or needed a blood transfusion, or had poor eyes, or delayed growth (90th percentile in height and weight) or even yellowed eyes (which is very typical of Sickle Cell patients). 

Yes, we've gone to the hospital at least half a dozen times. Because of the nature of his diagnosis the doctors are always scared of him contracting a blood infection. So as a precautionary act, when Youngest has a fever of 101.1 degrees or higher, he automatically gets admitted to the hospital for observation, is given an IV, administered a MONSTER dose of antibiotics, and has blood drawn for testing. Which brings me back to those familiar tears I saw tonight. I've seen those painful and sad tears in the hospital when nurses poke my baby's arm or hand and put that unfairly large needle in his arm. They try to bribe him with stickers and teddy bears and all sorts of gifts that my son knows so well will not take that pain away. Our last visit to the hospital before anyone was in the room, he looked at me with those large brown eyes and almost defeatedly whispered "I don't want them to stick me with the needle." I refuse to lie to him so instead I hug him and tell him "I don't want them to stick you either." Inside of myself, I'm praising God that this is all Youngest has had to go through! Right now I'm elated that his biggest fear is a needle! Every time we walk into the hospital we walk out with the doctors having found absolutely nothing wrong.Woo hoo! Praise you Jesus!!!!!

Youngest and Eldest coloring in the shared 

hematology/oncology waiting room. 

In the background a mother receives her

 daughter's chemotherapy aftercare instructions.

The hematology department shares a floor with the oncology department. And once while on a routine checkup I watched a mommy (just like me) receive her after care instructions for her beautiful full-head-of-gorgeous-curly-hair daughter's first round of chemotherapy. My heart broke. But as broken as I felt for that family, I felt equally guilty for feeling relieved that it wasn't Youngest or Elder sitting in that wheelchair. Husband snapped a picture of the boys obliviously so near to disease and death, coloring pictures. It's such a hopefully sad picture. 

I'll take terrible three's four's and five's over hospital visits any day! I'll take fears of white doctor's coats and needles over blood transfusions and blindness every time. I'll take sassy remarks and an overly tired, crying toddler screaming at the top of his lungs over and over "YOU DIDN'T SAY GOODNIGHT!" even though I said it and gave him a kiss. I'll joyously take it. Well, for a little while at least. Cause that screaming gets on my nerves and I have to take a deep breath before I feel like spanking a misbehaving child.      

Fantasies about Gardening

So, I am a city girl. I was born and raised in Chicago. Growing up, my family always lived in apartment complexes with lawn signs that glared at me "KEEP OFF GRASS". One property manager whose name was Stanley used to watch us neighborhood children at play with a hawk-like precision. If we dared to step on the lawn we would most certainly hear in a heavy Assyrian (I know it's not a language) accent "Geet off the grrrass or I keek your ass!" In retrospect, I'm sure he had more than enough of his fill of rowdy little children trampling the pristine grass in the apartment complex that sat behind the Venture (anyone remember that department store?!?).

But as a city girl, I always dreamed one day, I would have a garden. A beautifully lush garden that I would tend. I would look like those dainty gardening women in the Miracle Gro commercials. I was going to have a gardening hat and white gardening gloves with tiny rose-colored flowers on them. I would have a pair of small garden shears and I would prune back my rose bushes while kneeling on my foam knee-pad. My countenance would be as sunny as it was outside and I would retreat to my residence occasionally to refresh myself with a cool beverage (never water, always lemonade).

I held onto that fantasy until a year ago when we rented our first home. 3802 rests on a lot of land that is approximately 1.5 acres. Moving from our smaller apartment, we did not know what we were getting into. The house came with 4 large flower beds; 2 in front and 2 in back. I also decided I was going to have a vegetable and herb garden. This land kicked my butt!

No one told me how hard it is! When we were finalizing the rental agreement with the owner, I was telling my students (at the time I worked up north in the country) about how much land we had and they inquired if we owned a zero turn mower. I naively asked "What's that? I'm from Chicago!" (that's my blanket answer for all things foreign and country to me). A roar of laughter permeated my classroom and the condescending questions ensued.

"You don't know what a zero turn mower is?!?"
"No. Why would I know? I'm from Chicago! I could've cut the patch of grass in front of our apartment with a pair of office scissors!"
"Bwaaaaaaahaaahaaaa!!!!!!!"

They laughed because they knew the fate that awaited me. I was clueless. If we're being honest with one another, I still am. I Google ALL of my "garden" questions and believe me, I have plenty! Last year was a test run; a season of not only gleaning food but knowledge. This is what I learned:

 I need a zero turn mower almost as desperately as I need water to survive on this property 
The push mower ain't cuttin' it. I tried to do it once and it took me almost 3 hours and a near E.R. trip because of the asthma attack that ensued after.

 Weeds are an evil gift from hell to torture and maim my already bad back
 My fantasy was a cushy knee pad. No one said anything about the fact I'd be on my hands and knees!  I used to love to see my boys pick up a dandylion and blow the seeds in the wind. Now, I'm like "Stop it! Stop it right now! We'll have those things all over the place!!!"

Pickup trucks are a necessity (especially when hauling massive quantities of dirt and mulch)
Being a city girl, I never understood why you would purchase a vehicle that only had the capacity for three people to sit in it. But now I know why. People who buy dirt and mulch in bags do so for 1 of 2 reasons:
     a. they don't own a pickup truck with a bed
     b. they don't have a friend who owns a pickup truck with a bed
The pickup truck bed is a priceless asset. You can move dirt, or a washer and dryer; in both cases allowing you and me, the consumer to save on our purchases by avoiding markups for plastic packaging and delivery fees.

Gardening is a humbling battle not a leisure activity
I have bled, swelled, stopped breathing (because of asthma issues), pulled muscles, gotten splinters, cracked and dry hands, been chased by bees, stalked by a garden snake,  and been afflicted with weird and mysterious rashes while "gardening". No no. It needs a new name like "Brazilian Garden-Jitsu". I burned over 1000 calories in the garden yesterday!!!! Since the beginning of the gardening season, I've lost 10lbs! I use an old pair of my husband's fire-gloves (don't ask me the proper name for them) to garden in. I have a smelly pair of running shoes instead of beautiful garden clogs and horrible tan lines on my back (who has the patience to deal with a floppy hat when you're snatching up grub and pulling weeds?).

The harvest tastes more delicious than anything I've ever bought in the grocery store
There something about laboring over your food that makes you savor and appreciate every leaf, seed, and stalk. My food is precious. We are blessed to live in a country where there is an abundance and I do not want to take that for granted. I try to compost and reuse every bit of yard/garden refuse I can find a use for.

Truly I love this gardening thing. I remember how elated I was when my first yield of tomatoes came in. I was in awe that something that started out no bigger than the tip of a pen could grow into a beautiful, vibrant EDIBLE creation! I truly reverted that day to my 10 year old self, as I was parading my tomatoes around the house in a silver colander, desiring to eat them slowly as to savor each scrumptious bite. There is something so satisfying about looking at the harvest and saying "I did that and it's good to me."

This year has been better. I knew what to expect. I learned from my mistakes, and kinda like childbirth, once it's all over and done with, you forget how laborious it was. The same happened this year. I decided to reshape my flower beds in front. Lots of work and I found out one of my beds rested on top of a concrete slab. Horrible! In homage to being a city girl, I added a funky pathway on the side of our home using materials found on the property and got some free "tire planters" from the local tire repair shop. I put wildflowers in the tires and the industrial-ness of that little walkway full of rubber and brick, rocks and wood, reminds me of home; bare and hard with strategic sprays of foliage to keep adults sane and little kids dreaming of patches of land, straw hats, dainty gloves, and pretty potted flowers.